#also sorry it took me a while to respond to

[motherismotheringggg]

slow burn — pt. 3 (the finale)

summary: the third and final part of the camp counselor threesome between the reader, Cooper and Nicholas where the finally decide to cross into the most intimate pique of this relationship - read pts one and two if you haven't

tags/warnings: 18+, oral (m! + f! receiving), raw sex (wrap it up tho fr), swallowing, creampie, vouyerism, praise, being used (not sure i’m phrasing that right), pleasure dom!

authors’s note: i’m almost sad im wrapping this up but im happy to FINALLY give yall part three. again so sorry it took so long, if only i could just sit around all day and write fics, life could be a dream 😭 also this made me realize i have a praise kink so there’s that but anyway please enjoy <3

word count: 6111

tag list: @darlingnikkisixx , @lol-sweetdoll , @kiwisaremediocre

🏕️🏕️🏕️🏕️🏕️🏕️🏕️🏕️🏕️🏕️🏕️🏕️🏕️🏕️🏕️🏕️🏕️🏕️🏕️🏕️

The knocking at your cabin door quickened, and you could hear muffled laughter from your “friends”. A rush of nervous excitement buzzed through you as you crossed the room and opened the door.

There they were—flowers in hand, looking pleased with themselves.

A surprised laugh escaped you. “Well, this is … a surprise,” you said, stepping aside to let them in.

Nicholas entered first, handing you the flowers and pulling you close. “We had to make sure our girl felt special,” he murmured, his voice low, eyes soft with boyish innocence. He kissed your forehead, a flutter racing through your chest. Cooper followed, setting the takeout down with a grin.

“Nick picked the flowers, I wrote the card,” Cooper said, hugging you tight, grounding you with his warmth.

“You look beautiful,” he added, meeting your gaze with gentle warmth and a sparkle in his eyes.

As Cooper stepped out to grab his charger, Nicholas settled into the armchair, his broad frame filling the seat, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his shorts stretched over his muscular legs, a flush warming your skin.

Breathing in the flowers, you smiled as Nicholas’s boyish grin met yours. He crossed the room, his thumb grazing your cheek while his hand resting on your hip, pulling you closer. “Glad you like them,” he murmured, a rare softness in his voice that only made him more irresistible.

Before you could respond, his lips met yours, slow and deliberate, sending a shiver down your spine. His hands framed your face, grounding you as each kiss deepened, pulling you further into the moment.

Nicholas hovered just above your lips, smirking as he knew he had you wrapped around his fingers. “I’m gonna shower, baby girl. Try not to miss me too much.” His confident, boyish tone drove you wild.

Your cheeks flushed, your body reacting instinctively to the promise in his voice. You smirked and teased him with a small push toward the bathroom. Just then, Cooper returned, unaware of the tension in the room.

“Nicholas, I grabbed your charger, but I can’t find mine,” Cooper said, closing the door behind him. You moved to the vanity to arrange the flowers, tuning out their banter as Nicholas joked about being the "daddy of the group” because he’s always taking care of everyone. He slowly approached Cooper, closing the distance with quiet confidence.

Nicholas’s hand found Cooper’s neck, his fingers slipping beneath his curls in a firm yet gentle hold. His dark gaze lingered on Cooper, and before you could fully process what was happening, their lips met in a kiss that was magnetic—unhurried, deep, and consuming. Cooper responded just as intensely, their bodies fitting naturally together. The room seemed to fade around them, leaving only the two of them locked in this fiery connection.

A thrill shot through you as you watched, captivated by the rawness between them. Nicholas stroked the side of Cooper’s neck, the subtle contact making your pulse quicken. You couldn’t look away, eyes glued to every movement. Nicholas moved between you and Cooper with effortless confidence, his attraction to both of you apparent as he shifted his focus without hesitation, knowing the spell he cast.

Nicholas noticed, his smirk widening. “See something you like, sweetheart?” His voice was low, teasing, eyes gleaming with mischief. Cooper’s gaze stayed fixed on him, softer yet eager for more.

You laughed nervously, trying to mask the warmth flooding through you. “Go shower,” you said, your voice light but with an edge of desire.

Nicholas winked, pleased, and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving you and Cooper in thick silence. A moment later, Cooper’s gentle voice broke it. “Come here,” he murmured, hand reaching out, eyes softening as he looked at you.

You crossed the room, heart racing as Cooper pulled you into a hug, his head resting against your chest. “I can feel your heart racing, you know,” he whispered, voice low and teasing. You brushed his jaw, laughing nervously. “Just… excited. After seeing that, I’m just…excited.”

Cooper chuckled, his cheeks flushing. “Watching you two was… so fucking hot,” you murmured, voice trailing off. The heat of the moment lingered between you, thick with anticipation.

Cooper softened, taking your hand in his, his thumb tracing circles over your knuckles. “I’m excited too,” he said, voice quiet but sincere, “but more than that, I want you to feel safe and cherished. This is about you, every step of the way.” His eyes searched yours. “If you ever need a break, just say the word. Tonight is about making you feel adored, taking it slow, and making sure you’re completely comfortable. We’re here for you, no pressure, no questions.”

He kissed your fingers gently, eyes never leaving yours. “You matter the most to us.”

Cooper’s fingers lingered on your hand, his grip careful yet strong, radiating a deep sense of protection. “You’re safe with us…with me,” he murmured, eyes crinkling in a soft smile. “We’ll go at your pace, whatever that may be.”

He cupped your cheek gently, pulling you in for a kiss that was both grounding and passionate. His touch was steady, savoring every second of connection between you. Without breaking the kiss, he guided you onto his lap, his hands settling on your waist as if memorizing every inch of you.

The kiss deepened slowly, each movement deliberate and filled with intensity. His hands slipped beneath your shirt, grazing your skin, sending sparks through you. You felt absorbed in him, your bodies perfectly attuned, moving together with a rhythm that felt both natural and thrilling.

Meanwhile, Nicholas stepped out of the shower, towel around his waist, taking a moment to steady himself. Tonight was different—it was about crossing a threshold, a weighty but thrilling step. He grabbed his phone, scrolling through, his gaze lingering on the nudes you and Cooper sent him. He couldn’t help but admire the way you looked, how Cooper’s gaze was almost smoldering.

Nicholas felt a rush of heat as he stared at the images on his phone, arousal building in him as memories of the night ahead filled his mind. His hand instinctively moved over his towel, the fantasies intensifying with each thought of the night to come. He imagined the sounds of Cooper’s breath, the warmth of his skin, and the way you would arch your back, trusting him fully as the three of you became tangled together.

His grip tightened, urgency building as he pictured the three of you in sync, vulnerable yet perfectly aligned. Each breath came out ragged, the fantasy driving him closer to the edge until he finally gave in to the intensity, a soft groan escaping his lips as he reached release. He exhaled shakily, satisfied but still buzzing with anticipation as he prepared to join you and Cooper.

Meanwhile, you and Cooper shared soft kisses, your hands tracing over each other’s skin. Smiling, you sat up and teased, “I have a little surprise for both of you!” Cooper raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh?” he asked, a playful smirk on his lips as he leaned back, eager to see what you had in mind.

You flashed Cooper a playful smile, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips before slipping away, teasing him with a glint in your eye. As you headed toward the walk-in closet, you glanced back, catching his gaze.

Just as you entered the closet, Nicholas emerged from the bathroom, steam swirling around him, his skin still glistening. He wore only a pair of grey Nike shorts, the fabric clinging to his body, revealing his toned frame. With a playful brow arched, he slid a hand around your waist, pulling you closer, his voice low and teasing. “And where do you think you're going?” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

But instead of staying, you stepped back, letting his hand slip away with a mischievous smile. The playful distance between you made him ache with frustration and desire, a flicker of longing in his eyes. You knew the game, and it drove him wild.

As you slipped into the closet, Nicholas and Cooper exchanged a knowing glance, their eyes filled with arousal and intrigue. Nicholas chuckled softly before joining Cooper on the bed. He casually placed his hand on Cooper's thigh, massaging it in slow, intimate circles, sending an undeniable shiver through him. Their tension simmered as they waited for you to return.

When you emerged, the room fell silent. All eyes locked onto you as you stood in black lingerie, its sheer fabric tracing every curve of your body. The lace delicately framed your figure, the plunging neckline highlighting your chest, and the high-cut sides accentuating the soft lines of your hips. You exuded power, sensuality, and confidence—impossible to look away from.

Nicholas’s lips parted slightly, his eyes wide as they roamed over you, completely mesmerized. Cooper visibly swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing as he took in the sight of you. They didn’t just look at you—they worshipped you with their gaze, each movement you made pulling them deeper into your spell.

You stopped at the foot of the bed, standing tall, a playful smirk tugging at your lips as they drank you in. The silence in the room was thick, heavy with lust and unspoken desire, the air crackling with anticipation.

The tension was palpable as you crawled onto the bed, your movements deliberate and graceful, keeping their eyes locked on you. Kneeling in front of them, you exuded confidence, your posture and expression daring them to act but making it clear who was in control tonight.

————

Without hesitation, you reached for Cooper’s hand, guiding it to your waist. His touch was immediate, and firm, as his fingers kneaded the soft lace. He didn’t waste any time, rising to his knees, his free hand sliding up to your neck to pull you closer. His lips found the sensitive skin below your ear, brushing lightly at first, teasing you with soft, barely-there kisses.

But soon, the teasing stopped. His kisses turned to open-mouthed presses against your skin, his teeth grazing just enough to make sparks race down your spine. His grip on your waist tightened as he grew bolder, his mouth working against your neck with a ferocity that made you gasp.

“Cooper,” you moaned out breathlessly, the sound of his name only urging him on. His kisses became more demanding, his tongue tracing fiery lines along your throat before sucking hard enough to leave marks that would last for days.

While his lips worked your neck, you turned your attention to Nicholas. His gaze was locked on you, his breathing shallow, pupils dilated with desire. You took his hands in yours, raising one to your mouth. Your eyes never left his as you slowly parted your lips and slid two of his fingers into your mouth, wrapping your tongue around them in a slow, deliberate motion that had him trembling.

“Fuck,” Nicholas muttered under his breath, his body rigid with restraint as he watched you, his hand gripping the sheets in a tight fist.

Cooper’s kisses slowed, becoming softer, more deliberate as he realized what was happening beside him. He pulled back just enough to glance down at the scene, his warm breath fanning over your damp skin as his eyes followed the sight of Nicholas’s fingers slipping between your lips. A low, throaty chuckle rumbled from him, and he pressed another teasing kiss below your jaw before whispering in your ear, “Fuck… we both want you so bad, Y/N.” His voice was thick with desire, each word dripping with need.

Nicholas, whose breath had quickened as he watched you, let out a rough, unsteady laugh. His voice was low and gravelly, a mix of lust and affection that made your heart race. "Tell us what you want, baby," he urged, his fingers flexing slightly against your tongue. The pressure was subtle but deliberate as if he couldn’t help but test the sensation, his control fraying with every passing second.

Your eyes locked with his, holding his smoldering gaze as you drew his fingers deeper, your tongue tracing over them slowly, deliberately. Nicholas’s lips parted involuntarily, his breath hitching as he watched, his chest rising and falling unevenly. A soft hum escaped your throat, vibrating against his fingers, and the sound sent a jolt straight through him. You gave him a teasing smile around his fingers before letting them slide free, your lips leaving a faint sheen on his skin.

You allowed the teasing smile to linger before turning slightly, your focus shifting toward Cooper. He seemed to read the cue, moving with purpose as he brushed his lips against yours in a fleeting, heated kiss before trailing them down your jaw and neck. His hands, warm and confident, slid down your sides, the touch sending a shiver of anticipation through you. With a fluid motion, he settled behind you, his chest pressing softly against your back.

The sensation of his warmth against you sent another shiver down your spine as his lips found the curve of your neck, kissing and gently biting at your skin. Cooper’s hands slid over the straps of your lingerie, tugging them down over your shoulders with a maddening tenderness. His fingers brushed against your skin, and as they found your breasts, he cupped them firmly, his thumbs circling over your sensitive peaks in teasing rhythmic motions.

Your breath hitched as you leaned into Cooper’s touch, but the movement caught Nicholas’s attention. Not wanting to be left out, he closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a deep, searing kiss. His hands framed your face, his intensity drawing you further into him, while Cooper continued his gentle ministrations behind you. You were perfectly sandwiched between them, every touch and kiss pulling you deeper into the heat of the moment.

The heat between the three of you was overwhelming, leaving you drunk on the electricity coursing through your body. Nicholas’s presence, commanding as always, guided the moment with effortless authority. His hand reached for Cooper’s, guiding it between your legs. His fingers, firm yet deliberate, directed Cooper’s touch, and the effect was immediate. Cooper’s hand began to move, his touch gentle at first, then quickly becoming more confident as he massaged you with a maddening rhythm.

Your body faltered under the intensity of their attention, the force of it threatening to unravel you completely. The only thing keeping you upright was the strength of their bodies surrounding yours. Cooper’s chest pressed solidly against your back, comforting and steady, while Nicholas remained close in front, his smoldering gaze locked onto every flutter of your expression.

Your trembling hands sought stability, finding their way to Nicholas’s chest. You traced over the hard ridges of his muscles, savoring the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. A spark of mischief flickered through you as your hands lingered, finding his nipples and teasing them with the faintest brush of your thumbs. His reaction was immediate. A sharp inhale escaped his lips, his brows furrowing as his eyes darkened further with desire.

“Fuck,” he growled, his voice deep and rumbling through your core. “Make me feel good, baby.”

Without hesitation, you leaned forward, capturing his nipple in your mouth. Your tongue flicked over the sensitive bud before your teeth grazed it, biting down just enough to make him groan low in his throat. His head fell back, a visible shiver running through him as he surrendered to the sensation. The tension in his body melted into an intoxicating mix of pleasure and pain, each breath more labored than the last.

Spurred by your boldness, Nicholas leaned into you, one hand cupping the back of your head while the other steadied himself on Cooper’s thigh. The rawness of the moment overwhelmed him, and before you knew it, he turned to Cooper. Their lips met in a fervent kiss, both unexpected and entirely consuming.

Cooper responded instantly, his mouth parting to let Nicholas’s tongue claim his own. There was no battle for dominance—Cooper gave himself over completely, letting Nicholas guide him. The kiss was intense, messy, and utterly magnetic, their breaths mingling as they moved against each other. The weight of their connection pressed into your back, their passion amplifying your own as Cooper’s fingers worked you closer and closer to the edge.

Each movement, each touch, and each shared breath wove the three of you tighter together, creating a tapestry of lust, affection, and surrender. The room was filled with soft groans, whispered names, and the sound of desire echoing in the heavy air. Time seemed to stretch, and you let yourself be consumed, fully immersed in the bliss of the moment.

As the tension between you and the two men deepened, the atmosphere felt electrified, charged with the energy between you. The pleasure coursing through your veins made it difficult to focus on anything other than the magnetic chemistry between the three of you.

————

Nicholas, always in control, caught your gaze with a look that spoke volumes. Without a word, he gently guided you back onto the bed, positioning you at the edge. Your legs hung over the side as he silently commanded you to spread them wide. You obeyed, your breath quickening as Cooper moved behind you, his large hands steadying you at your waist. His fingers skimmed your body, pressing soft, lingering kisses along your neck, his lips whispering praises that sent shivers down your spine.

“You look so beautiful” Cooper murmured, his voice deep with admiration as his hands traced the curve of your breast. His thumb circled your nipple lightly, sending waves of sensation across your skin. You craned your neck back, offering him a deep, passionate kiss, allowing the moment to consume you entirely.

Meanwhile, Nicholas positioned himself on his knees between your legs, his eyes locked with yours as his warm breath fanned across your inner thighs. You felt the heat of his gaze before you felt the first soft touch of his lips against your most sensitive skin. The instant contact sent a rush of warmth through you, your back arching as you instinctively leaned into the sensation.

