#anyway if you read it i hope you like it and i hope it helps with some of the finale pain | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ladsonlads · 14 hours ago

Text

Impartial Hearts | Sylus - Part Two

Pairing -> Boss Sylus x Non MC Reader

Parts -> Part One | Part Two

Synopsis -> You’ve been working as Onychinus’s accountant for two years, and you’ve been carrying two heavy secrets for a third of it. You were in love with your boss, and your mother was dying.

A/N -> I'm sorry it took so long. I have been obsessing over trying to make part two perfect but I don't think I can. It's time I share my baby with you, and I really hope you enjoy it.

Tags -> Angst, fluff :)

Trigger Warnings -> Character death, heavily mentions grief. Some parts are suggestive but there is no smut.

Word Count -> 18.8K (it got kinda crazy)

Late October

It was cold, dark and gloomy; the weather a perfect pathetic fallacy to the narrative of your life. The freshly disturbed patch of grass failed to convey the significance of who laid underneath it. It was vexing, how the world continued to spin on it’s axis despite the fact that it stopped spinning for you.

It hurt to think about the events that led to your undoing. The weeks prior to the moment your mother drew her last breath. You were a cracked vase filled with wilting flowers and overflowing regret. Every breath you took consumed more energy than you could spare and yet the world just. Kept. Spinning.

“I brought you flowers. Yellow tulips, by the way.” The words felt like lead on your tongue. It was one thing to accept your mother was never coming back, it was another to try to act normal about it. “I know you never cared for them, but I didn’t think leaving a pack of cigarettes on your grave was very tasteful.” You bitterly smiled to yourself at the memories of your mom sneaking a cigarette in the backyard when she thought you were asleep. It was a nasty habit you did everything to rid her of. A fruitless attempt to protect her from the inevitable.

“I’m sorry I haven’t figured out your epitaph yet. It’s just so hard to condense your entire life into a few words. Plus, they charge by the letter, so I’m trying to be really selective.” It felt weird, speaking into empty space, but you read online that it helped with grief, so you tried anyway.

That was how you approached most things nowadays. Eating, drinking, sleeping, they all seemed meaningless. But, you knew you couldn’t survive on just antagonism and mourning, so you did it anyway.

“Zayne called again. I know you told me not to hate him and that it wasn’t his fault, but I can’t bring myself to agree.”

The moment Zayne told you that the heart that could save your mother’s life was going to someone else replayed in your mind like a scratched vinyl stuck on an aggravating note.

“I got so frustrated by his constant calls that I threw my phone into the ocean.” You let out a sad laugh. “Guess that’s the last time I bring anything with me when I’m walking along the coast.”

You paused for a moment, feeling stupid. But you had so much to say to her, it all just began spilling out.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but I might lose the house. I burned through all my paid leave, and the idea of going back to work for Sylus makes me want to put my head through a wood-chipper. I know I have to, but how can I focus on work when I have nothing left to work for?” You tasted the tears before you felt them, the saltiness reminded you of your weekends at the beach with your mom. You did everything to get out of joining her, you hated the beach, but it was her favourite place to be and in a desperate attempt to cling on to whatever was left of her, you forced it to be yours too.

“I’m sorry I never got you that house you dreamed of, or the dog. I’m sure there are lots of dogs in heaven, and at least the dogs there have been screened. With my luck any dog I would’ve gotten you would’ve been evil.” You teetered around the grievance you truly wanted to apologise for.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t spend much time with you before you passed away. I was so sure you would get the transplant. I tried so hard to save for it. I should’ve been with you. If I knew—” The sobs raked through you with a force that knocked the air out of your lungs. You sat down next to her tombstone, leaning your head against the chiseled rock.

There were moments when you’d wake up, and in the haze of your muddled mind you’d forget she was dead. But then the ache in your body is deciphered by your mind, and you’re reminded of just how much you’ve lost. Maybe that’s why they called it mourning. Grief dawned on you like the rising sun.

Life had a way of being entirely unfair, and there was nowhere to hide from fate’s piercing claws. And as if to ensure you hadn’t forgotten just how cruel life could be, your head whipped around at the sound of footsteps behind you to find the last person you wanted to see.

Sylus was dressed in a long black coat hanging effortlessly off of his broad shoulders, a black dress shirt that really should’ve been buttoned up to the top, and a pair of black slacks that made his long legs look impossibly longer. He looked every bit the cunning grim reaper, and it wasn’t just because he was surrounded by graves.

“I didn’t know you were back in the N109 Zone.” The words came out harsher than you intended as your head returned to it’s position against the rock.

Sylus stopped in front of you, lowering himself to his haunches so that you would be face-to-face. It stung to look at him, so you focused on picking at the grass instead.

“I only got back a few hours ago. I heard about your mother. I’m sorry.” Having been deprived of his voice for over a month, you cursed the butterflies that coursed through you like muscle memory. Part of you wished he’d returned disfigured, but you knew it wouldn’t have made much of a difference. Ugly or devastatingly beautiful, the storm that was Sylus could not be stopped, only weathered.

“Sorry that she died or sorry that you weren’t there?” The bitterness in your tone was unfamiliar to you. Even though you knew it was unfair of you to expect him to have stayed, he left immediately after he dropped you off at the hospital and you hoped he’d have been there just a little longer. It didn’t help that you didn’t hear from him until two weeks later, and by then you were too engrossed in your battle against Akso hospital’s medical board to respond.

“You haven’t been answering my calls; they’re not even going through anymore. You haven’t blocked me, have you?” Sylus countered your question with one of his own. If you cared enough, you might’ve called him out on his diversion.

“No, my phone broke.” That was an understatement if there ever was one.

“How long ago?”

“A week.” That much was true and since you couldn’t afford a smart phone, a shitty $30 flip phone weighed down your pocket.

