#and like sure whatever believe what you want

[prettyboykatsuki]

mixed messages | r. sukuna

✮  tags ; gn + afab!reader, unhealthy relationships, not cheating but reader flirts with gojo while tipsy for fun, undefined relationships, fingering / making out, jealousy, modern!sukuna, sukuna and yuuji r brothers 18+

✮ wc ; 2k

✮  a/n ; a snippet / extension of my modern sukuna post for @arguablyferal. i hope it gives a clear-ish idea of what he's like!!

some more like. relationship explanation in an authors note at the end.

✮  synopsis ; you've never been able to get a good read on him. would he really come to a party just to keep you from flirting with another guy ?

somehow you doubt it.

He's hitting on you.

Gojo is, you think. Though you can't be sure since it feels...a little conceited to believe that a guy like that suddenly developed a genuine interest in you. You can think of a couple reasons he would hit on you, all of them to do with getting on Sukuna's last nerve in their never-ending rivalry.

But it's weird because it doesn't really feel like he's just messing around. As in, it doesn't seem like it's just for that reason.

You know Gojo. Not as close as Shoko or Getou might but enough to comfortably call yourself a distant friend. A little more than acquaintance but less then close.

He's facetious—melodramatic, really—totally by design. By necessity, some of it is an act, but you're good enough at reading him to know what's playful and what's not.

That's why you think that Gojo is really hitting on you. He's using the fact Sukuna, your...whatever, isn't here attending with you. He was supposed to be here but he flaked last minuted on coming with you. You ended up taking Yuuji and his friends though, anyhow.

You're letting him do it. He's serious about hitting on you, and he probably knows you're not very serious about returning his feelings.

But you're entertaining it, despite yourself.

Everyone you know is looking the other way while it happens too. Gojo is leaned close, sitting next to you in a plastic chair, and you're just a little bit buzzed. Humid summer air warms your skin, makes you want to sink into the night.

You're not touching, but you're too close for not-quite-friends. Gojo edges on touchy. A soft nudge here and there, the kind of proximity you shouldn't have. Gojo is a breath away, sober because he doesn't like alcohol.

And he's super friendly, which is nice.

A beat of silence settles between you as the night rolls in a little heavier.

Gojo says you what you assume he's been thinking about all night, without any real introduction.

"You should break up with him," He says, just over a can of soda with a kind of sincerity that makes you restless. You feel your nerves flip.

Your mouth moves before your mind has a chance to fill in the answer. You laugh. "I know."

"You're really too good for him, tsk," Gojo laments, clicking his teeth. Playful again, using just enough drawback so that you don't suffocate in the honesty. You shouldn't entertain this but the attention is nice. "And gosh, you're so much more fun without that dark cloud hanging around you, y'know"

You giggle unconsciously at the thought of Sukuna as a dark cloud. Big and broad with a deep voice—it's an astute comparison. Shaking your head, you give him a playful glance. "Am I really more fun? I feel like I'm not as good a conversationalist as a certain someone,"

Gojo smiles at you proudly. "I'm having fun at least."

You close your eyes and take another, much longer drink. "Yeah, me too."

"If you know you can do better, why bother with him? I figure that bastard might be holding you hostage but," He's serious again, brows raised. "You've got more options, you know?"

You shrug, absently. You don't know the answer yourself. It's one thing that Sukuna never quite lets you leave but it's another thing you come back to him every time. You settle on your reply with closed eyes then laugh a little too loud. Gojo doesn't startle.

"Who knows? But you know, thank you anyway. It's good to have options. Maybe it'll knock some sense into me,"

Friendly again. He's a nice guy you think.

"If it doesn't, make sure to give me a call. I'm pretty great too, y'know."

You give him a lighthearted smile.

It's hard to hear much over the loud thump of music. You're not very in touch with your surroundings and the pleasant air around you all but swallows you.

It takes you a minute. Longer than you care to admit, to realize that someone is approaching you. Even longer to realize who.

Sukuna is looming over you and Gojo when you finally look up.

"Having fun?"

You blink, pulling away to make sure you're hearing correctly. Sinking back into your chair, your eyes flicker up to whats casting shadow overhead. His voice almost bellows, deep and coarse but not loud.

"I thought you weren't coming," Is all you can think to say. Sukuna rolls his eyes.

"Yeah. I thought so too,"

He doesn't ask you to get up as much as he tugs you towards him. He's careful not to pull too hard but you come up still on a stumble, drink still in hand, and face in his chest. Your heart thumps, embarrassed by the sudden warmth. His hand sits on your lower back and suddenly there's a conversation happening overhead.

"Quit sticking your nose where it doesn't belong," He spits. He's talking to Gojo you realize.

"Be careful there, nii-san. You're gonna make it seem like you care."

Sukuna tenses under you before he relaxes again - rolling his eyes. He's not happy about it but you can hear that he's trying not to let it show.

"Stay out of it." Sukuna demands. Gojo whistles.

"Sure, sure. You two have fun there."

Sukuna turns you around like that, your face still in his chest as he drags you away. You hear Gojo laugh faintly as you walk further away from the crowd.

__

You don't really get any explanation from Sukuna as he packs you and himself in the backseat of his car.

He's quiet the entire walk there, and the air is so heavy your lungs can't find a breath around it. He doesn't say anything to you even as he opens the back door. He tells you to get in but doesn't show any emotion you discern.

Instead you end up laying in the backseat with Sukuna over you - cramped as his tongue slips all the way into your mouth and his hands grab your waist. All too sudden, without any ceremony at all.

You kiss back because he's being so suffocating and it's all you can think to do to appease him. As soon as he lets you breathe, you put a hand on his chest and push him away.

You make eye contact but he still hasn't said a word. "Are you mad?"

He sneers. "You tell me,"

He ducks down again to kiss you and you let him this time, doing your best to gauge what exactly he's thinking. You know he's upset, rather - but it's weird. Something is different about it.

His mouth is hot as he hands slide underneath your shirt further- his knees keeping your legs apart as his thigh presses against your clothed sex. You shiver, moaning into his mouth and Sukuna swallows the noise. Gasping, you pull back again.

"All you do is piss me off you brat," He tugs your lip back between his incisors as he speaks, voice bordering on a snarl. "You should know better than to cozy up to that idiot."

You squirm. "I wasn't cozying—"

"You think I'm fucking stupid? Think I don't got eyes to see with?" And then, like he's predicting your next question. "Yuuji texted me."

"And you came?" You stop, keeping him from going any further. "You came 'cause Yuu-chan sent you a picture of me and Gojo-kun....?"

He ignores your question. "Take your pants off,"

You make a face at him but oblige, hands unbuttoning your jeans as Sukuna practically tugs you out of them and your panties in one go. He sits back up on his legs and maneuvers carefully to keep his hands between your thighs. His middle finger runs through your slit, palm putting pressure on your clit.

He's rushing more than normal, mouth crushing yours again in a kiss so heavy it makes you gasp. You feel like you're imagining it but each time you pull back - his teeth sink into your lips until they're throbbing from how hard he's bitten them up.

He's possessive. Always has been. He's territorial over you in one way or another over everything, but it's usually only when you threaten to leave. There's a merit to what Gojo said about keeping you held down. But even in that, there's never any emotion stronger than annoyance to follow your little tantrums. You wouldn't call what you feel now desperation by any stretch.

But it's something more then simple possession and it makes you ache.

"I wasn't gonna do anything with him." You say half-way between a breath. You see his jaw tick with irritation at the mere thought. "It was just for fun—"

He quiets you with his fingers. With his hands, rough - spitting hard on your clit from where above making it splatter against your thighs. His fingers fingers the thick layer of spit and drag them down against your throbbing clit to make it wetter. He touches you hard and fast, places kisses against your jaw and collar before sinking his teeth into the clothed shape of your tits.

His fingers find your pussy not long after. Thick, scarred, intrusive - he slips them in one at a time. As much as he knows you can take until he touches that spot inside of you that leaves your whole body tingling. Knuckle deep, he presses his palms up against your clit to make sure you have the right friction. You moan his name loud, eyes rolling up into your head,

The windows are starting to fog.

"Sukuna,"

He grabs hold of your face with free hand, bordering on a snarl. It's mean you think, but more then that there's a genuine frustration to it that makes you shiver almost shamefully.

"You're mine." He sneers. You feel your cunt twitch unhelpfully at but Sukuna doesn't budge. Doesn't even go to make fun of you He just keeps growling, leaning in to kiss you - forcing his tongue into your mouth and pulling away again. "Get close with that bastard and I'll kill him."

Your stomach flutters in arousal at the aggression in it. The unreasonable, unhelpful, trained part of your brain nearly screams. He wants you, he wants you, he wants. It makes you wanna—

"G-gonna—gonna cum, fuck, Sukuna."

He kisses you again, murmuring against your lips. "Cum,"

Your thighs clamp around Sukuna's wrists as he continues to finger you, grinding yourself the edge of his palm as you ride out your high. Your voice pitches into a high whine, spine arching. It's rushed but intense, scratching the itch but not enough to tamp down the heat completely. You squirt around his fingers in a full blown gasp and find you can barely get your head above water.

You cum hard, convulsing. He doesn't move his hand until you grab him by the wrist and shake your head. Surprisingly, he listens easily and pulls away.

You pause and stare at him after you've caught your breath.

"What's wrong with you today?"

"Stay the fuck away from that guy."

You roll your eyes. "He's right. It's starting to sound like you love me or something. I wasn't gonna sleep with him anyway so chill out."

He scoffs. "Don't even fucking dream of it. I'd kill you both."

You take a second to look at him. You can't read him to save your life. But he's looking back at you, into you maybe, in a way that makes you wonder if there's something about him you're missing. You wrap your arms around his neck just to see if he'll tell you to stop clinging.

He doesn't though.

"Did you really come all the way here 'cause of what Yuu-chan sent you?"

He glares at you. "Are you deaf? Didn't I say that?"

"But then it sounds like you were jealous."

He rolls his eyes. "You're stupid."

"....You were jealous? Really?"

"Shut up already," He says. And maybe it's the alcohol but you swear his face goes warm. "And seriously stay away from that idiot. If I see some shit like that again I'm locking you in the house and chaining you to my bed."

"Weird proposal but okay."

"Dumbass."

"You love me,"

He rolls his eyes and goes to kiss you. Doesn't deny it, you notice. You pretend not to be giddy.

"Whatever."

✮ extended authors note ; hi!! i hope sukunas personality made sense here.

my point with sukuna in modern is that i think it takes away a lot of his unsavory aspects but the deep sense of possession and ownership sort of stays. this is a modern au so he's different from canon in many ways.

he has a hard time committing but he also does not do things he doesnt want to so him spending time with you and wanting your loyalty are both genuine desires. he understands why you're entertaining gojo's flirting and rationally knows it's unfair to want loyalty from you.

but he's into you so he gets. fucking pissed anyway. skjsjd. anyways i hope u liked it and i hope it made sense!! i just wanted to add this incase!!!

[bookishdreamer28]

𝙒𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙪𝙧𝙩 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙪𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩

✮⋆˙ Characters: 𝑹𝒂𝒇𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒍, 𝑿𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒓, 𝒁𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆, 𝑺𝒚𝒍𝒖𝒔

✮⋆˙ Angst to fluff

✮⋆˙ Warnings: A bit of cursing, scenes where the reader gets hurt but that's all

Aaaand I'm back with LADS content!! I missed writing sm but I mostly missed you guys ♡ I hope you're all healthy and happy! Hope you'll enjoy this one ^3^

ℝ𝕒𝕗𝕒𝕪𝕖𝕝

"Seriously Rafayel I'm telling you how I feel about this and you look like you don't even care!" You yelled.

"But I do! I really do Y/N, but maybe your insecurities are still clouding your mind, even after all this time of being together and showing you how much I love you" He walked towards the door and you felt a lump in your throat.

"Rafayel, why you always walk away whenever there's an issue between us? Weren't you theone saying that no matter what we're getting through everything together?"

"Say whatever you want but I'm done with this fight" Rafayel said and walked out of your house. You and Rafayel had a fight about something silly but for you it was something you couldn't just ignore. You tried to do some chores just so you can keep yourself distracted by what happened earlier, but your tears couldn't stop falling. You hated it. You hated fighting with Rafayel cause you knew he would never hurt purposely or do something that would bother without taking into consideration your feelings, but it was still hurtful when stupid things like these occurred.

Since you couldn't do anything else inside your house so you can get your mind off of the fight, you decided to take a walk and maybe buy some groceries. When you finished shopping, it was dark and you realized how stupid it was to go out alone and without your car. You took a deep breath and started walking back home as fast as you could.

But as you continued the way to your home, you heard weird noises coming from a scary, dark alley ar your right. Your pace increased, wanting to go back to your house and hoping that you'd find Rafayel there too. But something appeared behind you and without taking any step further, you fell down on the concrete because of the hard push it gave you. And when you realized it was a wanderer, you tried to stand up and run but the power it was using on you made you very weak.

"YOU DAMN FREAK! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!" You couldn't really process anything but one thing you recognized was Rafayels voice. You closed your eyes wanting to relax a little and ease the pain somehow, but strong arms carried your body softly and hugged you in their embrace.

"Rafayel..."

"It's okay sweet girl I got you. I got you baby" He said breathlessly, feeling like he was going to break any moment now. He can't believe he just left from your home and then found you in this condition. Once you arrived at your house, Rafayel did everything to take good care of you. He made sure to clean your injuries, eat and then shower you with love, like he has been doing since you two started dating.

"Oh my baby. My girl" He muttered against your temple, placing a loving kiss there. After everything, you were both lying on your bed, as you enjoyed each other's company.

"I'm so sorry sweet girl I-" Rafayel felt his eyes watering. "Can't believe I almost you from my stupidity" His hug tightened and you found yourself snuggling in his warmth.

"I'm ok my love, I promise" Your hand was playing with his beautiful purple hair softly and you kissed his lips.

"Please say it again" He whispered as he stared at you longingly.

"My love"

"Oh how I love it when you call me that" He leaned his forehead on yours and stayed like this for a bit. "I love you" he kissed your lips "so so fucking much. I'm sorry for being a jerk earlier. You are my baby and you are perfect." this time the kiss was more passionate. A kiss that held love and strong affection. A kiss that meant more than any word that could ever be said at the moment.

𝕏𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕖𝕣

You were laying on the couch, reading a book so you can can escape from any negative thoughts but it was so hard to focus. You and Xavier fought again. It was a very exhausting week for both of you and all the tension made you feel suffocated, filled with many negative emotions, that you eventually took it all out on each other. You both understood the danger of your job and how hard things could be, but there were times you did not have the patience to deal with them calmly.

You turned your head around and looked at the now closed bedroom door. Xavier was in your room and you wanted nothing more than just give up with torturing silent treatment and hug each other. But even though you knew he was a bit too selfish to make the first move, you didn't want to back down either.

You angrily stood up from your position on the couch and went inside the kitchen so you can cook something. The fight and the way things have been lately, made you lost your appetite easily and you can't remember when was the last time you had a proper meal full of nourishment. So, as you stood on your tippy toes to grab a ball from the higher shelf, you felt a bit lightheaded and suddenly found your body hitting the hard, cold floor of the kitchen.

Rushing movements could be heard from inside your room and when rhe door bursted open, Xavier appeared in your vision.

"Y/N!" He yelled out your name and he was by your side in a second. He picked you up in his arms and carried you to your bed. He laid down with you and held you close.

"Baby wha- what the fuck happened?" He tried to remain calm but seeing laying on the floor almost unconscious was an image that haunted him. He felt like he was going to lose it.

"Xavier I- I just haven't been eating well lately and-"

"Why? Why did you do this baby?" He whispered and a few tears started dropping from his eyes. You shakily wiped them away.

"I'm okay now but I still need to eat and take a few vitamins to fully recover. That's all" Xavier let out a shaking breath and held you closer.

"You have no idea how scared I got. Losing you is my biggest fear baby. Damn it, that's why I've been like this lately. This fear is eating me alive, especially with what has been happening lately baby. And I'm sorry, I truly am my baby" He leaned his head to kiss your forehead.

"I'm sorry too Xavier." You smiled softly at him but then you giggled at something you thought. Xavier only smiled brightly cause seeing you happy can cure every dark or sad thought of his. You can make his day brighter than it was before.

"I just thought about how silly our fight was." You rested your head in his shoulder and closed your eyes for a brief moment, just to enjoy the warm his body radiated.

"Hm very silly indeed, just like you are sometimes" a playful smirk was displaying on his face as he watched your offended expression.

"Hey you're ruining our moment-"

"I mean what you were thinking when you decided to stop eating lovely girl?" He tapped softly on your nose and then kissed it. He slowly placed next him, grabbing your favorite soft blanket and laid it on top of your legs to keep you warm.

"Now stay here, I'll go cook you your fave. I'm not letting my lady starving any longer."

ℤ𝕒𝕪𝕟𝕖

"Y/N I'm really busy right now. I don't know if I have the time to go for dinner tonight." Zayne was busy checking some papers in his office, as he hurriedly tried to get ready for the next operation.

"Trust me, I understand but this is the 5th time in a row. I'm not asking to give up everything in the middle of your work, but all I want, is for you to make some time for me too." You said sternly and at the same be as calm as you possibly could at the moment, not wanting to lose it and start yelling just for the whole hospital to hear you.

Zayne sighed and stood up from his seat and walked to the door ready to leave his office but you stopped him.

"Are even listening to me?" You asked angrily.

"I think it's better if you leave." He opened the door as he waited for you to go. All you did was stare at him in shock. Did he seriously thought of kicking you out instead of talking to you?

"Zayne what the fuck? You don't even get to talk to me for 15 minutes now!" Your hand reached over for the knob of the door to close it shut.

"If you keep pushing my buttons then no, I don't want you here" His cold voice sent shivers down your spine.

"Listen I-"

"Just go. Now. I already have a packed schedule and many problems in my mind, and I don't to add one more." You were sure you heard your heart breaking.

"So you think...I'm a problem now" you breathed out, feeling already defeated by the way he talked to you. This argument was pointless, you knew it but all the exhaustion, the pain and the bad emotional state you were currently in, made you feel like you didn't exist to him anymore.

Zayne looked like he wanted to take these horrible words back, hug you like his whole life dependent on it but he wasn't sure how to react.

Without spare even one glance at him, you left his office with rushing steps, and as he heard your faint sobs in the empty hallway, his heart broke even more.

---

A knock on Zayne's office door interrupted his thoughts. "Come in." He said with a stern voice.

"Dr. Zayne you are needed in the room 8." A nurse appeared in his office. Zayne frowned .

"What happened?" He asked in a slightly worried tone.

"There's a patient right here in the room, with really bad injuries after she experienced a dangerous accident. She's fully conscious of her surroundings but her physical condition has to be under observation for now. I amde sure that of course she was taken care of first before you could come to check on her too...but she was desperately asking for you doctor." The nurse said as she opened the door to the room where the said patient was.

What Zayne though made his breath caught in his throat and he felt like lefs was about give up. He shut the door without letting anyone in and turned his attention back on you. With shaking legs he walked towards you.

"My...my love what...are you ok?!" He cradled your face softly his hands. His breath quickened and his heart beated faster, scared at the thought of almost losing you. When you didn't said anything it made him worry more, but once you let your head rest on his shoulders and your arms qrapped around his neck, he sighed in relief. His arms wrapped around your small form, hugging tight enough, without hurting anywhere.

"Zayne...I don't know what to say. When this happened my first thought was you and how we departed without saying an I love you or share a sweet kiss like we always do and- I got so scared that I wouldn't see you again." Your trembling voice made Zayne's eyes glassy, tears threatening to fall. He shook his head and your face in his hands again, wanting to make eye contact.

"I will never let anything happen to you my love. Never. I'm so sorry for the way I spoke to you and the days I spent away from you. You're my home sweetheart, and I want to able to spend every second with you, just the two of us away from everything and everyone. I promise I will not let work stop me from giving you my unconditional love. I truly, love you so much."

𝕊𝕪𝕝𝕦𝕤

"I'm sking you for the last time Sylus, what the fuck aee you hiding?" Your voice was hoarse from the yelling. Sylus clenched his jaw and tried to clam his own nerves.

"For the last time, I'm not hiding anything. You shouldn't worry about my job because everything's under control."

"That's what you said last time and remember what happened? Let me remind you, we got threatening messages out of nowhere. So please, tell me what you have gotten into?" You sat on the chair opposite of him as you waited nervously for what he had to say.

"Im not discussing business things with you, kitten." His voice darkened and he sounded more serious than usual. His teasing tone was gone and you knew his patience was running thin.

"I'm sick of this." You murmured.

"Sick of what exactly?" His stare was hard on you.

"Sick of always leaving me out of everything, when we both promised that we would always be there for each other and get through every hardship together." Your voice was laced with emotion and Sylus's cold facade almost broke and he was about to reach your side when Luke and Kieran came into his office.