Cooper continued to hold you, his hands roaming over your body, caressing your breasts, and sending little shocks of pleasure through you as he kissed your neck. The combination of his tender touch and Nicholas’s relentless attention was nearly overwhelming, each kiss and caress driving you closer to the edge. Cooper’s voice was low, full of adoration as he whispered sweet, filthy praises into your ear. "You’re perfect" he breathed, his lips brushing against your skin as his hands continued their gentle assault on your chest.

Cooper’s praises flowed like a steady stream, his voice low and filled with lust as he continued to shower you with admiration. "I bet you taste so fucking sweet for him," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear, his hands never ceasing their movements as they caressed your breasts. You could barely speak between all the sensations, you gave him pleading eyes as you nodded.

He glanced down at Nicholas, who was still buried between your legs, his focus unwavering. "You hear that, Nick?" Cooper said, voice hushed but dripping with desire. "She’s perfect." Nicholas didn’t pull away, his mouth never straying from your womanhood as he hummed in agreement, the vibration sending a fresh wave of pleasure through you. Cooper chuckled softly at the sound, the heat between them only intensifying.

"Every time you moan like that, it makes us want you more," he continued, his voice thick with desire. "Makes us want to give you everything." He kissed your neck deeply, his lips working their way down as he added, "We’re gonna make you feel so fucking good, Y/N.” “I can’t wait to feel those tight walls wrapped around my cock baby." His words were enough to push you even closer to the edge, and you found yourself panting, desperate for more.

Nicholas’s movements grew more confident as he delved deeper into you, his tongue working with expert precision, making you gasp with each soft flick and teasing stroke. Lapping at all of your juices and responding everytime your body reacted. One of your hands gripped the bed sheets while the other found itself tangling in Cooper’s hair, gripping him as the pleasure began to build, a pressure inside you slowly unraveling.

As you teetered on the edge of release, your body swelled with the need to feel both of them—completely and undeniably. Cooper’s touch was a constant, firm presence, his hands gripping you as his lips whispered more praises into your ear. "You’re so fucking perfect, baby," he murmured as his fingers worked their magic, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. Nicholas never slowed, his tongue still dancing between your legs as his hands held your hips steady, guiding your movements as you writhed under them. Your moans echoed in the room, bouncing off the walls as the pressure built, the sensation too much, yet everything you needed.

Finally, you came undone, a cry leaving your lips as your body trembled, your legs buckling with pleasure. Nicholas kept you grounded, anchoring you to the bed, his mouth never leaving you as he worked you through the peak of your climax. When the tremors slowed, you were breathless, completely spent, yet desperate for more.

As you caught your breath, you let your body melt back into Cooper’s chest, feeling the weight of his presence as your skin hummed with the aftershocks of your release. Nicholas’s lips were there, moving gently up your body as he kissed his way to your mouth, his fingers grazing your skin as his lips parted slightly in a teasing grin. “Are you still with us, gorgeous?” he murmured, his thumb caressing your cheek tenderly, a spark of mischief still in his eyes.

You barely managed to nod, your breath still shaky as you gasped out a soft, breathy “Yes.” Nicholas rewarded you with a quick tap to your cheek before he pulled you into a deep, fervent kiss, one that had you melting further into him. As his lips left yours, Cooper shifted slightly behind you, guiding you up with ease as Nicholas pulled you to your feet, his hands roaming as he helped strip the rest of your lingerie off, leaving you exposed, your body bare and vulnerable to both of them.

————

The tension in the room was electric, charged with anticipation as the air thickened around you. Nicholas moved swiftly, guiding you back toward the bed with a gentle but firm hand at your waist. He laid you flat on your back, your body supported by your elbows as you propped yourself up, your chest heaving with excitement. Cooper knelt in front of you, his hands gripping your hips with a possessive, gentle pressure as he positioned himself between your legs.

Nicholas settled behind you, his presence unmistakable as his eyes flickered between you and Cooper, taking in the scene with a fiery intensity. His voice came out low, filled with both command and admiration. “Cooper,” he murmured, his words carrying a weight that sent a shiver through you, “show her how good she makes you feel. She deserves every inch of you.”

Cooper’s hands tightened around your hips, pulling you toward him with a sense of urgency that made your breath catch. He slid into you slowly, the stretch of him causing you to gasp as your body adjusted to his size. The feeling of him filling you was overwhelming, each inch of him sinking deeper, the intensity of his presence making your legs tremble.

His pace was slow at first, savoring the moment, but as the rhythm built, he shifted into a deeper, more deliberate motion, each thrust pushing deeper and deeper into you. It felt as though he was penetrating your very core with every stroke, and the pleasure intensified with each passing second. You could feel his control slipping away as the two of you moved in perfect sync, lost in the overwhelming sensation of being together.

Nicholas, ever the coach, didn’t let up on the encouragement. His hands were gentle as they caressed your face, his voice was full of fire. “That’s it, baby,” he murmured, his gaze fixed on Cooper’s every movement. “Look at how good you’re making her feel. She’s all yours, Coop, but she’s so fucking beautiful like this.” His words were like a spark to the fire building within you, the praise making you feel even more connected to both of them.

As Cooper found his rhythm, his thrusts deepening, Nicholas leaned forward slightly, speaking directly to you. “You look amazing,” he said, his voice gravelly. “You’re taking him so well. I can’t wait to see you both finish, baby.”

The combination of Cooper’s steady thrusts and Nicholas’s relentless praise created a perfect storm of sensation, your body helplessly caught between the two of them. With each movement, you felt yourself falling further under their control, but you never wanted to leave. The rhythm, the desire, the connection—it was all-consuming.

Cooper’s motions got faster as he helped you reach your pique. He grunted and moaned, “Fuck…y/n…you feel so good”, “You’re so fucking tight baby”, “I want you to make me cum”. Just then, he crashed into you, kissing you deeply as he continued to rock his hips into you.

Nicholas ran his hands through Cooper’s dark tresses as he tugged a little and said “Good boy Cooper, make her feel special.” He pulled him up from the kiss with you to give him one of his own. Cooper kept a steady pace in you as he and Nicholas kissed. Nicholas’s hands messaging and pinching at your nipples, drawing you further along.

They moaned into each other’s mouths and the sight of their connection ignited something even deeper within you, amplifying the intensity of everything you were already feeling. Cooper’s steady rhythm kept you grounded while Nicholas’s hands teased and explored, sending sparks of pleasure coursing through you. The way they moved together—perfectly in sync—was mesmerizing as if their focus on each other somehow enhanced the attention they lavished on you.

Nicholas broke the kiss first, his lips still lingering near Cooper’s as he whispered something you couldn’t quite catch, though the teasing smirk on his face sent a shiver down your spine. His attention turned back to you, his eyes burning with intent as his hands moved lower, brushing over your thighs in a way that made you gasp. His fingers found their way to your clit, wherein the instant he touched you, your body pulsed and thrashed, unable to restrain from the waves of pleasure. Nicholas coaxed it out of you with more affirmations, he loved seeing you like this. Completely untethered to restraint. Cooper grinned as he threw his head back in pleasure,

Nicholas’s voice was a soothing, grounding force as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured, his tone rich with adoration. “Look at you—so beautiful, so perfect like this.” His fingers worked with unrelenting precision, drawing every ounce of pleasure from you.

“The way you respond to us, the way your body moves… it’s intoxicating. You’re intoxicating.” His lips grazed your jawline as his hands didn’t falter, coaxing you further into surrender.

Cooper, grinning as his own pleasure built, let out a moan that seemed to spur Nicholas on. “You’re everything, Y/N,” Nicholas said, his tone filled with awe. “The way you let go—God, it’s so perfect. You make us want to give you everything we have.”

Nicholas had you and Cooper exactly where he wanted you—teetering on the edge of bliss, entirely at his mercy. The way both of you responded to his every touch, his every word, was intoxicating, a symphony of vulnerability and surrender that only fueled his desire. He watched as your bodies moved in perfect harmony with his guidance, your faces painted with pleasure that sent a thrill straight through him.

The sight of you both like this—so open, so undone—drove him wild. It was power, yes, but it was also something deeper. Seeing the trust in your eyes, the way you melted into his touch and responded to his commands, stirred something primal within him. The connection he shared with both of you at this moment was unlike anything he’d ever known, and it only made him crave more. His hands, his lips, his voice—all of it worked together to pull you both closer to the brink until the tension in the air was almost unbearable.

————

You and Cooper moaned into each other’s mouths as you climaxed, your bodies trembling together, chests rising and falling in perfect sync. Foreheads pressed against each other, and you both took a moment to catch your breath. The intimacy of the moment lingered as you looked into his eyes, a bold glint in yours as you murmured, “I want to taste myself on you.”

Cooper’s eagerness was evident, his lips curving into a grin as he shifted to sit upright on the bed. His anticipation was palpable, and it sent a thrill through you as you moved with purpose. Rising to your knees, you turned to Nicholas, who had been watching with a heated gaze from his spot behind you. Meeting his lips in a deep, lingering kiss, you pulled away just enough to whisper, “I want to feel you inside me, baby.”

Nicholas’s hands found your hips as you shifted into position. Kneeling before Cooper, you arched your back, giving Nicholas the angle he needed to adjust behind you. Before he could move, you focused on Cooper, leaning in to kiss him once more. Your lips trailed down his neck and along his chest, the warm press of your mouth leaving a path of teasing bites and kisses until you reached his thighs. You paused there, catching his gaze with a knowing look before pressing a kiss just above his knee, savoring the way he shivered in anticipation.

You took him in your mouth and his breath hitched with a relief, automatically feeling relaxed as you handled him. Swirligny your tongue around his tip, tasting the sweet saltiness of his precum. Using your teeth in the slightest way to make him moan out loud.

Nicholas lingered for a moment, watching with an intense, almost hungry gaze before slipping a finger inside you, his touch deliberate and teasing. The sensation pulled a moan from your lips, muffled against Cooper’s member. The vibration of your voice sent a shiver through Cooper, his head falling back as he groaned in response.

Nicholas leaned in closer, his voice low and velvety, tinged with satisfaction as he asked, “You like that, Coop? You like how she moans for you?” His question was edged with a playful taunt, though his eyes burned with genuine desire.

“Fuck yes,” Cooper responded, his voice thick and breathy, his fingers threading through your hair to guide you gently. “She’s so fucking hot.”

Nicholas’s smile grew, hunger flickering in his expression as he added another finger, his movements slow but precise, coaxing more sounds from you. “Take him all the way in, gorgeous,” he instructed, his tone both commanding and encouraging, his free hand resting possessively on your hip.

You pushed yourself further, letting Cooper fill you as his hips stuttered in response. His moans spilled out, raw and uncontrollable, his fingers tightening in your hair as you worked him with eager determination. The sensation of his pleasure only fueled your own desire, especially as Nicholas pressed against you from behind.

With deliberate slowness, Nicholas guided himself inside you, his grip firm on your hips as he filled you inch by inch. The stretch sent a wave of pleasure rippling through you, your body instinctively arching back into him. The contrast of being so completely filled in both ways was overwhelming, every nerve in your body alight with sensation.

Nicholas groaned deeply as he buried himself fully, his hands sliding up your back to steady you. "You take us so perfectly," he murmured, his voice low and full of praise. "You were made for this."

Cooper looked down at you, his chest heaving as he brushed his thumb over your cheek. “You’re incredible,” he breathed, his voice shaky with emotion and lust. “You feel... God, you feel so fucking good.”

Nicholas began to move, his rhythm slow and deliberate at first, his hips meeting yours with steady force. Each thrust sent shocks of pleasure through you, making it harder to concentrate as you worked Cooper. The symphony of your collective moans filled the room, the more Nicholas bucked into you, the more you moaned causing Cooper to lose control. You all worked so well together.

Cooper was so close to finishing, Nicholas could see it in his face, “Look at me Cooper, look me in the eyes when you cum baby boy”,

Cooper's gaze snapped to Nicholas, his breath hitching as he fought to keep control. His grip on your hair tightened slightly, the tension in his body, building with every second. Nicholas smirked, his pace behind you steady yet commanding, a deliberate rhythm that had your moans vibrating against Cooper, driving him closer to the brink.

“Come on, Cooper,” Nicholas coaxed, his voice low and intoxicating. “Give it to her. Let her feel how good she makes you.”

The encouragement sent a shudder through Cooper, his head tilting back as his climax surged forward. His hips jerked involuntarily, and with a guttural groan, he spilled into you, his release hot and intense. His trembling hands framed your face as his eyes fluttered closed, his expression a mixture of bliss and surrender.

You swallowed him down, savoring every moment as Nicholas kept a steady hold on your hips, his own movements never faltering. “That’s it, gorgeous,” Nicholas praised, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “You did so well for him.”

Cooper leaned back slightly, catching his breath, his eyes still hazy with pleasure. “You’re amazing,” he murmured, his thumb brushing tenderly over your cheek as he smiled down at you.

Nicholas shifted behind you, his hands sliding up your back and pulling you into an arch as he growled low in your ear. “Your turn now,” he said, his tone filled with promise as he claimed your attention completely.

Nicholas’s grip on your hips tightened, pulling you flush against him as he buried himself deeply inside you. His thrusts were purposeful and unrelenting, each movement designed to draw out every ounce of pleasure from you. You cried out his name, your body trembling under the intensity of his control. Nicholas’s lips found the curve of your neck, his kisses trailing fire along your skin as he murmured praises between every thrust.

“Just like that, gorgeous. Let me hear you,” he commanded, his voice low and dripping with desire. “You’re so perfect…so good for me.” He said leaning down to kiss along your spine.

Cooper, still recovering from his own climax, sat back and watched the scene unfold with awe in his eyes. He couldn’t take his gaze off the way Nicholas moved with you, his dominance unwavering but still laced with tenderness. “She’s amazing, isn’t she?” Cooper said, almost breathless.

Nicholas spared him a glance, a smirk playing on his lips as he continued his rhythm. “She’s everything,” he replied, his voice thick with admiration.

Your nails dug into the sheets, your moans spilling freely as Nicholas drove you closer and closer to your edge. He shifted slightly, angling himself to hit your cervix, sending a shockwave of pleasure through your entire body. Your cries grew louder, your body writhing as you felt your release building impossibly high.

“Don’t hold back baby,” Nicholas growled in your ear, his pace quickening. “I want to feel you let go.”

With a final, deep thrust, your climax hit, a wave of ecstasy that left you shaking in his arms. Nicholas held you close as he followed, his release erupting with a guttural moan as he buried his face against your shoulder. The room was filled with the sound of heavy breathing and soft whispers as you both came down, Nicholas keeping you securely wrapped in his embrace.

Cooper reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle and adoring. “You’re fucking amazing,” he said again, his voice filled with genuine affection.

The three of you lay together, tangled in each other’s arms, your bodies still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. The moment was perfect, a blend of passion and connection that left all of you basking in its glow.

[zara-renata]

And everything that is now already existed then | ao3 | masterlist

Summary: Sylus shows you his favorite parts of his house, you are haunted by a strange feeling of familiarity, you spend some time with the twins and Noah, you learn about the bet they have going, no this is not a wattpad bet story that will be turned into a multi-part tv series even though i love that trope so much, the self control i exerted should be acknowledged if not praised. This part has less humor than other parts, I've been in a contemplative mood recently, sorry. Part 17 of the Sylus series.

Notes: Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, second person POV, some Sylus POV. They/them pronouns are used to refer to reader as a placeholder for your preferred pronouns. The slowest of slow burns friends-to-lovers. This story contains: angst, fluff, banter, poetry, questions of morality, video game violence, discussions of real life violence, profanity, alcohol mention, self-harm mention, mc with self-esteem and guilt issues.

The water is warm. The man underneath you is warm. Your heart, you realize, is also warm. Quiet. Nothing hurts. You marvel at the feeling. How long can you get away with this? Plastered against Sylus’s big body, his rough hands just resting on your back. You feel guilty for keeping him from doing something else. For not being at work. For doing absolutely nothing useful to anyone. For feeling so good.