“And all the times I called before then?” Sylus’s eyes perused you with intensity, and you suddenly felt self-conscious. You weren’t dressed well, in a pair of black sweatpants that were too big on you and a matching hoodie. Grieving people were allowed to dress terribly without judgement, Y/N. It’s okay.

“I didn’t feel like picking up.” The grass continued to bare the brunt of your nerves as you answered. The you that wasn’t effectively an orphan would’ve made up some excuse to protect his feelings, but you were resolved to change that. Your mother was strong, independent, and she never backed down from a fight. Not against men like Sylus, and not against her illness. If you wanted to honour her memory then you had to live your life the way she’d want you to.

“Do you have a phone now?”

You reached into the pocket of your sweatpants to take out the grey flip phone. You watched as Sylus bit back a laugh.

“I’ll get you a new one.”

“I don’t need you to get me anything.” You quickly retorted.

“You’re going to need a phone from this century if you’re working for me, Y/N.” He said it so casually, as if you were put on this earth solely to serve him as his accountant.

“Right, about that…” Your determination to be confident and unapologetic began to dwindle as you wondered how to tell Sylus you needed more time.

“No. Resigning is not an option.” Twelve minutes. It took Sylus twelve minutes to return to his usual controlling self. You were impressed, truly, it was a new record after all.

“We don’t have a blood pact, Sylus. I can resign if I want to. Besides, that’s not what I was going to say. I need more time off.” You didn’t sound very convincing, but it wasn’t like you could change who you were overnight. It would take a lifetime to unlearn your bad habits.

Sylus looked conflicted, as if he didn’t know what to say. When he chose to finally open his mouth, you wished he hadn’t.

“I’ve given you a month, Y/N. That’s enough.” His statement came out so matter-of-factly, you wondered if you had imagined it. A month was not nearly enough to recover from losing your mom, but you figured a man who killed people for a living wouldn’t understand.

“It’s only been two weeks since she died. And I’m sure the temp you’ve got is perfectly competent.”

“The temp doesn’t know the company like you do and I haven’t bothered teaching him on the premise that you were returning. If you’re not back soon I can’t promise you’ll have a job to come back to.”

The tension in the air dissipated as you began to laugh. Loudly. Obnoxiously. Hysterically.

“You— You seriously think I care whether or not I have a job? I can barely will myself to eat right now—employment is not my priority.” You wiped back the tears that began to spill out. Their origin unknown, between your hysteria and sorrow, your eyes were constantly puffy.

“People die all the time, sweetheart. It’s no reason to throw your future away.” Sylus stood up straight at the end of his statement, holding his hand out to you.

The angel on your shoulder whispered that in his own peculiar way, this was his attempt at comforting you. But you stopped listening to that angel when they buried your mom under six-feet of dirt, and you couldn’t help the word vomit that escaped you like water barrelling out of a splintered dam.

You pushed away his hand, and stood up to look at him with a ferocity you didn’t know you possessed.

“I get that something really dark and twisted must have happened in your youth to make you so heartless, but most people have shitty childhoods, sweetheart. We choose not to be terrible, insufferable people because of it.” The unbridled rage you’d spend so long trying to suppress seeped out of you uncontrollably as you screamed at Sylus. You walked toward him, your anger taking hold of you as you began to push him away. A few months ago you would’ve given anything to touch him, now all you cared about was making him feel a semblance of the pain he instilled in you.

“Some of us choose to feel our emotions in their entirety, regardless of how much it hurts, because we’re not scared to love and lose. You’re a coward, Sylus and you may think that my mother dying is just an inevitable consequence of life, but my world will never be the same.” In an attempt to calm down, you took a deep breath.

“You can judge me all you want, but it won’t change the fact that when you die, no one will mourn you.” The word vomit continued, and when you saw the hurt flash briefly within his eyes, you felt the arms of regret begin to sink their claws into you.

You shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t you.

But before you could take it all back, Sylus’s phone began ringing and you figured from the urgency in which he answered it must’ve been her.

“I lost track of time, I’ll be right there.” He spoke in a low voice in what you could only assume was an attempt to mask the fact that he was leaving you for something more important, again.

He opened his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it.

“Just go.” You waved him off and turned back around to face your mother’s grave, though now the tears welling up in your eyes couldn’t be entirely attributed to the grief.

Early November

You weren’t sure time could heal the gaping wound your mother’s passing left behind, but grief had settled into your life like an imposing aunt. It was in your home, touching your things, ruining your food, and never once leaving you alone. It didn’t feel so all-consuming anymore, but it clung onto you constantly like a shadow.

You were watching the third Harry Potter movie at 8am when you received the eviction notice via Email. You’d been expecting it, ultimately you were behind on rent, but the reason plastered on the paper was exponentially worse than your own incompetence.

…Selling to developers…suburban expansion project…

As if losing your childhood home wasn’t bad enough, they were planning on destroying it. Memories were bound to decay with time, that was an inevitable consequence of being human. Sooner or later you’d forget the way your mom dressed, or the smell of her perfume. Tangible things like photographs, places, they kept those memories anchored. You couldn’t lose the house, it wasn’t an option.

You spent the next hour trying to reason with your landlord over the phone, but he was committed to selling. He rejected every single one of your proposals, though even you knew they were weak at best. The developers were offering significantly more than market value, there was no way you could beat that. Stupid gentrification. But, your landlord told you he was sympathetic, and the deal hadn’t been finalised just yet. If you could match the developer’s offer by the end of the month, he’d gladly sell it to you instead.

Of course the developer’s offer was $800,000, and by the looks of your financials, you were about $796,312 short.

Desperate for a catharsis for your unending frustration, you screamed into the throw pillow on your couch until your throat felt raw. Then, you opened up your laptop to figure out a plan.

30 minutes later you had:

Sell your kidney to an organ broker and use the money to get a loan from any dodgy bank that would accept your mediocre credit score.