"Boss we have to go. It's the emergency we talked about." Luke hurriedly told Sylus. Sylus prepared and was about to leave his office when your voice stopped him.

"Sylus what is this emergency their talking about?" You stood up frkm your chair and walked to him. Luke and Kieran looked at each other awkwardly and decided to leave the office to give you space.

"Kitten don't start this now-"

"Do you even let me finish?! I knew your were being secretive" You scoffed.

Sylus only stared at you intensely. You waited. Waited him to say something. But you only watched as he truned his back on you, leaving you all alone again.

---

You were currently laying on your bed, ready to fall asleep since you got too tired of waiting for Sylus's return. But you your eyes started closing you heard something breaking your room's window and immediately stood back up. Two dark figures was the only thing you could make out in the darkness and before you could grab your phone and run out of the room, one of them slapped you hard and you fell on the floor.

"Well if it isn't Sylus's new toy. This is going to be fun. For us." He laughed and his fist found your face.

---

Your body was cold, in pain and your were sure you couldn't feel your legs or hands moving. You groaned as you tried to turn on your side but a stabbing pain made you let out gasp and laid on your back again.

Your heard heavy footsteps downstairs and you almost started sobbing, fearing that they may have come back. The footsteps stopped suddenly, but then you could hear them running towards your room. When Sylus came into your sight, you sobbed and called for him.

"FUCK!" Sylus said loudly and laid next to you in an instant.

"Baby? Can you hear me? I'm here, see? I'm here" He frantically tried to lift you in his arms and held you close to him. "I'm here. I'm here. You're ok." He said like he tried to reassure his himself that he wouldn't lose you.

Luke and Kieran heard the fuss and came to see what happened, and when they saw in what state you were in, they both got shocked.

"Wha-what happened boss?!" Kieran said worriedly. Sylus didn't say anything. His focus only on you, as he laid you on the bed carefully.

"Sy..." His hand grasped yours and kissed it.

"I'm here. I'm here." He placed a kiss on your head and turned to look at his assistants.

"Go bring the medkit. NOW!" He didn't mean to scream but his mind was a mess. Seeing you on the floor, bloody beated and almost unconscious made him want to go out there burn everything down.

And that's what he was going to do. When Kieran ans Luke returned with the medkit, Sylus took care pf your injuries, as his assistants made sure to bring some painkillers, water and everything that was necessary for you to not being in pain.

"Sylus where-" you tried to reach for his hand but Sylus grabbed and kissed it softly as let it rest on your chest.

"I'll be back. I promise you baby. Just please, take some rest and I'll be laying right here. Next to you." He whispered and kissed your lips before he left.

---

Your eyes moved and you slowly opened them, taking in your surroundings. You remembered everything. Your mind felt foggy, but your body wasn't in so much pain anymore and an arm was wrapped around your waist. You looked down and there was an arm around you. You looked behind and you found Sylus sleeping but having you caged in his big arms securely, fearing that he would you even in his sleep.

"Sy" you whispered and Sylus's eyes started opening slowly. When he noticed you were awake, his slumber left his body instantly and instead he sat up a little to take a better look at you.

"Sweetheart..." he wanted to say so many things. So many. But what truly mattered to him was that you were here by his side, safe.

Your arms were wrapped around his neck in a second. "Oh my sweet girl" Sylus kissed your cheek and held you. Held you like he had just found the most precious treasure in the world and he didn't want anyone or anything to take it wawy from him.

A sob left his lips.

No. He couldn't resist anymore. All the feelings he felt when he found you laying on the floor came ro the surface. You cupped his face and rested your forehead on his.

"I'm ok. We're ok."

Sylus looked at you with watery eyes, not being afraid anymore to let himself feel, cry, laugh and love. With everything felt natural.

"I love you. And if anyone ever dares do something like this too you, even though I'll make sure it'll never happens, I'll still hex them into oblivion."

You didn't care about the fights you had, the words that were spoken on heated moments when your minds are clouded with pressure and fear. Cause at the end of the day and despite what can occure on your daily and dark life, you'd still find safety and love in each other's embraces and that's all that matters.

[alexanderwales]

Me: I don't really like modern art. Kat: Did you see that Jacob Geller video? Me: I did. I didn't meant that I don't like modern art in a facscist way, just like ... I don't like it. I look at the paintings, at Rothko, and I just don't get it. Kat: A lot of it you have to see in person, I think. The pictures don't really do it justice, especially Rothko, some of those are huge, and you just stand in front of it and it's like ... as close as I've had to a religious experience. Me: I mean, I went to the Museum of Modern Art in Washington, D.C. And I went to the Tate Modern. And whatever the one in Seoul was called, and another in San Francisco, the de Young Museum. I've seen, in person, stuff from Rothko and Pollock and a bunch of the other Abstract Expressionists. Kat: That ... is a lot of modern art museums for someone who doesn't like modern art. Me: I want to like it. I hear the way people talk about it, how a Rothko evokes these emotions in them, and it's like all I can see is paint on canvas. I don't know. Like I'm blind. Kat: You're the opposite of a tortured artist. An art viewer who tortures himself. Me: It's not that. I mean, some of the stuff I really do get something from. It's not all Rothko. I don't walk into every art museum and just groan in agony. But there are this class where ... people like this stuff, and in my head I'm like "people like this stuff?" Kat: They do. I do. Me: Right, and I do believe that. But there's this part of me that's struggling against the human instinct to go "no, they're all lying for some reason, it's a game of peer pressure, or clout chasing". I think that way lies madness. I think that's a trap that people fall into all the time, because they do the typical mind thing, and they say "well if I don't like modern art, no one else must like modern art". Kat: And you're trying to correct for that by ... looking at a bunch of modern art you don't enjoy. Me: Kind of, yeah. I saw Barnett Newman's Stations of the Cross and I thought the idea of it was interesting, the journey of Christ as laid out in only a handful of brushstrokes. But the actual paintings, I just had never felt further from my fellow man than looking at them and trying to understand them. I sat and tried to meditate, to clear my mind, to let some thought come to me, but it was still just paint on canvas. Kat: And you're what, just going to keep going to modern art museums? Me: If I'm in a city with one, sure. Because sometimes there's something that speaks to me, it's just never the Abstract Expressionist stuff. Kat: I cannot imagine doing that, repeatedly viewing something in a genre you don't like. Is it because it's high status? Because you're clout chasing? Me: I don't think so. I think it's just alien to me, no matter how many reviews I've read extolling the works, how many people have explained these individual pieces. And you know, when we went to the one in D.C., we had our son with us, and he was looking at all this stuff too, and when we went out I asked him which was his favorite. He said it was one of the Pollocks, Lavender Mist. Kat: Cute. See, the kid gets it. Me: I asked him what he liked about it, and he said to me, "you can see the drips". Kat: Sometimes that's all there is to it.

[onlinedolly]

SAVIOR COMPLEX

au where leon is a normal cop at raccoon city and you’re a pretty little thing he’s obsessed with ^___^

cw: stalking, kidnapping, drug use, dubcon, dry humping (?), hard language, dead dove do not eat, i think that’s it!

not proof read cuz i’m lazy lol

Leon, in his mind, was a good man.

He’d done a lot in his career, saved countless lives; so when he sees you he thinks it’s no different, not really. You were a young thing, pretty and too naive for your own good. Didn’t you know the world now? How cruel it could be? It made Leon sick to think about it, he’d only seen you once — pretty and smiling and all he could think was how the world was going to fuck you up eventually.

He began watching you then, like a good man does. Following you to your small apartment complex (on a side of town that put a sour taste in his mouth) every night, watching you from your window until you fell asleep, it was all precautionary really, he told himself. Had to make sure you were safe. That nothing bad would ever happen.

It’d been this way for a few weeks, maybe around a month or so until he witnessed the incident that really made his blood boil over. A man, taller and creepy, had been following you around the store for a while now, looking for his way in. Leon definitely couldn’t interject, not now, not when you didn’t know him, bound to just make the situation worse. So he watched, clenching the cart he had in his hand so tightly his knuckles turned white.

He almost interjected when he saw the man put his hand on your waist, watching as you cowered away as he grabbed something for you on a higher self. You poor, sweet thing, so naive and stupid. Leon decided then he had to do whatever it would take to help you. That’s what it was really, helping.

Leon was a good man.

-

It was harder than he originally thought taking you, you had a lively group of friends and supportive parents he would no doubt have to figure his way around. But, oh how the heavens must of listened to his prayers when he’d seen you (followed you for more than two hours) stumbling out of a bar drunk and alone.

It was divine timing really, Leon thought to himself. You were stumbling around to a back alley, fiddling with your phone in an attempt to order a ride share to pick you up, no doubt. How stupid were you really, Leon thought. Drunk and alone and ordering a car from a stranger to make sure you got home safe? You really truly knew no better, huh? What if you got hurt, kidnapped, assaulted?

Leon made it his mission all those weeks ago to protect you, help you at any cost, so when he sneaks up behind you placing the rag over your mouth until your body goes limp he’s simply doing it out of protection, out of love.

When he drags your limp body into his car, making sure no one saw, all he can think is how much better off you were in his arms. He was a cop after all, right?

Leon was a good man, he truly honestly believed that.

-

“You’re home now,” He’d explained when you came to in Leon’s apartment. You were scared, huddled in the corner of your pretty pink room ( which Leon had spent a lot of time on in decorating), and Leon really was trying his best to make you comfortable.

He sauntered over to you, and you couldn’t help but notice how he looked like he was a predator stalking his prey, leaning down and reaching his hand out to you in a kind gesture you hadn’t expected, “Let’s talk on the bed, why don’t we baby?” He spoke softly, kindly.

You were still frightened as hell, way too frightened to resist him, so with shaky fingers and sweaty palms you grasped his much bigger one and let him help you up. Leon moved you two to the bed, it was soft and had a pink floral bedspread, and sat closer to you than you wanted.

You had some strength, and you were confused and nervous, “Why?” stumbled out of your lips, hoarse and soft.

Leon nodded his head, “I knew you’d ask that, that’s okay—“ He leans up, brushes some hair off your forehead causing you to flinch, “— I wouldn’t expect you to understand at first, any how.” He spoke like he knew you, how long had he been watching you? Days? Months?

“I saved you.” He spoke matter of factly, it sent a chill down your spine. Saved you? From what?

“I-I don’t need saving,” You found courage to speak, still soft, still so hoarse, “I think you have the wrong p-person I-“

Leon’s jaw clinched as you cut yourself off. Of course you did, Leon’s not fucking stupid. Are you really so goddamn dumb to not realize how scary the world is? What it can do to sweet little things like you? But no, of course you didn’t know that, how could he expect you to? He pushed the rising anger down, Leon was a good man and really only got angry sometimes and he was going to control it if it meant making you like him. Getting you to love him.

“Pretty thing,” He spoke, moving closer to you so your knees knocked together, “I don’t expect you to understand.”

-

Despite everything, you just weren’t seeming to adjust to your new surroundings. Leon had saved you a little over a week ago, and despite trying to make you as comfortable as possible you still just seemed to want to leave.

After your first conversation Leon tried and tried to interact with you, form a relationship with you. He brought you three meals a day, each time watching you struggle to find a new way to escape. First it was the sealed window, the lock picking of the dead bolted doors, even trying to attack him like Leon can’t over power you in seconds. He couldn’t figure out why he couldn’t get you comfortable here.

Why couldn’t you see everything he was doing was for you? You can’t escape, not when the world is just going to eventually eat you up and leave you as broken as him. He was doing the right thing, keeping you here, why couldn’t you see that?

After another week of escape attempts and dry conversations over take out he had gotten you, you finally let up a bit. More open, more willing, the conversation was still dry but at least you weren’t trying to escape anymore.

“Sweet girl,” He spoke kindly,like he always did, as he entered with a tray of food. “I brought your food.” He entered the room, locking the various locks behind him as he sat on your bed. Leon had been nothing but kind in the past two weeks you’ve been here. It made you confused how someone who could so viciously take you was so kind hearted. You walked over to the bed, inspecting the food.

“You didn’t put anything in it, did you?” You asked, just like you always asked.

“Would that make you easier to manage, pretty thing?” He joked. It wasn’t funny, instead it made you feel sick how he could even joke about a topic like that. “No,” He reassured after seeing your fast twist up, “I didn’t put anything in it.” He leaned down, taking a bite of the food to show you it wasn’t contaminated, and only then did you feel safe enough to bring the fork to your lips.

Leon watched you eat for a few moments before speaking, “I was working today—“ He loved these stories, you thought, the ones that make the world seem bad. “— And we got a call. A guy shot his girlfriend. Can you believe that?” He moved to place his palm on your head, smiling at you bright and kind, “Thank god you’re here, right? Not with a sick bastard that could hurt you.”

You could almost laugh, did he not see who he was? A sick bastard in his own right, twisted and fucked up, just kind about it. You simply nodded, it was easier to give in, easier to please him. “Right.” You spoke softly.

-

It was another two weeks and you, embarrassingly so, had gotten more comfortable here. Sleep came more easy to you and Leon was slowly becoming a more comforting presence in your life.

He brought you food, just like always, telling you about his latest work story as you sipped your water. Unfortunately, the stories were starting to scare you, make your hair stand on end as he tells you about a man who murdered his family.

“Make sure to drink it all,” Leon dotes on you, tapping your glass with a big finger, “Need my pretty girl hydrated, hm?” You nod sweetly, just like you’ve been doing the past couple weeks and drink it all in three big gulps.

And okay, Leon was a good man!!! But he wasn’t always honest. He hadn’t been feeding you drugs, but that didn’t mean you weren’t taking them. He’d put them in your drink, mix them up until they were dissolved and make sure you drink it all. It wasn’t anything bad, what he gave you just made you a little sleepy and maybe a little more pliable to what he wanted from you. It didn’t hurt and he wouldn’t keep you out his stuff forever, just until you were ready to be weened off. When you were ready to love him back sober.

When your meal was done and he could tell you were feeling hazy, he leaned down like he always did and placed a soft kiss to your forehead mumbling what a good job you did for him. And you couldn’t help but admit how it made you feel, giddy and comforted.

Leon really wasn’t an awful guy, you caught yourself thinking as he exited the room. He fed you sufficiently, gave you the best clothes and softest towels to shower with, and he really wasn’t that terrible of company. Another 10 or so minutes passed and you were exhausted, falling into a slumber full of Leon.

-

You’d been here two months now, Leon kept you more drugged up than sober these days, but it made you so kind and needy. That’s right he said needy. A couple weeks ago your demeanor began to change, excitement filling you when he’d enter the room, telling him how much you’d missed him while away. He could get used to this.

He’d come to visit you before bed, you were in a pink pretty night gown with your hair in two messy braids when he’d came into the room.

“Leon,” You smiled softly at him, big doe eyes focused on the man by the door way.

“Hi sweetheart,” He spoke, locking the door and walking over to your bed to sit next to you, “Have a fun day, hm?” He pet your hair, giddy in the way that you lean into it.

“Had a good day, watched movies.” Ah yeah, Leon had gotten you a small box tv and some dvds from a resale shop, he was glad you were enjoying those.

“Good, good girl,” He spoke, not missing the way you purred hazily at the nickname, “Little girls deserve to have fun, yeah?”

You nodded at him happily, leaning more into his touch. You’d been such a good girl these past couple weeks, he pressed a kiss to your cheek and he felt how warm you got underneath his touch.

You were so affectionate tonight, would he test the waters more? See what else he could get away with?

“Baby, could we do something different tonight?”

“Different…how?” You spoke softly, flinching a little out of fear. Ah, he expected that to still be there. The thought of something new in this situation was bound to be scary.

“You’ll enjoy yourself angel,” He promised, pressing another sweet kiss to your cheek. He moved so he was laid on the bed next to you, sitting up with his head against the headboard. “Why don’t you give me a kiss first, hm?”

Leon had gotten you to kiss him a couple days prior, you’d been so nervous and fumbling when he’d held your head with his big hands explaining that he deserved a kiss for everything he’d done for you. He was too mean to be the one to kiss you first, waiting for you to stand on you tippy toes and place your lips against his. After a few minutes he’d grown impatient until you did just that, a small peck and turned into a heated session that had you panting into his mouth.

And now you loved kissing him, all hazy and dumb as you would beg him for goodbye kisses everytime he left you. So asking you for a kiss now was nothing out of the ordinary, and it wasnt out of the ordinary for you to climb into his lap and kiss him sloppily and sweet just like you were doing now.

And Leon *loved* it, the patience, the drugging, the kind sweet words was all worth it to lead to moments like this. With you licking at his bottom lip messily until he opened up to shove his tongue down your throat.

He was so happy it wasn’t some punk ass guy doing this to you, a man you didn’t deserve. It had to be him, he was everything you needed. He tested the waters, moving his hands to grip at your waist, he felt you jump beneath him, flinching at the new action. He pulled away smiling at you kindly,

“I told you something new, baby. You gotta trust me,” He gripped your hips tighter, feeling how you shook under him. It was exhilarating having you like this, inexperienced and scared under his touch.

“L-Leon,” You stuttered out, readjusting in his hold, making him groan out softly.

“Be patient, sweet thing.” He demanded, moving you around his lap, releasing another low groan from him.

You could feel something hard under you, hard and big. You gasp, trying to lift yourself off of him and he pushes you back down. “We’re gunna have s’much fun together, ain’t we sweet thing?” He slurred out until he found a good position for you to be in. Leaning his head against the headboard. “Gunna move your hips yeah? Be real weird at first, ‘kay baby? But I’ll make you feel real good sweet girl.” He spoke, leaning up to kiss the shell of your ear.

You’d gotten to the point where it was hard to refuse him, out of fear? Maybe. Or maybe it was something more. So you just nod eagerly, overwhelmed tears filling up your eyes as you wait for his instruction or his motion.

He begins rocking your hips against what you assume is his cock, you gasp softly, the feeling new and foreign to you.

Leon lets out a deep groan, he was loving this. He couldn’t believe he was here with you like this, rocking against his cock. He grips your hips harder, picking up the pace as your clothes cunt rubs against his cock. “God, aren’t you glad I took you, hm?” He’s rambling as you gasp and whine and cry under his hold, “If you’d done this with anyone else baby, I would’ve had to kill them, yeah? Aren’t you glad I rescued you.”

“Y-yeah,” You whine out, over come with this new feeling. The only things separating your cunt and his hard cock was your think panties and his rough pajama pants that rubbed deliciously against your pussy. You’re crying, overwhelmed by the feeling, lashes wet and tears dripping onto Leon’s cheeks (not that he gave a fuck), you move your hands up, shakily wiping the wet from his face as he moves you all at a fast pace.

“Enjoying yourself little girl? Yeah?”

“Uh-huh,” You hiccup, hazy and high, “T-thank you..” You whisper out.

“Dirty thing,” He groans out, moving you faster against his cock. He could only imagine what it’d be like to finally sink himself inside of you. He knows for a fact how wet you’d be, how he’d have to work you on his fingers before you take his big dick. The thought could make him cum in his pants.

“L-Leon I feel funny I…” You trail off, gripping his shirt in your smaller hands. He was so muscular it was almost breath taking.

“Yeah sweet girl I bet you do,” He laughed softly, trailing one of his hands down to press against your panty clad clit. You yelped softly, letting out multiple soft moans at the new sensation.

Your body was on fire, lit from the inside out as you gave up and indulged yourself in this new feeling. Your cunt was soaked leaving a dark stain on Leon’s pajamas as he roughly rocked you back and forth.

“God, fuck you’re such a good girl,” Leon grunts out, he was close, with the dry humping and the thoughts of fucking your sloppy cunt until you couldn’t think no more, he was ready to fucking explode. after a few more minutes he’s soaking himself, his pajamas a dark stained mess as he cums all over himself and your pretty panties. He makes a noise that’s almost like a growl as he grips your hip in a bruising hold.

You yelp out at the pain as he is circling your clit in a rough fast pace, you felt like you had to pee, the build up inside of you getting stronger and stronger as he mumbles sweet praises and tells you how he saved you over and over again, rubbing your clit in fast circles.

Finally the coil inside of you snaps as you yell out, a sobbing mess as you twitch and convulse and rut yourself against his big hand. Leon could cum again almost looking at you fuck your wet cunt against his hand.

You were overwhelmed but you couldn’t stop, you were shaking and sobbing at this point as you fuck yourself fast and hard against his hand.

“Baby let’s stop, yeah?” He spoke, pressing his hands on your tummy and back and slowing you to a stop, kissing you on your cheek as he stares at your blissed out face.

Leon Kennedy was a good man, Leon was your savior.

[dreamscapeee222]

(I'm new to tumblr, sorry if I'm posting in the wrong place, I hope this is ask box)

I asked you to write about the relationship between the arcane characters and the reader who is very thin due to some health problems?