Sylus holds you, seemingly content to just sit here with you as the water laps against the sides of the pool.

“Don’t you have business to attend to?” you reluctantly ask, because you’re incapable of just trusting that good things can last. That the fulfillment of your deepest desires won’t be snatched away when you least expect it, so you push, push, push, seeking the weakness that will ultimately crack and cause the moment, finally filled, to break.

Sylus holds you a little tighter. “No.”

You wait, but he doesn’t elaborate. You should just accept it. Just enjoy this moment. All you have in this life is each moment—that’s all there is. Why can’t you just experience each one, savor it, suck it dry, until the next? Why must you always waste the pleasure of each moment by being in such a rush to get to the inevitable end?

But you can’t just accept it. You don’t know how. Your whole life has taught you that the moment you trust the permanence is the moment that the moment shatters. Might as well ruin it first, instead of fearing the end. And who are you to complain? What have you done to deserve it in the first place?

“Business slow in the Onychinus economy?” you ask.

“Tch,” he responds, seemingly indignant at the mere suggestion that his business isn’t printing him money even as he canoodles in a hot tub with you. “Business is booming, darling. The human capacity for cruelty is an endlessly growing market.”

You press your cheek harder against the sweaty skin just under his collarbone. You don’t want to think about what he offers people to enable that endless cruelty right now.

“Then how do you have the luxury of lazing about with me?”

“I’ve tasked Aidan with handling business that requires executive decisions for the foreseeable future. As much as it annoys me, I will likely have to answer calls like this morning, but I’ve informed him that I will not be leaving the base unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

You lift your head, curious. He looks down at you, relaxed, eyes glowing in the low light from the pool.

“Why?”

One corner of his beautiful mouth lifts. “Guess.”

You stare at him. He’s taking time off, not pursuing new deals, not focusing on growing his wealth… for you? Ridiculous. 

“What will you do while you’re not doing business?” you ask, not able to bring yourself to guess out loud that he took time off for you, to spend time with you while you’re staying with him.

“What do you want to do?” He runs his fingers along your temple, brushes a lock of hair behind your ear, traces the shell of it with a fingertip.

“That’s not an answer,” you say, softly.

“Yes, it is.”

You can’t believe it. The man who is always on the go, from one deal to the next, disappearing for weeks at a time, doing who knows what, who knows where—the man who probably gets bored out of his mind while instigating a riot—says that he just wants to do whatever you want to do. You, whose idea of excitement is a new pair of sleep pants and a night off to watch let’s plays of horror games that you don’t have the time and energy to play yourself anymore.

“You can’t mean that.” You frown at him.

“Try me,” he challenges.

You try to think of something that he’d hate just to prove your point that he doesn't actually mean it when he says he’ll do whatever you want.

“Oh, kitten’s plotting,” he snickers after seeing your expression.

“I want to watch every Justin Bieber documentary ever produced,” you say defiantly. You really don’t. But you’re sure he’ll balk at this outrageous suggestion.

He shrugs a little. “Okay. We can see if they’re on demand in the theater room. If not, I’m sure we can pirate them.”

You narrow your eyes. He can’t mean it. Fuck, if he’s going to call your bluff, you’re going to have to actually sit through who knows how many hours of Justin Bieber: Our World. You barely suppress a shudder.

“Actually, I want to fly to a warm seaside resort and swim with dolphins,” you try, the picture of casual entitlement. You do not want to do this. You’re fucking tired. The last thing you want to do is get on an airplane.

“Dolphins can be as vicious as humans, but if you really want that, we can pack some things now and be on our way by dinner,” he says calmly. As if the suggestion isn’t utterly outrageous.

Is he being as petty as you, intent on not admitting that he didn’t actually mean it when he said he would do whatever you want, or does he actually want to do whatever the fuck you want? You can’t read him at all right now.

You’re desperate and stubborn. “Actually, I think the amusement park in Linkon City is having a furry event all week. I’d like to dress up as our respective fursonas and ride the roller coasters all day.” 

Sylus doesn’t even blink. “Do you have a fursuit already, or do we need one tailored before we can go?”

You laugh in disbelief and rest your forehead on his shoulder. “What about you? Do you have a fursuit already?”

“No, I don’t have a fursuit, because I’m not a fucking furry,” he says drily.  “But I do think I’d make a very majestic caracal cat. Which goes nicely with your kitten fursona.”

You blink. “That's quite self-aware of you." And then you scowl. "My fursona wouldn’t be as lame as a kitten.”

“Oh? What animal do you think accurately portrays your personality?”

You lift your head and think. You’ve never really thought about it. Something small and mean, probably. “A mongoose.”

He tilts his head, considering. “That actually fits you quite well. Good at hunting snakes, and very, very cute.”

You can feel yourself blushing. “Yeah, well. I’m not a furry, so it doesn’t matter even if it doesn’t fit,” you mumble a little.

“And yet you want to go to the furry event at the amusement park,” he lifts an eyebrow. 

You stare at him, mulishly. You’re not going to admit that you’re trying to poke holes in his patience because you can’t trust nice things.

“But I don’t think that’s what you actually want to do,” he continues, with a gentleness that hurts your heart. He urges you to wrap your legs around his waist. “When I said you could test me, this is not exactly what I had in mind,” he teases. “How about you test me by telling me what you actually want to do, and then you’ll see that I mean what I say when I refrain from complaining about being bored while we do them?”

You wrap your arms around his neck as he stands gracefully, the water sliding down both your bodies. “I don’t want you to just not complain about being bored,” you argue. “I don’t want you to be bored at all. You don’t have to entertain me while I’m here. You can do whatever you really want to do.” You mean this. It’s enough, just being in the same house as him right now. Knowing that in the evening he’ll end up in the same bed as you. You don’t want him to tire of you too quickly by insisting that he spend every moment with you.

“Then I repeat—what do you want to do?”

Okay. Okay, he asked for it.

“Show me your favorite things to do at home, when you’re not being a warlord.”

He looks surprised. “That’s it?”

“Yeah. I’m really tired. I never get a chance to just relax. I don’t want to go anywhere, or do anything exciting.” You bite your lip, unwilling to admit that you’re desperate to learn more about him and that worried he’s going to think you’re boring. 

He leans forward and catches the side of your lip not caught in your own teeth with his. With your lip between his sharp teeth, he pulls back, gently, until you release it from your own. He pauses, inhales, and then lets go, licking your bitten lip with a quick, soothing flick of his tongue.

“That’s my spot,” he murmurs, pulling back.

Your brain is offline. You have no idea what you were just talking about, or what just happened. All you can feel is the slick of his saliva on the plush of your lip.

Fuck.

You want to fuck him so badly.

You search his face. Can he tell? Does he feel the same way? He touches you like this, and then does nothing. What does he want?

If he can tell what’s going on in your head, he doesn’t comment on it. “Then we can stay home. I’ll show you what I like to do when I’m tired and don’t want to do anything exciting.” His faint smile is tinged with self satisfaction.

“Okay,” you choke out. You will not slide down his body, push him onto the soft moss, and jump on him. 

“But first, I will feed you.” The tendrils of his evol bring the fluffy towels to his waiting hand, and he wraps one around you, all while you cling to his torso. He just drapes the other around his shoulders, over your arms still wrapped around his neck. His evol then ferries the two cocktails that remained untouched for the whole time you were in the hot tub, following you back through the pool room and into the chill hallway as Sylus carries you to the kitchen. Between the heat of Sylus’s body and the towels blanketing you, you’re still warm. You watch the drinks following you over his shoulder, and then glance at him.

At your look, he says, “What? It would be a shame to let perfectly good drinks go to waste.”

“What time is it? Don’t you think it’s a bit early to start drinking?”

He shrugs. “It’s probably past midnight, sweetheart. That’s when one normally drinks alcoholic beverages, isn’t it?”

You sigh. “So it’s basically noon in your day-night cycle.”

“Time is a construct, and inherently meaningless,” he says serenely.

After this insufferable response, you give up trying to save his liver for the moment.

____________________

Later, after Sylus serves you a meal packed with protein that pairs nicely with the cocktails as the fire crackles pleasantly and the clouds, reflecting the N109 Zone’s bright lights even at night, sweep across the sky outside his kitchen windows, after you’ve showered and put on warm, comfortable clothes, you find him in the sitting area of his bedroom, reading a book, the Beatles playing on his record player. You recognize the song— The long and winding road. 

You stop, suddenly overcome with an overwhelming sense of sorrow. He looks up from his book and watches you curiously.

You left me standing here, a long long time ago

You feel like you’re forgetting something very, very important. Like your dream last night, but not about your family. About the man watching you inquisitively, his long, graceful fingers holding the book gently, the outline of his aquiline nose limned in the soft lighting of his bedroom.

Don’t leave me waiting here, lead me to your door

You suddenly can’t bear to be separated from him for one more second. You pad to him on your freshly bandaged feet, knock the book out of his hand, clamber into his lap, and hug him.

His arms come around you as if he doesn’t mind that you’ve just bulldozed your way onto his lap. After a few minutes, the song ends, and a new, more upbeat one begins.

You feel like you can breathe again.

You sit up, looking down into his face. You want to kiss him so badly. You’re afraid that he’ll gently push you away, as he pushed your hand away from the tie of his sleep pants that you were fiddling with recently. With such kindness, but a loud, resounding rejection of what he perceived to be you offering your body to him.

He’ll bite your lip, but you’re so scared that he doesn’t want to kiss you. Sometimes it seems like he wants you, you, not just a body, not just anyone praising him or challenging him, but you. Do you really still not know? My beloved is perfect to me.  

But what if you’re wrong? What have you done to earn this incredible man's devotion?

“Will you tell me what you’re thinking right now, without the guessing game?” he asks softly. 

You shake your head. “No. And I don’t want to play the guessing game right now.” You can’t bear to think about what you may be forgetting as you look into his blood-bright eyes. You can’t bear to reveal how badly you want to kiss him, only to be rebuffed.

“Not even a hint?” He nudges your nose with his. “Otherwise I’ll spend every free moment sitting around reading, listening to classic rock music.”

You look at him in confusion. “Why?”

“It seemed to work in luring a kitten into my lap this time. Maybe it works every time.”

Your heart is doing something funny. It doesn’t hurt. It feels… it feels so fucking warm. Like in the hot tub. What is happening to you? 

“The music made me sad,” you offer this truth, as a reward for his sweet response.

“Not a fan of the Beatles?” He fiddles with the hem of your shirt, his knuckles brushing against your skin underneath.

“I do like their music. My gran used to listen to them a lot.”

“Is that what made you sad?”

You give him a look. “I said I didn’t want to play the guessing game.”

“I’m just asking questions,” he protests, the picture of innocence. “Is it a crime to want to get to know you?”

You gaze at him. Weren’t you just thinking about how you’re desperate to know everything about him? “Not one I’d arrest you for,” you say, looking down, smiling a little.

He laughs softly. “Lucky me. It would be hard to uphold my end of our deal and show you the music room, the library, and my favorite part of the greenhouse from behind bars.”

“That sounds like a busy itinerary,” you say, lifting a finger, tracing his clavicle revealed by his soft v-neck sweater.

His knuckles sweep over your skin just above the band of your soft pants.

“We have time—we don’t have to do everything today. Which one do you want to see first?”

You don’t care. Your heart is being weird and Sylus is touching you, and you’re touching Sylus. You could just sit here, forever, and enjoy whatever this… feeling is. But you’re afraid you’ll ruin it. Like you always do. If you take too much, he will actually get bored. You should pick one.

“Library,” you say firmly.

“As you wish,” he says, standing, holding you all the while. You can’t bring yourself to protest. You can walk on your own feet. Your feet already feel a little better after just a day. But he’s warm. And he doesn’t seem to mind at all. You drape yourself over him, and let him carry you through the dark halls to his library.

He sets you down outside one of the ubiquitous black doors, and then opens it for you. 

His library, like the greenhouse, the pool, the room like a mountain hot spring, is lovely in a way that the rest of his house simply isn’t. Soaring ceilings, heavy built-in wooden bookcases lining the walls, a huge fireplace, electric as opposed to the wood-fireplace from the kitchen, at one end of the room. A wrought iron spiraling staircase leads up beyond the heavy wooden rafter beams to a space you can’t see. Deep red, plush rugs in antique designs hush your footsteps. Plush, deep seated chairs and loveseats, side tables with Tiffany lamps gently illuminate the space. One wall of his preferred floor-to-ceiling windows letting in the N109 Zone night, the red moon bright in the sky as the clouds scuttle past. 

It’s like a library from an old, prestigious university. The kind of university you always wished you could have gone to, if you lived in another world. If this world didn’t need people prepared to kill and die for existential threats to humanity. Where you could study something functionally useless, but enriching to the human experience. Like French literature or poetry. The room smells of wood oil, old paper. 

You turn in a circle and find Sylus leaning against a bookcase, watching you take in the room. “This is one of your favorite spots in the house?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“It’s quiet. The twins aren’t big readers, so they don’t come in here. It’s a good place to think, and concentrate.”

“Have you read every book in here, like you’ve seen every film in your collection?”

He straightens from the bookcase and walks to you. As he comes to a stop in front of you, he reaches for your face, holds your cheeks gently in his hands. “No. This room is more about the future. Books I’d like to read when life is a little less busy. I’ve read some, but not as many as I would like.”

“Do you think that someday your life will be less busy?”

“If I have my way, yes.”

“And you’ll spend your days quietly reading in the solitude of your lovely library?”

“Not in solitude. But yes. You think it’s lovely?”

You look at him strangely. Didn't he just say he enjoys it because it's quiet and no one bothers him here? “Of course I do. It’s like someone designed it just for me.”

He looks down into your face, thumbs brushing across your cheekbones.

“Like I said. This room is about the future.”

You tilt your head at his non-sequitur. What does your loving the library have to do with his quieter future?

It almost sounds like…

The moment is full. You refuse to shatter it by considering such outrageous thoughts. You will enjoy this moment for what it is. A peek into the mind of this enigmatic man. The opportunity to explore a beautiful, private space in his home.

“Read to me,” he orders, striding to one of the soft couches and plopping down.

You snort. “What do you want me to read you, your spoiled highness?”

“Anything you want. Look around, pick something that catches your interest.” He lets his head drop onto the back of the couch, eyes half-lidded as they follow you walking to one of the bookcases, as you let your fingertips run along the spines of book after book. You see a lot of titles you don’t recognize. You see a lot that you do—classics as well as newer publications. You and Xavier spend enough time in the bookstore that you know a lot of titles by sight, even if these days you rarely have the time to read beyond the manga you share with your partner.

Your eyes catch on a familiar title.

“Oh,” you breathe.

“Find something?” Sylus asks languidly.

“One of my favorite poets. Gran had a copy of this.” You pluck the book from the shelf and walk back over to where Sylus is sprawled on the couch. The moonlight through the windows makes his eyes look even brighter than usual, glowing in the soft light.

“You’re a fan of poetry?” he asks, eyebrows lifting.

“Don’t act so surprised. I’m not entirely uncultured.”

“Your manga collection could have fooled me,” he teases.

“Manga is art. You’re a pretentious fool if you can’t recognize that.”

“No need to get your knives out, kitten,” he smiles, one sharp tooth peeking from behind his full lip. “I have a collection of manga here as well.”

“You do?”

He just steadily stares at you.

“Where?”

He closes his eyes. “Guess you’ll have to stay long enough to explore and find it.”

You stand over him, drinking in the sight of him. Surrounded by the scent of books, polished wood, the moon’s red light rendering him slightly otherworldly.

You want to stay long enough to find out. It’s only been two days, and you want to live in this moment forever. You're so greedy. You're so unworthy.

“Still want me to read to you?”

Instead of answering, the tendrils of his evol wind up from your ankles to your waist, lift you, deposit you on the seat next to him. He scoots down, places his head in your lap.