Dabble briefly in prostitution and use the money to get a loan from any dodgy bank that would accept your mediocre credit score.

Become a squatter and protest the demolition of your home environmental-activist style.

“Wow, Y/N. Graduated top of your class and this was all you could come up with, huh?” You muttered to yourself as you stared at the list of terrible ideas. Your mind hadn’t come up with something so horrific since the bed-in-breakfast Mother’s Day fiasco when you were 11.

The only option that didn’t end in bodily harm or a prison sentence was to work as many jobs as humanly possible for the next few weeks in hopes you could somehow manage to accumulate the deposit for a loan. You could probably sell some appliances too, and maybe revisit the kidney idea if it came to it.

Despite it being a long-shot, you had to try. You changed into a pair of flared leggings and a sweater. It was basic and borderline mismatched but traversing your explosive closet was a large undertaking you tended to avoid. You dug a copy of your old resume out from your file drawer, after all, it wasn’t like your experience as Onychinus’s accountant was going to do you any good. Further, listing Sylus as a reference would ensure you never got a job again.

You figured the easiest place to start was the central district of the N109 zone, bars and restaurants there were constantly hiring and from what you’d heard their only requirement was that you had two functioning legs and arms. But when you tried to leave through the door to begin the job search you collided with a formidable wall.

Since when was there a—

“Where you headed to, Y/N?” The familiar voice was so surprising it made you jump, the action accompanied by a shrill scream.

“What the fuck? Why are you just standing outside my door?” You rarely ever swore and you were sure that if your mother was still alive she’d throw her shoe at you for using the devil’s language. But of all the things you expected to see that morning, Sylus outside your door was not one of them.

“Is that any way to welcome your old employer?” Sylus stepped into your home without an invitation. Conclusive proof against your theory that he was secretly a vampire.

“What are you doing here?” You asked again, still staring at Sylus like he sprouted a second head. You couldn’t think of a single reason why he’d show up at your place of residence, he never did while you were still his employee.

“I need you to come back.” You choked back a laugh at his ridiculous request. Was he insane?

“Go to hell.” Your vicious response didn’t sway Sylus.

“I’ve fired an accountant every week since you left. The accounts are in complete disarray, half my businesses are behind on their bills, the other half have been paying the wrong amounts to the wrong companies. My investors are unhappy, my debtors are one week away from assuming I’ve gone bankrupt and I haven’t slept in weeks. Come. Back.” While it stroked your ego to hear that the organisation was suffering in your absence, you couldn’t just forget the terrible way he’d treated you in and out of the workplace.

“You insisted I was especially replaceable and now you’re saying you can’t replace me?” You chose to remind him of just how horrid of an employer he was, an action he didn’t appreciate.

“If you’re going to dwell on the semantics I’d rather just cut to the chase. What’s it going to take to get you back?” Sylus’s tone suggested he was truly trying to negotiate with you. Of course a man like him didn’t know how to take no for an answer.

“Pigs to fly.” You quipped, opening your door in hopes he’d get the hint and leave.

“Y/N, I’m serious. We can’t survive without you.” His desperation went straight to your head, but you stood your ground.

“Then die.” You tried to shove him out of your doorway, but he was about as easy to move as a truck.

“Everyone has something they desire, sweetheart. Name your price.” While you were ready to fire up a quick retort, his suggestion reminded you of the very reason you were about to leave the house.

Perhaps this was a sign; you could swallow your pride if it meant you got to keep your home.

You pretended to give it thought, sighing loudly in contemplation. “Fine. I want a sign-on bonus. Or in this case, a re-sign-on bonus, I guess…” You trailed off, unsure if he would agree.

“Alright, how much?” He was quick to accept your terms, and you decided to test the waters of just how desperate he was for your return.

“A million dollars.”

“Done.”

Dammit, you should’ve asked for more.

“I want a personal driver too, I’m sick of biking to work.” You would’ve been okay with just the bonus, after all, it was insanely generous. But you’d be a fool not to milk this opportunity for what it was worth.

“Anything else, princess?” The condescending nickname only added fuel to the fire as you fired off more requests.

“I don’t want to share my office with the twins anymore, they’re loud and annoying and they have no respect for the sanctity of my monthly budgets.”

“Okay.”

You masked your shock at his sudden magnanimity. “One last thing. Since you’ve come to the realisation that I am, in fact, a valuable asset to your organisation, you’re not allowed to be a dick to me anymore.”

“Elaborate.”

“No more calling me stupid or other degrading insults, threatening my job security, threatening my life — just no more threats in general — and if you’re going to assign me extra work that is beyond the scope of my job description, a please and thank you would be nice.”

“You’re pushing it, Y/N.” Of course treating his employees like human beings was the most difficult request.

“You just agreed to give me a million dollars and being nice to me is where you draw the line?”

Sylus sighed, deliberating in silence for a moment. When he saw that your resolve was unrelenting, he begrudgingly agreed. He wasn’t sure where your newfound confidence was coming from, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t find it the slightest bit attractive.

“Alright, you’ve made your case. I’ll agree to your conditions. Now, please fix it.”

It took every fibre of your being not to break out into song and dance at your victory. “Let me get my coat.”

______________

You stared at the horrific mess your beautiful spreadsheet had turned in to. This was a disaster. A colossal, unfathomable disaster. “How could you let it get this bad?” Your voice was dripping with fear, it was like staring a train wreck.

“It wasn’t like it happened on purpose. Besides, if you’d never—” Sylus interrupted his own sentence which you were sure contained an insult, and you could almost hear the evil chuckle resounding in your head at the sight of his obedience. This was going to be fun.

“This is going to take forever to fix.” It would actually only take the day, but you didn’t need to tell him that.

“I need it fixed by the end of the week. Please.” He looked pained as he added the nicety. Soooooo much fun.