(Sorry for any mistakes, English is not my native language)

A/n: Hello!! I did lots of research with your request so I hope my work satisfies what you had in mind ^^

You deal with health problems that affect your weight

Vi, Jinx, Caitlyn, Ekko, Jayce, Viktor, Mel

Masterlist

Vi

She’s not the type to pry. But she notices the little things—the way you don’t finish your meals, the way you curl up a little too tightly, like you're trying to protect yourself from the world. She never asks you about it, but she always makes sure you’ve got something to eat or drink when she knows you’re struggling.

She might drop a sandwich by your side, or hand you a water bottle without saying a word. It’s just her way of saying, “I see you,” without actually saying it.

If you ever get quiet for too long, she’ll be there, sitting next to you without forcing a conversation. It’s not about pushing you to talk—it’s just her letting you know you’re not alone, even in those silent moments.

Jinx

Jinx doesn’t always understand why you’re not at your best, but she feels it. She’s a whirlwind of chaos, always trying to keep you distracted, to keep you laughing. She doesn’t always get it right, but she’s trying, you can tell by the way she keeps pulling you into her nonsense, hoping that a little of her madness will rub off on you.

But there are times when she looks at you, and the mask slips for just a second. She sees how tired you are, how empty you seem sometimes, and in those moments, she doesn’t know how to fix it. But she doesn’t turn away. “You don’t gotta do this alone, okay?” she says, voice softer than usual. It’s a rare vulnerability, the one moment where she lets down the wall and shows you she’s scared too.

She might not know what to say or do, but she’ll always bring something to make you smile—even if it’s just a little.

Caitlyn

Caitlyn’s the quiet type, always paying attention to the little things that others might miss. She watches you—never in a way that feels overbearing, but in a way that shows she’s aware of when something’s off.

She doesn’t press you to talk, but she’ll always offer a gentle reminder that she’s there for you—whether that’s by quietly handing you a cup of tea, leaving a snack where you can easily reach it, or making sure you have time to rest.

She never pushes, but when you catch her looking at you with those soft, patient eyes, you know she’s not going anywhere. "Take it easy,” she says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. And for a moment, you actually believe it’s okay to slow down.

Ekko

Ekko’s the type of person who’s there without being too much. He notices when you’re pushing yourself too hard, and when he sees the signs—when you’re too quiet, when you’re too weak to do what you usually can—he’ll just quietly step in.

He won’t make a fuss, and he won’t ask you if you’re okay every five minutes. Instead, he’ll bring you a blanket when he sees you shivering, a drink when you look like you haven’t had one all day. He knows you don’t need someone to tell you what to do—you just need someone to make sure you don’t fall apart while you're doing it all.

Sometimes, he’ll sit beside you and not say a word. It’s just his presence, calm and steady, and it’s enough to make you feel like maybe everything will be okay. “You’re not alone,” he’ll say without looking at you. And it’s not just words—it’s his way of making sure you never feel like you’re fighting your battles by yourself.

Jayce

Jayce doesn’t know how to make things better when it’s you, and that frustration shows. He wants to fix things, to find the right answer, and he’s always throwing himself into research, into getting you the best treatment, the right food, whatever he thinks might help. But sometimes, it feels like he’s pushing you harder than you want, trying to make everything better without realizing that maybe what you need is just some quiet.

He doesn’t always know how to slow down, but there are times when you catch him looking at you, his expression softening when he sees the exhaustion in your eyes. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he says, and for once, it doesn’t come off as a demand. It’s a plea—something raw and real in the way he says it.

When you’re too tired to argue, he’ll just stay next to you, offering comfort in his own way. It’s not perfect, but you know he’s trying, and that’s enough for now.

Viktor

Viktor doesn’t say much, but his care shows in everything he does. When he sees you struggling, he doesn’t push you to talk about it. Instead, he quietly takes action—he makes sure your space is organized, makes sure you have what you need, even when you don’t ask for it.

You won’t hear him say, “I’m here for you,” but you’ll feel it in the way he adjusts your pillow without asking, or in the way he slides a cup of tea your way without a word. He’s not the type to crowd you, but he’s always making sure you’re okay in ways that don’t demand attention.

When you do catch him looking at you, there’s a softness in his eyes—an unspoken understanding. “You don’t have to be strong all the time,” he’ll say quietly, but it’s not just the words that matter. It’s the way he’s already got your back without needing you to ask.

Mel

Mel is the kind of person who knows how to give space without making you feel like you’re invisible. She’s quiet, observant, and when she sees that something’s not right, she’s there—but never in a way that feels like she’s pushing you.

Her care is in the little things—the cup of tea she hands you when you’re not feeling great, the soft touch of her hand on your arm as she sits beside you, giving you time to breathe. She doesn’t expect anything from you, just that you take care of yourself in your own time.

She’ll always remind you that it’s okay to slow down, to rest. “You don’t have to do it all at once,” she’ll say, and the gentleness in her voice makes it feel like everything else can wait. She’ll be there, waiting, until you’re ready to come back to the world.

Requests may be sent through the ask box. Only SFW.

[tsuutarr]

As just imagined then everything as a game and the hero as seeing like a freak by all the people and the reader as the only good and nice npc then treat him well and even give him free item even if our store is not very we still give him a apologize about the others (npcs) being rude with him and the hero being so delusinal the fall over us lol

so, because i have absolutely NO self control, I made another story <3

Yandere! RPG Protagonist x Reader

Gallius isn’t entirely sure when he gained sentience. Maybe it was when he’d have insistent feelings of déjà vu. Maybe it was when he would want to go somewhere or do something, but an external force prevented him from doing so. Maybe it was when the people he talked to would say the same things over and over and over again.

Regardless, one day, he realized that he doesn’t actually exist – at least, not in a way that matters. He’s just a piece of code, a bunch of pixels moving across the screen, trapped in a video game.

The worst part is that everyone around him – and he means everyone – lacks sentience. It’s gotten to the point that he’s memorized everything. Every dialogue, every story path – everything.

It’s a fruitless life, really, especially since he’s forced to obey his code. He’s forced to go along with whatever the person controlling him wants. He’s forced to be the happy-go-lucky protagonist. He can’t be anything but that.

Gods, he’s going to go insane.

And he’s tried to talk to people, really.

“Hey, so, I think we’re in a game.”

“Beer is fifty percent off, young man.”

Gallius never thought the tavern’s owner could look so lifeless. “So, you know, I guess you really don’t have sentience.”

“Man, can you believe the monster outbreak?”

“Don’t you wish there was a way you could… I don’t know, break free? Talk beyond your code?”

“Beer is fifty percent off, young man.”

Gallius holds back a sigh. The tavern owner says three things exactly. “Beer is fifty percent off, young man”, “Man, can you believe the monster outbreak?”, and “I don’t know if I prefer a full tavern or an empty one!” are the exact phrases the tavern owner recycles. It isn’t just the tavern owner, either. It’s everyone else in town. The blacksmith, the carpenter, the seamstress – all of them.

It kind of drives him insane. Maybe that’s why he tries to find solace in anything he can, like you.

“Gods, I hate being the only one who sees that we’re a pile of code,” he tells you. You’re a cute shopkeep – whoever designed you must be a genius – that he likes to see from time to time. If anything, you’re easy on the eyes, at least.

“Yes, it does appear that you’re having quite the rough time,” you say. He knows you’re just saying one of your coded phrases, he does, but he can’t help but latch on to that piece of support you give.

“Yeah, you get it.” He laughs dryly. “But what can I do? I have to keep going. It’s not like I have a choice.”

“You’re doing well. I’m proud of you.”

Gods, he can’t hide his grin. Yes, you’re just saying one of your phrases, but the comfort your words bring – it’s unreal. It’ll probably be even more unreal if he could actually talk to you. If you both had sentience, if you both could go against your code. The thought makes him fall silent.

“...Hey, I’m gonna leave for a bit. Maybe a long time,” he says finally, determined to help you break away from your code. He doesn’t really care too much about the other NPCs, but you? Oh, he wants you. He wants to talk to you, to be with you in a way that matters.

“Have a safe journey,” you say, automated. You hand him a potion, a freebie from your shop, with a smile. “On the house.”

Gallius smiles, taking the potion from you. Yeah, he’ll find a way to give you sentience like him. That way, you guys can truly be together forever.

[llamagoddessofficial]

How would the Bad Sanses Harpys react if you were to preen their wings?

Poor harpy boys. They constantly look a little bit messy, because until you show up, they have no one around they trust enough to groom them.

Dust can't make eye contact while you preen him. It's been such a long time since anyone preened him, and honestly? He's flustered. You might not notice at first, since he'll just sit there in silence, not looking at you and only answering your questions with short hums. Knowing him it's only natural to assume he's feeling nothing out of the ordinary. But if you look closer at his 'impassive' face, when you run your hands over his blue-grey feathers, you'll realise there's a tinge of red on his cheekbones. You'll realise the reason he turns his head from you is because he doesn't want you to notice how embarrassingly emotional (literally just a hint of blush) he's getting. You'll realise he's replying in hums because he can't even concentrate on what you're saying. His feathers are lovely and soft, despite how long it's been since anyone groomed him. You aren't sure how much of the softness is the fine powder layer covering him, but whatever it is, it's very tempting to bury your face in it.

If there's anyone that really needs preening, it's Horror. His feathers are a mess. And he probably wants it the most out of all of them. Even though he desperately wants you to preen him, and he'll be so overjoyed if you offer, he will definitely flinch at the first touch - he's just not used to getting any kind of positive attention. But... the more you smooth his ragged uneven feathers, the more relaxed he gets. His eyelight gets big and wide, his socket half-closes, he fluffs up like a pigeon, he puts an arm around you - he'll definitely start to purr. As you pick fluff and pinfeathers out he gets more and more and more sleepy, more and more relaxed... ... Until he's a bit too relaxed and sleepy, and he just nods over, falling asleep and pulling you down with him. Congrats, you are now trapped. You are no match for his weight and sleepy clinginess. At least his huge wings are very very warm, and make great blankets.

Killer's wings are constantly in a state of disarray. Just like him. There's feathers sticking up at all different angles, clumps matted together, he sheds everywhere, he gets puffy when he's excited and patches of puff don't go back down properly... he's not quite as messy as Horror but he's definitely getting there. He never lets anyone touch him, he gets aggressive at the suggestion he needs to tidy himself, and he reacts to any attempt to clean him up by getting alarmingly violent. You are, of course, his exception to everything. He'll wait until you're sat down, then dramatically drape himself across your lap and lament about how long it's been since someone preened him. He'll constantly bring it up, and when you do finally 'cave' and run a brush over him, he grins like a cat and gets all cuddly. With how cute he acts when you're preening him it's hard to believe he ever made a fuss about it before.

Nightmare doesn't do preening. Sorry, dear. The black tar that coats his wings simply makes grooming logistically impossible. He doesn't ever look like he needs preening anyway, he's the only one of the guys who doesn't look messy - perhaps there's some deep magic in the darkness that coats him, because unless he's really angry, he never has a single feather out of place. Why would someone like him ever require that kind of thing? ... Just because he doesn't need it, though, doesn't mean he doesn't want it. He misses being able to receive that kind of affection. When the two of you are alone together, he would very much appreciate it if you just... pretended to preen him. Run your fingers through his feathers as best you can, smooth down bumps that aren't there, fix issues that haven't been there for years. You'll never see him more calm.

[lvnleah]

when three becomes four.

we have another baby Williamson! 🥹

find the series masterlist here!

July 2028 | 4 years old. 

“Alright! A bowl of popcorn for you, bubba,” Leah smiled as she came into the living, two bowls of popcorn in her arms. “And a bowl for me and Mummy!”

“Thank you, Mumma!” Finley smiled and cuddled into your side as Leah handed him a bowl of popcorn. 

You ran your hand over your swollen stomach that Finley was currently resting his head on, “Oh thank you, love! Baby girl is going to love this.”

“Anything for my loves,” Leah said, plopping down on the sofa on the other side of Finley. “What film should we watch, bubba?”

“Erm…” Finley began, scrunching his little face in concentration as he thought. “Toy Story 3!” he declared confidently, glancing up at you with his blue eyes. 

You smiled softly, placing a hand on Finley’s curls. “That sounds perfect.”

Leah chuckled as she grabbed the remote. “Toy Story it is then. Great choice, bubba.” She leaned over, pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head before turning her attention to the TV. The opening credits started rolling, and the familiar tune filled the room, bringing an instant sense of comfort.

Finley snuggled closer to your bump. You were currently 36 weeks pregnant and due in mid-August. You and Leah had decided to start IVF for baby number two right after Finley had turned three. 

You still had embryos left over from when you had your transfer with Finley so the process was easier than last time. It was agreed you would carry the baby after a lot of thought. You were anxious about being pregnant again because of how bad your pregnancy with Finley was but you knew no two pregnancies were the same. 

The first transfer was scheduled for early August and unfortunately, that transfer didn’t work. You and Leah were both heartbroken, convinced that it was going to work the first time like it did with Finley. After a lot of tears and days spent in bed, you agreed to try again in November. 

The two-week wait came with a lot of anxiety. You were both anxious that it wasn’t going to work and that you’d have to try again which you didn’t want to do. Two weeks before Christmas you took your first test, it was a very strong positive after you had delayed taking the tests for a few days. 

You and Leah couldn’t believe that it worked and were excited to become parents again. The first few months were filled with uncertainty and worry. The first few weeks were filled with morning sickness but nothing compared to how it was with Finley. 

As the weeks passed, your pregnancy progressed smoothly, much to your relief. The regular check-ups and scans were reassuring, and the anticipation of welcoming your baby girl in mid-August grew stronger. 

Finley’s excitement about becoming a big brother was always evident. He often talked about all the things he would do with his new sibling and made sure everyone knew that he was going to be a big brother. You both made sure to involve him in preparations for the baby, taking him to scans which he loved doing. 

Finley wiggled a bit, getting more comfortable against your belly. “When baby comes, I’ll show her all my toys! Do you think she’ll like Buzz Lightyear? Or Woody?”

You exchanged a knowing glance with Leah, both of you trying not to get too emotional at his sweetness. “I think she’ll love whatever you show her, sweetheart. She’s going to be so lucky to have you as her big brother.”

Leah nodded in agreement. “You’re going to teach her all the best things, aren’t you buddy?”

Finley nodded excitedly, “Yeah! I teach her to be a little Gooner, just like I am!”

“That’s it, bubba!” Leah smiled, high-fiving him, “We aren’t gonna let Uncle Jacob turn her into a stinky spurs supporter are we?”

“No way!” Finley shook his head in disgust, “Gonner all the way.”

You laughed, shaking your head, “You’ve got him brainwashed.”

Leah shrugged, “What can I say, he supports the best team in North London. He’s a clever boy.”

Finley’s hand instinctively rested on your belly again. You could feel your baby girl shifting slightly beneath his touch, a giggle escaping him as she kicked against his hand. 

As the movie continued, Finley’s energy started to fade. His popcorn bowl sat half-eaten on his lap, and his eyelids drooped as he fought to stay awake. By the time the movie was halfway through, Finley was fast asleep, his head still resting on your bump. 

Leah smiled, brushing a few stray curls from his forehead. “He’s so excited to be a big brother.”

You nodded, feeling a wave of emotion wash over you. “He really is. I just hope the transition is smooth for him.”

Leah leaned over and placed a kiss on your temple. “He’ll be fine, he’ll be the best big brother ever. He loves his baby sister already.”

For a while, you both sat in the quiet comfort of the moment, the soft sounds of the movie playing in the background, and Finley’s steady breathing filling the space between you. It was one of those rare moments where everything felt perfectly still like time itself had paused to let you savour the simplicity of this life you had built together.

As the movie ended and the credits rolled, Leah carefully scooped Finley into her arms, cradling him against her chest. “I’ll put him to bed,” she whispered.

You nodded, watching her carry him down the hall, a smile tugging at your lips. When she came back she laid down beside your bump, now getting her own time with her baby girl.

“Hi baby peanut,” Leah smiled as she placed a kiss on your bump, “we’re so excited to meet you, Bubba. I think your brother is the most excited out of us all.”

You smiled, your hand playing with Leah’s hair, “He’s dying to meet her, I can’t believe he won’t be our only baby anymore.”

“It’ll feel weird having two kids after just having Finley for four years. It'll be fun,” Leah said, “Won’t it, baby peanut?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Two weeks later, at 38 weeks pregnant, the day began as usual, though you had pains all morning. You had decided not to worry too much, thinking they were just Braxton Hicks, and so you proceeded with your plan for the day. After dropping Finley off at Amanda’s for the day, you headed out for a relaxing date day with Leah.

You both enjoyed a quiet brunch at your favourite café, soaking in the peaceful time together before the baby arrived. Leah had her hand on your belly most of the time, and now and then, the baby gave her a little kick in response, making you both smile. 

You took a bite of your pastry, but suddenly paused, your hand instinctively moving to your belly as a contraction rolled through. You let out a slow breath, trying to play it off like it was nothing.

Leah immediately noticed. “Are you okay, pretty girl? That looked like more than just the usual Braxton Hicks.”

You smiled, trying to downplay the discomfort. “I’m fine. I’ve been having them on and off all morning. It’s nothing serious.”

Leah raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Hmm, I don’t know. They seem more frequent today. Are you sure it’s not early labour?”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “We’ve still got a couple of weeks. It’s just my body getting ready.”

Leah smiled, rubbing small circles over your belly. “Well, tell baby girl to take it easy on you, yeah? We’re trying to enjoy our last date before she gets here.”

Just as you started to respond, another contraction hit, and this time it made you pause, gripping the edge of the table for a moment. You took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, trying to stay calm.

Leah’s eyes widened, her concern growing. “Babe… that one looked pretty intense. Maybe we should head home, just to be safe. I don’t want to be sitting here when it actually starts.”

You shook your head again, but this time your tone was more serious. “It’s okay, Leah, really. They’re not that close together yet. Besides, we’ve been looking forward to this day all week. I don’t want to cut it short just because of a few contractions.”

Leah sighed, sitting back slightly but keeping her hand on your belly. “Alright, but I’m keeping an eye on you. You need to tell me if it gets worse. I’m serious.”

You smiled, reaching over to give her a kiss. “I promise. You’ll be the first to know.”

Leah smiled against your lips. “Good. Because I’m not letting you give birth in a café.”

You both laughed, the tension easing a little as the contraction faded. Leah leaned forward again, her hand still resting protectively on your belly. “But seriously, it’s crazy that we’re so close to meeting her. Any day now.”

You nodded, feeling a rush of emotion. “I know. I can’t believe it’s happening so soon. I feel like we were just doing this with Finley.”

Leah’s face softened. “Finley’s so excited.”

“He really is,” you agreed. “I can’t wait to see him as a big brother. He’s going to be amazing.”

Leah smiled, her eyes bright with excitement. “And you, pretty girl, are amazing too. You’re handling this so well, even with the contractions starting up. I mean, look at you, still eating your croissant like a champ.”

You laughed, taking another bite. “A girl’s gotta eat, right?”

Leah chuckled. “Just promise me that if they start getting more intense, we head home. I know you want to stay, but I don’t want to take any chances.”

You nodded, appreciating her concern. “I promise. If it gets too much, we’ll go. But for now, let’s just enjoy this time together.”

Leah smiled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips. “Deal. Now, what do you want to do after this? Walk in the park? Or maybe head to that bookstore you love?”

“I like the sound of the park,” you said, your hand subconsciously rubbing your belly. “Fresh air might help with these contractions.”

Leah gave you a knowing smile, but didn’t push the matter further. “Alright, the park it is. Let’s make the most of this date while we still can.”

You had a walk around the park, stopping every so often because of your contractions before heading to pick Finley up.

“Le, can we stop for a moment,” you breathed as you walked down Amanda’s path, “Another…contraction.”

Leah instantly turned towards you, concern filling her eyes. “Of course, pretty girl. Here, lean on me.” She wrapped an arm around your waist, supporting you as you focused on breathing through the contraction. 

The pain intensified for a moment, and you clenched your jaw, gripping her arm as you tilted your head back. Leah rubbed soothing circles on your back, murmuring softly, “You’re doing so good, love. Just breathe through it.”

After a few moments, the contraction subsided, and you let out a deep breath, standing a little straighter. “Okay. That one was a bit stronger,” you admitted, trying to smile through the discomfort. 

Leah gave you a soft, worried look. “We might need to rethink this whole ‘it's just Braxton Hicks’ theory. These are getting stronger.”

Before you could respond, the front door of Amanda’s house opened, and there stood Amanda, Leah’s mum, a knowing smile on her face. She quickly scanned the scene—your hands resting on your belly, the way Leah was supporting you, and the tension still evident on your face.

“Amanda,” you said, trying to sound casual, “I think baby girl might be coming soon.”

Amanda raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Might be? From the looks of it, darling, she’s not wasting any time.” She gave Leah a pointed glance. “You two need to head home or to the hospital, not my driveway.”

Leah nodded, looking more convinced by the second. “That’s exactly what I’ve been saying.”

Amanda placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Finley will be fine with me, I have all of his stuff already. You need to head to the hospital.”