“You could have just said yes,” you say drily. “No need to be dramatic.”

“I don’t hear any reading. Chop chop.”

Oh hell no. You scowl down at him, but his eyes are closed. “Lap service costs extra.”

“Good thing I’m filthy rich.”

You scoff. “I don’t want your money.”

He opens his eyes. “I suspected as much. It makes taming you all the more difficult.”

You look at him curiously. “Is that what you’re doing? All of your generosity, in order to acquire a tame hunter?”

“What use is a tame hunter?” He dismisses your suggestion. “Your imagination is distressingly limited.”

“Once again, I disappoint,” you murmur. He clearly isn’t in the mood to answer your questions.

He tsks and closes his eyes again, wiggles a little to get more comfortable in your lap. “Make up for it by reading your favorite poetry to me.”

You want to lean down and kiss the smug look off of his face. You don’t want him to turn away if you do.

You begin to read.

“Try to praise the mutilated world.

Remember June's long days,

and wild strawberries, drops of rosé wine.”

He interrupts you. “I see why you like Zagajewski. Someone else who shares your taste in middling wine.”

“No comments until the end, thank you,” you jostle his head by bouncing your thigh a few times.

He scowls, places one big hand on your thigh and presses down. “Stingy. This should be interactive storytelling.”

You ignore the howling need in you to grab his hand, to guide it further up your leg. You continue to read.

“The nettles that methodically overgrow

the abandoned homesteads of exiles.

You must praise the mutilated world.

You suddenly think of the N109 Zone and all of its misery. Paying the price of some shitty corporation’s greed. But you keep reading.

You watched the stylish yachts and ships;

one of them had a long trip ahead of it,

while salty oblivion awaited others.”

You pause, thinking about Sylus’s wealth, the wealth of people like him, and everyone else. The yachts, versus the ships that will sink.

“That’s not the end. Why have you stopped?” Sylus's voice jerks you out of your thoughts.

“You know this poem?”

“I own the book, don’t I?”

“You said you hadn’t read everything in here.”

“Point,” he concedes. “But yes, I know this poem. I’m also an admirer of the poet.”

You think about him calling you kindred spirits, when you first met. How angry that idea made you. Now, you want to lean down and kiss him. You shake your head a little. You keep reading.

“You've seen the refugees going nowhere,

you've heard the executioners sing joyfully.

You should praise the mutilated world.

Remember the moments when we were together

in a white room and the curtain fluttered.”

Sylus interrupts you again. “I always liked the imagery of the moments spent together, the simplicity of the white room, the curtain fluttering. What more can one desire, when at their love’s side?”

You don't think you've ever heard him say something so romantic. But why would you have? You're not in a romantic relationship with him. Your heart doesn't seem to understand that fact—something inside you thrills that his idea of romance mirrors yours so closely. But his focus on the gentle moment, instead of the rest of the poem, strikes you as strange. “That’s what you see? Not the lovers enjoying simplicity, safety, while the refugees are going nowhere, and the executioners are singing joyfully?”

“The point of the poem is that you must wrest joy from an imperfect world where you can. You’re not helping the condemned by moping about their fate.”

“Is that the point? Perhaps the point is that all you can do is try to praise the mutilated world, but it’s fruitless. If that were the point, he would have entitled it 'Praise the mutilated world,' not 'Try to praise the mutilated world.' ‘Trying’ isn’t succeeding—try all you want, but it’s impossible to praise the world as it is. Better to use your yacht to save those drowning in the salty oblivion.”

“Idealist,” Sylus scoffs, as if the label is a profanity instead of a compliment.

You jostle his head again. “Cynic,” you retort.

“You’re not done,” he sniffs, closing his eyes again.

You resist the urge to buck your hips in order to dump him on the floor. You read again.

“Return in thought to the concert where music flared.

You gathered acorns in the park in autumn

and leaves eddied over the earth's scars.

Praise the mutilated world

and the gray feather a thrush lost,

and the gentle light that strays and vanishes

and returns.”

You finish, filled with a strange feeling. You’ve loved this poem ever since the first time you read it with the sunshine gushing into your gran’s living room on a slow summer day. As you grew, you loved it for different reasons, for its ambiguity, its hope and its resignation, its acknowledgment of the horrors of life and its simple pleasures. It always felt familiar to you, but the specific imagery reading it this time around is familiar in a way that feels concrete. 

You think about the gray feather, the light that strays and vanishes and returns. You think about the feeling while listening to the Beatles, that you’re forgetting something important. You think about Sylus’s casual dismissal of the suffering of others.

Calling suffering fate seems like a convenient excuse to you. Why bother trying to make the world better, if fate deems that it should be miserable?

You think about sipping the rosé, biting the strawberry Sylus offered you. Your curtains fluttering in the breeze in your room, when Sylus has come to your place at night. These things you have enjoyed, as people suffer beyond the safety of your apartment and Sylus’s fortress walls. 

“Stop torturing yourself, darling,” he says through your racing thoughts. He turns his head, presses his lips against your thigh, inhales deeply. It’s not a kiss, but you feel the press of his mouth through the fabric of your pants as if it were. You resist the urge to spread your thighs further.

“Should I read another?” you ask quietly. You don’t want to think about these things. You want to live in the moment. What kind of person does that make you? The desire to ignore the cost of this pleasure, your enjoyment of Sylus's home, proves that you don’t deserve it. 

“Of course,” he says, but his phone vibrates in his pocket. He grunts unhappily as he reluctantly sits up, sliding the phone from his pocket. “Keep exploring,” he says, heading to the door. “I’ll try to make this quick.”

So you do. Wandering amongst the books, finding other titles that are your favorites, but so many that you’ve never read, never heard of. Many of them are not in your native language. You wonder how many languages Sylus speaks.

After a surprisingly short amount of time, he returns. "Read more to me," he orders, sprawling on the couch once more.

You look back at him, admiring the wrought-iron staircase spiraling up, the moon through the windows, his long, strong body casually stretched along the couch.

“Can we light the fire?”

“Of course. Fire," he says, and the fireplace flares to life at his command. You wonder if such a system is in place in each room. You wander back to the couch, and he pulls you down. You read him the rest of the poems from this collection, arguing here and there, learning his favorite parts, both matching and diverging from your own. Until your stomach growls, causing him to nuzzle it, insist on taking you to the kitchen and feeding you another meal. After you're once again full, he offers to show you the conservatory.

“Okay,” you say, relaxed, satisfied. He wraps his arms around you, lifts. You let him, wrapping your legs around his waist. You think about a gentle light that strays and vanishes and returns. What are you forgetting?

He takes you to the music room. It’s behind another black door. You would never be able to guess, walking through his solemn hallways, each expansive room unfolding behind each uniform door.

As you walk into the beautiful space, you’re struck with the realization that Sylus’s home is strange in many ways, and not just because it serves as both his home and his fortress, an armory and an indoor playground. The halls are winding and despite the height of the ceilings on each floor, they’re oppressive. There is no open floor plan for the house itself. Each room’s door can be closed, barricaded, turning the room within into a bunker. But behind each door, each room fans out, soaring windows, high ceilings, glass giving way to a savage view of the harsh landscape in a way that renders even the ugliness of the N109 Zone beautiful in a stark, barren-planet kind of way. You suspect that the glass is bullet-proof. You wonder what kind of impacts it can withstand beyond firearms. Could it survive a thrown grenade? A direct strike from a drone? Would anyone dare actually wage a full-on assault on the leader of Onychinus’s home?

“Not even the greenhouse rendered you speechless, kitten. Does that mean you like it, or hate it?”

You blink. You had been so busy wondering about the strategic choices of Sylus’s architectural design that you hadn’t even begun admiring the metal support beams, curling like vines in a distinct art nouveau style between multiple panes of glass, each meeting at the pinnacle of a glass ceiling. Two of the larger glass panes are not the standard window glass, but are stained glass, continuing the art nouveau theme, depicting colorful curls of plants, flowers, as well as animals—beasts from mythology, dragons, phoenixes, winged chimeras. Luscious potted plants scattered along the white marble floor. A white grand piano sitting in the center of the circular space. Instruments of all kinds, from all parts of the world, hung or resting on more organically wrought metal display mounts along two-thirds of the glass walls. A seating area, filled with comfortable, low furniture, carved blond wood in flowing, plant-like designs, sits between the piano and the view of the landscape through the clear glass, framed by the murals of stained glass.

It’s breathtaking. But you’ve had your breath taken by the greenhouse, the pool, the room with the hot tub, the library. Each in a distinctly different style from the rooms of the house that see daily use by their owner: Sylus’s bedroom. The kitchen. The hallways. The imposing dining room and its equally imposing banquet table. The cave-like theater room. Each dark—black marble, maroon accents, deeply masculine, modern, abstract art. But the rooms that have taken your breath instead of making you feel oppressed are so startlingly different from Sylus’s often-used spaces.

You can’t accept the moment. You can’t stand not knowing, even as you are afraid to know. You have to ask. “I don’t understand,” you say, turning to him.

He glances around the room, and then looks back at you. “It’s a home conservatory, sweetheart. Not a trick question.”

You ignore him. Your curiosity will eat you alive if you don’t ask him. You want to know. You don’t want to know. “Why does it feel like two different people designed your house?”

His eyebrows lift in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Half of your house is edgy, big-dick rich vampire man-cave, and half is this,” you sweep an arm to indicate the delicate yet sturdy steel beams, organically curving into the height of the room, the chairs carved like palms, stained glass, the lush vegetation.

“Can one person not appreciate more than one style of home decor?” he asks, walking over to you, winding an arm around your waist.

You stare at him. Nothing Sylus does is by accident. You know this much by now. You know a lot about him by now. You don’t know enough about him by now.

“The parts of the house you spend the most time in reflect your style. But the other parts… the parts that wait for an owner that rarely comes. Did you choose the design yourself? Or did you let your architect run wild?”

His smile is faint as he gazes down at you. “How very observant of you, darling. But I designed every room in this house. The architect modified the plans where necessary to ensure the structural integrity was sound, but I chose the decor.”

You wait. It sounded like he ended that sentence with a ‘but.’

“You’re right. I didn’t have just my preferences in mind as I was planning each room.”

You want to know. You don’t want to know. What if you’re wrong? The very idea is insane. Presumptuous. How could he possibly know? You only met him a few months ago. This base isn’t newly built. You have no idea how long I’ve already waited, his voice whispers through your mind.

“Whose preferences did you have in mind?” you ask, your heart doing that thing again. That weird thing that doesn’t hurt but scares you with how good it feels. Don’t leave me waiting here, lead me to your door.

His smile widens, just a little. “Do you really not know?”

You can’t process this. How could he have known?

It’s like these oases in his dark fortress of a home were designed with your deepest heart’s desires in mind. 

You want to kiss him. You want to resonate with him again. You want to drop to your knees in front of him.

The enormity of your feelings is terrifying.

What if you’re wrong?

How much worse will it be, if you let yourself believe, and he turns you away. What if he designed all of this for someone else. Because how could he have known, before you met just a few months ago—how could he have known the contours of your tastes, the things that make you most comfortable, the yearning of your heart in your small apartment, of what you’d give yourself if you could ever afford to make your home exactly how you would want? A refuge from the harsh world. Space to breathe.

Your feelings are choking you. You step away from his embrace, turn. You have time. He said he’ll wait. You focus on this room.

It’s beautiful. Because of course it is. You don’t recognize even half of these instruments.

You turn back to him. He has moved to the piano, straddling the white bench, legs spread, just watching you.

“Do you know how to play all of these?”

He shakes his head. “No. Most of these are collector’s items, antiques. But I do know how to play the piano.”

You stand, resisting the constant pull towards him. You want to go to him, run your hands through his hair, tug his head back, expose his throat, bite.

“Only the piano?” You satisfy your need to move by walking over to the sitting area, forcing yourself to sit away from him. You need to control yourself. You plop down on one of the beautiful chairs, carved like a ginkgo leaf.

He turns, sitting properly on the bench in order to face you, and opens the cover over the piano keys. He leisurely presses down on one key, and the note resounds through the lovely room.

“I can also play the organ,” he murmurs, before beginning to play in earnest.

You don’t recognize the piece. You know you’ve never heard it before. But the longer he plays, the more you’re overcome with the sense that you know it. The blood under your skin, your lungs, your bones—you feel pulled to him, to his long fingers sweeping over the keys, unseen from your vantage point in the room. You know what’s coming, the crescendos and the pauses. It’s beautiful. It hurts. Your thoughts drift to the poem. Its strawberries, its rosé wine. Its familiarity. Return in thought to the concert where the music flared. You want to ask Sylus if he owns a yacht. You’re convinced that there will be a park, and acorns, and you will pick them up and offer them to him on a sunny summer morning after a long, long night. It has already happened. It will happen in the future.

You can’t resist the pull any longer. You stand and walk over to him, stand next to him at the bench. His hands hypnotize you. Big. Rough. Delicately pressing the keys—sure, confident, flowing. Like his evol. Like him.

“Sit,” he orders, and you obey, sliding in next to him. You try to give him space, but he takes one hand, still playing with the other, and pulls you by the waist until you’re shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. 

You watch his hands, lost in the moment, lost in the feeling of recognition, of … something. That warm feeling in your heart, threaded with the pain of having lost something that you can’t remember.

Slowly, the piece comes to an end. His hands become still on the keys.

“What song was that?” you ask.

He flicks his eyes to yours.

“It doesn’t have a name.”

“Who composed it?” You hope that perhaps you can track it down later and listen to it again when Sylus isn’t around.

“Me,” he says, turning his head to look at you.

Wait, what?

“It’s already shocking enough that you play, but when do you have the time to compose?”

He lifts one of your hands and threads his fingers with yours. “Why so shocked that I have hobbies, like anyone else?”

“I just figured you’re always too busy with murder, mayhem, and munitions to have hobbies like a normal person,” you squeeze his hand as it swallows yours.

“I don’t have a lot of free time, but when I do, I like to spend some of it practicing and composing. Sometimes when I’m bored during business meetings I compose a little in my head and then write it out when I get home.” 

At your incredulous look, he flicks your forehead gently with his free hand. “What would you have guessed that I spend my free time doing if it occurred to you that I do not, in fact, work in every waking moment?”

You consider it. “I would have assumed you spend all your free time hanging out in your shady nightclubs.”

He frowns at you. “I own classy nightclubs because they make me money and provide convenient venues for business deals now that I no longer host such deals in my own home. I do not spend any more time in them than necessary.”

“Is that what you meant when you said that Amnesia isn’t really your vibe?”

“You remember,” he says, sounding pleasantly surprised. 

“Even though it feels like weeks ago, you did just tell me that like, two nights ago,” you flick his forehead in revenge.

“Fair point,” he concedes. “All right, then, yes. That’s what I meant.”

“So what is your vibe?”

“Curious, kitten?”

“Yes.” That warm feeling you have is overriding your fears of admitting this to him. You want to know him. You want to know everything about him.

“It’s easier to show you my vibe,” he shrugs. “We’ll make a date of it.”

He dropped the “fake” part again.

His phone begins to vibrate in his jeans pocket again.

He frowns in irritation. You stand, forcing yourself to move away from him.

“I’ll entertain myself,” you smile at his questioning look. He holds onto your hand as you move away, until your arm and his are stretched between you, and then he lets go.

You’re thankful for the interruption. Too much unadulterated time being the subject of Sylus’s entire focus makes you think insane things. Like that he designed parts of his house with you in mind. That you know music that you’ve never heard before. That you’re forgetting something important about him, even though you only met him recently. That a poem you read in your youth is a roadmap of things that have already happened between you and the man pacing behind the door, and what will happen before the light strays, vanishes… returns again.

You step into the hallway and wander back toward the kitchen. After a few minutes, you hear the flap of Mephisto’s wings. He’s keeping you company again. You keep walking.

You’re distracted halfway to the kitchen, however, when you hear voices coming from the theater room. It sounds like the twins, and someone else whose voice is familiar, but you can’t pinpoint it. You knock.