“Add on a massage chair for my office and I’ll get it done by Wednesday.” You wondered just how far you could push his desperation.

“Deal.” He held his hand out for you to shake and when you did, you felt a strange sense of accomplishment. Now you could tell people ‘How to Tame Your Dragon’ was loosely based on your life.

“You know, Sylus, I’m liking this new dynamic.” Your shit-eating grin couldn’t be wiped off of your face no matter how hard you tried.

“Oh I can tell. Now, get to work.” Sylus made a show of pulling out your office chair for you, and when you sat in it for the first time in two months, you felt an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. And for once, the recollection of your past didn’t hurt as much as it usually did.

Mid-November

This time around, your employment under Sylus was much more pleasant. Surprisingly, he’d actually adhered to your conditions.

The twins were slightly offended that you no longer wanted to share your office with them, but their gratefulness for your return trumped any antagonism they had for you. You were kind of a celebrity in Onychinus’s executive team, their saviour, if you will.

But, the enjoyment of your newly established status could not be savoured. Undoing months of mistakes was turning out to be positively exhausting. You were an accountant; socially awkward, stuck to her Excel sheets, spent most of her free time indulging in shitty rom-coms. You were not built for briefing CEOs, Chairmen, investors, subsidiaries and of course, debtors, on your commitment to stability via video call.

Sylus insisted it had to be you, even though he usually handled the bureaucratic part of the organisation. Something about him not being able to answer their questions regarding the numbers. You told him you would tell him what to say through an ear piece like a spy movie, but he responded with a resounding no.

It was more like ‘hell will freeze over before I turn into a glorified puppet, Y/N, blah blah blah’.

Every single one-on-one conference call made you feel like you were getting hives. Not to mention the active effort it took you to refrain from making stupid jokes at every opportunity. When the last one with the representative from Onychinus’s main bank was over, you had officially smoothed over all bad blood between Onychinus and it’s stakeholders.

Giving yourself a moment to recalibrate from the sheer amount of social interaction you had been subjected to, you glared at the shared calendar event. ‘Miss Hunter’s Birthday in 13 days’.

You tried to distract yourself from that familiar sinking feeling in your gut with your work. Sylus never remembered your birthday, but it wasn’t like it mattered. You were his accountant, he was your boss. That was the extent of your relationship, even though you’d both said things to each other that would cause your HR department, if you had one, to self-emulate. But in the chaos of buying your home, going back to work and learning how to navigate life with your unwanted companion; grief, you’d forgotten all about your feelings for Sylus.

They weren’t gone but they were muted, like a voice screaming out to you while your head was underwater. Most of the time they were easy to ignore, but in times like these they were too loud to overlook.

You couldn’t dwell on your self-pity for long because there was a knock at your door. No one ever knocked on your door, people just tended to barge in.

“Come in?” Confusion dripped from your voice. When the door opened to a pair of twins with shameful smiles, you knew they were about to ask you for a favour.

“We… fucked up.” Three words you never wanted to hear coming out of either Luke or Kieran’s mouth.

“What have you done?”

“Long story short. Boss sent us to pick up a gem for Miss Hunter’s birthday. It’s really rare. The man who owns them is this older, heart of gold type old guy who refuses to sell to nefarious people because of his outdated principles. He wouldn’t give it to us, said something about us being part of Onychinus. We knew if boss didn’t get this gem today he’d have our heads displayed on mantels in his office, so we threatened the old man with a gun and then an entire arsenal of security appeared out of thin air and we were blacklisted from the property.” Kieran’s explanation left you astounded.

The twins had their fair share of asinine mistakes, but this one might have taken the cake.

“You threatened an old man with a gun…”

“Yes.” Kieran responded.

“Over a gem?” You asked in disbelief.

“A very rare gem!” Luke corrected.

“Huh. How am I supposed to help?” It was a genuine question, you didn’t really see a way out of this one.

“Can you go and convince the old man to sell the gem to you?” Kieran’s request made your eyes widen in protest.

“No way! I’ve had my fill of uncomfortable business meetings.” And wasn’t that the truth. If you had to see one more man in a business suit ask you ‘if you even knew what you were talking about�� you might throw your laptop into the first body of water you could find.

“Please, Y/N. Sylus will kill us. Do you want our deaths to hang over your conscience?”

Luke’s question was an innocent hyperbole, but at the mention of deaths hanging over your conscience, you were reminded of your mom. Your face dropped, your fingers slowly forgetting what they were supposed to type. Kieran, the more observant twin, elbowed Luke.

“Fuck, Y/N. I’m sorry, I forgot.”

“No, no, it’s fine. You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me, I’m not going to burst into tears.” You weren’t sure that was true quite yet, but fake it till you make it, right?

“Will you help us? Please. We’ll owe you big time.” The line was clearly rehearsed since they said it in unison, or maybe it was some weird twin telepathy thing. Either way, it freaked you out so much you agreed.

“Fine, what’s the address?”

_____________

You knocked on the large wooden door of a beautiful home. It was classically designed, a perfect intersection between modernity and the timeless complexity of archaic house designs. It was rare to see homes like these in a society that prided itself on progress.

When you heard the sound of soft feet shuffling toward the door, you felt the guilt eat at you internally. You were tricking an old man into selling a gem to people he very reasonably did not want to sell to.

“Y/M/N?”

Did he— why did he call you by your mother’s name?

“That was my mother, I’m her daughter, Y/N.”

“Oh, thank god, I was beginning to think I’d finally lost it. Come in, come in.”

Your interest had been piqued, and you forgot all about the gem as you entered the old man’s home.

“I must say, I’m surprised you’re here. Did your mother send you?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “She passed away just over a month ago.”

“Oh god. I’m so sorry, dear. Are you alright?” The question was filled with so much warmth it made tears well up in your eyes. Your mother never had any friends, and you were estranged from your extended family. You were all alone in your grief, and hearing someone who knew your mom in some capacity ask you if you were alright felt bittersweet.