Another contraction started to build, and Leah gently helped you sit on the edge of the bench outside of Amanda’s. “I really think it’s time, love,” she said softly. “Let’s say bye to Finley, and we can call the midwife on the way there.”

You nodded, finally starting to accept that this might really be the beginning of labour. “Okay, you’re right. Let’s head to the hospital.”

A few minutes later, Amanda emerged with Finley. Finley ran up to you with his typical boundless energy. 

“Is baby sister coming?” he asked, his big blue eyes filled with curiosity and excitement.

You smiled, reaching out to gently ruffle his hair. “It looks like she might be, Finn. You be good for Nana yeah?”

Finley nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! I promise, Nana Finley sleepover!”

Leah chuckled, picking him up and balancing him on her hip. “We know you will, buddy. You’re going to be the best big brother.”

Amanda gave you a warm hug. “Call me if you need anything. Now go bring that baby into the world," Amanda smiled warmly. "Finley will be just fine here with me."

As you and Leah finally decided to make your way to the hospital, the excitement and anticipation started to settle in. Leah helped you into the car, buckling you in gently as you focused on breathing through another contraction. The ride was a blur of adrenaline and tenderness, Leah’s hand never leaving your thigh as she drove, calling the midwife to let her know what was happening.

“We’ll be there soon, pretty girl. Just keep breathing,” Leah reassured you, her voice calm despite the growing intensity of the moment.

The hospital was ready for your arrival, and as you were checked in, the midwife confirmed that you were in active labour. Your baby girl was on her way. Time seemed to pass in waves—some moments felt slow and agonising, while others moved too fast, but through it all, Leah never left your side.

You were six centimetres when you arrived and you took the epidural as soon as you could. You managed to nap for a bit and when you woke up again it was time for the midwife to check you again. 

“You’ll be happy to know you’re at ten centimetres,” She smiled as she took off her gloves and threw them into the bin. “I’ll go get my colleagues and you can start pushing. Almost time to meet your baby girl!” 

Leah squeezed your hand, her eyes wide with excitement and a hint of nervousness. “Did you hear that, pretty girl? It’s time. We’re going to meet our girl soon.”

You nodded, a wave of emotion rushing over you. The months of anticipation, the moments of uncertainty, and now you were here, ready to bring your daughter into the world. The room buzzed with activity as the midwives prepared, but all you could focus on was Leah, her steady hand in yours, and the fact that you were going to meet your baby girl soon 

The midwife returned, this time with more nurses and doctors, and they all smiled reassuringly. “Alright, darling, when the next contraction comes, we’ll start pushing. You’re doing great.”

You looked at Leah, taking a deep breath. “We’re ready for this, right?”

Leah kissed your forehead, “We are so ready. You’re going to do amazing, just like with Finley.”

As the contraction began, you bore down, gripping Leah’s hand tightly. Time seemed to blur again, each push bringing you closer to meeting your daughter. Leah’s encouragement never stopped, her voice a distraction from the pain and effort.

“You’re almost there,” the midwife said, her tone filled with excitement. “One more big push.”

With every ounce of strength left in you, you gave one final push, and then, the room was filled with the sound of your baby’s first cry. Tears welled in your eyes as the midwife lifted your daughter, placing her on your chest.

“She’s here,” Leah whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she leaned in to kiss you. “Our little girl.”

You looked down at the tiny, baby girl on your chest. She was much smaller than Finley was and had a large set of lungs on her from the sound of the cry that she produced. You couldn’t believe she was finally here.

“She’s perfect,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to her soft head as Leah wrapped an arm around both of you. “I can’t believe it. She’s actually here.”

Leah looked down at your daughter, her eyes brimming with happy tears. “She’s more than perfect. You did it, pretty girl. You did it. Oh my gosh, she looks so much like Finley!”

The midwives busied themselves with cleaning up and checking on the baby, but for that moment, it was just the three of you, cocooned in a bubble of pure joy. Your family had grown, and soon, Finley would meet his baby sister, the little girl he’d been so excited to love and protect.

And just like that, your family was complete for now. Eloise had completed your family. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The first night with baby Eloise, or Ellie as you’d nicknamed her, went smoothly. You both knew what to expect so you both found the night feeds fairly easy. 

As the soft light of the morning sun filled the hospital room, you stirred to the sound of tiny cries from Ellie’s bassinet. Leah was still half-asleep beside you, but her eyes fluttered open at the same sound.

“Morning, love,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep as she sat up to check on Ellie. “Looks like someone’s hungry.”

You nodded, gently pulling yourself up and reaching for your baby girl. She was so tiny in your arms, her little face scrunched up as she made soft noises. Leah watched with a smile as you settled Ellie to feed her, her tiny hands clutching at your skin.

“She’s so beautiful,” Leah whispered, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you settled into her side. “It still doesn’t feel real. We’re parents of two now.”

You laughed softly, “I know. I keep looking at her and just thinking, ‘she’s ours’ she actually belongs to us, Le.”

A knock at the door interrupted your moment, and a nurse stepped in with a warm smile. “Good morning, mamas. How are you feeling today? And how’s baby girl doing?”

“We’re good,” Leah replied, glancing down at you and Ellie. “She’s feeding really well, and so far, it’s been a smooth night.”

The nurse nodded approvingly. “That’s great to hear. We’ll do another check on her in a bit, but you both seem to be settling in wonderfully. Do you need anything right now? Some breakfast, maybe?”

You smiled. “Breakfast would be amazing, thank you.”

As the nurse left, Leah leaned over and kissed your temple. “I’ll text Mum and let her know she can bring Finley by in a couple of hours. He’s going to be over the moon when he meets Ellie.”

The thought of Finley meeting his baby sister made your heart race with excitement. He had been talking nonstop about his baby sister. You could already picture his wide eyes and the way he would gently touch her tiny hands, just like he did with your belly.

A couple of hours later, after you both had eaten and Ellie had been checked over by the doctors, the door to your room swung open, and in rushed Finley, his little feet pattering excitedly on the floor.

“Mummy! Mumma!” he called out, his eyes wide with anticipation as Amanda trailed behind him. “I missed ‘ou! Baby sissy here?”

Leah crouched down, holding her arms out to him. “She’s here, bubba! Do you want to meet your baby sister?”

Finley nodded eagerly, his curls bouncing as he ran to Leah, who lifted him up and carried him over to the bed where you and Ellie were waiting. His little face lit up the moment he saw her.

“She’s so tiny!” he whispered, his voice full of awe as he gazed at his new sister, who was bundled up and sleeping peacefully.

You smiled, holding Ellie close as Finley leaned in for a closer look. “This is your baby sister, Ellie,” you said softly. “You want to say hi?”

Finley reached out gently, his little hand brushing against Ellie’s tiny fist. “Hi, Ellie,” he whispered. “I’m your big brother, Finley!”

Leah grinned, her eyes misty with tears as she stood beside you. “She’s so lucky to have you, bubba.”

Finley looked up at you both, “I love her! She’s so cute and tiny!”

”Oh she’s absolutely gorgeous,” Amanda whispered, “Doesn’t she look Finley?”

“She does,” Leah smiled, “Do you want to know her full name?” Leah asked, getting a nod from Amanda, “Her name is Eloise Amanda Williamson but we’re calling her Ellie for short.”

Amanda's eyes welled with tears as she heard her name, a soft gasp escaping her lips. "Eloise Amanda… that’s such a beautiful name. I’m honoured." 

Leah gave her a warm smile, wrapping an arm around her. "We wanted to honour you, Mum. You’ve been there for us every step of the way."

Finley continued to look down at his baby sister, mesmerised by her every little movement. "Can I hold her, Mummy?" he asked. 

You smiled, glancing at Leah, who nodded. "Of course you can, Fin. Let’s get you set up," Leah said softly, guiding him to sit beside you on the bed. She gently helped him cradle Ellie in his arms, her tiny head resting against his chest.

Finley’s face lit up with a smile as he held his little sister, his small hands carefully supporting her. "She’s so little, Mummy," he whispered.

You smiled, your heart swelling as you watched the two of them together. "She is, but she’ll grow big and strong just like you!”

Leah sat beside you, her hand resting on your thigh, her gaze never leaving Finley and Ellie. "We’ve got our two little loves, right here," she said quietly, her voice filled with emotion.

And with that, the next chapter of your life as a family of four officially began.

[cheyisagirlkisser]

Hiii can you please make a fic about Ellie and fem reader having s*x for the first time together and reader is insecure about her outie :3?

AWW THIS IS SO CUTE I love this. You already know Ellie is gonna be so sweet about this here we go. Warning I made this into more of a short fic since the relationship is established! Hope you enjoy anon<3

Content: 1k words, reader has an outie, vaginal fingering (r! receiving), oral sex (r! receiving), at this point my reader is a pillow princess, some fluff and a lot of filth, slight overstim

You’re sprawled out in your bed in nothing but your underwear. You and Ellie have never gotten this far, but a heated make-out session turned into what you both craved.

You need Ellie so fucking badly. She looks so pretty staring at your legs, trailing her hands up to your panties, looking up for you for confirmation-

Oh, shit.

You wanna say yes. You really need her, but what if she doesn’t like how you look? You’ve seen the way people talk about your type of vagina online, how it’s gross or unwanted. It makes your stomach churn with anxiety, and you are simply left frozen on the bed, your fingers trembling. You want her so much, but you're afraid that if she sees how you look, she won't even want to touch it. The thought is terrifying.

Ellie notices the nervous look in your eyes and quickly pulls her hands back, concern crossing every inch of her face.

"You okay, baby?" Her voice is sweet and gentle and it makes you feel even worse somehow; you wonder if she will still be sweet if she sees you completely naked.

You sigh, nervous to tell her that the reason you're upset is because of your body. You trust her, you know she loves you with every piece of herself, but you still overthink. "I just.." you trail off, and Ellie squeezes your hand reassuringly, looking up at you with gentle patience. "I hate the way I look down there," you mumble.

Ellie's face softens at that and she squeezes your thigh. "Baby, I love you, and I will love every single bit of this body," she emphasizes her point by kissing your knee, and then up your thigh before pausing. "I can show you how much I'll love whatever it is you have down there, if you'll let me."

You take a shaky breath, still a bit nervous, but you want this. You want Ellie to show you how much she loves you.

"Okay." You try to relax into the bed and Ellie smiles, giving you hand a final squeeze before moving back to your underwear, hooking two fingers inside.

"Can I take these off?" She wants to make sure you're completely okay.

You nod, and she slowly slides your underwear down, quickly tossing them aside. You feel like you're being examined. Ellie is just staring at your pussy and it's honestly a bit nerve-wrecking, but then you see the hungry look in her eyes and it makes the nerves fade a bit, overtaken by the flutters in your tummy.

You look fucking gorgeous right now, legs parted, your pussy lips slick with your own juices. She already knew how soaked you were from the wet patch on your underwear, but this is like a feast in front of her. Ellie wants to appreciate the absolute perfection laid out all for her. Her fingers graze through your sticky folds, making you gasp at the sudden touch.

"This pussy is so pretty, babe," she says and you can tell how much she believes it, "all mine, too."

You were terrified a few minutes ago. You know Ellie is a nice person, and she would do literally anything to make sure you felt loved. You weren't really scared of her being outright disgusted with how your labia looks, but that she would pretend to like your body. Now, seeing how she stares at you, feeling her needy fingers, you know she truly does love your pussy.

She quickly kisses your inner thighs and then her lips brush against your lips, making your breath hitch. Her arms lock around your legs and she digs in.

Ellie is so fucking skilled with her tongue, it is truly unbelievable. She knows how to tease you, to circle her tongue around your folds before giving firm suckles onto your swollen clit. She knows just what to do, and that much is obvious. However, she is also so eager - she eats you like she is truly starving for you. Her warm tongue doesn't just focus on the main bud, but she pays attention to your pussy overall, showing you how much she craves all of it, even dipping her tongue into your wet hole and making you cry out her name.

"E-Ellie, please..don't stop.." You're pleading for her, chanting her name and tugging at her hair. You can't help but buck your pussy up into her face, and it only eggs her on more. You taste so good, and now you're shoving the feast right into her mouth? She's gonna devour you.

You can't stop moaning, nobody has ever loved you like this. This is the first time you have ever felt so good about your body and it is a huge relief that you have a girl so loving that she can't keep her mouth off of your pussy (she's gonna need to eat you out every single day after this). Ellie can multi-task, too; she slips a finger into your cunt as she now focuses on getting you off.

It doesn't take much, just the repeated curling of her fingers inside of you to make you clench, and the flick of her soft tongue over your clit to make it beat faster, sending you tumbling toward an orgasm.

The dual stimulation only extends it; when you think it's over, you're met with more waves of ecstasy You don't remember ever being able to make yourself feel this good, and yet Ellie does it by just exploring your body for the first time. Ellie doesn't even stop when you're coming down, her mouth latched onto your sweet cunt, eating it like it's gonna disappear if she pulls away. You whine and jerk until she finally relents.

When it's all over, Ellie gently pulls away, giving your pretty labia one last kiss before laying down beside you and pulling you on top of her. You collapsed into her body, satisfied and emotional from feeling so loved.

"I love all of you, babe. Do you believe me now?"

You let out a soft sigh and nod. "I love you, too."

[4linos]

cooking, lying, and loving you.

han jisung x gn!reader

synopsis: you surprise your boyfriend with a home-cooked meal after his long tour, but the dish turns out far from perfect.

wc: 705

After weeks of being on tour, Jisung has finally returned home, and you have been impatiently waiting his arrival. You chose to prepare dinner as a surprise for him because you know how much he must have missed home-cooked meals. Even though you're not very good at cooking, you've spent the entire day planning and putting your all into the dish. You're nervous yet excited, imagining his reaction when he realizes how hard you've worked.

When he walks through the door, the sound of his suitcase rolling across the floor catches your attention. “I’m home!” he calls out, his voice a little tired but warm and full of love.

You rush out to greet him, pulling him into a tight hug. “Welcome back!”

He grins, melting into your embrace. “It smells amazing in here. Did you… cook?” His tone is surprised but genuinely touched.

“Yup!” you say, beaming. “I wanted to do something special for you. Go freshen up—it’ll be ready when you’re done.”

Jisung heads off to change, and you quickly finish plating the food, making sure it looks as good as possible. By the time he sits down, the table is set with candles and everything. You can see how moved he is by the effort.

“Wow,” he says, his eyes wide as he takes it all in. “You did all this for me? You’re amazing.”

You blush at his words. “Anything for you. Now, dig in!”

He grabs his fork and takes his first bite. His attitude somewhat changes, but he masks it with a smile. His nod is a bit too enthusiastic. "Mmm," he adds. "This is so good!" With pride, you smile. “Really? I was worried that things wouldn't work out.” "No, it's delicious!" he insists, taking another bite, although at a slower pace. His thoughts are racing inside.

*It's slightly salty—no, it's really salty. And the texture isn't right. However, they put a lot of effort into this—I can't say anything. I'll simply push through.*

Feeling happy by his obvious enjoyment, you continue to watch him eat. "You really like it?”

“Of course!” he says, washing it down with a big gulp of water. “You did an amazing job.” He clears his plate despite the challenge, finishing with a triumphant smile. “That was so good. Thank you, babe.”

You’re practically glowing from his praise. “I’m so glad you liked it! I was worried it might not be perfect.”

Jisung shakes his head. “It was perfect,” he lies smoothly, leaning back in his chair.

Later, Jisung waits in the doorway, watching you with a sheepish smile as you get ready for bed. Casually, he scratches the back of his neck and says, "Hey." "Yes?" You look at him in the mirror and hum. "Well, I He took a step closer and says, "I have something to tell you.”

Curious, you turn around. "What is it?" After he pauses, he starts laughing. "Alright, don't be upset,

but the dinner wasn't that good."

Your jaw drops as you process his confession. “What?! You said you loved it!”

“I didn’t have the heart to tell you!” he defends himself, laughing so hard he’s clutching his stomach. “You looked so proud, and I couldn’t ruin the moment!”

You grab a nearby pillow and playfully hit him with it. “Babe! I can’t believe you lied to me!”

He tries to dodge, laughing harder. “It wasn’t a lie—it was… creative encouragement! You worked so hard, and I really did appreciate it!”

You can’t help but laugh along with him, even as you give him another light whack. “You’re impossible.”

“But you love me,” he teases, catching your hand mid-swing and pulling you close.

“Barely,” you joke, rolling your eyes.

He grins, leaning his forehead against yours. “Next time, we’ll cook together, okay? That way, you can’t accuse me of lying.”

“Deal,” you say with a smirk. “But don’t think I’m letting you off the hook that easily.”

Jisung kisses your cheek, still chuckling. “Fair enough. Just know that I’ll always finish whatever you make—even if it’s… memorable.”

You both laugh as you settle into bed, teasing each other until the night is filled with warmth and joy, the imperfect dinner already a funny memory to share.

—

nini’s notes!! 112724

heyy. i hope you all have a good thanksgiving tomorrow (if you celebrate, of course). i’m so ready for this year to be over 🤧.

asks are always open if you have a question, concern, or request!

-🎀

[topzsun]

THIS IS A HAPPY HOUSE

── ♡ RUGGIE BUCCHI

loving you is fighting.

“Well, aren’t you lookin’ gorgeous?” The compliment is paired with a kiss to your cheek, and you swat Ruggie’s arm lightly while laughing, jesting him that all he’ll be getting on his mouth is sunscreen from the amount you lathered onto your skin. His arms snake around your waist, pulling you against him as he takes a moment to fully admire you in front of the full-length mirror. For now, it all felt peaceful and you truly believed you were going to enjoy this rare holiday with him.

You both have breakfast in the hotel, and the inevitable downslide happens and you were right to believe in the stone lodged in your throat.

You fiddle with your fork nervously as Ruggie carefully reaches for the tupperwares tucked away in his gym duffle bag. You don’t begin to point out how it goes against the strict rules of the hotel. He knows. He doesn’t care. Your eyes shift nervously across the room, a habitual instinct of searching to make sure no employees are making rounds across the hall. A few passing guests, carrying plates with greens and freshly cut fruit, give judgemental glances as they pass your table but do not intervene outside of that. You can feel your face burn.

“Ruggie, you can’t take any of this home,” You whisper to him, trying to keep your tone level so he doesn’t pick up on the frustration that is coursing through your being. “Why are you packing so much?”

He lifts his head from where he had been dumping a plate full of noodles into one of the plastic containers and only raises a brow as if the answer were obvious.

“It’s for us,” He says and elaborates when you don’t respond, “It’d be a waste if we paid this much just for breakfast. We’ll take ‘em back to our room and heat it in the microwave we got there. It’ll last us a couple of days easily.”

He gives you a grin that had once been so charming to you, back when you were a bright-eyed and overeager kid who was irrationally attracted to the excitement and trouble he brought along. Now, it’s only irritating you and his expression drops when he picks up on the slight twitch of your eye. Despite you not having said anything to chide him, his mood drops instantly along with his smile. His lips press into a thin line and his eyes narrow, a clear look of contained annoyance and disappointment that you have become familiar with over the past few months.

“What’s bothering you?” He asks, but you know it’s not out of any real concern. It’s an invitation to argue, because you know whatever answer you’ll give him, he’ll defend himself with his life. You huff, lowering your gaze back to your plate rather than looking at the glacial hue his eyes have become.

“Nothing. Do what you want,” Is all you mumble and neither of you look at each other even when you both arrive back to the room and you make a half-hearted excuse about wanting a nap. He leaves for the gym with nothing more than a grunt of acknowledgement and you bury your face into the plush pillow of the bed and cry yourself to sleep.

The sun has set by the time he’s back. You blearily lift your head, the corner of your eyes caked with sleep crust, and you make out his silhouette from the dark of the room. You drop your head back into the sheets. He passes by your bed and there is silence in place of his footsteps. You feel his lips press against your temple, a silent peace offering you have become accustomed to. Despite the almost-routine nature of it, your heart still flutters in your chest.

You still love Ruggie Bucchi, even when you both eat out of tupperwares for dinner.

You admire the gold interior of the lounge with wide eyes, forgoing your initial intentions of not seeming like an overexcitable tourist. The high-rise ceilings, the luxury carpet underneath your feet and the enchanting chandelier muddle your senses together, a pleasant blur, and for these sparing minutes, you imagine a life where this type of luxury is familiar to you.

You scold yourself immediately.

There is a call of your name from a hauntingly familiar voice that did not belong to Ruggie and you whip around in surprise. Riddle Rosehearts, now older from his teenhood but easily recognisable, stands in the middle of the foyer with wide eyes. You can’t stop the grin that spreads across your lips at the sight of the redhead. While you both haven't seen each other since graduation, you did become good friends as a result of your near-constant presence in Heartslabyul thanks to Ace and Deuce. There is no better bonding than constant exposure, and that held true for you and Riddle.