“No need to knock,” one of the twins yells.

You open the door and peek into the room. It’s dark, with all the lights dimmed.

On the large screen where you almost watched a movie with Sylus the other night, a video game is playing.

Luke sits on one of the loveseats, holding a game controller, while Kieran is squished onto the same small loveseat with him, their two big bodies barely fitting, hiding his face in Luke’s shoulder.

Noah is sprawled out on another loveseat, perfectly at ease. She gives you a lazy wave.

Luke pauses the game and looks over his shoulder at you.

“Boss busy?” he asks as Kieran lifts his head, a look of relief on his face at the interruption.

“Business call,” you say, nodding. You stare at the screen. It looks like…

“Are you playing the Silent Hill 2 remake?” you squeal.

“Yeah! Since boss is on a little holiday, he gave us the time off as well. Figured we’d finally play it.”

“Are you a fan of the original?” Kieran asks.

You nod. “Huge fan. I was so excited when they announced the remake, but I’ve been too busy with work to play it.”

“Wanna join? Kieran is too scared to look half the time. We can take turns, if you want,” Luke offers, sounding pleased to have another person to share the game with.

You seriously consider his offer, but you’re still so tired. You don’t really want to learn the controls mid-way through a playthrough. Weren’t you just thinking about watching let’s plays of horror games you haven’t had a chance to play yet? You can watch Luke play without having to do a thing.

“I’m good, but do you mind if I stay and just watch until Sylus is done?”

“Is that even a question? Get in here.”

Luke unpauses the game, and the familiar sounds of the world of Silent Hill, with amazing, updated graphics fills your vision. You slink inside the room and sit on another love seat, preferring to give Noah her space since she’s sprawled out like she already owns the place.

You watch as Kieran hides his face in Luke's shoulder again as a lying figure jerkily lumbers towards James Sunderland.

Apparently Noah notices Kieran’s fear as well.

“Aren’t you one of the feared Raptors of Onychinus? Like, you’re famous in the Zone. How can the same person who is known for intentionally leaving mutilated corpses in public as warnings to your boss’s enemies be afraid of video game monsters?”

You turn and stare at the twins, a little horrified. Not entirely surprised, because you know what kind of man Sylus is. You know what his organization stands for. But mutilated dead bodies? Where normal people just trying to get through their shitty workday, where kids can see them?

“That’s fucked up,” you say out loud.

“Hey, you’re a fucking cop. We know what cops are capable of,” Kieran says softly, with a flatness in his tone you’ve never heard before. Noah looks between you and Kieran like she wishes she has popcorn. “Don’t act like what you sometimes do is any better than our calling card.” Luke kills a monster shaped like two shapely pairs of legs attached at the waist with a metal pipe, and it dies loudly. He stomps on it for good measure. “At least we’re honest about it, and don’t hide behind a shield of so-called legitimacy. People know what they’re getting when they deal with us.”

You look at Kieran thoughtfully. It’s difficult to admit, but he has a point. You know that there are corrupt hunters. The so-called Tenebrae. You also recognize that dark part of yourself, when you’re faced with someone who you know has done terrible things, and the itch to pull the trigger before you can bring them in. You know that innocent people suffer at the hands of criminals and law enforcement alike.

Kieran stares steadily back at you, his normally cheerful face serious. “How did you come to work for Sylus?” you ask.

Luke pauses the game. “We don’t talk about that,” he says in the same flat tone that his brother just spoke in.

“Oh?” you say, because you don’t want to continue to pry, and you don’t know what else to say.

“Boss says it doesn’t matter where we come from. Only where we’re going. So there’s no use talking about the past if we don’t want to.”

“And you don’t want to?” Noah asks, the look of entertainment morphing into something else on her face.

The twins shake their heads in unison.

You think she’s going to say something snarky, but she just nods. “Then you shouldn’t. No one is entitled to your story.”

“That’s what boss says. I see why he hired you now,” Kieran says, smiling at her, the odd stillness broken.

“He hired me because I’m fucking awesome,” Noah sniffs, flicking her braids behind her shoulder. They’re down now, spilling over her back.

You tilt your head. “Are you a new hire?” For some reason you thought that Noah had been Sylus’s driver for a long time.

“Did he not tell you?” she asks, looking at you strangely.

“Tell me what?”

“I’m not gonna do his work for him,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“Huh?”

“Don’t worry about it,” she smiles at you, and it’s unnerving instead of soothing. “Anyway, yeah I’m a new hire. You’re gonna be seeing a lot of me in the future.”

Although Kieran seems to have reached some sort of approval of Noah, Luke still shudders and starts the game again.

You let it go. You’ll ask Sylus about Noah’s weird comment later. Instead of dwelling on it, you sink into admiring the awesome graphics, the atmosphere, your childhood nostalgia rendered in state of the art graphics

When the sirens go off as James is about to enter the Other World, you have a sudden flashback to playing the original Silent Hill 2 with Caleb. You were also too afraid, like Kieran, to play yourself, so you just clutched Caleb’s arm as he held the controller, and you delighted in the safety of vicarious thrills, of Caleb’s reassuring, solid presence at your side as you experienced the story. You suddenly miss him so, so much. The feeling of loss is overwhelming.

The sudden punch of grief leaves you breathless. Everyone else is so focused on the screen, they don’t notice your gasp. You want to watch. You’ve been wanting to experience the remake ever since the developers announced it, over a year ago. You want to experience it with who you are tentatively thinking of as your new friends. But you need a second to ground yourself before you can bring yourself to keep watching. 

Your force your voice through your throat. “I’m going to grab a snack. Do you guys want anything from the kitchen?”

“Popcorn!” Noah calls.

“We’re good,” Luke answers, because apparently Kieran is almost catatonic with terror.

“All right, be right back.” You take your time getting to the kitchen, Mephisto following you out the theater room door. You rifle through the fridge, shove some snacks into your mouth. You’re shocked to find microwave popcorn in one of the cupboards. Sylus strikes you as the kind of snob who insists on popping loose kernels on the stove, or over the fire in the fireplace. Nothing so pedestrian as store-bought and in the microwave. You snicker, that feeling of sorrow fading as you engage in everyday tasks, with company to look forward to. You’re not alone right now. You’re excited to see more of what the devs retained from the original game and what they added or changed in the remake. You head back to the theater room, but accidentally drop the bag of popcorn before you can open the door. As you pick it up, you can hear Noah.

“You know you don’t actually have to kill every monster you encounter, right?” She asks in barely disguised disdain.

“You know that you don’t actually have to offer your opinion when no one asked, right?” Luke snarks.

“Oooh, someone’s grumpy because he isn’t going to have an advantage in the bet like he thought,” Noah says through a snicker.

“What advantage? We agreed not to interfere. Boss is gonna have it in the bag even before the two weeks are up even without our help,” Luke responds.

“If he doesn’t fumble it by being too passive,” Kieran adds, thoughtfully.

“What ‘help?’ I bet your help would result in more delay than progress,” Noah taunts. “I probably don’t even have to do anything to counter your nonsense. You’ll do all my work for me.”

“Hey, flooding the guest floor was a good idea,” Luke protests.

This is just met with a cackle. 

You stand, frozen. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But what is their boss going to have in the bag without their help? What bet?

Something inside of you already knows. Hadn’t you thought earlier that the twins probably made a bet out of your obvious, pathetic crush?

But they said it was about their boss achieving something. Not about your feelings.

You don’t want to know.

You try desperately to cling to that warm feeling you’ve had since the pool.

Boss is gonna have it in the bag.

You spin on your heel, intending to return to the kitchen without them knowing you heard anything, just to buy yourself time to process. But of course, you promptly knock over another ugly sculpture. It shatters on the floor.

You stand there in your bandaged feet, holding the popcorn, staring down at the mess you just made.

The door swings open and Kieran, Luke, and Noah jostle each other to see what just happened in the hallway.

“Sorry,” you say. What the fuck else can you say?

“What happened?” Kieran asks.

“Just me being clumsy,” you say, trying to smile.

Luke squints at you. “Oh shit.” He turns to Kieran. “They’re making that horrible face again.”

Kieran stares at you.

Noah flicks her braids and tilts her head, examining you like an art critic trying to find meaning in a child’s finger painting. “What does that face mean?”

“It means they heard what we were discussing,” Kieran says grimly.

Luke glares at Noah. “What are you even doing here? Now the bet is fucked and boss is gonna be mad because his hunter’s making that expression again. Look at them. We’ve hurt their feelings!” He gestures at you.

She glares back. “Boss told me to report here for duty every day to remain on standby in case the hunter wants to go anywhere. What are you doing here?” she sneers.

“We live here,” he answers, looking confused that that’s even a question.

You take a step back, away from the sharp shards of the broken sculpture. Maybe they’ll be too busy arguing to notice.

That good feeling is gone.

You think about every move Sylus has made since the auction. All of his attention, his gentleness, his kindness, his dogged reappearance at your home, his arranging for you to have sick leave.

Would Sylus do all that for a bet?

Is he that bored? Is he that good of an actor?

How on earth would you even know? You don’t know shit about him. You’ve known him for a few months. In that time, you’ve seen him a handful of times. What the fuck are you doing?

You think about that feeling you had while listening to the Beatles, while listening to Sylus play the piano, of forgetting something really important. You want to throw up. 

Yeah, you’re forgetting something all right.

You can’t stand the feeling inside you right now. It’s too big. It’s eclipsing everything you’ve felt up until this point.

You think about what it will take to get out of here.

You think about picking up one of the sculpture’s shards and digging it into your thigh, anything to override this feeling inside you now.

You think about the resonance with Sylus when you woke up. Could he fake that?

His evol is unearthing a person’s deepest desires. But is it more than that? Could he make you feel adored without using his aether core? Did he promise not to use his evol on you because the terms of the bet forbade interference? Your fears send you spiraling.

“Oh no. No, no, no, no,” Luke says, peering at your face again. He takes a step forward, reaching out to you like someone trying to calm a wild animal, his house shoe crunching on the broken bits of sculpture.

You take a step back.

Noah just looks between the twins and you, confused.

“I’m just going for a walk,” you lie. You take another step back, turn, and start to walk down the hallway that will eventually lead to the lift. The lift that goes to the underground garage.

As you round the corner, Luke says,“Get—”

“On it,” Kieran says, with his phone to his ear.

Noah looks thoughtfully down the now empty hallway. “The hunter’s fucked up, huh?”

Luke shrugs. “Aren’t we all?”

Noah frowns at him. “Speak for yourself. You don’t know shit about me.”

“I know that boss hired you after looking into your soul. Which means you’re fucked up too. He isn’t interested in wholesome things or people—too boring.”

“And you?”

“You said it yourself. I really enjoy carving people up.” He shrugs. “Soothes something from our shitty childhood.”

Noah considers him. “Your brother seems to be okay with me now. Are you going to have a problem with me?”

Kieran grins at her. “What makes you think I have a problem with you?”

“You were mean when I suggested you try to stealth around the monsters. And don’t think I didn’t see your reaction when I said I’d be around more often. And acting like the hunter being upset is solely my fault, when we all made the stupid bet.” She counts each piece of evidence on her pretty fingers.

“Who the fuck likes backseat gamers?” He pouts a little. “And I didn’t like being hit on within an hour of meeting you. I don’t like people like that.”

Noah scowls back at him. “You don’t like people like what? ”

“I mean, I don’t like, like people. I get the creeps when people hit on me.”

Her lovely eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Oh.”

“But boss likes you, so I like you. We’re cool, so long as you don’t hit on me again.”

Noah nods.“I was just giving you two shit since you hauled me in front of your scary fucking boss. But I promised boss I wouldn’t do it again.”

“Then we’re cool. And if you don’t like how I play Silent Hill, then you can play if you want.” He opens the door again, gesturing for her to go in ahead.

“Nah man, I like being in the peanut gallery.”

“Does that mean you’re not gonna shut up?”

“You know it.” Noah gives him a big, feral grin.

Luke grins back at her, equally frightening. “Then I’ll be sure to kill every single monster we come across, no matter how much ammo it wastes.” The door swings shut on Kieran standing in the hallway, looking thoughtfully down at the phone in his hand.

_____________________

Sylus hums the melody of the music he played for you as he ends the call with Aidan. Luckily the issue this time could be settled by answering Aidan’s questions, and he can still look forward to a mostly uninterrupted day with you. He wonders where you’ll like to go next. Back to the library? To the greenhouse?

He’s in a great mood, despite the interruption. Every conversation with you convinces him that you’re closer and closer to accepting the truth. That you’re his, and he’s yours. He wants to drag you back to the library, listen to you read to him, argue about poetry—the way your eyes flash when you’re making a counterargument, the sneer in your retorts to his needling you—he wants to kiss you. He wants to kiss you so much it hurts.

His phone vibrates in his pocket again. He clenches his jaw, pauses. He wants to throw the damn thing against the wall and just continue looking for you, business be damned. But he also doesn’t want to leave Aidan in an awkward position. He fishes the phone out of his pocket and accepts the call.

“Boss, your hunter is making a strategic retreat again,” Kieran says breathlessly.

Sylus jerks to a stop.

“Repeat that?” he demands.

“They overheard us talking about the wager,” Kieran explains, sounding pained.

It takes Sylus a second to remember what he’s talking about. “The bet about how long it will take for kitten to realize that I want to date them?”

“Yeah.”

Sylus thinks. Why would you be spooked by a stupid bet between his henchmen and your driver?

“But they—well, they overheard us talking about it, and they don’t know what the wager is actually about. I am afraid that they might have misunderstood something,” Kieran says carefully, like he’s waiting for Sylus’s wrath.

Sylus immediately realizes what probably just happened.

“I left kitten alone for less than twenty minutes,” he sighs. Just his fucking luck. It’s like the universe or some cruel god wants to create obstacles in his path to winning your precious heart.

“Your bet is over,” he barks.

“Understood.”

Sylus ends the call and pulls up Mephisto’s app. You’re walking quickly, with purpose. He squints, trying to figure out which part of the house you’re in. It looks like you’re trying to get to the lift that leads to the underground garage. Sylus dissipates into red and black mist.

_______________

As you walk, you make your way to the garage, not even sure what your plan is. You have that hollow, manic feeling filling you—the feeling that always fills you when you’re hurt like this, when you just need to get out, to outrun your own body and the feelings it contains. This time though, through the noise in your head, you remember your promises to Sylus. About not hurting yourself, but going to him. If you have doubts about his intentions, to go to him. To ask him when you have questions, instead of making assumptions.

But how can you? What’s the point of honoring promises made to a man who thinks your feelings are fair game for a bet? 

You need to think. You don’t want to think. You’re hurting so, so much. You need time. Your body feels like you’re out of time. You miss Caleb. You miss your grandmother. 

It takes all of your self control to stop moving. You hear Mephisto’s wings flapping behind you. You close your eyes. You resist the urge to punch yourself, barely. If you’re just a bet to him, you should punch him instead. You open your eyes and realize you stopped next to a door with an electronic lock blinking on the handle. You turn and look at it fully, and you hear the lock click.

It recognized your face. Just as Kieran and Luke told you all the locks in this house would. Why would Sylus bother programming your face into his home if you’re just a bet?

You watch your hand reach out, grasp the handle. You pull, and the door opens easily. You slip inside and let it close before Mephisto can follow.

The lights flicker on.

You gasp.

It’s like standing inside an upscale jewelry store, built inside a bank vault. Except instead of sparsely filled display cases, designed to emphasize and showcase a select number of precious jewels, each glass case is stuffed with the things. Diamonds. Rubies. Emeralds. A mind-blowing variety of beautiful stones that you don’t even know the names for. Loose stones, as well as jewelry—necklaces, rings, earrings. Where most of Sylus’s house is the picture of meticulous order, this vault looks like a dragon’s hoard of priceless treasures, casually piled high without much thought.

Why would Sylus trust you with access to such wealth, if you were just a bet?