“Yeah. I’m doing okay. If you don’t mind me asking, how did you know her?”

“You don’t know? I figured that was why you were here.”

Right. The reason you were here, the gem.

“No, I’m actually here entirely coincidentally, I came to acquire a gem.”

“Which gem were you after, dear?” He asked the question as he looked around his living room for something.

“The Painite one.”

He stopped pacing and turned to you with an accusatory stare. “This wouldn’t happen to be related to those two rowdy boys who came by earlier, right?”

“Well…” You couldn’t lie to him. He looked like the old man from ‘Up’, it was entirely unfair.

“I’m afraid I can’t sell to you. I’m concerned you’ve even gotten yourself wrapped up in such a terrible organisation.” He shook his head, his disappointment evident in his tone.

“Look, I know what you’ve heard, but most of the rumours you hear about Onychinus don’t have a modicum of truth to them.”

“Then why hasn’t your boss cleared them up?” A great question.

“In this business its good to have a reputation that instills fear in others. You’ve seen what people do for Protocores and black-market items. Onychinus serves as a… regulatory body of the underworld, the only people they harm are those that harm others.” The practiced speech came from years of listening to Sylus give it to yourself and others.

“I don’t know dear, I’ve heard some horrific things about their leader, Sylus.” You were probably responsible for a few of those rumours…

“The only horrific thing about him is his sharp tongue. Seriously, he has a way of finding your worst insecurity and then using it to drag you through the dirt.” Recognising the unhelpful tangent, you digressed.

“But when it comes to business, he’s fair and when someone hurts the people he cares about, he’s merciless. He has a good heart, it’s just encased under a very thick layer of stone.” When he didn’t look convinced, you continued.

“In fact, he wants this gem for a woman. She’s special to him and its her birthday in a few days. She’s a hunter, by the way, she saves lives. So, even if you don’t want to sell to Sylus because he’s probably half demon, you should sell it to her. You know, by proxy.” The argument was a stretch but you couldn’t help your rambling.

“You are the spitting image of your mother.”

The comment caught you off-guard.

“You think so?”

“I knew your mother when she was your age. She used to sing live at a bar I frequented with my friends. It was a simpler time, before wanderers attacked. I was head over heels in love with her, and I knew she felt the same way about me. But, she got wrapped up with the wrong guy, a real bad man, and it took finding out she was pregnant with you to break it off with him.” He recounted his past as he continued to search his drawers for something, when he came back to the couch in front of yours, he handed you a photo.

It was of your mother, except she was much younger. She was on a stage performing, a part of her life she never told you about. She looked happy and was glowing with the kind of ethereal beauty that never dwindled with time. He was right, you looked a lot like her.

“Can I keep this?” You looked up at the man, and he gave you a small nod.

“Of course. You know, I offered to help her when I found out, said I’d raise the baby as my own, but she told me I was destined for more than she could give me. Said she had to do this on her own. She was stubborn but she loved boundlessly, Y/N, just like you.”

You were confused, this man hadn’t known you for very long, how could he know such a thing? “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know what that Sylus man has done to deserve your adoration, but I can tell you love him. And for you to come here on his behalf to convince me to sell him the rarest gem in the world for another woman? You truly do have your mother’s heart.”

His words sprouted doubt and introspection. Why were you trying so hard to get Sylus such a romantic gift when it was meant for someone else? Were you secretly a masochist?

“If it’s alright with you Y/N, I’d love to get to know you. Your mother was my first love, and it’s nice to have someone to talk to about her.”

You gave him the sincerest smile you could come up with. “I’d like that. I don’t really have anyone to talk to about her either.”

“As for the gem, I’ll sell it to you but only if you promise to love a man who will go to these lengths for you, not someone else.”

“I promise.” You’d promise to try, at least. You told the man, who you now knew was Dr Jeffery Hunt the geologist, that you needed to get back to work. You exchanged contact information with a promise to catch up later and trade stories about your mom.

You left the house with the rarest gem in the world in one hand, and an infinitely more valuable picture of your mother in the other.

___________

You walked toward your office where Luke and Kieran should have been to find the door slightly ajar. You stopped just outside the door when you heard Sylus’s voice from inside your office.

“You sent Y/N to get the gem? Was the task too difficult for the two of you?” You tried to sympathise with the twins, but it was kind of funny to see Sylus berate someone else for once.

“The owner said he wouldn’t sell to Onychinus—” Kieran’s attempt at an explanation was shot down instantly.

“So you pick some random person off the street and send them in instead. You don’t send the girl the gem is for to go retrieve her own present. You have completely ruined the surprise.”

Wait, what?

“No, it’s fine, we sent Y/N not Miss Hunter.”

“Miss Hun— why would you assume it’s for her?” The question hung in there for an uncomfortable moment, after all you assumed the same thing.

“Her birthday’s in a few days.” Luke timidly added.

“How do you know that?”

“It’s in the shared calendar.”

“Fuck.”

With your ear plastered shamelessly against the door, you smiled to yourself. He had a bad habit of putting personal events in the shared calendar.

“The gem was for Y/N. Thanks to you imbeciles I have to figure something else out.”

Why was the gem for you? Was it poisonous? You started down at the velvet box in your hand and wondered if the gem was secretly a teeny tiny bomb.

“Is it Y/N’s birthday soon too?” Kieran’s question offended you. Your birthday was in March and both he and Luke were at your celebratory birthday dinner last year.

“No, that’s in March. It’s to celebrate her 3rd year with Onychinus. Although now I’m wondering if your time here has come to an end.” It was kind of sadistic, but it was comforting to know that Sylus threatened other people’s job security over minor inconveniences too.

“No! Please, we promise we’ll make it up to you.”