You bound over to him and he makes the short walk to meet you halfway, a polite but genuine smile gracing his features.

“It’s great to see you,” He greets you and you mimic him with more enthusiasm. “I never expected to run into you like this. How are you?”

You fill him in on the events that happened since you’ve last seen each other, leaving out certain details. You tell him how you have moved into a new apartment (it’s a one-bedroom with a leaky faucet and peeling floorboards), how your relationship with Ruggie is going strong (you both argued just this morning), and that you have been doing great at work (you lost your chance at a promotion after months of overtime).

“I’m glad to see you are doing well for yourself,” He tells you and you can feel his sincerity from just how pleased he looks. Riddle had always wanted others to be at their best, including you, and your heart swelled at the approval in his eyes. You try to ignore the ball and chain on your ankles in the form of your bold-faced lies.

“Are you vacationing as well?” You ask him and he nods.

“Yes, with my wife. We were planning on having lunch at a bistro nearby,” He explains and you gasp excitedly, almost startling him.

“You’re married?” You ask him excitedly, wide-eyed and beaming and his face turns a flustered shade of pink.

“Yes,” He says and his tone is laced with unbridled affection as he speaks. “It’s going to be our anniversary soon and she had always wanted to travel around the Shaftlands.”

You can hear the simpering timbre in his voice and your chest squeezes, eyes intuitively falling on the gold band decorating his ring finger. Riddle is no longer the short-fused boy who used to tutor your trio of friends or save you a seat during tea parties. He is a married man in love, wearing expensive clothes and a happy wife he is travelling around the country with. Your ring finger remains bare and he is tactful enough not to comment on it. His phone buzzes suddenly, breaking you out of your stupor and he looks at the screen, a twinkle in his eyes.

“I should get going, she’s waiting outside,” He bids you goodbye hurriedly and you urge him to go as quickly as he can, watching his back disappearing behind the glass revolving doors. You don’t know when and if you’ll see him again, and for some reason it makes your heart sink.

“What the hell,” There is a grumble beside you and you jolt, whirling around to find Ruggie, phone in hand as he runs a hand through his hair. He looks at you suspiciously when your surprise seeps into your expression.

“What’s up with you? You look like you’ve seen a gh—are you crying?” For the first time in what seemed like months, you can hear the fret in Ruggie’s voice as he looks over you carefully and your head swims at the realisation that it’s been so long since you felt like he’s paying attention towards you. Not about the rent, not about food expenses, not about the bills. There is only you now.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” You blink away whatever tears threatened the corner of your eyes, plastering on a weak smile. He doesn’t look convinced but doesn’t push the subject anymore, fixing his gaze back to his phone.

“Okay… well, taxi fares cost an arm and a leg here. It’s better if we walk to the aquarium,” You stare at him incredulously, your brief moment of nostalgia and yearning to dissipate under a familiar spike of anger.

“Walk there? For over an hour? In this heat?” You stress between every pause and his face sours, a scowl on his lips and eyebrows pursing together.

“What do you want me to do? I’m not blowing all my money away on a single fare,” He scoffs. Your bottom lip trembles, something unkind sitting on the tip of your tongue that takes all your might to swallow away. You turn away from him.

“Fine, whatever.”

By the time you reach the aquarium, your clothes stick to your skin and your legs threaten to give out under you. The colourful fishes no longer held any appeal to you, because all you can think about while walking with your disgruntled boyfriend is how Riddle and his wife would be at a fancy bistro right now, enjoying lunch together with matching smiles, their rings glittering under the sun.

“Are you ever going to marry me?” You ask on the sullen walk back to the hotel, your gaze fixed on the twinkling stars. From the corner of your eyes, you can see Ruggie eyeing you as if you had just told him the sky is green.

“Huh?” He stammers out, and maybe his nervousness at the subject would have been cute if the both of you were still teenagers. Now, in your late twenties, all it does is make you sick to your stomach. “Why are you bringing it up now?”

“No reason,” You mumble, so quiet it could have disappeared with the passing breeze. There is a brief silence that goes uninterrupted by the chirping of the cicadas and the crunching of gravel under your shoes. Then, you feel a tug on your arm. You turn to look at Ruggie.

“I know you wanna get married. Trust me, I wanna put a ring on your finger as well,” He speaks softly, and you falter at the affection in his eyes as he gazes at you. However, his voice then takes a firm turn. “But it’s expensive and we just don’t have that kinda money right now. We don’t need to be married to belong to each other.”

“Will we ever have the money?” You snap, unable to stop the words before they leave your lips. You regret it when a look of hurt crosses over his expression, his ears flattening all the while. He turns away first as if he couldn’t stand to look at you, and you wish there was a river nearby that you could toss yourself into.

He sleeps on the couch that night.

The next day passes by in a blur. Your itinerary packed with activities goes down the drain in lieu of the argument, and Ruggie disappears before you wake up with a single text letting you know he’ll be back before midnight. You eat from the tupperware tucked away in the fridge, despite how even looking at it incites the kind of anger that makes you want to break anything within your line of sight.

You decide to treat yourself to a cup of coffee from the cafe downstairs, in hopes that it may help soothe the misery, regret and rage bubbling in the pits of your stomach.

Despite your initial assumption that you would likely not be seeing Riddle again, it’s a stroke of luck when you run into each other on the way to pick up your order. This time, however, he’s not alone.

In contrast to him, his wife is more friendly and outgoing but with an unmistakable air of elegance to her that came naturally to someone of a higher class. All he had to do was introduce you as an old schoolmate, and suddenly she had invited you to sit at their table and request you to recite stories of her husband as a teenager.

“He’s so tight-lipped sometimes,” She teases and he calls her name in warning but he doesn’t sound annoyed in the least, proving another change from his youth. You entertain her with whatever memory you can recall, such as your first-ever impression of him when he had collared Ace for eating a tart in the fridge, or how he put oyster sauce in his apology dessert. By the time you are finished, she is giggling while Riddle has resorted to giving you a flat stare, but the bell of his wife’s laughter dissipates any negative feelings.

Not for the first time, your stomach coils and suddenly all you can see is Ruggie’s toothy grin before the scene melts away to hardened, narrowed glares and the tight pull of his lips. Did his mild vexations use to fade away at the sound of your laughter, instead of starting up another round of arguments?

No, it’s unfair to an eighteen-year-old Ruggie for you to even ponder this question. There was a time when you would misspeak or clumsily drop something and break it. Instead of meeting you with ire, he would lazily toss the weight of his body behind you, his arms wrapping securely around you as he swayed you around. Back then, you felt like you had everything without needing anything material.

You missed it when Ruggie’s slouch and tired eyes were replaced with his easygoing disposition and cunning charm. Back then, being with Ruggie was exciting. You should be disgusted, ashamed even, for thinking this way of your boyfriend of almost ten years.

Yet, you feel nothing. Your own apathy scares you.

“Are you alright?” Riddle’s wife is the first to notice your disconnect, her soothing voice interrupting your depressive train of thought. Her manicured hand rests on your shoulder, concern apparent in her eyes and you feel bile rise to your throat, which you weakly swallow down.

“I’m fine,” A practised lie, almost a catchphrase to you at this point, and the couple believe you without any hesitance. You come up with an impromptu excuse that you need to meet with Ruggie, and excuse yourself from the table with polite farewells. You dare not to glance back.

“Where were you?” Ruggie asks, scaring you when you unlock the door to the room. You shift uncomfortably on your feet, faltering at your reply despite the fact you know he’s only being conversational, nothing confronting in the way he has his feet kicked up as he scrolls through channels. Yet, another lie escapes your lips.

“I went for a walk to stretch my legs,” You drop your bag onto the table, tactfully keeping your back towards him. You hear him hum at your response.

“That’s nice—” He breaks into a yawn, and flops to his side. He pats the spot next to him on the bed, and you only stare at him. “Man, I’m beat. C’mere, lay next to me.”

When his invite is met with silence, he repeats your name curiously.

“Um, sure…” You make your way over to him, carefully sitting on the edge of the bed. It’s enough for him to reach over, snaking an arm around your waist and pulling you down to rest beside him, inciting a yelp from you. “What’s the occasion?”

“I need a reason to take a nap with the love of my life now?” He questions teasingly and your heart drops. He notices your frozen expression, his hand letting go of your waist so he props himself above you with an arm. He looks down at you, downturned eyes scrutinising and concerned.

“Hey, what’s up? You’ve been acting… different lately,” He speaks gently, carefully cupping your cheek. His hand is warm, and yet it’s not enough. You are still cold. You are still cold. It’s enough to finally spring tears in your eyes, and suddenly all you can feel is Ruggie. Calloused fingers brush against your skin, wiping at the tears rolling down the apples of your cheeks. He mutters hushed reassurances, that you’re going to be okay and that he’ll love you no matter what.

Yet, you cannot echo those words back at him, even when you have calmed down and he has dozed off with you in his arms. He was yours, unequivocally and whole. You were not his.

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

OKAY. HEAR ME OUT.

Justis (Dave’s son) bringing reader home bc they’re together, but Dave thinks she’s hella cute and reader too whatever. And then they end up fucking in like a bathroom or something😻

A/n: I'm feeling Christmassy, hope that's not a problem

Warnings: Smut, cheating, age gap, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

University was hard, you tried to get out when you could but you were always focused on your schoolwork.

Your friends brought you out a few times to bars or whatever but you were more comfortable being the designated driver. Oddly enough it was when you were studying in the library that you met Justis.

You had a class together and he confessed he always caught himself looking at you and wanting to talk to you but just couldn't bring himself to do it until then.

You kept talking with him, he was nice and always brought you snacks when he knew you'd be studying. It was good and you knew, worst comes to worst, University is for experimenting, which you'd be doing a lot of once you met his dad you just didn't know it at the time.

It was Christmas time, the perfect time to meet his family, his dad and sister at least, and you were excited, sure, but as soon as that door opened and you were met with Dave it was like breathing for the first time.

He was different, the way he smiled at you, that look in his eyes as he looked you up and down, taking in your appearance.

You had to remind yourself over and over you were here with your boyfriend, Justis, but your eyes kept going back to Dave, always meeting his.

The plan was to stay a week but you felt like you should make up an excuse to leave earlier, not that you wanted to but you saw the way Dave was looking at you, saw the hunger in his eyes.

It was Christmas Eve and you couldn't sleep, couldn't even bring yourself to close your eyes while Justis was out beside you, arm loosely wrapped around your torso.

Someone was moving around downstairs, you knew it was Electra because you would have heard her walking down the hall, it had to be Dave.

You couldn't take it anymore and decided to just go talk to him, it was innocent enough.

You managed to get out of bed without disturbing Justis and made it downstairs to find Dave wrapping a few presents and tucking them under the tree, as you got closer you saw they were marked 'From: Santa'. Neither Justis nor Electra believed in Santa anymore, obviously, but he still liked keeping that there.

He panicked a moment when he finally noticed you but calmed down when he saw it was you. "Jesus, you scared me." He said with a gruff chuckle.

"Sorry." You said, smiling back at him. You moved to sit next to him on the floor, looking over the pile of gifts under the tree.

"I got you some too, don't worry." He said, tucking the present he'd just tagged under the tree, setting it on a bigger one.

"Really?" You asked, tilting your head to him. "I didn't think you would." You said, looking back to the colourful wall of wrapping paper. "I-I didn't get you anything." You admitted, biting your bottom lip as you looked back at him.

He shook his head and placed his hand on your thigh, over your fuzzy Christmas pyjama pants. "You got me enough, sweetheart." He looked straight into your eyes as he said it, his own carrying a much darker gleam in them. He brought his hand back and picked up another gift while you sat and thought about what he really meant.

You sat with him for a while longer, watching his hands as they flipped and folded the paper. You handed him the tape as he worked, it was weird if you didn't help at all so you did the bare minimum, the smile he gave you when you handed him a piece made it worth it every time.

As time bore on you felt yourself finally getting tired, gradually moving closer to Dave until you were fully leaning against him.

He helped you up once you were done and walked with you to the stairs, your room was up them while his was down the hall, still he followed you up the stairs.

He heard someone moving in your room before you did and he pulled you into the bathroom across the hall. He flicked the light on and smashed his lips onto yours, a kiss you immediately reciprocated.

Justis stepped out of the room and saw the lights on in the bathroom, assuming you'd just gone in there and would be out soon he turned and went back to bed, all while his dad was tugging on your clothes.

Your fuzzy pants slid down your legs and he saw you'd gone commando. "Really, sweetheart?"

"Just for you." You gleamed, pulling him back into a kiss.

He lifted you up and set you down on the counter, standing between your legs and pushing his own pants and boxers down, just enough for his dick to spring free.

Your breathing was heavy, as was his. Your cheeks were flushed, your forehead pressed against his as he pushed into you, causing you to moan before he could slap his hand over your mouth.

"I knew it was you the other night." He said with a chuckled. It's true, you'd been thinking about Dave all day and couldn't get him off your mind after you crawled into bed. "Thinking of me, weren't you?"

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Not my fault when you look at me like that." You said, feeling yourself fluttering around him, eager for him to move. "He almost looks like you, anyway."

Dave snorted at that. "Doesn't feel the same, huh?" He asked, voice low, almost a growl. You shook your head, Dave was bigger in pretty much every way. Girthy and veiny and he smelled divine, you just kept aching for more. "That's what I thought." He mused, kissing you again as he started moving his hips, thrusts quickly picking up pace.

He was eager to please you, but it had been a while since he'd been with someone, he could already feel himself getting close.

He brought a hand to your clit, the sudden friction made you gasp into the kiss. He knew the second he pulled away you'd be moaning out his name like a worship song, he wanted to hear it but he couldn't risk waking up his kids, especially not with one of them dating you.

You mumbled something into the kiss, he didn't quite catch it but didn't think he'd have to. Then you pulled away. "Dave! I-I'm close, fuck!" You called. He rushed to get a hand over your mouth but you just pushed it away. The room filled with your moans, Dave gave up on silencing you and focused on how good you felt around him.

His arms wrapped around you as you came, he followed shortly after, letting himself spill into you.

It wasn't until then that he realized the banging he heard wasn't the two of you.

"What the fuck?!" Justis yelled from the other side of the door.

[julymusings]

Jason Todd & Cooking

I always go back and forth on how much I want to include "Jason loves to cook" in my writing because I'm not sure how much is canon and how much is fanon so can we open it up to discussion pretty please I'd love to hear other people's thoughts.

Here are my arguments:

Experience: Jason grew up poor and largely had to parent himself. So he must know a little bit of cooking, even if it's the bare basics that's only enough to keep him alive. It's plausible this taught him how to be creative and thrifty with meals because he had to make do with whatever he had, so we can assume that if you drop him in a kitchen with random ingredients, he can figure something out.

Knife skills: I've seen other authors (myself included) write him as good in the kitchen because he's efficient with a knife from being a vigilante. I don't have much to say on this, just that I think that's also a fair assumption considering he underwent training with the League of Assassins and became highly-skilled with wielding blades.

Love language: He's the kind of person who, due to his trauma, has difficulty opening up to people and trusting them (it's confirmed he cries during sex so this is an objective fact idc). When it comes to having a romantic partner, it might not be easy for him to express affection through words, so he relies on actions. If you like flowers, he buys you flowers. If you like a dish, he makes it for you. So yeah, this might not have concrete evidence in canon, but I'm gonna choose to believe that he would enjoy cooking for someone he loves.

Art hoe?: We know he appreciates good literature, so does that extend to other forms of creativity?

Hands: (I don't actually know how much of this is based in canon but whatever) He likes to work on his bike, he's meticulous with taking care of his guns & weapons, so it's safe to assume he likes working with his hands. So even if it's not something he loves to do as a "safe space" because of cherished memories with Alfred or anything, he might still enjoy it.

^^on that note, what do you think some of his 'safe spaces' are? Like I guess reading would be one, maybe working on his bike would be another? Idk, what does anyone else think. p.s. I'm using safe space to mean something that makes him feel happy and gives him a break from his demons yk

Also I did only make this as a defense for the "Jason Todd had a charcuterie board obsession phase" post sitting in my drafts because I BELIEVE he DID!!!!!!!!

Anyway please let me know your thoughts I'm frothing at the mouth for human interaction

[riririnnnn]

I have this foreboding feeling that while we are prepared for Sae's and Shidou's backstory, Nagi's backstory is going to sneak from behind and punch us in the gut.

No, I don't think it's going to be straight up depression like Kaiser's, but I do think that it'll hit close to home.

You see, Nagi got Laissez-faire parents which means they never really interfered with his life. Like, these type of parents—as I have read on some websites—will basically set their child free and let them do whatever they want with no or very few rules/restrictions. They will not tell you, "Oh! You should do this!" or "Oh! You shouldn't do this!" They will simply let you figure out your life all by yourself.

I'm not an expert on this and I'm not calling this type of parenting bad in any way. Every child is different with different needs, and I'm sure there are many who grew up in this kinda family and liked this parenting method. However, I do think that Nagi didn't like it that much, and I got two reasons to think this way:

1. "That's nice."

When Reo said that his family constantly meddles in his life, Nagi's immediate reaction was, "That's nice" instead of being surprised or disgruntled. If Nagi really liked his parents NOT meddling in his life, then he should've said something like, "Really!? Sucks to be you, Reo. I can't imagine living a life like that!"

You getting me?

Also, we all know how Nagi is—he definitely feels that telling someone to do or not to do something is a hassle, so he, probably, feels that if someone is doing all this for you, then you are important for them.

And before any one says, no, I don't think Nagi was tying up his tongue thinking, "They are his parents. They wouldn't want anything bad for their own child, right? I shouldn't say anything against them and should say good things about them just to be safe." I don't think he has this kind of filter in him.

2. "Don't die ."

So, why would you not want someone to die? Of course, because you care for them and want them to be with you.

"Want"

That's really what I'm tryna highlight.

It's a pretty common knowledge that some children are just naturally more independent while others are a bit more dependent and seek guidance from the elders. Considering Nagi's first reaction to knowing about Reo's parents' meddling, I think that Kiddo!Nagi falls into the latter category—someone who likes to be guided and helped by the adults. Now, place Kiddo!Nagi with his Laissez-faire parents... You are getting where I'm going with this one?

That's why I think that Kiddo!Nagi, probably, thought that his parents didn't love him/care for him. And what happens if someone doesn't love you or care for you? Yeah, they don't care if you die which, somewhat, explains why Older!Nagi was happy to hear, "Don't die [before us (probably)]" from his parents.

I have already talked about his potential backstory before too, so it was actually when I heard he had longer bangs as a child that made my head turn to him again—something felt odd.

I understand that having long bangs is not a big deal—Niko's bangs literally cover his eyes, but having it as a kid is way different, y'know. Once you are like 12-13, you somewhat become capable of doing your own hair and clothes by yourself, so you can manage whatever aesthetics you prefer. However, for a kid younger than that, it's the parents' responsibility to look after his/her hair and clothes, and we all know that long bangs are quite bothersome—blocks our vision, sometimes stabs the eyes, and even irritatingly itches the nose.

All in all, till his backstory drops, I'd firmly believe that he was, though unintentionally, a neglected kid—at least, emotionally.

Now I can't get this image out of my head where Kiddo!Nagi is longingly staring at other kids in a park where everyone is learning things like riding a bicycle or maybe playing baseball and stuff with their parents while he is just.. there, probably, all alone.

[revelboo]

U h, so like, I may or may not have gotten absolutely hooked on your blog 👉👈 I absolutely adore your fics with the Seeker Trine, I don’t see much of them out there so when I stumbled upon your little series, it got me good. I am super invested in each of the stories and I really, really like the way you right!! Looking forward to more :3

Thank you!

True Romance Pt 5

Seeker Trine x Reader

• Wings flaring out tiredly to stretch out the kinks, Starscream pauses in the door to the communal habsuite he shares with his trine before closing the door behind him, sprawled on his back with his head hanging off the edge of his berth Skywarp glances at him, jaw clenching, then his attention is back on the human laying against his chassis, his servos sliding along your back. Across the room, Thundercracker is fiddling with the communication screen, so engrossed in his project that he’s not even noticed his entrance. “What is this?”

• Startling, Thundercracker offers Starscream a sheepish smile. “Movie night? I’ve been watching some of their media and it’s pretty interesting,” he says, inclining his head toward you sleeping on Skywarp. And he waits for Starscream to tell him he’s too busy, because he always does that. Knows his brother is the SIC and stays buried under reports and requests, but he just wants them all together like it had been before the war. Before the Decepticons. At least for a little bit. The ‘no’ doesn’t come though as Starscream drifts closer to Skywarp, attention on you.

• “They were cold again,” Skywarp growls, annoyed at being caught tending to you when he shouldn’t care less. But he likes the warmth of you there against him, the softness that should be off putting to him. Your little cheek is against him, knuckles against his canopy. Trusting him enough to rest under his watch and he’s not sure what to make of that or why it spreads warm through his spark.