But more importantly, how much death must Sylus Qin sell, to afford such a vault?

How many lives in exchange for each gem?

You turn in a circle as you slowly process the fact that you’re standing in the middle of a sea of blood diamonds.

What are you doing?

What the actual fuck are you doing?

You were just marveling at the luxury of the rooms he designed, filled with the thrilling possibility that he had built them for you. You had thought about the cost of the heating in the hot tub, the pool. And yet you were willing to overlook such expenses. Why? Because at least the pool, the lovely architecture are useful? Because they provide some value to the human experience, even if only a select few will ever get to experience them at Sylus’s house?

But what value do diamonds have? Shiny clumps of compressed carbon. You can’t burn them for warmth. You can’t eat them. Okay, so maybe they’re used in some industrial processes, but for fuck’s sake, artificially created diamonds could serve that purpose. And you’re absolutely sure that the diamonds Sylus has hoarded in this vault are real, products of millions of years of pressure, and not made in some lab.

You sink to the black marble floor. It’s cold. You draw up your knees and hug them.

There’s too much happening in your brain right now. Your grief. Your uncertainty about Sylus’s intentions—the question of who his beloved is. The bet.

The realization that you’re falling in love with a man whose life’s work is bringing misery to others.

You hate yourself. Here you are, thrown into a tailspin from the idea that Sylus may have spent all this time on you because of a bet with his minions, when you should be in a tailspin about the fact that it’s probably already too late for you to stop falling for a man who not only praises the mutilated world, but is one of the people shoving the knife in deeper. 

There is so much you don’t know about him. But what you do know is that Sylus is too busy pouring salt into the wound of the world to dedicate so much time and resources to something as frivolous as a wager about how long it will take for him to get you in the bag. It’s pure, self-pitying hubris to assume otherwise.

You’re focusing on the wrong things, again. You’re forgetting what’s important, again.

What do you want? What can you live with? Why do you feel a connection with this complicated, cruel, ruthless man, as if you’ve known him for more than a few months? What kind of person are you, if despite sitting in a sea of diamonds paid for in other peoples' blood, you still want this merchant of death to come find you, to hold you in his arms, tell you that he wasn't placing bets on how long it would take to have you in the bag?

You begin to rock, somehow resisting all of your terrible urges: to hurt yourself, to run, to set this awful room on fire. You rock, and you hurt, and you wait for the terrible man you’re falling in love with to find you, as he always does.

______________

Sylus finds Mephisto pacing on the floor in front of his gem vault. He caws in distress when he sees his owner re-materialize in the hallway. Sylus finds the fact that you’re in the gem vault, and not currently trying to procure a getaway car, to be a source of hope—a strange feeling for him. What use does he have for hope? He has plans. Plans with contingencies, alternatives, backups. They either succeed because he planned well enough, or they fail because he did not plan well enough. 

Hope has no place in his world.

People suffer and die. Deals are made and broken. Fate is cruel, inflexible. He knows this all too well, no matter how much he’s struggling against fate this time around.

Hope has no place in his world.

But.

You could have kept running. You could be in any one of his vehicles right now, trying to break land speed records to get the fuck away from him, convinced that he was involved in a bet about the biggest gamble of his life.

But you’re not. You’re in his gem vault, for some reason. You strange, unpredictable, delightful creature.

He finds himself hoping that this misunderstanding hasn’t just caused you to retreat beyond his reach again. 

Your fingers in the dip of his clavicle.

The yearning look on your face, that he doesn’t think you even knew you had, when he bit your lip—the closest he’ll allow himself to a kiss until he’s one hundred percent sure you’ll welcome him while awake.

He opens the door.

He pauses, struck with the strange sensation of viewing his greatest treasure surrounded by so much of his material treasure. You belong here. The value of all of these precious stones nothing in comparison to you, shining like a beacon to him at the end of a long and winding road from the marble floor, dimming everything else in this room by comparison.

His house shoes whisper along the cold marble floor where you’re sitting, curled in on yourself.

He has watched you take down wanderers the size of an elephant. All that strength, contained in your huddled body. You look so small to him. He wants to protect you from all the horrors of the world. But of course, he’s the biggest horror of all. Is it any wonder that he keeps hurting you instead?

A better man might keep his distance in an effort to protect you. Like your partner. A better man might know when to quit. Like your dandy artist friend. A better man might be content with loving you from afar. Like your fucking doctor. 

But Sylus is a terrible man, because he’s not going to stop trying to get it right, even as he hurts you in the process, until you order him to stop and mean it.

You don’t look up at the sound of his footsteps, but you also don’t retreat as he approaches.

He sits on the floor next to you, wraps an arm around your shivering shoulders. He pulls you into his arms, feels the rush of hope when you let him.

He cradles your head in his palm.

“The twins bet on everything. Which snail is the fastest on a leaf. Whether it will rain or snow tomorrow. How long it will take someone to bleed out. Whether the traffic light will change in five versus ten seconds,” he says softly into your hair.

“About how long it will take to get your pathetic hunter in the bag?” Your voice is small, just as your body feels in his arms.

“About how long it will take for my beloved to realize how I feel about them,” he sighs.

You stiffen, and he feels a moment of paralyzing fear, before you melt into him. He breathes again.

“What did you bet?” you ask, and Sylus feels the sorrow in your voice like a gunshot in his chest.

You ran, but you stopped. You assumed, but you’re asking questions now. You’re allowing him to touch you, to hold you. The hope in him surges again. 

“I didn’t place a bet in this particular wager,” he manages through the unfamiliar feelings. “But if I had, the gamble would be my whole heart.”

“Does a man who has a dragon’s hoard of wealth, bought with the blood of the guilty and the innocent alike, have a heart?” you ask, finally looking up, your eyes hollow in a way that he doesn’t like.

Sylus is a terrible man. He has never lied to himself about this, or to you. He showed you the worst of himself, the day you met. He has to hope that the fact you’re still here, still asking him questions, means that he hasn’t lost you yet. An unpleasant feeling of doubt slithers through him. Is it the bet upsetting you, or something else?

“Even dragons have hearts, darling.”

You close your eyes. He wants you to open them again. He wants you to look at him. He never wants you to look away from him. Even if you’re looking at him with doubt, or hate, so long as you’re looking at him, that means you’re not leaving him.

“What do you want?” he asks.

You open your eyes again. He is terribly tempted to use his aether core on you, because for once, he can’t read how you’re feeling.

“You offered me time.”

He leans forward, rests his forehead against yours. “And I will give you time.”

“I want to see your favorite part of the greenhouse.”

“And I will show you my favorite part of the greenhouse,” he whispers, breathing, breathing. He can’t tell how you’re feeling, but you smell like home, a door at the end of a long road. The hope grows.

“I want to see Luke and Kieran and Noah play the remake of Silent Hill 2.”

The hope shifts, dissipates. There is no need for hope, once it is fulfilled. You want to stay, for now. He can work with that. Whatever damage learning about the bet caused, he can work with your willingness to stay. If that look in your eyes isn’t about the bet, he has more time to dismantle your walls, to pull it out of you. Just two nights ago, you were running barefoot through the dark. Tonight, you stopped yourself and waited for him to find you. “You’re in luck. They’re still playing.”

You watch him, as if you’re weighing something behind your hollow eyes. “Will you watch with me?”

Of course, he thinks. Of course. You could ask for so much more, and the answer would be the same. “Do you want me to watch with you?”

“I want you to want to watch with me.”

He smiles, his mouth a breath away from yours. You smell like popcorn. He wants to throw a piece in the air, catch it in his mouth, feed it to you. “Again, you bring me luck. We have a win-win deal.”

He stands. Carries you out of his gem vault.

“Why do you have so many jewels?” you ask, quietly.

“In case the authorities freeze my accounts, physical currency will be useful. A sort of insurance.”

You gaze at his face, and he wonders what you see when you look at him. “You’ll escape with a truck full of precious stones?”

“Something like that,” he says.

“No other reason?”

He tells the truth. “I’ve always been fond of shiny things.”

“Do you have a favorite stone?”

He laughs softly. “Whatever stone you’re wearing.”

Instead of looking at him with suspicion, a helpless look crosses your face. Like you’re in pain from his admission. He doesn’t like it. But then you lean forward, press your face into his neck. He tells himself that he has time. He’ll figure out what’s bothering you, and he’ll fix it.

Outside the theater room, he pauses. Looks down at the pieces of shattered sculpture. "If you didn't like it, darling, you could have just said so."

You just mumble that you're sorry.

"We've talked about your apologies," he says, frowning down at you in his arms.

You huff. "Fine. I'm not sorry. That sculpture was edgy and ugly. You should replace it with something beautiful."

"Deal. But only if you come with me to choose something," he says.

"Deal," you say softly, and he still can't tell what's going through your head.

When you enter the theater room, Luke pauses the game. “We’re really sorry for hurting your feelings and shit. The bet was about boss’s rizz, not about you. Please don’t leave.”

Kieran nods in approval, as if he had helped Luke compose this little speech.

Noah just looks at you, face unreadable, as you rest your head on Sylus’s shoulder.

“I had planned to give you a lot of shit. But I think I would’ve lost anyway,” she says, not looking apologetic at all. “It’s only been two days and you’re practically merging into one person.”

Sylus carries you to a loveseat next to the twins, with Noah on their other side.

“Thanks,” you say. “No worries.”

Everyone is awkwardly silent for a moment after your brief response. You seem to notice, and smile a little. “Can we hang out while you play?”

“Fuck yeah,” Luke says, and Kieran groans as the game is unpaused.

After a while, you, Luke, and Noah start discussing the difference between the remake and the original. What everyone likes, what they don’t. Sylus leans back, draws you onto his chest. His relief remains intense as you let him. The discussion moves on to which Silent Hill games are the best in the franchise, which are the worst. Luke and Noah have a good-natured clash about Silent Hill 4: the Room, with only a few insults flung at each other. You and Kieran share your admiration for Bloober Team's Layers of Fear, which Kieran liked because he didn't think it was scary, and which Luke hated, because he thought it was boring. Sylus doesn't give a shit about video games, and certainly not horror games. Life itself is already horrific enough, he doesn't have the patience for manufactured terror. He just listens, feeling your heartbeat against his chest, breathing in your comforting scent.

A feeling of wholeness settles in him, as unfamiliar as hope. As unfamiliar as the happiness from your movie night, just last night. You, Luke, and Noah have moved on to animatedly arguing about some character’s outfit changes between the original and the remake.

He feels like he’s been standing, left behind in the dark for so long, and he’s finally being allowed home. Whatever is bothering you, he’ll fix it. He’ll destroy the world if he has to, to preserve the scene in front of him, so that he can offer you this, so that he can experience this with you, again, and again, and again. His gentle light that strays and vanishes and returns.

End notes: I had planned shenanigans for the twins and Noah to increase their odds in winning the bet, but this story is already out of control with how long it is, and some of the things I thought of were really manipulative and fucked up even if I personally thought they were hilarious, but my brain is craving a softer vibe for this story I guess (lmao if this can be considered soft), so I hope this isn't too much of a let down for the resolution of the bet subplot. I've given up hinting at what's coming next because it turns out I'm very bad at guessing what's next.

[yayll]

heyyy! I just read ur rockstar!Dazai fic and it honestly reminded me of this idea I had!!! (loved the fic btw!) Are you able to write an actor!dazai x fem!actor reader and they r fake dating while secretly being rivals ?? (I’d like 2 be known as 🦎-anon!)

hiiii 🦎 anon hehe

i'm sorry this was quite the wait, i LOVED your idea and i wanted to write it properly and i kind of took some liberties so i hope you enjoy it regardless? thank you for trusting me w your fic idea actor!dazai now haunts me actually dazai in any like, imagine just fucks my shit up that man is a menace in any story i put him in and i'm so glad others agree. i love u baby mwah u get so many ivy kisses

~ a little something about you and actor!Dazai keeping up appearances ~

"You're choking meee!"

"I'm just fixing your tie, Osamu-"

"It's babe, actually."

"It's whatever I want if you want me to keep holding your hand in public, jerk."

He pouts at this. What a cute little meanie you were! Always scolding him and spewing empty threats as if you were hot shit. You were hot shit, and that was only the beginning of his problems... The biggest one right now being backstage with you while attending the hottest awards show of the year.

Just before he can respond, the curtains are drawn and it's a stagehand whisking you two away to present the next award infront of thousands of fans. You're walking side by side, your heels clicking with each step when Dazai leans in to whisper something.

"You should stand on my left, my right side is more attractive."

"We're both facing forward, does it matter?"

He raises a brow and huffs dramatically in typical Dazai fashion. You two had been 'dating' for a year now, everyone was invested in this blooming romance ever since you both started in that drama together, now it's nothing but red hearts for you two.

It wasn't planned, it just kind of happened... It also wasn't completely awful, but it was the goddamn ego on Dazai that really made you want to strangle him sometimes. He knew he was pretty and desired, and what a threat you were with such an iconic streak in all of your latest projects. No wonder you two had to be paired together, on your own you were both dynamite. An unstable formula that needed to be stabilized by combining it together. Thought could that make it worse?

You present the award holding hands the entire time, an act highly encouraged by the need to convince, and yet when it's you two doing it it never feels as forced as you'd like it to be. There is a comfortability in the role of this relationship, you've come to realize yet supress. You'll hold hands for so long you begin to get clammy, and it's certainly not because he dotes on you almost every time he speaks! Which he hates doing... It's just a script, after all. Duh.

You're both making your way out of the venue towards the car that awaits to drive you to the after party when you're ambushed by interviewers and hundreds of flashes that yell out speed questions.

"Does the beautiful couple have time to stop and answer a few things for us tonight!"

Dazai loves that shit. Of course he has the time, he doesn't care if you don't. He has to sell it, obviously, since you don't put in the effort according to him. He flashes the interviewer that sardonic little smirk you hate and speaks innocently.

"Why, us? Sure! Right, honey?"

He turns to you and the crowd loves it. You hold back how badly you want to roll your eyes and simply smile, holding yourself high with grace and a ton of media training.

"We'd love to."

The interviewer is overjoyed as she looks between you and Dazai, taking in that affection that radiates from your false words. She grins as she goes along to ask her question.

"So, I think a lot of the fans are wondering..."

You and Dazai perk up, not even realizing that you're clutching the bottom of your dress so tighty that your knuckles are white. The interviewer looks directly at you.

"The two of you have been the most stunning couple the industry has seen in a while. Any plans for the future?"

You freeze. Ugh, not this again. You shake your head, smirking to yourself at the absurdity of the concept alone.

"Thank you, but honestly we're just taking things day by day. There's no rush between us, we have all we need right here and now."

The journalist smiles again and nods, seemingly impressed by your laid back attitude. Dazai snorts and suddenly interjects, clearly having a cheeky response to give to the crowd of journalists.

"We'll have tons of kids in the future, actually~"

Your panic is so instant that you literally laugh out loud, yet recover quickly by turning your shock into a playful glance at your lover. You manage a more sweet giggle and smack him on the chest a little harder than people would guess.

"Ooh, he's joking, of course."

The journalist rejoices, finding your banter and your overall interaction as a couple cute. The ideal power couple! Dazai grins and turns to you again, leaning in to tease you, his narrowed Hazelnut eyes piercing into you like a promise.

"Not joking. One day we're going to have a massive pack of little kids running around. And it's going to be your fault for being sooo cute~"

And with that, he leans in all the way into a million dollar kiss on your confused and parted lips. You're taken so offguard you almost fall back and of course grab onto him a little tighter... and run your fingers through his disheveled hair you forgot to nag him to cut... As the cameras go off like crazy, you wonder if it's worth ruining your public image for a while just so you can slap him harder than you ever have before.

Everyone's cooing and you're fuming, so you settle for a quick thank you and goodbye as you drag Dazai off the red carpet and into the car. He's giggling the entire time, of course. As soon as the door shuts out the screaming fans watching you drive off, you turn to Dazai and whisper ardently.