You stopped listening to the conversation as you opened the box in your hand. The gem glistened under the artificial lights as questions fired off in your brain. He wanted to give this gem to you? How did he even remember the day you started at Onychinus? And he knew your birthday?

Before you could search for the answers, the sound of footsteps approaching the door made you panic. You tried fruitlessly to escape the long hallway but Sylus stormed out before you could.

“I um, got that gem for you.” You pretended you weren’t eavesdropping and held the gem out to him, but he pushed it back toward you.

“Thanks. I was going to have it turned into a necklace, but since the cat’s out of the bag, you can decide what to do with it.” He clearly knew you’d heard everything and gave the twins a pointed glare as they scurried out of your office.

“It’s really too much. Most employers get their employees a gift card or something.” You tried to hand it back again, but he was unrelenting.

“I’m not most employers, and you definitely aren’t most employees.” The loaded compliment made you bite back a smile.

“In that case, a necklace would be nice. I have a photo of my mom when she was my age, she wore a necklace with a similar looking gem. Do you think you could find someone who can copy the design? It would mean a lot. I’d pay for it, of course.” You kept the photo in your wallet now, it quickly became one of your favourites. When you passed the photo to him, he looked at it for far longer than necessary.

“Consider it done, and your money’s no good with me. Save it for something else.” He paused for a moment, took a photo of the necklace on his phone and returned the photograph. “I see where you get your beauty from.” The comment was so nonchalant and inconsistent with Sylus’s usual dialogue that you were left speechless. Your heart battered against your ribcage as if it were trying to escape and mount itself onto him instead. Traitorous organ.

You watched him turn around and walk toward his office. The sight of him walking away from you brought back memories of that day in the graveyard and what you’d said to Sylus before he left.

“You can judge me all you want, but it won’t change the fact that when you die, no one will mourn you.”

The guilt was eating away at your conscience, and you knew you had to let him know that you didn’t mean what you said. Especially not now.

“Sylus, wait.” He stopped just as his hand reached the doorknob of his office door and looked up at you expectantly.

You raked your mind for the right thing to say, and Sylus didn’t make a sound as you prolonged the silence.

“If you died, I’d mourn you.” And you meant it. You maintained eye contact despite the urge to look away from his intense gaze in an attempt to convey your sincerity.

He shook his head with a slight chuckle in response, and walked into his office wordlessly.

You figured he hadn’t given what you said a second thought. It was foolish to think you could ever hurt the impenetrable Sylus’s feelings. You weren’t even sure he had feelings.

But, unbeknownst to you, when Sylus closed the door behind him, he felt himself let out a breath that alleviated a pressure in his chest he didn’t know he’d been carrying. What you’d said to him in the graveyard weighed on him like an uncomfortable tumour.

Sylus knew you were right, but the idea of no one caring for him never bothered him before, not until you said it. It dawned on him that the only person who’s idea of him actually affected how he thought of himself was yours.

Late-November

“Finish up, we have a reservation at six.” At the sound of your boss’s voice, you looked up from your computer screen. Your eyes were watery from staring at the ledger for hours but you still couldn’t reconcile the $15.70 that was missing. It was driving you insane.

“Was there a meeting I forgot existed?” The calendar looked empty from where it stood on your second monitor. Well, it was empty now that Sylus deleted the shared calendar event for Miss Hunter’s birthday which should’ve been yesterday.

“No, it’s just us. I’m taking you to dinner. Now hurry up.” You couldn’t help the frown on your face. There was surely an ulterior motive.

“Taking me to dinner? Are you asking me out on a date?” You were teasing; hell would freeze over before Sylus would ask anyone out on a date. Though, maybe he already had, after all he was busy yesterday…

“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re celebrating your third year with Onychinus. As an employer I believe rewarding long-term employees can strengthen their loyalty to the company.” He regurgitated the words like they were toxic.

“You stole that from the last issue of Forbes magazine. I would know since I was the one who gave you the article.” It was titled ‘Ten foolproof ways to make your employees like you’ and you thought it would be funny to leave it on Sylus’s desk.

“And I’m responding to your feedback like number 4 on that list suggested. Now, do you want to go to this dinner or should I ask someone else?”

You quickly scrambled out of your seat, you couldn’t miss out on a chance to see Sylus actively try to be a regular boss. Who could say no to dinner and a show?

“No, no, I’ll go.” You grabbed your bag off of the floor and followed Sylus out of the building. You asked him a series of questions about where you were going, when you’d be back, if you were getting paid for the time you were forced to spend with him, but he answered none of them.

Sylus was driving for all of 2 minutes before you began to draft an appreciation letter to the inventor of seatbelts in your head.

“You know, you may be harder to kill than a regular person, but I will die if you crash this car.” Pleading for your life in an expensive sports car was not how you expected to go.

“It’s a little early in the night for your theatrics, Y/N.” Sylus’s deadpan tone did nothing to soothe your concerns as he turned yet another sharp corner with aggressive speed.

“It’s also a little early in my life to die.” You unhelpfully added.

“Relax, will you? I’ve never crashed before.”

Well, there’s a first time for everything. You thought as you tightly gripped the handle of the door. You found yourself suddenly missing the middle-aged man who would grouchily drive you to and from work. At least he drove like he valued his life.

_______

When you arrived to the place in one piece you felt severely under dressed. Sylus was wearing his regular attire, a suit without the tie, and you were dressed in linen pants and a turtleneck. Sylus never enforced a business dress code, though in that moment you found yourself wishing he did.

The restaurant was multi-level and sat at the top of a mountain. The exterior screamed affluence and you were sure everyone who dined there was in a different tax-bracket. Sylus reserved a table on the rooftop which unfortunately meant you had to ascend four levels in your mediocre outfit that made you stick out like a sore thumb.