• “Always,” Starscream vents softly, reaching to pick you up. Noting the way Skywarp tenses, but doesn’t try to stop him even when you make a pitiful sleepy sound of protest until he cradles you to him. Head lifting to look up at him, seeing who has you, and immediately relaxing again. And he can’t understand this trust of yours. That you just accept this and them instead of raging to be freed.

• Feeling that thrum in your bones when Starscream cups you to him, you know you should be trying to escape. But there’s almost always at least one of them watching over you. They’re not your friends by any means, but as he runs a servo against you, you’re not sure they’re your enemies either. Know it’s just Stockholm’s ringing your bell, because they’re always fussing over you, bringing you things, food, whatever they think you might like. Trying to keep you happy when they don’t have to. You’re still a prisoner, but it’s harder and harder to see the bars of your cage every day, they just keep blurring with every gentle touch. They’ll get bored of you eventually and let you go. And you’re not sure how you feel about that. “Everything okay?”

• Sitting on his berth, Starscream looks down at you. Seeing you watching him in return. Always asking them about their day. Trying to collect intel on them to pass along to your government in case you manage to escape? That must be it, but he still finds himself telling you. And you just lay your cheek on his servo and listen, asking questions and agreeing with him. Like you might really care. Hating that he wants to believe that, because something is very wrong with him.

Previous

[zara-renata]

Before you came, things were as they should be | ao3 | masterlist

Summary: You spend a lot of time wrestling with questions of morality, there's more poetry because the author has no self control, you may or may not burn out Mephisto's eye optics with your antics trying to provoke Sylus, Noah and the twins drag you to the club.

Notes: Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, second person POV This story contains: profanity, alcohol use, mc with self esteem issues, nudity

This is how it goes.

You watch Sylus as he moves around the kitchen, the dark marble counters gleaming in the soft light, the fire crackling in the huge fireplace, his fortress a yacht in a sea of desolation.

His hands are strong, sure, as they slice vegetables, as they slice meat, as they flip colorful medleys of ingredients in the carbon steel wok.

He leans over the corner of the island, where you’re perched on one of the black leather barstools, offering you his pinky dripping with sauce. “Taste.”

You watch him as you lean forward, wrap your lips around his finger, let your tongue run along his skin, obeying him and tasting the sauce. When you’ve sucked it clean, you continue watching him, the sweep of his soft white hair, the flush in his pale cheeks, his eyes on your lips, your lips wrapped around his finger.

You’ve been focusing on all the wrong things. You’ve been paying attention to all the wrong things.

Sylus has all but admitted that you are his beloved. That you are the one he adores, the one he has been trying to win over. You would be mad about his manipulation, if you didn’t also recognize that you wouldn’t have believed him, three days ago, that you are who he wants to convince of the sincerity of his intentions. You wonder if Sylus’s evol can manipulate time—every second here in his home feels like the equivalent of a year in the outside world. You wonder if the changes you feel in yourself, the changes in the way you’re looking at him, are a result of time being sped up somehow without you realizing it. 

You’ve been so wrapped up in your pain, in your fear, that you’ve let your fear of the end, your fear of rejection, your guilt, your unworthiness—you’ve let all these things distract you. It’s easy to wallow. It’s much, much harder to open your eyes and look.

You should have died when Caleb died.

You probably should have died before your memories begin—who knows what caused you to lose your childhood? What accident led to you being taken in by your grandmother’s lab, your heart fodder for experimentation, because you shouldn’t have lived anyway?

Expendable. Your whole life, expendable—your mangled heart the byproduct of that expendability—and yet Caleb is the one who is dead.

But you didn’t die. You didn’t die in whatever calamity took your parents. And if they weren’t killed, then you didn’t die when your parents abandoned you—what do you know? You know only fear, guilt, a lack of memory, and now—with Sylus playing records for you, playing the piano for you, providing you with poetry in his library—now you’re full of, if not memory, then familiarity. What do you know? 

Nothing. Too much. Not enough.

You watch Sylus. You want to see him, without fear, without awe, without judgment. He said he’d give you time. You weren’t ready to acknowledge that you are who he wants, despite the mounting evidence that he has never lied to you. But he also hasn’t told you the whole truth, has he? Sylus, the master of the fine print.

The question is: if you are Sylus’s beloved, why?

And if you are Sylus’s beloved, what are you willing to accept in order to return his feelings?

You think of the executioners singing their joyful songs.

The refugees going nowhere.

The ships whose fate is salty oblivion.

You watch Sylus, whose lovely finger slips from between your lips. You watch his big hands, and think of them letting blood diamonds carelessly clatter to the floor as so much of the world starves.

What does it mean to love a man like Sylus Qin? What does it make you, if you want to be loved by a man like Sylus Qin?

You watch him as he pops his finger into his own mouth, despite it being clean from your tongue. His nostrils flair. “The verdict?” he asks.

“It’s good. Not too salty. Nice umami,” you murmur, honestly. Sylus is a good cook. You wonder where his chef is. Why you haven’t seen any other staff that he has to have in order to maintain a house of this size in the clean, meticulously kept state that it’s currently in. Not like when you first met him, with dust coating everything.

“Oh, nice umami, huh?” he teases you.

“You’re not the only one who can say pretentious shit.” You lean over the counter, stretching your body, resting your cheek on the cool marble. You watch him watching you, his eyes tracking your chest, your waist, before they slide back up to meet your eyes.

You don’t feel worthy of his eyes on you. This feeling is compounded by the fact that this man is opposed to everything you’ve spent your career working to fight. You aren’t worthy of the man and wanting the man, makes you more unworthy still.

What would Caleb say, if he saw you with Sylus’s fingers in your mouth? His wealth wrested from the hands of the dead, clothing your body, filling your belly, soothing your tired, hurting soul?

But Caleb’s dead too. He doesn’t have anything to say at all, anymore.

“A penny for your thoughts,” Sylus says, watching you watching him. He must see something in the expression of your face.

“Only a penny? Why are the rich the stingiest fuckers of all?” you ask without heat.

“I don’t know the value of your thoughts. What if I offer my heart in payment, only to find out that you’re thinking about indigestion, or the latest plot twist in Super Hunters?” he asks, turning away, spooning fluffy, fragrant rice into a pretty little black bowl, heaping the stir fried meat and vegetables, with the delicious sauce, over the rice.

“I would hope that even my most inane thoughts are worth more than a penny to a person who properly values me,” you say, taking the bowl and the chopsticks he offers you. You say this, while not believing it. You don’t dare hope for the knowledge of your indigestion to be of value to anyone but yourself. But for the people you care about—you would want to get Xavier Tums if he had a stomachache. Get Tara a hangover remedy if she’s too hungover to move. Make Rafayel a snack while he whines melodramatically on the couch in his studio after having been so wrapped up in completing a painting that he forgot to eat.

Sylus pours sake into little cups, slides one over to you before turning and plating food for himself. “Ah, kitten is in a contemplative, belligerent mood tonight. How about I offer you a tour of my favorite part of the greenhouse in exchange for your current thoughts?” he asks serenely, joining you at the counter. 

“You already promised me that,” you say, just to vex him.

“Driving a hard bargain tonight, darling.” He sips the sake, closes his eyes, savors. “What can I do to cheer you up?”

“Just tolerate me when I’m like this,” you say honestly. It’s not his fault that he is who he is. That his wealth, his manner of approaching the world, his appreciation of the mutilated world poses such a conundrum for you. You suspect that he has his reasons for doing what he does, for how he does it. You think of the sense of loss you felt hearing The long and winding road. The piano piece he composed. The sense of familiarity that his touch brings when his fingers are gliding along your skin.

You wonder again what he was like as a little boy. What he must have survived to be this bored, cynical, cruel man.

You already feel unworthy of the good things in life. Of the accolades of being a successful hunter. Of having lived, when Caleb died. It’s not Sylus’s fault that you look at everything he has to offer and wonder what you will have to sacrifice in order to fully accept him. You're unworthy, and ungrateful.

As you watch him watching you, as you revel in the glow of his eyes, the uneven slope of his nose, his big lovely mouth—but more importantly, the softness in his gaze as he watches you watching him—you already know how it ends.

This is how it goes.

You sleep the sleep of the dead. One of the things you cruelly, unfairly, envy Caleb for. Because he’s at peace. He’s not hurting anymore. All the sorrows and cruelty of surviving in this world are behind him. Or they had better be. You can’t bear to believe in a universe cruel enough that even the dead know no peace.

You sleep the sleep of the dead. Sylus provides this for you, most nights. Wrapped in his arms. Underneath him. Spooning his big body, your arm thrown over his waist, when you wake in the middle of the night and find that he's too far away. You fall back asleep almost instantly.

As the days pass, as Sylus follows you like a shadow, and the nights which are actually days slip by without another night terror, without the endless hallways of your gran’s house, without falling to your death, you feel that you’re steadily growing stronger. Rested. Your broken pieces knitting back together, if a little jaggedly.

You know that there are some wounds that will never heal.

Your guilt that Caleb died, while you survived. Your jealousy that Caleb died, while you have to live. Your jagged pieces still rub against each other unpleasantly at times, even as you physically heal. But you feel more alert. Physically, you are stronger than you’ve been in months.

You’ve only been here a week, but already you feel like you’ve been gone from your normal life for months, years.

Your feet heal. Whatever balm Sylus rubs along your soles each night must contain something priceless with how quickly your skin knits back together.

You try to give Sylus space. You don’t want him to tire of you too quickly, after all.

Every time he gets a phone call, you leave the room. You wander to other parts of the house. Mephisto follows you each time. And each time, Sylus finds you again. No matter what you’re doing, he joins you. In the theater room, starting a film that you plucked from his collection. He stretches out on the couch, pulls you alongside him, spoons you from behind. The film is in black and white, and it takes its time telling the story. You don’t mean to, but you fall asleep. He’s there when you wake up.

One time, you drift to the gym and find the twins in the boxing ring, pummeling the shit out of each other. You have a feeling the twins chose the decor in the gym, because it looks like a video game streamer’s ideal setup in terms of lighting. The twins are shirtless, well-muscled torsos slick with sweat reflecting the LED lighting ringing the edges of the ceiling which changes colors every few minutes, a constantly morphing rainbow. Screens line the walls showing various athletic competitions as well as video game tournaments. 

You turn and find Noah on a stair stepper facing the boxing ring. She’s sweating, her braids pulled back and up and held in place with a wide colorful cloth headband.

“Wanna join? Are your feet up for it?” she asks, eyes flicking between you and the twins. Kieran lands a punch to Luke’s stomach that has him doubling over, laughing breathlessly.

“Nice,” he pants, before wrapping his arms around Kieran’s torso and ramming him into the ropes. Kieran shoves him to the mat, and they wrestle for a while, grunting and laughing. They sound like they’re having the time of their lives.

“My feet may be, but not the rest of me. How are you not bored out of your mind on that thing?” you ask her. You’ve always hated cardio machines like the stair stepper, the treadmill, the elliptical. You’d rather run outside, Caleb at your side. Or lift weights, loud music and the strain on your muscles distractions from the monotony of the workout.

“Knowing my fine ass is only getting finer keeps me going,” she grins at you. She glances back at the twins. “The view isn’t awful, either. Not that I’d tell them that again though.”

“Oh?” 

“Luke’s ace, and I don’t wanna creep him out.”

You stare at her.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m a car thief, not a creep. I'm appreciating art now, nothing else.”

“I didn’t say anything,” you laugh. You watch Kieran and Luke for a while longer when a thought occurs to you. “Will you tell me now what you meant by not doing Sylus’s work for him?”

“Oh, yeah, I guess it doesn’t matter if you know now.” She pants a little, adjusts the speed of the stair stepper. “I’m not Sylus’s driver. Can you imagine that man letting anyone else drive his big ass around?”

The way she worded that sentence makes you imagine a driver just carting Sylus’s ass, and only his ass, around in a wagon. It could use its own zip code, so you don’t think the imagery is that absurd but you still have to stifle a laugh. “Not really, no. I can’t see him trusting someone enough to do the job as well as he thinks he can,” you say drily.

“Yeah, exactly.”

You gaze up at her. “So?” You prompt, when it’s clear that she’s gotten a little distracted by Kieran downing a water bottle, the water spilling over his mouth and down his broad chest and splattering onto the sweaty mat.

She looks back at you, not looking at all ashamed at being caught gawking. “You’re supposed to be a detective or some shit. So detect. Who do you think I’m supposed to be driving around?”

You think back to the argument she and Luke had while you were having a mounting anxiety attack about the bet. On standby in case the hunter wants to go anywhere.

“Sylus hired you to drive me around?” you ask, stunned.

“Ding ding ding, there’s hope for you yet.” She rolls her eyes. 

“When?” you ask, trying to wrap your mind around this fact. Sylus only ever came to your place, before the night he asked you to Amnesia. You’re perfectly capable of driving yourself anywhere, on either two or four wheels. Why would he think you need a driver?

“The other night at Amnesia.”

“So he had just hired you when I saw you for the first time?”

She nods serenely, back to looking at the twins. 

“But why?”

“I’m just the driver, ask your scary boyfriend,” she says distractedly.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you protest. 

She looks down at you incredulously. “Does he know that?”

“What?”

“The way that man carries you around like a damned koala is not friendly. It’s boyfriendly. Or like, obsessively. Also, he hired me and hasn’t made me do anything at all. I am getting paid more than I ever have in my life, I have paid holiday, insurance, holiday bonuses, and all he asks is that I’m available anytime you need a ride or a getaway driver. Would the scary-ass motherfucking leader of Onychinus do that for just anyone?”

You just gawk at her. 

At the look on your face, she snorts. “That poor bastard must have the worst case of blue balls in the history of men who love clueless idiots. Truly, the duality of man. Sinister overlord of the N109 Zone on the one hand, a helpless simp on the other.”

“Okay, okay, no need to call anyone names,” you mumble, reeling from this information. Why Sylus thinks you would trust anyone to drive your ass around any more than he would allow anyone to drive him around is beyond you. But the thought is so fucking sweet, even if you don’t understand what he’s thinking at all.

After a few minutes of sitting with Noah in companionable silence, Sylus finds you in the gym. He nods to Noah and opens his arms. “Come, I’m hungry.” You stare at him for a moment, thinking about what Noah just told you.

You have no idea how long I’ve already waited.

But why won’t he kiss you? What if Noah is wrong too?

You walk into his arms, let him lift you and carry you out of the gym. Noah mouths Boyfriend at you as you meet her amused look over Sylus’s broad shoulder.

This is how it goes.

Another day, after yet another phone call, you wander back to the library, pull out more poetry. You stare at the twisting wrought-iron staircase. He told you to explore, didn’t he?

Before you take the first step, you test a theory. “Fire,” you order, and the fireplace roars to life. You stare into the flames. The house recognizes your face. It recognizes your voice. Mephisto watches you from a perch in the corner of the library, ruby eyes glittering. You watch him in return. You think about Sylus watching you through all those long weeks after he released you from his home after the auction, through Mephisto, through the twins. What did he see when he looked at you? The dark circles under your eyes. Your clumsiness in battle from the endless insomnia, the injuries. Your solitude, even when surrounded by people. What do you have to offer such a man? Why was he looking then, and why is he looking now?

You approach Mephisto, clutching the book in one hand. “May I?” you ask. He caws softly, a terrible little sound. You run your hand along the soft feathers along his back and he lets you. 

You step back, and he tilts his head.

The library is warm. Warmer than the rest of the cold hallways. It wasn’t this warm when Sylus first showed you the space. 

You stare at Mephisto, who stares at you in return. Sylus will use him to find out where you are, when he’s done with his phone call. As he found you in the pool.

He licked cinnamon and sugar from the side of your mouth. He bit your lip. He pushed your hand away when you touched the tie of his pants. His body responds to you, but he does not acknowledge it.

If you’re his beloved, what is stopping him, when you can’t hide your emotions from him at all? Surely he can see the want all over you when he’s near.

You think about his hands, soaked in blood. Blood diamonds clinking on a cold marble floor. His signature bombs bringing down buildings while people are inside, the collateral damage a price he’s willing to pay with other peoples’ lives.

You reach down with one hand, clumsily lift the hem of your sweater, pull it over your head. You’re wearing a tight tank top underneath.

You turn, set the book on a table in the soft pool of light from one of the colorful stained glass lamps. You shimmy out of your sweat pants. You place your sweater and your pants on the table, neatly. You turn and face Mephisto again, watch him watching you, as you stand in your underwear in the warmth of the library.

After a moment, you turn again, and softly pad up the winding wrought-iron staircase.

At the top, it’s warm. Heat rises. It’s a sort of crow’s nest, a lighthouse, a lookout. Windows in a three-hundred-sixty-degree circle, a pinnacle of Sylus’s home. You see the greenhouse sprawling into the distance below. The barren N109 Zone wasteland in one direction, its cityscape in the other. Lining the little circular room under the windows is a soft bench seat, almost all the way around. Pillows and blankets. This is a reading room at the top of the world. You can breathe. The red moon is waning, less full than when you first arrived, but its light still fills the room, blankets everything in softly sinister light. The flap of Mephisto’s wings alert you to the fact that he has followed as you knew he would. You watch him for a moment, wondering if Sylus is looking yet, and then stretch out on your stomach along the curving window seat, resting on your elbows, your legs bent and crossed at the ankles in the air. You begin to read.

You lose yourself in the poetry.

After a while—it could be a few minutes, it could be hours, time feels like it has no meaning here after all—Mephisto flutters his wings and suddenly a swirl of scarlet and ink flows up the stairs and winds around your ankles, cuffing them together. The mist flows under your elbows and stomach, and you’re gently lifted until the tendrils solidify underneath you. Where before you were leisurely reading on your stomach, now you’re draped across Sylus’s lap and he has both of your ankles in one big hand.

You just drop your head onto your open book and laugh a little helplessly.

“Well, are you going to read to me or just continue to laugh?” Sylus asks, as if him appearing underneath you is perfectly normal and requires no further comment.

“And if I’m just going to keep laughing at your theatrics?” you tease him.

He rests one big hand on the back of your naked thigh, runs his palm up, up, until it rests just under your ass. “I don’t mind this position at all. Keep laughing, see what happens.”

You laugh again, and wiggle on his lap. “Empty threats,” you taunt him. He grunts, softly, and then squeezes your thigh almost to the point of pain, in what seems to be an attempt to get you to stop moving.

Your heart sinks a little. He doesn’t want this flirtation from you. You all but invited him to slap your ass, to do something. Noah is wrong. Maybe his idea of a beloved is someone on a pedestal, whom he simply wants to admire like an interesting accessory, a collectible that he never takes out of the box. What the fuck do you know?

You give up. 

“Do you want me to read to you?” you ask, trying to crane your neck so you can look back into his face.

“Don’t strain yourself,” he scolds you, lifting you with his evol. You’re weightless, suspended before him, before you’re gently turned, spun from your stomach until you’re floating on your back. His evol sets you down again, this time with your head in his lap, and you can look up into his face comfortably. He graces you with a slight smile, one corner of his mouth lifted. “And yes. Read to me.”

You watch him, watching you. He makes no comment about the fact that you’ve taken off half your clothes. You wonder what he sees when he looks at you.

You think of how warm his lap is underneath you. How he now rests one of his hands on your bare thigh, caresses it with a calloused thumb.

You think about his trigger finger along your skin, and wonder how many people he’s killed with it.

What kind of person does it make you, that you want his hand with its calloused thumb and trigger finger to drift up, up, to where your thighs meet, and have them live there. Despite all evidence pointing to the fact that he does not want to touch you in that way.

You think about Noah saying that Luke is asexual. You wonder if Sylus is too. If he cares for you, but will never be interested in physical intimacy, can you live with that?

And how do you return to your job hunting men like him, with the memory of his hands on your skin?

What would Caleb say if he saw you now, spread out along this most wanted criminal’s lap, yearning for more of his hands, for his mouth, for his everything?

You begin to read.

Before you came, things were as they should be: the sky was the dead-end of sight, the road was just a road, wine merely wine. 

You stop. You have never read Faiz before. You wonder what the original language sounds like to a native speaker, if it’s different from the translation you’re now reciting. The translation itself is gorgeous in its simplicity.

This time, Sylus doesn’t tease. He doesn’t rush you. He just watches you as you read, as you pause, as you let the words soak into your skin.

You continue, Now everything is like my heart, a color at the edge of blood: the grey of your absence, the color of poison, of thorns, the gold when we meet, the season ablaze, the yellow of autumn, the red of flowers, of flames, and the black when you cover the earth with the coal of dead fires.… You have to stop again. You’ve never read this poem before. It’s not familiar to you in a way that the Zagajewsky collection was. But this poem speaks to you in a way that all good poetry does—describing a universal experience in ways that render the experience new to you again. You continue for a few more lines— And the sky, the road, the glass of wine? The sky is a shirt wet with tears, the road a vein about to break, and the glass of wine a mirror in which the sky, the road, the world keep changing.