"What was that all about?! We didn't discuss this prior to-"

"... You liked it."

"Huh?"

"You liked it when I kissed you."

You scoff, though it sounds like you're choking.

"I did not. I just did what I had-"

"... And you want to have my babies. That's adorable, how devoted of you!"

You smack him on the arm but he's smiling like a cat who's had too much catnip, too far gone into his delusions to care about the repercussions. Love is love, after all...

"I think we should break up, like officially. You're nuts. The press won't let that go, Osamu."

He perks up, snapping out of his stasis and crinkles his nose in disapproval. He shakes his head, his hand on his chin as if in deep thought. Dazai mutters, barely above a whisper.

"... We won't actually break up, though."

"And why not?"

"Because in about 60 seconds we're going to kiss again and you'll be clinging onto me the entire night."

You snort into a laugh, tilting your head in disbelief. The car slowly comes to a halt as you arrive at the after party where a familiar roar of the crowd awaits to greet you once more. You begin your futile argument yet again.

"I don't see why I would do that."

At such a silly reply, Dazai softens his voice, looking at you like he first did when you both met on set a year ago. A lifetime ago. You're so cute when you're playing dumb. He shrugs, carefree.

"Neither do I, which is why I want to know too. I want to know what you're thinking about, if it's me."

You hate the way he sounds so sincere, like a real boyfriend would if he were trying to convince you you're just as into him as he is into you. Mind games is what it is, or at least you hope so. You really hope so.

You sigh, suddenly over the conversation as you open the car door to begin climbing out. Dazai follows suit and the roar of the crowd makes your chest feel tight as overstimulation takes over. You want to be anywhere but here and you wonder if you're having some sort of panic attack, but it just doesn't feel describable.

You turn wildly, disoriented by the camera flashes and instant fuss of the press, only to be faced by your one and only savior: the omnipotent Osamu Dazai. You don't know what it is about him in that moment, you just glide into his arms and complete the prophecy as you hook your arm with his, taking deep breaths as you finally ground yourself. It feels like the right kind of wrong, and you don't care to question it.

You feel a squeeze and a soft velvety voice whisper to you once again, you don't even have to look at him to know he's as smug as ever. But amongst the teasing, there's affection there too...

"So, am I?"

"Are you what, Osamu?"

"On your mind."

"At this point you're practically a permanent resident."

You hear him hum, a smile still present on his lips, the world simply frozen for him to continue his private conversation with you in public.

"Hmm, remind me to have you repeat that to me later."

This causes you to squeeze his arm back and murmur in genuine curiosity, finally daring to face him. He's already looking right at you, so devilish and angelic at the same time that you can't even look away.

"Why?"

"Because your time's up. 60 seconds, remember? Now come and kiss me already, the camera's are waiting~"

The photos of you two that night were the envy of couples everywhere. If only they knew how the ride back to the hotel went, it would be a scandal! Or simply the next step in your future?

[maidflowery]

Fortified Wager ♣♣♣ 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 8

♦︎♦︎ Aventurine x Reader ♦︎♦︎ 𝕀𝕝𝕝𝕦𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕕

🄱🄰🄲🄺 🅃🄾 ��Ｃｈａｐｔｅｒ 7】

𝕋𝕒𝕓𝕝𝕖 𝕠𝕗 ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕥

𝐂𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐕𝐒 𝐁𝐢𝐠 𝐁𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 (𝟏)

╔══ ≪ ♥♦♥ ≫ ══╗

“See? You should have just kept quiet and done as you were told. The truth is, I actually like you. You’re quiet and obedient.”

When Big Baddie stood up, you realized he was twice your size.

So, you let the gems fall, teetering on the edge of the table as bait.

Sorry, Aventurine.

Meanwhile, you let your watch slid over your knuckle as a makeshift brass knuckle. There was no way you’d deal any real damage otherwise.

“I was just trying to save you, you know? I’m sure you also don’t know this, but that Avgin slave over there killed his owner.”

The moment he leaned in, eager to grab a hold of the gems, you swung your fist straight into his face!

“Of course I know, you piece of shit!

Otherwise, what kind of Aventurine’s fan were you?

“Uuoorrggh—!!”

As your fist connected with his nose, you felt the sharp impact reverberate through your knuckles, followed by a sudden, jarring crunch. Big Baddie took the punch square in the face and staggered backward. Soon, he lost his balance and fell, crashing to the ground in a heap.

Regret always came too late.

As you watched your wristwatch fell, shattering its glass on the floor, you realized you still loved it after all!! Also, your hand hurt like a bitch! Shit! Fuck! You could feel tears welling up in your eyes.

Above all, you were furious.

Aventurine never even brought up his past, so who the fuck gave this guy the right to do so?!

You recalled how the pair of violet-cyan eyes looked so lifeless and devoid of emotion the moment his past was mentioned. It was clearly something difficult—something he preferred to keep private, and for obvious reasons.

If Aventurine were a male lead in a romance novel, it would have taken over 100 chapters and three different arcs before he revealed his past!! Even then, it would be only to the person he trusted most, someone he felt comfortable being vulnerable with!! That was just how delicate this was!!

And yet, and yet... this guy, heartlessly, in front of everyone...

In the past, Aventurine's entire family and clan were massacred by their enemies. Though he survived the ordeal, he was soon enslaved. Only God knows the depths of trauma and torment he suffered at their hands—enough to drive him to kill.

“—Hahahaha! Of course! Of course she doesn’t know! That's what you get for letting his looks fool you!”

“Do you know how hard I’ve been holding back my laugh?! I was wondering how to break the news this whole time! Hahahaha!”

Of course, taking a life was rarely, if ever, justified.

But that is not a reason to laugh at or shame him?! Especially not this bastard, who drove two innocent children to seek revenge!!

A single tear rolled down your cheek. Regret, anger, sorrow and pain washed over you all at once—mostly pain.

While shaking your stinging hand like crazy, you screamed at Big Baddie, “But so what—?! So what if he killed his master?!”

If you were beaten within an inch of your life every day and treated far worse than an animal, what would you do?

If you had nothing left to live for but to await your death at the hands of your enslaver, how would you respond?

“—I’d have done the same!!”

Your shoulders heaved up and down as you struggled to regain composure. All you knew was that you were ranting out of sheer rage.

“Shut up!!” Big Baddie stood up while covering his nose. He glowered at you like a beast, blood oozing out of his hands. “You're just a pathetic slut serving tables!! Do you really think I can't destroy you?! That worthless slave won't protect you from me!!”

“...!”

You instantly went quiet.

Seeing this, Big Baddie grinned with triumph, blood staining his gold and white teeth.

...That’s right.

Back when you were merely a third party, you could easily dismiss the whole incident with Big Baddie as "unreasonable." As much as you hated to admit it, you didn’t see it as that big of a deal.

Why didn’t the staff just skirt around the problem, make some excuses, and feign ignorance? Or, even better yet, fight back. Then, call the authority if things escalated. Easy-peasy.

Well, the reason, as it turned out, was plain and simple.

It was the same reason you didn’t pick a fight with every professor who imposed outrageous assignments or feedbacks on you. Or why you hadn’t shoved your middle finger down Erin’s—your actual manager at the restaurant you actually worked at—prissy throat yet.

Because you’d be a dropout and without a job. Now, you wouldn’t say that you knew how every single staff in Primavera felt, but you certainly wouldn’t survive without your job, let alone switch colleges.

Facing against Billy Burnett, the infamous iron-fisted loan-shark, the stakes were even higher. One wrong move, and your entire life could be in jeopardy.

“Need I remind you what kind of authority they have? A single word from them could ruin the lives of many. I wouldn’t care if you’re the only one affected, but I also have something to protect, so stay in your lane.”

You recalled Marius’ words.

You wouldn’t blame him either—or anyone, for that matter. Everyone had their own circumstances. It was called “picking your battles.”

Which was why, only you could do this.

If it wasn’t you—who would?

You grinned.

Thanks for the reminder, Big Baddie.

Thus, as the waiter of the high-end nightclub Primavera, you shot back, “Watch your language! Aventurine is one of our most valued customers, and we do not tolerate any form of abuse or mistreatment toward him!”

“Wha—?!”

Big Baddie had a dumb look on his face. Perhaps this was the first time someone had called him out so boldly.

Also, you weren’t even lying!! Who else could singlehandedly quadruple the profit of a luxurious nightclub?! Calling him Primavera Jesus would be more fitting! Obviously, the staff would want to cling to him—especially after what you were about to do in their uniform, using their name!

While Big Baddie was still flabbergasted, you continued.

“—Given that this behavior has persisted, we are left with no choice but to ask you to leave and ban you from returning!”

After enduring his tyranny for so long, those were likely the words the staff had been dying to say, but couldn’t.

Then, your gaze briefly landed on your crisp, black uniform. Her uniform.

Of course, you wouldn’t pretend to understand how Judith felt either.

Still, when everyone else was too terrified or stunned to do anything, her manager took a punch in the face for her. If you were her, you’d be happy, knowing that most managers out there wouldn’t do even half as much—and at the same time, sad. But above all, angry.

So, you thought of saying this for her.

“—Also, that’s for punching my manager, asshole!!!”

Yes, only you, or specifically, Aschenputtel, could do this.

Aschenputtel, who was destined to lost her job either way. Aschenputtel, who had neither family nor friends, and would disappear past midnight.

Hence, you, Aschenputtel, decided—

—I’m taking you down with me, Big Baddie.

╚══════╝

🄾🄽🅆🄰🅁🄳 🅃🄾 【Ｃｈａｐｔｅｒ ９】

I realized that at the rate I was doing it before, the update will only come once a month, or even 2 months in case anything happened. ૮(˶ㅠ︿ㅠ)ა I don't want to keep you guys hanging for that long. So I decided to post it as soon as a part is finished. Do tell me if any of you prefer that I just finish it as a whole before updating :D

[dedeinthewild]

Omd please if you could do a story where arvids girl is teasing him abt being more boyfriendy with pepe bcos they're in the 'honeymoon" phase and she gets jealous

soo, I'm really sorry 'cause it isn't exactly what you requested but I had an idea with Pepe and I wrote it down. Let me know if you like it anyways, or I will make one just like you wanted it!

pepe martí x reader, established relationship

~ "that's a terrible one"

Pepe was determined, kind, and so intelligent that he could make anyone smile just by meeting him.

But above all, he was dedicated.

He was deeply grateful for his journey in motorsport and always trusted the Red Bull driver academy and his team, despite the terrible luck that had made his season challenging.

With the two-month break from Formula 2, and his girlfriend busy with school, lessons, and studying, he had plenty of time to reconnect with the junior categories and work alongside the academy’s new entries.

Among them was the incredible Formula 3 rookie, Arvid Lindblad, who had left everyone in awe and was set to join Campos in the 2025 season.

In the preceding weeks, the Spaniard had traveled to Barcelona to watch the Eurocup3 and Spanish Formula 4 race weekends, reconnecting with his roots. Then, at the team’s request, he and Arvid attended the final MotoGP race, surprising everyone with their instant chemistry before even racing together.

On one side was the tall, polite, composed Spaniard who listened and responded with a smile. On the other was the whirlwind of words that was the British rookie, dressed in oversized trendy outfits, bringing a fresh vibe to Campos.

They had spent a lot of time together, laughing and creating content around the circuit, perfectly delivering what the team wanted while giving fans exactly what they loved.

A week later, Gaby and Christian had decided to organize a weekend in London with Pepe and his girlfriend.

“He’s got Arvid now; he won’t even look at me” his girlfriend joked to the British woman walking beside her, loud enough for Pepe to hear from ahead where he was walking with Christian.

“Sorry?” the Spaniard turned around, hands buried deep in the pockets of his blue jacket.

“I said you don’t even look at me anymore. You’ve got Arvid now.”

“He’s been cheating on me, and you didn’t care to tell me?” Christian chimed in, clutching his chest dramatically as they strolled through St. James’ Park.

Everyone burst out laughing while Pepe’s girlfriend tucked her hands into her scarf, hiding her nose and cheeks, which were slowly turning red from the cold.

“I’m sorry for cheating; Gaby will treat you right” Pepe teased Christian, pretending to steal his girlfriend while Christian clung to his own.

Pepe’s girlfriend, a petite five-foot-something figure walking beside him, smiled. Her hair was tucked into her scarf, and she breathed in the air of a London she loved.

“Are you cold?” Pepe asked, taking her hand and slipping it into the pocket of his Red Bull jacket, his thumb stroking her knuckles.

“I’m always cold, Pepe” she replied, knowing full well that her constant chilliness was something he always took care of.

Pepe and Christian had a strong bond, and seeing them together was a joy. So, when the F3 driver invited them for the weekend, they had packed their bags immediately. Spending time with Christian and Gaby also brought the two women closer, as they, like their boyfriends, perfectly complemented each other, creating a fun and close-knit group.

They loved teasing and joking with each other, and this was the perfect moment to poke fun at Pepe. His girlfriend seized the opportunity without hesitation.

“And what do you mean about Arvid?” Pepe asked, glancing down at her as they walked along the little path that ducks shared with their ducklings.

“He’s all you’ve been thinking about for the past month. Don’t even get me started on those videos.”

Pepe chuckled, raising his eyebrows as if to ask if she was serious. She, however, maintained an honest expression.

“Are you saying that for real?”

“I mean, you’re really boyfriendy with him.”

“And I guess you’re implying that I’m not with you.”

Her head tilted back slightly, the wind brushing her cheeks as she gave him a playful smile. She was joking, and both of them knew it, but they were curious to see how far it would go.

“I mean, you spend a lot of time with him and look at him as if he were the love of your life.”

“And what should I say about you and Gaby?” he retorted, grinning. “You’re always going on your dates; I think she’s a pinned chat on your phone, and—”

She couldn’t help but laugh as Christian and Gaby lined up at a café while she and Pepe stopped, standing face-to-face.

This spot was one of her favorites in London, where she loved walking with a hot chocolate in hand, headphones in, and music blasting.

“I should remind you that it’s only because you’re in your honeymoon phase with Arvid. You’ll see the bad sides later.”

Pepe took her other hand, slipping it into his jacket pocket to warm it with his, moving closer with that sweet look he always wore.

“I have to say, it’s a great honeymoon nonetheless.”

She bit her cheek to keep a straight face, though her playful expression was giving her away.

“And what do you mean by bad sides?” he asked, curious. “Are there bad sides to being with me?”

“Many, many for sure.”

Pepe leaned down slightly, wrapping her completely in his arms and burying her face in his blue Red Bull jacket.

“List them, then,” he teased.

“You’re too nice, and everyone loves you.”

She placed her hands on his shoulders, hugging him back, as Christian and Gaby returned with steaming cups of tea.

“That’s a terrible one" joked the Campos driver, kissing her forehead before handing her the cup Christian had given him.

As they strolled down The Mall, the four chatted, surrounded by a slightly windy but not too damp London, kissed by timid sunshine.

The scent of falling leaves mixed with the sweetness of candied almonds from nearby stands, while some passersby asked for directions, and others watched them laugh and enjoy their time together.

“Pepe and I decided something” his girlfriend suddenly announced, grabbing the attention of Christian and Gaby while Pepe played along.

“We’re splitting up but staying good friends,” she said seriously.

At that moment, the world seemed to crumble for the Australian and the Brit, whose jaws dropped as they stared at Pepe to figure out if it was a joke or the truth.

“We realized we have some differences that the other doesn’t enjoy, unlike with other people, so it’s better this way.”

“What do you mean?” Christian asked, his eyes wide in shock.

“We’ve had some flings” she replied casually.

Gaby, convinced that if those two broke up, she’d never believe in love again, couldn’t process it. Pepe and his girlfriend were the perfect match—two people who effortlessly connected in ways she’d never seen before.

“No, you haven’t” Gaby declared, shaking her head.

Pepe and his girlfriend smiled, struggling to keep the joke going, even though their friends’ sad, confused faces made them feel a bit guilty.