When you eventually reached your table, you quickly hid in your seat. While it was unrealistic to assume anyone would pay you any attention but your embarrassment was usually irrational. Nor, did it help that Sylus naturally made heads turn wherever he went. He was freakishly tall and unnervingly handsome; next to him anyone struggled to look attractive.

“You’re in a rush. Hungry?” Sylus asked across from you as you buried your face in the menu. You didn’t feel like explaining how being out with him made you feel insecure, so you forewent a response.

The waiter quickly returned with a bottle of wine. Of course Sylus’s favourite wine was known universally. Why wouldn’t it be? He practically ruled the N109 Zone.

“Thanks, she’ll have a mojito.” Before you could tell the waiter not to bring you your favourite cocktail, he was gone.

“I’m not drinking.” Your protest fell on deaf ears. “Drinking with your boss is like number 1 on the list of things you shouldn’t do if you value your job.”

“You don’t have to worry about embarrassing yourself in front of me, Y/N. You’ve done that plenty of times sober.” Sylus smirked as he made the dry joke and you held back the urge to step on his foot under the table.

Never mind. You needed a drink pronto.

“Asshole.” You muttered under your breath.

“What was that?”

“Artichokes! I said the artichoke salad looks good.” You could tell Sylus wasn’t convinced, but he dropped the matter anyway.

“Order whatever you’d like.”

“There’s no prices on the menu.” You flipped it around every which way but not a single price appeared.

“Sweetheart, the people who can afford to dine here aren’t too concerned with prices. Don’t worry and order what you wish.”

Aw, how sweet. Sylus thought you enquired about the prices because you were concerned about overspending. As if. You knew that man’s financials inside and out, if anything, you wanted to order the most expensive things on the menu.

“Jeez, my bad Mr One-Percent.” Your joke was not well received.

“Can we have one night without your incessant sarcasm?” The plea sounded genuine, but it was denied.

“We could, but that’s no fun.”

“I find you painfully unfunny, Y/N.” You smiled to yourself at his blatant lie. Everyone found you funny.

Before you could think of a retort, Sylus pulled out a large velvet box and slid it toward you on the table.

“What’s this?”

“The necklace.”

You opened it up eagerly and the sight of it brought pure bliss to your heart. It was exactly like the one your mother wore, and it was even more beautiful in person.

“It’s perfect. Thank you.” Feeling slightly remorseful for your attitude prior to the gift-exchange, you gave him a sheepish smile.

Sylus watched you lift it up to put it on, but quickly interjected. “Allow me.” He stood up, walking toward your seat. Flushed, you clumsily turned around so your back was facing him. You felt goosebumps on your skin when his cold hands bunched your hair away from your neck, the tips of his fingers leaving a trail of wired nerves in their wake.

You took your hair from his hand to hold it up, the mere feeling of your fingers brushing his gave you heart palpitations. The act was way too intimate, and despite how it good it felt to have him so close, your brain knew it was safest to pray it would be over soon.

When Sylus was done he spun you around to face him and shamelessly observed his handiwork. “It looks good.” Your brain short-circuited the moment your eyes met his, so you sat in front of him in complete silence.

The moment was rudely interrupted by the sound of a familiar voice.

“Sylus? Y/N? Fancy seeing you here!” You both turned to the source of the voice to see Miss Hunter in a beautiful baby blue gown. As if you didn’t feel bad enough about your choice in attire. You began to smile until you noticed that the arm linked with hers belonged to your mortal enemy. Dr Zayne.

You got up to greet them, despite your primal urge to push Zayne off the roof, but Sylus beat you to it. “Miss Hunter, always a pleasure.” You tried not to gag at the sight of Sylus being so gentlemanly. It became particularly hard when he kissed the top of her hand.

“I didn’t know you knew Dr Zayne.” The comment slipped out of Sylus’s tense smile with a twinge of what you thought was hostility. Was he jealous that she was with Dr Zayne? Were you jealous that he was jealous? Are you in a soap opera?

“Oh, he’s a childhood friend andmy doctor! I’m very lucky. How do you know him?” Before you could whisper to Sylus to make up some excuse, he was firing off information about your personal life to the last two people you wanted to discuss your personal life with.

“He was Y/N’s mother’s doctor.” Everyone went tense, everyone except for Miss Hunter, of course.

Your eyes followed her as she turned to you, praying she wouldn’t ask about your mother’s health. Instead, she praised your nemesis. “He’s brilliant, isn’t he?”

You wanted to scream in protest. You wanted to swing a chair into Dr Zayne’s head, and then use the broken scraps to beat him to a pulp. But you opted to force a painful smile instead.

“He’s definitely something.” You looked right at Zayne, hoping he’d understand the implications of your backhanded compliment.

“Well, we were just here to celebrate my birthday yesterday, but the hostess said it was all booked out and silly Zayne forgot to make a reservation. We just came up to the rooftop to get some pictures, but you guys should enjoy your dinner!” Miss Hunter’s polite dismissal was the perfect opportunity to end the painfully awkward interaction and move on with your night.

“Thanks.” You were about to return to your seat when Sylus decided to continue with his commitment to ruining your life.

“You guys should join us, the more the merrier, right Y/N?”

The question you had no idea how to answer only poked at the jar of pent up murderous rage you were trying to suppress. It wasn’t like you were subtle about your hatred for the Doctor, why the hell was Sylus inviting them to stay?

“Right.” You couldn’t have sounded less sincere if you tried, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You had to focus on making it out of this building without a homicide charge.

When Miss Hunter happily agreed, Sylus quickly waved down a waiter and made them transform your two-seater table into a four-seater. Unfortunately for you, the seating arrangements somehow ended up with you next to Zayne and Sylus next to Miss Hunter .

Zayne could feel the hostility radiating off of you in waves, but he was too scared to do anything about it.

“Happy birthday, by the way.” You offered Miss Hunter the nicety, since she was really the only innocent person at the table. Your unfounded hatred for her took the back-burner when Zayne was around.