The more you read, the more your heart hurts. Sylus seems to sense your distress. He begins to caress your hair.

Don't leave now that you're here — Stay. So the world may become like itself again: so the sky may be the sky, the road a road, and the glass of wine not a mirror, just a glass of wine.

“The end,” you whisper. You set the book down on your chest and just stare up into Sylus’s face.

“Are you a fan of Faiz?” he asks, still caressing your hair. You turn your face into his stomach and breathe in the scent of his warm skin, the softness of his sweater.

“I had never even heard of him until I found his book on your shelf today.”

“Do you like what you’ve read so far?”

You think about what a vein feels like when it’s about to break—you know that feeling all too well. You think about what it feels like when Sylus is not in the same room with you, not touching you with his blood-soaked hands. You think about how, no matter how this ends, you’ll never be able to drink another glass of wine without seeing him, the sky with the blood moon looming, the road littered with corpses that leads to and away from him, in its reflection.

“I do, very much.”

He just smiles down at you, faintly, watching you watching him.

“And you? Is this one you’ve read, or one for the future?”

“One of my favorites.”

“What other poems from him do you like? I can read them to you.”

Instead of agreeing like you expect, he turns his head, gazes through the windows with the night spilling into this crow’s nest at the top of the world. He squints, continues to run his hands along your hair, the curve of your cheek, and starts to recite in his low, soft voice.

When whatever you want to do cannot be done,

When nothing is of any use;

—At this hour when night comes down,

When night comes, dragging its long face,

dressed in mourning...

He shifts his gaze, looks down into your face,

Be with me,

My tormenter, my love, be near me.

He grows quiet, but his fingers still drift along your skin. “I have them memorized. You can ask me to recite them for you in the future, if you’d like.”

“I'd like that," you whisper. Clear your throat. "Is that the whole poem?" you ask.

He shakes his head a little. "No, just the last few lines."

"More surprises from the boogeyman of the N109 Zone,” you say, instead of surging up and kissing him, sucking his poetry-soaked tongue into your mouth, feasting on him, your tormenter, your—

He ignores your taunt, and probably the look of naked want all over your face. “I’m pleased, though not surprised that you like his work.” He smirks a little, as if daring you to ask why he’s not surprised.

Kindred spirits.

You don’t need to ask. 

“Did your phone call end okay?” you ask instead.

“Yes.” He doesn’t elaborate.  “Did we get bored with our clothes, kitten?” he asks instead, eyes drifting from your face to your chest, your bare legs.

“It was warm in here,” you say, watching, watching. “Problem?”

His eyes flick back to your face. He runs his fingers up, just as you had imagined, but right as they reach the edge of your underwear, they reverse direction, drift down again.

If you are his beloved, why won’t he take what you are clearly offering? He has already taken so much without asking, without permission. You are still here. You can’t bring yourself to take from him first—or to offer first, any more obviously than this. What if you’re wrong?

“No,” he says, simply.

 You stare into his eyes, and he stares back. You want him. You want more than his hands on your skin. More than his eyes on you. More than his voice in your ears. You want to be inside him. You want him inside you. You remember a kiss that never happened, and you can taste it. Your mouth waters.

He leans down, his soft hair falling over his forehead, and you resist the urge to lean up, to meet him. “Do you want to keep reading?” he asks.

You shake your head.

He leans down even further, his big body curved over you, his breath warm—coffee and toothpaste. “What, then?”

Kiss me. Swallow me. Don’t turn me away.

“Your favorite part of the greenhouse,” you say, arching your back, suppressing a whine of irritation that he’s so close, that he’s asking you want you to do, instead of doing what you’re clearly asking him to do.

“Still not ready to go out?” he murmurs, slipping a hand underneath the arch of your back, big palm splayed over and across your spine, pulling you up. The movement brings your face up, up, and he runs his nose against yours.

“Why? Getting bored?” Your heart stutters at the thought. Not yet. He can’t be bored yet. You haven’t had enough. Not nearly enough.

“Far from it.” With his hand on your back, he straightens, pulling you with him, against his chest, until you’re drawn into his lap, until his other hand slides up the back of your thigh, holds you right under one ass cheek. 

He’s hard. 

He stands, guiding your other leg around his waist, pulling you up his body, so that you’re no longer pressed against the hard length of him. You want to scream.

“You’ll want your clothes again, for the trip to the greenhouse,” he says, carrying you down the spiraling staircase.

He sets you on the table where you had set your clothes. You reach for your sweater, but he picks it up first. He spreads it in his hands, opening the bottom hem. You stare at him, and he stares back. You take the hint and lean forward—he settles it gently over your head, pulls it down your torso, adjusts the cuffs after you’ve slipped your arms through.

He then takes your sweatpants and lifts one of your legs, his hand wrapped around your calf. You lean back on your hands to support yourself. He watches your face as he works one pant leg over your foot, as he slowly drags it up your outstretched leg, as he repeats the motion with your other leg. He then steps between your legs, slides one hand under your ass, lifts you, and lifts the waistband with his other hand until the pants are settled around your waist properly. When he’s done, you are dressed again, your hips are flush with his, and you can feel his still-hard length against you.

You watch him, watching you. His cheeks and ears are pink. But other than that, you can’t see a change in his expression. You want to lean forward and bite one of his nipples faintly outlined by his thin v-neck sweater. 

You shake the thought from your head and wrap your legs around him. You told him when you first arrived that you didn’t need to be carried everywhere, but he offers every time you move from one room to another, and you can’t bring yourself to say no, to deny yourself this constant embrace.

“There’s no hurry for you to want to go somewhere,” he says as he takes you into the hallway, as the chill settles through your clothes. “But there is something I’d like to do with you, in a couple days. It’s in the heart of the Zone. Interested?”

Even if you weren’t interested, how could you deny him anything? But you are interested. You’re curious. Your feet feel better. You can’t hide in his home forever. “Yes.”

“It’s a date,” he says, pleased.

In the greenhouse, he follows one of the slate pebbled paths that leads away from the garden fuck-bed, the fountain, the bar. The heavy foliage gradually gives way to a little clearing and a smaller building, nestled within the larger greenhouse. He sets you on your feet as his phone begins to vibrate.

His brow furrows and his mouth hardens, the tension rolling off of him palpable. You turn without thinking, grab one of his hands and put it on your cheek, your own hand against the back of his.

He exhales, slowly, and he seems to relax. He lifts his other hand and traces your eyebrow with his finger. When he speaks, his voice is calm.“Go in. I’ll make this quick. Don’t touch or eat anything.”

You nod into his palm and let go, stepping back, out of his reach. His hand drops, and he flexes it at his side, before turning away and reaching for the phone in his pocket.

The greenhouse within a greenhouse's door swings shuts behind you. 

It’s much cooler in here than in the main part of the greenhouse. A tall arching trellis overgrown with what looks like ivy forms a long tunnel leading further into the building. You walk for a few minutes, admiring the fairytale feel of the tunnel, until it opens into a space that is surprisingly not so large. Slate stones, flower beds filled with plants and flowers. There are several  you recognize—foxglove, with its lovely little spotted flowers drifting down the thick stem, purple and white autumn crocus, oleander with its pinwheel petals. There are also many bushes and other flowers that you don’t recognize, but which don’t look particularly striking. Along with the vegetation, there are a couple benches, torches giving off soft light—they circle a reasonably sized, but not gigantic, still pond, ringed with stones. You can’t see anything particularly spectacular about the space, or why Sylus would favor it compared to the riotous life of the tropical part of the main greenhouse. It’s quiet. Maybe he likes it for the same reasons he likes the solitude of his library. You walk to the edge of the pond and see large koi fish swimming leisurely in the serene water.

You wonder who maintains this space, along with all the others of his sprawling home.

You turn again, and spot what you now know is a bush of datura flowers. You wander over to them, let your fingertip caress one of their sharp little pointed petals. It feels like a lifetime ago that you found a pot of datura on your kitchen island and had no idea who it could be from.

It occurs to you that you need to ask Sylus if it’s possible to have someone water your plants while you’re gone. You suddenly can’t bear the thought of them dying in your absence. You will have to return to them, and your real life, probably sooner than you’d like. You can’t neglect everything, even as you still refuse to check your phone. Your friends may survive without you, but your plants won’t.

You don’t want to think about that right now.

You turn back to the datura plant, and then look at the other plants. You recall the threatening aura of the datura before you knew what it was, what it could be used for. Hallucinogen. Poison. Aphrodisiac. Your eyes drift over the other plants you recognize—foxglove, crocus, oleander. He told you not to eat anything in here. You suddenly know that the other plants in here, like the datura, are not random, or innocuous.

Sylus’s favorite part of his greenhouse is his poison garden. Because of course the edgy bastard would have a poison garden. You don’t recognize many of the plants because they’re not common houseplants that you’ve ever looked into adding to your own collection.

You huff a laugh, put your hands on your hips. An idea occurs to you.

You walk to one of the benches near the koi pond, stretch out on your back. You let your head roll, gaze wandering over the pretty, deadly flowers. Your mind drifts to the poem you read him earlier. Before you came, things were as they should be: the sky was the dead-end of sight, the road was just a road, wine merely wine.

You think of how flowers are no longer simply flowers, but threats. Promises. Reassurances. Tools. 

A pomegranate is no longer a pomegranate, but the feel of his body underneath yours before you throw him off a bed.

A cinnamon roll is no longer a sweet treat, but the taste of Sylus’s finger in your mouth.

Feathers, wine, the poetry of your youth, a bomb exploding, Caleb’s absence, a motorcycle revving its engine, the grip of a pistol in your hand, blood dripping from your wounds.

Now everything is like my heart, a color at the edge of blood: the grey of your absence, the color of poison, of thorns.

This is how it goes.

You already know how this ends. 

You huddled in Sylus’s gem vault and bemoaned the blood diamonds piled high, and then you rolled over to him in the night, wrapping an arm around his waist, breathing in his skin, and slept like the dead.

He said that his favorite stone was whatever you’re wearing, and your heart thrilled and despaired—stones from him come at the cost of someone else’s pain. And he’ll give you as many as you want, and revel in your wearing them, and you’ll soak in his admiration like the vast desert that you are. You’ll bloom like these poison flowers under his care, your feet and hands covered in the same blood as his.

Don't leave now that you're here — Stay. So the world may become like itself again: so the sky may be the sky, the road a road, and the glass of wine not a mirror, just a glass of wine.

Even if you were to leave right this second—even if you were to move to the arctic and cut every tie to him from your life, you’d be tearing out your own veins, carving out chunks of your own flesh, in an effort to remove his talons from how deep they’ve dug into you, starting from the moment he found you in a crowded nightclub and drove you around all night just so you could finally sleep. Maybe from a moment even before that. The auction, with your hand in his pocket, clutching the detonator, his arms around you, his voice in your ear. Look at me. Look only at me.

And you did. And you haven’t looked away since, no matter how hard you tried.

It's already too late. You made your decision the moment you let him into your home when you found him wounded on the sidewalk near your home. You have known what, who he is, all along. The only way you can continue, the only way you can move forward without crippling yourself, is to find a balance. 

A balance between the horror that is inseparable from Sylus’s rough hands softly touching you, the horror inside of you that you’ve always known is there, and the goodness that you want to offer the world since you lived when you should have died, over and over again.

Caleb’s dead. It doesn’t matter what he’d say, because he’s dead and he’s never coming back, and you lived when you shouldn’t have, and he gets to rest and you have to move through each fucking day, one after the other, without him, without Gran, so that you can watch the sunsets for them, so that you can snatch lives back from death’s maw every time a wanderer attacks, and offer the world and Caleb and Gran these gifts because only you can.

A balance between remembering and forgetting, of living in the moment and refusing to looking away from the terrible fruit of Sylus’s labor.

A balance of walking your path in the light as the Association’s sword, of seeking refuge in the glittering night of the sanctuary Sylus is offering you.

If you are his beloved.

If he wants you at all. 

Is it so terrible, to want something just for yourself, even if that thing is a knife in the wounds of the world you struggle to save?

You huff a laugh again. You want him. You want him so much, it hurts. So what if he never touches you beyond holding you close? Biting your lip? Offering to carry you everywhere through his house, turning to you in the night and wrapping his own arm around your waist so that you mirror each other, curved towards each other. When did you become so greedy? What gives you the right to be so greedy?

You throw your arm over your eyes. Enough. Enough.  

You think about your little idea when you realized that this is Sylus’s gothy poison garden. You wonder if it’s too mean, but then you remember how mean he was to you when you first met him. You’ve forgiven him. But you haven’t entirely forgotten.

After a while—who knows how long, you hear the crunch of Sylus’s footsteps on the slate pebbled path.

You let your arm fall, your fingers uncurling against the pebbled slate path and letting a pair of little purple berries roll from your palm to the ground.

You hear his footsteps stop, and then nothing. You resist the urge to open an eye and peek, to see what he’s doing.

“Asleep again, darling?” he murmurs, quietly. So that if you really were asleep, you wouldn’t wake.

You say nothing.

A footstep, and then a creak of the bench underneath you as he settles his weight, the warmth of his thigh next to you on the bench.

He runs featherlight fingers along your neck.

“You’re not asleep,” he says, low.

You ignore him, make no move.

“I’ve been with you long enough while you sleep to know the patterns of your breathing when asleep versus awake. Feeling playful, kitten?”

You ignore him.

He walks two fingers up your neck, gently pats your cheek. “Look at me. I don’t like not having your eyes on me when you’re awake.”

You stay still.

“Sweetheart.” He pats your cheek a little harder. You let your head loll to the side. “You have terrible taste in pranks,” he tsks, but he’s starting to sound worried.

You start to hold your breath. Begin to count.

You feel one big hand come to rest heavily on your chest. There’s a pause. “Oh? Raising the stakes?” 

You’re at thirty. You keep counting.

“If you had really eaten nightshade berries, you’d be surrounded by vomit and probably would have shit your pants. You wouldn’t be lying here pristinely, looking beautifully asleep.”

You’re at sixty. Your lungs are starting to burn. You’ve never been good at holding your breath for very long.

“Your heart is starting to pound from your efforts to hold your breath, darling, you’re not fooling anyone,” he scolds, sounding increasingly irritated, but he leans over, rests his ear against your mouth.

You can’t help yourself. You lick the shell of his ear.

He jerks up like you just lit him on fire and glares down at you. You take a huge breath, struggling to both breathe and cackle at the same time.

“You were a little worried, admit it,” you pant, grinning up at his indignant expression.

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he leans down, hauls you up into his lap like a sack of potatoes, and squeezes you tightly, burying his face in your shoulder. “You can joke about anything, except the idea of you dying. It’s not amusing. It will never be amusing.”

He holds you so tightly you can hardly breathe. You feel his eyelashes flutter against your skin, his breath warm on your neck. You just sit still, not knowing what to say. You did not expect this response at all.

After a long time, he finally speaks. “What was the point of this little prank?”

“Can’t have you getting bored with me,” you murmur.

He lifts his head, looks at you with a strangely pleading expression on his face. “I will tell you as many times as it takes. I am the farthest from bored when I am with you.”

You stare at him, taken aback by his gentle reassurance even while clearly upset with your immature prank. But why are you still surprised when he is tender with you? He has been nothing but indulgent, tolerant, generous, since he secured a promise from you to use your home as a safe house. He has treated you so gently through all of your worst moments since then.

But if you say that out loud, if you acknowledge it, you won’t be able to stop yourself from asking for more. You’re so greedy. It’s not enough, to be held by him. Now you want his mouth. His tongue. His everything.

“You sent me into a poisonous garden without telling me. Rude.”

He lifts a dark silver eyebrow. “I told you not to touch or eat anything in here. Are you a pet, or a child?”

You don't know why you're arguing. “You know the fastest way to get me to do something is to tell me not to do it.” He knows this. He has used this against you before, in fact.

He finally smiles a little back at you. “A child then, I see.”

You stick your tongue out at him, remember what he has done every time you’ve done that, and immediately pull it back into your mouth.

“But you’re a quick learner,” he smiles wider, revealing one sharp tooth.

You just scowl at him.

He exhales heavily, as if letting go of a great weight, and you feel bad for making him worry. “Is everything okay with business?” you ask, trying to change the subject, to take his mind off of whatever he just went through because of you. You resolve not to prank him like that ever again.

“Business is good. Too good. Hence the constant calls. Nothing to worry about,” he says, letting you distract him. He sinks a little lower onto the bench, spreads his long legs. You lower your head, rest it on his big shoulder.

“So. A poison garden,” you say. “Your favorite part of the greenhouse. Not the lovely jungle, the fuck-bed, or whatever else you have hidden in this huge place.”

“I’ve always had a particular weakness for deadly, lovely things,” he says, running a hand soothingly up and down your back.

You feel like he’s trying to tell you something, beyond his appreciation for flowers.

My beloved is perfect to me.

The bet was about how long it will take for my beloved to realize how I feel about them. 

But how could he have waited so long for you, how could he feel so strongly for you, when you only just met? 

You think about how strongly you already feel about him, and wonder if it even matters. 

You think about his little quip, time is a construct and inherently meaningless, when you asked him about his drinking.

It was a joke, but maybe there is truth in it.

Does it even matter? Is it so bad for you to just want to take what he’s now so clearly offering? Even if he’ll never kiss you?

“Do you ever use these plants for nefarious purposes?” you ask. “Or just to admire and brood around?”

“I do not brood. I plot,” he sniffs indignantly. “And you already know that I like a more direct approach. Sometimes Luke and Kieran used plants from here for pranks, back when I had guests more often.”

Guests? More often? Do you want to know? What kind of guests? Does it matter?

You lift your head and ask a question that has been on your mind for a while now to distract yourself. “Who takes care of your house? Your greenhouse? Your pools?”

He raises his eyebrows a little in surprise at your non sequitur. “I have staff who take care of everything.”

“Where are they? I’ve not seen anyone else but the twins and Noah since I arrived.”

“I’ve asked them to adjust their schedules for the time being. They come while we’re sleeping.”

“Why?”

He gently flicks your forehead. “Why do you think?”

“Can you never just answer a question without asking another question, Socrates?” you huff.

“I’m not going to spoon feed you answers that you should already know by now,” he taunts.

“What should I already know?”

“That I know you don’t like being around people you don’t know. That you find it uncomfortable to be around people who you aren’t sure are safe. That you wouldn’t be able to prance around my library in your underwear if you feared some stranger walking in.”

You poke him in his firm stomach. “I prance about as much as you do, Mister Broody McPoisongarden.”

He laughs softly.

You close your eyes. Let his answer sink in. His thoughtfulness shouldn’t surprise you by now. But every time, the tenderness, the kindness he shows you—it hurts. What will you do, once you have to return to your real life? What will you do, if you ever fall off the pedestal he has built for you? What have you done to deserve his attentiveness?

You are trying to live in the moment. You will find a balance. Maybe it’s for the best if he doesn’t want to kiss you. If he never wants closer physical intimacy. He already has so much of you already.

Enough. Enough.

You rest your head on his shoulder again and sit with him in comfortable silence.

This is how it goes.

Another day. He receives a phone call. You wave at him, back away, his eyes tracking you as you go, until the door swings shut.

You drift to the pool room again. Its humid warmth, the bar in pale wood, the zen garden. You take a bottle from the shelf behind the bar, pour a shot. Does it matter what time it is? Not right now, in the timeless night of Sylus’s fortress. Mephisto has followed you. You toast him, holding up the shot glass, and then down it. It burns. You wonder how Sylus can drink this shit. Even the good stuff hurts.

You walk to the edge of the pool. Think about the twenty different swimsuits Sylus showed you after he found you naked in his pool the first time.

You turn, making sure Mephisto is watching. You remind yourself that he’s a robot. He doesn’t care what he sees. But the man on the other side might care. You're lying to yourself when you say you can live without Sylus ever kissing you. You remember a kiss that never happened, and the memory haunts you.

You strip out of your clothes, watching Mephisto watching you.

Look, then. You’ve been watching me since before we even met. You’re the only one I want looking, and you won’t take what I’m offering. I’m now watching you, watching me.

You don’t know what you’re hoping to achieve with your sad little provocations. Sylus has only ever responded with covering you up. You’re just being greedy. Why can’t you be satisfied with him just being near? My tormenter, my love, be near me.

You pause, watching Mephisto thoughtfully, your clothes piled at your feet. After a few moments, you turn and dive into the pool.

You enjoy the water, your empty mind as your body takes over. You feel stronger than you’ve felt in months. You enjoy the strength in your muscles, the weightlessness. You slap the edge of the pool after yet another lap, are about to turn, go again, when you glance up and see Sylus right there, standing above you.

This time, his eyes are open. He’s looking down at you, eyes fixed on your face. His thumbs are hooked in the pockets of his dark pants, the picture of relaxed, a fluffy towel hanging over one wrist.

He says nothing. He simply looks. You make no effort to conceal yourself under the water. You return his gaze, watching him watching you.