“With who?” Christian asked, earning a gentle smack on the hand from Gaby, who thought it wasn’t the time for such questions.

“Your girlfriend” they replied in unison.

The Australian furrowed his brow, confused.

“Both of you? Pepe?” He was at a loss for words.

“No, stop this nonsense; it’s not funny” he said, visibly upset.

At that moment, Pepe and his girlfriend burst into laughter, exchanging looks as if they had just pulled off the joke of the decade while walking ahead of the group.

“You assholes!” Christian exclaimed, exasperated.

“You actually believed it?” Gaby asked, holding onto Christian’s arm, relieved to see them laugh it off.

“As if you didn’t” Pepe retorted.

That evening, after a lovely dinner at a restaurant near Chinatown, they all headed back to their hotel, trying to teach Pepe how to navigate the Tube using a rule his girlfriend had devised.

“If you miss a train or anything, just get off at the first stop and wait there. We’ll come find you.”

“I’m not a child,” the Spaniard protested, sitting on one of the Piccadilly Line trains with his arms crossed, playfully nudging his girlfriend’s feet as she studied the map.

“I’m quite positive you are” she replied with a smile, focused on the intricate map, unaware that Pepe had taken out his phone and snapped a picture of her.

Later, once they were in their room, changed into their pajamas, and cuddled in bed watching a movie, Pepe sent her the photo.

As she opened the message, he began to speak.

“Honeymoon or not, you’re the only thing about me without bad sides” he said.

She smiled, her eyes soft and warm.

“And I love you like I love yapping about nerdy facts.”

“I think that’s the most thoughtful way you’ve told me you love me.”

Pepe leaned his head back against his hands.

“Still, maybe you’re right. I’m rather boyfriendy with Arvid.”

“Be careful, I’m a little jealous of you,” she said, giving him a quick kiss where his ear met his jawline.

“You said it—everyone loves me,” he joked, wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her closer, breathing in her scent and feeling as though, even fifty years from now, they would still be just like this.

Because, as Gaby thought, if those two ever broke up, no one would believe in love anymore.

Beyond all the jokes and teasing, Pepe and that girl had found each other through some stroke of fate, and they were never meant to let each other go.

~ not proofread or anything so there might be a few errors, I hope you all like it 🍀

(please find me a pepe, thanks)

[sob-dylan]

I’m the passenger ending anon and I was more curious abt the last 3 minutes or so that’s all in a rosy “things are fine :)” kind of glow, it just seemed so disconnected from the rest of the movie. I LOVED bensons end scene I was eating it up Then hard cut to Things Are Ok :) Idk ! that’s why I asked bc ur no 1 passenger scholar on my dash

lol my bad, i probably should have realized that by "the ending" you meant the part that comes at the end 😅

i'll give a middling answer: it's alright. i mean, let's be honest, the passenger's strength isn't it's screenplay. there's a lot of good story in what mr. jack stanley wrote, but some of the pacing's a little bit awkward and a few things here and there don't make a ton of sense. that all kinda comes to a head in the last scene. but i don't want to throw too many stones, because i'm definitely no great writer, and i've alway found endings especially difficult. and ultimately, i do think the ending works.

even though it's a rough transition from the penultimate scene to the final scene, i appreciate that they took some time to show the positive aftereffects of randy's no good very bad day. there's a definitely a lot of information packed into that very short scene, and some of it feels cool, some of it feels weird. i'm glad that randy's standing up to his mom and going to hang out with friends. but who are these friends? did he have friends before that he just didn't mention? or did he make new ones between his kidnapping and now? his arm's still in a sling, so it feels like not that much time has passed . . . i like that he's kept in touch with ms. beard, but i hope he's doing a little more job-wise than just babysitting for her. his scene with hardy in the beginning showed us that he's in dire need of imagining a substantial future for himself. maybe he could teach! or become a librarian! i do like that they brought in ms. beard's daughter tessa, because for me the movie is all about children. it's about hurt children! and it's about how we need to do a better job of loving and helping and protecting our children! i know some people think it's pretty morbid and fucked up that randy teaches tessa the game that took her mom's eye out, but i actually think it's great that randy can accept that, yeah, it was just an accident, and he can trust himself to play this game for children without history repeating itself. and if it does, if tessa takes his eye out, then he can help her be strong and forgiving of herself like he's learned to be.

i'll admit that's it's all a little bit too tidy and saccharine. so i'm grateful that there are hints that randy's isn't totally fixed. if anything, he's got new, sexier, and possibly even worse problems. this is evidenced in three ways: he's got benson's jacket, someone was doodling a picture of two guys in a car (i've seen some people posit that randy drew the picture, but i hear that and think *jenna maroney voice* "did you draw that, randy? you might need help, because that is awful for an adult." i also think it's hilarious and sad and wonderful if randy found a way to tell tessa about him and benson and she illustrated it), and then finally we get the last shot as icing on the "oh boy this guy's gonna be fucked up forever" cake.

yes the ending is a bit clunky and perhaps even tonally out of step, but the last shot kinda made the whole movie for me. when i first saw the camera pan over to the stuffed animals and "supersoaker md50" kicked in, i SCREAMED! that was so killer! it was heart-wrenching! it was funny! and it was a good time! just like the whole movie! so yeah, the entire end scene maybe isn't all that great, but that last shot was. idk how i would have made the ending any better, so one great final shot is good enough for me.

[deoidesign]

Hello! I just discovered your blog and I immediately became captivated by your webcomic, but I'm unsure where to read all of it. I know it's on Webtoons, but I can see it hasn't been updated for a while, and you still post about it.

Are your physical novels just prints of the webcomic? Are they a continuation? Is the story complete? Thanks in advance!

Hi there!

Glad you found me and are enjoying my comic!

It's only on webtoons, and the story is not complete yet! We're 2/3 of the way through right now. It's currently on hiatus, and it's scheduled to come back in about 2 months!

I'll explain why it's been so long if you're curious, but also for my followers who might also be wondering about it under the cut. Sorry, it's pretty much just me complaining haha

I took a month off I took 2 months to get the books printed I took a month to prepare my next comic and I took 2 months to write the rest of the series (I knew the character arcs I wanted, but not the time periods or mysteries!!!) I've been working on actual episodes since then

I had to take some time off because of some pretty extreme burnout due to the sheer amount of work it was to draw over 800 pages and write 6 complete stories in a year and a half... I was getting sick almost weekly due to the overwork, it was really really bad honestly. I was having to work 60+ hours every week just to keep up...

The nature of the comic itself is also difficult... Each of the arcs is a complete, self contained story which can be read (ideally) without context, and my arcs need to be about 10-13 episodes each... And since I have an exact number of episodes to work with, it's even harder.

It takes a ton of planning and a ton of refinement, and working week to week with no breaks I was forced to put out second or even first drafts, so I just wasn't happy with the work I was doing... And to do that for the rest of the series? I wouldn't be proud of the work I did.

Plus... To be entirely honest, webtoon has treated me quite badly IN MY OPINION... They deprioritized me before I launched (I had to beg for more promotion, I'm not exaggerating), they outright denied me the opportunity to even ask for a raise, I don't make any money on fast pass and they pay me less than my partner makes working at trader joes. My first editor left me completely hanging, my second editor (who I loved) was fired... And they told me I wouldn't get a third season before my first season even finished. So it was just repeatedly completely demoralizing.

I'm sorry it has taken so long, it'll have been 10 months by the time I come back. But I realized... I won't get promotion either way. I won't get more episodes either way. I won't get more money either way. So to finish everything, to make it feel good, to make it something I'm proud of, I chose to take longer to make it better.

I am fully aware I will lose a significant amount of my readership for this and it might genuinely affect my career moving forward. But it's what I had to do! So I'm sticking to my guns on it, and I'm confident long term it'll be worth it. It never could have been this good if I didn't take this much time.

[silvery-orchid]

Do you think yan neuvillette spanks us with his cane as a corporal punishment 😔😔

okay okay listen!! i have thought about this!! (absolutely i have did we expect anything else?) but the short answer is no.

HOWEVER!! listen as to why stay with me okay.

His cane is meant to symbolise this high standing and that justice will be carried out so he does use it to showcase the clear imbalance of power between his darling and him. Things like: using it to make you straighten your back while tapping you, making you remember the 'proper way to sit', hitting your knee so that you kneel down in front of him, and, of course, tilting your head up so you look at him. the classical 'sword tilt' but cane style if you will.

however, the biggest reason he doesn't use it for spanking is because he simply loves to use his own hands. the warmth that spreads, his hand print as proof over how much he 'owns' you !! think about it!! if his sword is the symbol, his hands are the proof of his power and punishments. he is a bit sick like that :// and i am into it : ))

[rius-cave]

Saw some people sending you songs and I had an idea based off Take Me Down by The Pretty Reckless

Au where Adam is a guy who wants to be a rock star and decides to do the most rock&roll thing ever by making a deal with the devil. Needless to say he is very loudly disappointed when, after standing at the crossroads all night, Luci shows up looking and acting the way he does but decides to make the deal anyway. Of course it fucking works and he becomes the hottest new shit in rock. The only problem is that every once in a while that dweeby devil shows up, seemingly just to bother him… oh yeah, and the whole signing away his soul/doomed to hell thing

YESSSS YESSSSSS DEAL WITH THE DEVIL AU HAHA

Those are always a treat! And this is a good song to pair it up with! God, the pure CHAOS and SHENANIGANS that this scenario would bring! Truly a romantic comedy lmao

[skyafied]

if you are still taking requests, could you draw heavy surrounded birds like a disney princes and medic looking lovingly from the distance

Hey anon how does it feel to have an absolutely massive brain, like just ginormous

[shippingmyworld]

I know you were taking song suggestions a couple of months ago but I only found this one now. Tell Me That You Love Me from Victorious fits Danny and Manny surprisingly well!

Oh my god you're right, I locked this into my tigerghost playlist within like the first three lines.

*Screams in doomed greyghost and amethystocean at this section specifically cus ya'll know I believe that the second Manny spent more than three seconds around Danny his thoughts were "How the fuck is this downright handsome and amazing person single?"*

Honestly all I can imagine while listening to this song is the two of them slow dancing and just gazing lovingly at one another the entire time.

[flugame-mp3]

what do you fucking mean that's how charlie dies. THAT'S HOW CHARLIE DIES??? i mean i know the show has a penchant for killing off every character who's not a winchester brother or an angel of thursday but good god. what the fuck. charlie was such a good and enjoyable recurring character, and she had such a fandom impact that i've seen, and she's only around for THREE SEASONS?? (sidebar: it's amazing she has the presence she does for only being around for a couple episodes in the long run!) but: was this necessary? and she just dies offscreen after her skills are utilized to progress the plot of decoding the book of the damned?? oh my god. what in the actual fuck. i'm finding myself getting genuinely very upset at her death. she did not fucking deserve that. and i can absolutely see why the fan response to her death is what it is now. completely fucking unjustified and throwaway and useless.

[macksartblock]

Can you tell us what an evil normal's family dynamic is like in this au :))))

Being super honest - haven’t thought about it before now LOL but now that you’ve got me started it will be long

That being said, I think his family dynamic would start off fairly similar to that in the podcast. Things would get slippery after the dance, with Sparrow’s “not proud of you” speech.

Normal wouldn’t be completely vulnerable to Willy’s manipulation at that point BUT it was stated Normal has sorta been set up to be vulnerable to cult-like manipulation - albeit accidentally - by Rebecca’s parenting.

Personally, I think Normal would have the strongest attachment to his mother, in this circumstance. She’s just as unaware of this vulnerability she instilled in him, as he is. Not to say their relationship would be entirely healthy, but it would be the least hostile.

However, Willy could definitely have a strong influence on him and seems the type who’d actively insert doubts in Norm’s mind, surrounding his family. Like given enough ammunition from the twins behaviour, it would not. be. hard.

Already within the Oak-Swallows-Garcia family, there seems to be some brick work laid out for Triangulation. Whether intentionally or not, the adults in the house have set Normal and Hero up against one another. This - from personal experience - is very impactful, especially on children. So, the way I see this progressing is Normal and Hero’s relationship would worsen HORRENDOUSLY.

Unlike the typical argumentative behaviour we’ve seen with them, it would develop to genuine disdain for one another. Normal siding with Willy would put Hero right back in the Chosen One slot. The weight of that burden not only from her parental figures, but unintentionally from her brother would be soul crushing. Normal would hate her for being on this pedestal, and Hero would hate him for putting her back up there.

The twins dynamic with him would be interesting. I see him and Sparrow having a dynamic similar to that of post-rogue card Lark and Henry. With Willy’s influence, Sparrow would have a very difficult time getting through to Normal - whether he says the wrong thing or Normal is too caught up in his own anger, it’s like chipping into rock with a fucking spoon.

In Lark’s case, it’s like staring into a mirror. The anger. The resentment. All it took was a push from the wrong person and that happy, carefree kid might as well be dead and buried. Now we’ve seen Lark step in to apologize on Sparrow’s behalf a few times. With this, I think Normal would harbour some trust in Lark.

Of course, their relationship would still be difficult at the height of this whole twisted lil game. But Normal craves validation from those around him. Most importantly, that of a father figure. If Lark - seeing his nephew going through something so terribly familiar and damaging - were to attempt bridging the gap, I think it would be such a big impact on Normal.

Long story short: the whole family would need counselling, they are in such a state of emotional ruin

[tailsnumber1fan]

do you have any advice or tutorials on how to draw (specifically color) like you do? i admire your artstyle a lot and I want to learn how you do things ( ˶ •́ ω •̀ ˶ )

got this question a few other times so ill attempt to explain how I personally color (⁠๑⁠•⁠﹏⁠•⁠)

whipped up a small guide (?) but ill explain in more detail some stuff here

• when picking shadow colors i specifically aim for cooler colors (i use very cool ones for the darkest shadows)

• i dont use pure black or white since it can make the drawing look more flat for an artstyle like mine!

• tip for backgrounds, try making the colors blend together more (with blending modes if u want!) so that the characters stand out more. i also make the character + anything i want to stand out more bright and saturated

• adding onto the last point, i reccomend using complementary (aka opposite colors) for contrast

• i dont really do this myself cuz i forget but make sure u dont get caught up in details! a good tip is to color your sketch so you can play around with the colors more easily and to make sure your drawing has good contrast from a distance

• little bonus lineart tip.. line weight! i reccomend finding more in depth videos about this but a simple explination is: thicken your lineart in places where parts are heavier (ex. bottom of a lock of hair or thick shirt) and for anything you want to stand out especially w backgrounds, then the lines thinner for small details

• also just a personal touch of mine, little doodles like stars n hearts really help everything come together and fill in empty space!

these r just some things that have helped me with my art, remember these arent rules! experiment with ur art till u find something you like, study others artwork, take tips from others and adapt them to your own work!!

im not good at explaining but i love rambling about art and i hope u can find a few things in here useful (⁠´⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠.̫⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠`⁠)🫶

[rockdrop]

hey there idk if you remember me! but i wrote a fic about kanadog? kinda? it's more of an idea haha...

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58753954

here it is if you want to read it :)

HEYY OFC I DO! THIS FIC IS THE EPITOME OF KANAPUPPY WORLD DOMINATION 🔥🔥 mafuyu feeding kandeeauwi,,,kanadegurlie being nervous and at the mercy of her,, r u trying to kill me author >:(( plus the teasing + overthinking kanade + unbothered mafuyu has me giggling thank you so much for this!! :))) twas a fun read

I encourage ppl to go support the author and read this fic ^_^ (tho keep in mind its RATED M for those who might be UNCOMFORTABLE)

[redrumrose]

Have you ever heard of a British puppet series called Strange Hill High? From it's artstyle alone, I think it'd be something you'd enjoy.

Oh man! I haven't before, but I looked it up and its awesome! I love the mixed style of the puppets/cg!! I watched a few episodes and I dig it, the humors great too xDD Totally up my alley!