The silence stretches. You wonder what he’s thinking. “Everything okay this time?”

He frowns a little. “Worried about my business?”

“I just want you to be happy,” you say truthfully. You don’t want him to be worried about business, or your time here to cause problems for him. No matter what his business actually consists of. Balance. Balance.

“Then we’re both in luck,” he says. “I’ve been happy all week.”

You tilt your head. “Just this week?”

“Mmhmm.” He looks down at you, fondness softening his features.

You think you can live without him kissing you, if he will look at you like this every once in a while.

“Are you not happy with the swimsuits I arranged for you?” he asks, his fond look melting into a bored expression.

“I’m happy with them,” you answer, looking steadily back at him.

“And yet you won’t wear them.”

“There’s no one here.”

“Am I no one?” His gaze flicks down your body, then back to your face. 

You look at him. You look at him, and want him so terribly. You’re lying, every time you tell yourself you’ll be satisfied with a look, an almost kiss.

“You’re the only one,” you force yourself to say.

He’s too far away. You can’t see what effect, if any, what you just said has on him. His face is still impassive.

“Am I to interpret this, as well as the library the other day, as an invitation?”

Your heart is pounding. “Do you want it to be an invitation?”

He opens his mouth, only for it to snap shut again. Even from here, you can hear his phone vibrating in his pocket.

You want him to ignore it. You want him to answer your question.

He takes the towel in one hand, and reaches into his pocket with the other.

You’re already so greedy, wanting him to ignore his business for you. You suddenly feel incredibly pathetic.

You look down at yourself. Muscle and scars. What are you doing? Trying to tempt a man like Sylus Qin with what you have to offer, such as it is. A dull, scratched blade.

His beloved? 

His tormenter, his love?

It’s only been a week, and you’re this delusional.

You sink underwater, turn, launch yourself from the side of the pool, knife through the water. You haul yourself up on the other side, walk through the barroom to the door, and stride, dripping through the cold hallway.

You shower. You try to keep your mind blank. You don’t want to betray yourself, when you have to see him again. There’s nowhere to hide.

You’re relieved when you find his bedroom empty when you’re done in the bathroom.

You throw on clothes.

You slip back into the hallway. Mephisto must have stayed in the pool room with Sylus. You start to jog toward the lift leading to the underground garage. Sylus never said you had to stay in the house while you waited for him to be done with business. You’ll be back when you can trust that your face won’t give away how stupid you feel for trying to seduce him through Mephisto. 

You’ll strangle the wanting inside you like Sylus strangled you when you first met.

As you’re passing the living room, Noah steps into the hallway.

“Whoa, there. You look like you’re on a mission.”

“Maybe,” you say, trying to smile. She stares at you.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Of course.” You nod. You’re fine. You’ll be fine.

“Is this another case of we need to call the boss?”

“No, thank you.”

“Well since you ask so politely,” she smiles at you. It’s genuine. You think this is the first genuine smile she’s ever given you. “You want company?”

“I don’t even know where I’m going,” you say. 

“I’ve found that just going for a drive can make me feel better,” she says. “I am your driver, after all. Wanna put me to good use?”

You blink at her. She’s not going to call Sylus and tell on you? She’s not going to badger you with questions?

“You sure? I’m not amazing company.”

“Coulda fooled me with how Boss follows you like a lovesick puppy.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t worry about it. C’mon, let’s go.” She turns and leads the way toward the garage lift. When you pass the theater room, Luke and Kieran poke their heads out. “Going somewhere?” Kieran asks.

“We’re going for a drive. C’mon, nerds,” Noah says breezily, waving them forward.

They look at each other, seem to have a silent conversation, and then follow obediently.

“Does Boss know we’re going somewhere?” Luke asks.

“Not unless you snitch,” Noah answers.

“Is it like, a secret?”

“No. But maybe the hunter needs a little breathing room.”

Luke and Kieran turn and stare at you.

“Do you need some space from Boss?” 

You grimace. “Not because of anything he did. I just need to get a little perspective.”

“You’re not leaving him, right?” Both twins look stricken at the idea.

“Leaving him? We’re not together like that.”

“Why the fuck not?” Luke demands.

Kieran puts a hand on his shoulder and looks at you. “You don’t have to answer that.”

You squint at them. “You say that like it’s up to me if we’re together or not.”

Luke squints back. “Isn’t it?”

You shake your head. “I’m not going to discuss your boss’s private life when he’s not here.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re loyal to him, you’re nuts about him. We already like you, there’s no need to prove anything.” Luke rolls his eyes. He’s about to speak again when Kieran begins to steer him away by gently pressing on his back. “We will meet you in the garage,” he tells Noah. “We’ve got to get our masks if we’re going out.”

“Ah yes, the cosplay twins make a reappearance,” Noah grins. “See you in a few.” With that, she takes your hand like you’ve been friends forever, and swings your joined hands as she practically skips to the lift leading to the garage.

In the underground garage which is surprisingly spartan for a man of Sylus’s tastes, she drags you to the tank. You eye with longing a long row of vehicles that look like they’d be amazing to go offroading across the N109 Zone’s wastes in.

“No, nooooope,” Noah says, hurrying you along. “Boss’s orders. I have to cart you around in the Phantom anytime we’re in the Zone. It’s why he bought it.”

You let her herd you to the tank. “What?”

She opens the backseat door and makes a sarcastic sweeping gesture. “Your chariot awaits.”

You sigh. “The backseat? Really? I can’t even ride up front?”

“You’re the VIP. Get in.”

You decide not to fight her this time. You’re going to take out the beat up Toyota Hilux you saw parked amongst the other vehicles to see if you can get it to flip one of these days, and you want her on your side when you do it.

She slams the door shut after she’s ensured you’re buckled in and then swings around to the driver’s seat. She puts on some music that sounds like metal, but you have no idea what particular genre. It’s loud.

“What do you mean Sylus bought the tank because of me?” you shout over the music.

She has mercy on you, reducing the volume, then resumes tapping her long fingers on the steering wheel as you both wait for Kieran and Luke to arrive.

“What’s there not to understand? He bought something that’s advertised as being able to survive the apocalypse to protect you when you need to be in the Zone.”

You think of Sylus, vulnerable on his motorcycle. Just as vulnerable as you on yours. Okay, so he can heal quickly, but you doubt he can heal from being decapitated in an accident. “I can protect myself. That is ridiculous.”

She shrugs. “You worry about these things when you love someone. Doesn’t matter if it’s logical.”

You stare at her. She sounds like she speaks from experience.

“And the Zone is fucking dangerous. More dangerous than Linkon City. His worry is logical in this case. There’s more than just reckless driving to account for in the Zone.”

You startle when the front passenger door and the other back passenger door fly open at the same time, and both twins launch themselves in, almost in sync. They’re both wearing the masks that they were wearing when you first met them, which are probably meant to be crows but just look like plague doctor masks to you.

Noah backs out of the parking space and screeches out of the underground garage like the unwieldy tank is a rocket ship instead of a roided out SUV.

“Can we change the music?” Luke whines. “It’s so fucking… uh. Cock-cockiphinous.”

“Cacophonous,” Kieran corrects gently.

“I’m the driver, I choose the music,” Noah says, swatting Luke’s reaching hand away from the dash.

Luke just groans and then twists in his seat, poking his beak into the backseat.

“So we know you’re loyal and wanna protect our boss. Your secrets are safe with us. Blah blah. Now spill the tea, why do you need space from him?” 

You groan and cover your eyes with your hand. “Not gonna talk about it.”

“Is it because he almost kissed you and then didn’t?” Luke ignores your protest. “Or about him spying on you with Mephisto like a creep even though he claimed it was an accident?”

You drop your hand and stare at his masked face. “What?”

Kieran starts making a throat cutting gesture at Luke, as if to say Shut the fuck up NOW.

“Oops,” is all Luke says.

“Let’s talk about something else!” Noah says in a sing-song voice. She then proceeds to make a very controversial statement about the latest video game they all played together, and they argue animatedly all the way into the urban heart of the N109 Zone.

“We’re going to Amnesia?” you ask in a daze as Noah steers into the now-familiar underground garage.

Noah shrugs. “Yup. Fastest way to see how someone really feels.”

“What?” You feel like a broken record. What the fuck does she mean?

The twins look at each other and then nod in unison. “Jealousy is a powerful motivator,” Kieran says thoughtfully. “Good plan, Noah.”

“What?” you ask again, more forcefully.

“Don’t worry about it.” Noah grins. “C’mon, just get yourself a drink and dance a little. It’ll take your mind off things. I, for one, have been going stir crazy without having anything to do while you and Sylus dance around each other while simultaneously being attached at the hip.”

You’re too shocked to resist, and let yourself be dragged along by the trio of Sylus’s unruly children, past the security at the door of the lift, through the winding hallways, out into the main part of the club where the night is in full swing. The dance floor is packed, the beats organic and animalistic, and the aerial dancers still spin from the ceiling.

You can’t believe it’s only been a little over a week since you were here for the first time.

Noah pushes you to the packed bar, where you’re immediately served by one of the exceedingly attractive bartenders despite other people already waiting. “Shots!” Noah cries, handing one to you, Kieran and Luke.

“To Boss’s bizarre mating ritual!” Luke crows, and they all down their shot, the twins bringing it up to their mouths under their masks.

You look at it the neon glowing shot in your hand and grimace. Eh, what the hell. You shoot it as well.

“C’mon, let’s dance!” 

You do not want to dance. You need to think. You just wanted to get out, to find a little space to breathe away from Sylus’s overwhelming presence, and weight of your suffocating hunger for him.

“I’m fine here!” you shout.

“Fine, but don’t leave without us, got it?” Noah shouts back.

“Same for you!” 

They melt into the crowd.

You squeeze your way through the crowd to take up a spot leaning against the wall, eyes scanning the mass of dancers, the aerial artists leisurely twisting above, the lights a seizure-inducing fever dream.

You keep an eye on Noah, who finds a group of gorgeous women to dance with. The twins, who dance next to each other, are seemingly oblivious to all the attempts by various men and women to slide in and dance with them.

After a while, you head back to the bar. You’re immediately served again, as if the staff recognize you. You take your frilly cocktail and resume your place along the wall.

Mind blank. Just soaking in humanity, feeling like you have a purpose, protecting Noah and the twins in case the unlikely happens and some asshole escapes the notice of Sylus’s extensive security to fuck with them. You don’t let yourself think about anything at all.

Your meditative vigil is interrupted when a big man leans against the wall next to you, squinting out over the crowd like you are.

He’s quiet for a few minutes, and you think that maybe he’ll leave you in peace.

“What are we looking for?” His voice is deep, and close to your ear as he leans over to be heard over the deep bass of the music.

You flick your eyes up to his face, and then back over the crowd. Handsome, in a rugged way. Dark hair, dark eyes. A nose that's a little too perfect to actually be perfect. Not like Sylus's actually perfect nose.

You’re feeling loose from the drink, a little tipsy. You answer honestly.

“Possible threats.”

“You security?”

“Nah. Just a concerned citizen.”

You can hear the smile in his voice. “Those are rare in the Zone. Usually people mind their own business around here.”

You just shrug.

“Can I get you a drink?”

You look down at the drink in your hand, lift an eyebrow.

“Okay, let me try again.”

You turn, look expectantly at him. In another life, you would have found him charming. You would have responded to his obvious interest, maybe taken him home for the night. Maybe even dated for awhile, before he realized that the person he met in the club is the person you are all the time: closed off, alert, never dropping your guard even while being honest. Not like how you are with Sylus. Pliant. Affectionate. As open as you can bear to be while still not knowing what he truly wants from you.

“Dance with me?”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m okay here.”

“You come to one of the most exclusive clubs in the Zone just to decorate the wall?”

You snort. “Don’t insult this place’s interior design.”

He gives you a slow once over. “Oh, I’d say you’re the focal point here.” Before you can scoff, he tries again. “Just one dance. I promise not to step on your feet.”

You think of Sylus holding you in at the auction's banquet.  Look at me. Look only at me. Sylus holding you in the seedy BOOM BOOM ROOM. Dancing slowly while the rapid beat shook your chest, as if only you and he existed in the entire world.

“I’d rather lean on this wall and pine,” you say.

His eyebrows shoot up, but then he smirks. “I bet I have more to offer than whoever is stupid enough to make you pine for them instead of recognizing what’s right in front of them.”

“Doubt it,” you smirk back.

“Try me. What’s so great about this person?”

“I don’t think there’s enough time to list everything,” you say.

“I’ve got time for you. Unlike this person, since they’re not here with you.”

You frown. Sylus is busy as fuck, but he has always offered you his time. Even when he’s pulled away by the near-constant phone calls, he tries to come back to you as quickly as possible.

“For one, he’s gorgeous. Tall, big.”

“I’m big and tall,” he flexes a bicep. It’s respectable. But it’s not as big as Sylus’s.

“He’s bigger, and taller.”

He shrugs, concedes. “All right, but that’s just the package. What’s he got on the inside?”

“He’s perceptive. Clever. Funny. Fearless. Unbearably sweet.”

“Damn. You’re not making this easy for me.” He sounds forlorn.

“Sorry, man.” You smile at him. He seems nice. But he does nothing for you. You’re worried no one else ever will again. Despite all of your fretting, all of your wallowing, your moral dilemma, you know how this is going to end. Sylus is under your skin now. You are going to do everything in your power to satisfy your greed, to keep both your job and the man who is coming to mean as much to you as your job, formerly your sole reason for continuing to fight so hard to survive. To earn your breath, your life, your having lived while Caleb died.

“So what’s the problem? Why are you here pining, instead of with this perfect guy?”

“I can’t tell if he feels the same way.”

“Have you told him how you feel?”

“He’s perceptive, remember? I’m pretty sure it’s fucking obvious. But no matter what I do, he won’t even kiss me.”

“You tried kissing him first?”

You grimace. “Can’t bear to be rejected if he doesn’t feel the same way. I’d rather just pine.”

“Here you are, badass ready to take on an entire club if a fight breaks out, but scared of just going for it with your man?” He smiles at you, slides closer to you along the wall.

“See? I’m not as great as my packaging suggests.”

“Oh I doubt that. But now I know I have something that your man doesn’t.” He turns, leaning one shoulder against the wall, and bends down toward you.

You watch him curiously. If he gets too close, you’ll sidle away, say thanks but no thanks, again. If he doesn’t get the hint, you’ll punch him in the throat. “Oh yeah?”

“I’m here, and he isn’t. And I don’t have the same self control—how could he not kiss you when you’re standing right here outshining everyone else?”

You’re about to roll your eyes at his obvious exaggeration and move away when you feel a sudden warmth blanketing your back.

“Announcing that you have a lack of self control isn’t the flex you might think it is.” Sylus’s deep voice is next to your ear, his leather-clad arm is wrapping around your waist.

You turn your head, meet his blood-dark eyes. He tilts his head, frowns at you questioningly. “When have I denied you anything?” he asks.

You’re confused until you realize he was listening to your conversation. Oh fuck. How much did he hear?

“Kitten, don’t tell me you’ve had so much to drink that you can’t remember if I’ve ever not given you what you’ve asked for.”

It occurs to you that you’ve asked for very little from him, because he has always offered you everything you could have wanted without you having to ask in the first place. But anything you have ever asked, he has promised to give. 

“Never,” you murmur.

“So if you wanted me to kiss you, you could have just asked. No need to torture me through Mephisto.”

You feel your face flush red. “Torture you?” You want to pull away, but he holds you tightly.

“Yes. Torture me. My tormenter, my love,” he says, leaning down, his lips almost touching yours. “May I kiss you?”

You can’t get over the mortification of Sylus having heard what you said to the guy hitting on you.

“How much did you hear?” you ask, wincing.

He looks smug. “I’m big, and tall, and perceptive and—” He asked to kiss you. Surely it’s okay if you lean forward, try to brush your lips against his lips. Just to shut him up.

He leans back. “No.”

Your insides freeze. What the fuck? What kind of fucking mindgame is he playing? He asks to kiss you and then rejects you in the next breath? You try to jerk out of his hold.

“I’m not kissing you for the first time in this ridiculous nightclub,” he growls, his arm a steel bar over your waist. 

What? Because there are so many people? People who might know him? And see him with… you. 

You want to crawl out of your skin, leave it behind so that no one can recognize you when you move to the arctic to escape this feeling. This is what you get for being greedy. For reaching for what you don’t deserve.

What would Caleb say, if he saw you here, an object of embarrassment for this lord of war, the antithesis of everything you’re supposed to stand for?

It occurs to you for the first time that maybe Sylus hasn’t kissed you because he’s wrestling with the same questions that have been running through your mind since you had yet another pathetic meltdown in his gem vault. You’re a hunter. A tool of the Association. A fucked up mental case. What do you have to offer him in exchange for what he would have to risk, to give up, in order to actually be with you?

A hell of a lot of nothing, aside from all the emotional baggage.

“Because you’re ashamed that the person you’re kissing is me?” you ask, watching his face for microexpressions, for the bored mask, for anything to give away what he’s really feeling.

He scowls, his frown line deep between his eyebrows, like he’s just bitten into something foul. Well that’s fucking clear. You squeeze your eyes shut. You may not be able to escape his hold, but you don’t have to endure him looking at you like he did when you first met him. Like he can’t believe how utterly disappointing you are.

“Look at me,” he demands. You want to cry.

“Please,” he says, tone softening. You open your eyes.

Suddenly the crowd, the guy flirting with you, the lights—everything disappears as Sylus cups your cheeks in his big hands, leans down, and kisses you.

Warmth. His impossibly soft lips. You feel like you’ve been here before. You’ve tasted him before—his tongue parts your lips, filling your mouth. You open your mouth wider, trying to take more of him in. You can hear soft whining noises under the loud music, and realize that you’re the one making them. He uses his hold on your cheeks to tilt your head the way he wants as he tastes you. He takes a step forward, big thigh pushing between your legs, and backs you into the wall, blanketing you with his big body.

You suck on his silken tongue. He presses his thigh with more force between your legs, and you wrap your arms around his neck, grind back against his leg. 

It’s not enough. You wanted his mouth, and now that you have it, you want more. You’re so hungry for him, even as he’s feeding you his tongue.

He tears away from you, panting, a sloppy trail of saliva falling away from his bottom lip.

You stare at his flushed face, wide eyed. 

What now? Is he going to regret it? Tell you it was a mistake? Maybe this is another dream. Another dream you’ll only half remember. Nothing that has to be undone. Nothing that will ruin the rest of your stay in his house. You’ll be better, you promise yourself. You’ll stop being greedy. You’ll be thankful for the generosity he’s already shown you, and you’ll never hope for more again. It will be enough, him holding you in his arms, him showing you precious glimpses into his lovely, complicated mind.

You’ll wake up any minute now, and maybe you’ll forget everything, including the taste of his tongue. You’re haunted enough.

He turns to the guy who was hitting on you, the aether core in his eye glowing bright. “You’ll forget you ever met my beloved,” he orders, and the guy’s face goes blank. He then frowns and shakes his head a little, like he’s coming out of a daze. He turns and wanders back into the crowd without looking back.

You gape after the poor bastard. “What did you just do to him?”

He looks at you, looks back at the guy’s retreating back. Then looks back at you, squinting. “Isn’t it obvious? I made him forget that he ever met you, so he can’t sell intel about my biggest weakness.”

You stare at him. “Your biggest weakness?”

He hangs his head, the soft fall of his hair whispering against your cheek. “Can we leave now? I really want to keep kissing you, and I’m not doing it with an audience.”

You’ll wake up any second now, you tell yourself. You didn’t just guilt him into kissing you in public despite his better judgment. You didn’t endanger him by being an insecure freak.

He flicks your forehead gently. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s wrong. I didn’t want our first kiss to be in a nightclub. I wanted it to be somewhere romantic, like you deserve. And once I start kissing you again, I don’t want to have to stop. Any objections?”

You stare at him, feeling like you’ve just stumbled off of a goddamned roller coaster. “You want to keep kissing me?”

“Kitten. Sweetheart. Darling. Beloved. Yes, I want to keep kissing you. No, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop kissing you, and more, once I start. Any objections?” He stares into your eyes.

You find yourself shaking your head.

He closes his eyes, exhales. Opens them. All you see is red. His big hand finds yours. He clasps yours tightly. “Resonate with me,” he says.

You look at him in confusion. “Please trust me,” he says, voice strained.

“I do trust you,” you say. “I just don’t trust that this is real. Are you sure this isn’t a dream?”

He smiles. Big. Genuine. His sharp canines gleaming in the flashing lights of the club. He squeezes your hand gently. “I promise that it’s finally not just a dream,” he says.

You stare into his beautiful ember eyes. You’re so fucking scared to believe that this is real, but he promised you that it isn't. And Sylus says he always keeps his promises.

This is how it goes.

You've already known how it ends, from the first time you willingly took his offered hand in yours.

You squeeze his hand in return, and let your power flow through you.

End note: hopefully more smooches in the next part.