“Thanks, Y/N. I love your necklace, where did you get it?” Yet another question you didn’t know how to answer. If this was how the entire night was going to be you might as well cut your losses and take your chances with jumping off the roof.

“It’s um, custom made.” You avoided Sylus’s glare.

“Well it’s beautiful.” You couldn’t help but smile at her compliment. Her sunshine-y attitude could rival yours.

“Sylus knows the guy who made it, I’m sure he could get one for you too.” You glanced at him only to see him quirk an eyebrow at your response. Was he seriously mad? You were practically the world’s greatest wingwoman.

When Miss Hunter turned to look at him, he quickly shut her down. “He retired right after making that piece, actually. Something about getting arthritis.”

He was definitely lying. You weren’t sure why he was gatekeeping this jeweller and you never got the chance to ask.

“Oh, that’s unfortunate. Hey Zayne, you’ve been awfully quiet. Say something!” Miss Hunter gave him a playful push on the shoulder as she teased him. The sight would’ve been adorable if it weren’t for satan’s incarnate sitting inches away from you.

“Yeah Zayne, how was work? Steal anymore hearts lately?” You asked the deceivingly innocuous question while breaking apart a piece of bread. The double-entendre was like a secret you both shared; though the idea of sharing anything with that waste of space made you inscrutably angry.

Sylus silently observed the interaction with curiosity. Your passive-aggressiveness was a trait he thought you only reserved for him. You were always nice, to everyone. Seeing you treat Zayne so coldly was like witnessing a beaver play the piano. It was unnatural.

“Work went as well as expected.” Zayne’s clipped reply left no room for further discussion. The conversation came to do a lull, and you took it as the opportunity to excuse yourself to the bathroom. You immediately beelined away from the table that currently situated your nightmare blunt rotation and toward the women’s bathroom that was positively Zayne-free.

The bathroom was just as extravagant as the rest of the restaurant but you didn’t get to admire it before you splashed water on your face in an attempt to cool down. There was no way you could last an entire dinner next to Zayne. Maybe you could say you were feeling sick. Probably a bad idea when he’s a doctor. Work emergency wasn’t plausible, your boss was at the table. What if you just ran away? You could live with the shame and embarrassment.

You looked up at the ceiling and silently cursed the heavens for your terrible luck. Seriously, you must’ve been a serial killer in your past life to deserve this fate. It was a never-ending series of unfortunate events, and you were desperate for a break.

When you eventually left the bathroom, Zayne was standing right outside the door. He startled you, but the moment the shock wore off your face morphed into a deadly glare.

“Look, I know you think I’m a terrible person but—”

“Monster is the term I’d use, but go on.” You rudely interrupted Zayne. He chose not to acknowledge your comment.

“I rarely get to spend time with MC and I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t ruin her birthday dinner because of me.” It didn’t take long for you to realise that MC must’ve been Miss Hunter’s first name.

Zayne ruined everything he touched, he needed no help from you.

“I’m sorry, does the fact that I’m angry at you for letting my mother die put a damper in your dinner plans?”

“Yes it does, actually.” Zayne responded quickly. He either didn’t understand sarcasm or was an even bigger dick than you thought.

“Then might I suggest you take her someplace else. It’s your fault you couldn’t get a table here. Why should I have to suffer because your incompetence knows no bounds?” You couldn’t think of a time you’d insulted someone so much in such quick succession. Dr Zayne brought out the worst in you, but you could reflect on your actions later. Right now you were at war.

“We are perfectly capable of having an amicable dinner.”

You rolled your eyes at his condescending tone. “You might be, I’m not that mature.”

“Y/N. We’re both adults.” He pleaded.

“Bite me.”

Before Zayne could open his mouth again, Sylus interrupted.

“Everything all good here?” For once in your life, you were grateful for Sylus’s interruption.

“No.” You said.

“Yes.” Zayne also said, at the exact same time.

“Zayne you should head back to the table. Miss Hunter's waiting for you.” Zayne didn’t think twice before taking the out and you internally flipped off his retreating form.

Sylus grabbed you by the forearm, his grip tight as he dragged you to a secluded part of the rooftop and away from the bathrooms.

“What’s going on with you?” He asked the moment you stopped moving, his hand still gripping onto your arm like a vice.

“Can you let go? You’re hurting me.” He quickly released you, his eyes washing over with something you couldn’t recognise as you soothed the part he’d rubbed raw.

“Why are you acting so childish?” His question would've angered you had you not been angry already.

“I hate his guts.” The response did not help your case, but you weren’t very articulate when you were upset.

“What did he do to you?” Sylus’s eyes narrowed, and he spoke in a low tone that was laced with danger. You didn’t think too much of his strange reaction, Sylus acting strange was pretty much the only consistent thing in your life lately.

You gnawed on your lip, unsure of how to respond. Your grievance against the world-renowned doctor was one you’d always kept to yourself. After all, everyone had nothing but praise for the brilliant Dr Zayne.

“Y/N, if he touched you I’ll—” Your eyes quickly widened in shock at his interpretation.

“No! Nothing like that. It’s just, a few days before my mom died, a heart came in that was a match. But there was this other guy who was younger and needed it just as badly. The policy was that the hospital's medical board would vote on who got the heart and the entire board, Zayne included, unanimously agreed that the heart should go to the other guy.” They said it wasn't personal, that it had everything to do with survival rates, but there was no way to detach personhood from medicine.

You realised that when you said it out loud, your hate seemed unfounded. “I know it wasn’t entirely his fault, but he didn’t even try to give my mom a fighting chance. He didn't say anything to sway them, he just silently agreed. He was supposed to be her advocate.” The frustration began to boil over, and before you knew it there were tears welling up in your eyes.

“God, I spent every last dollar of my paycheque to make sure she got the greatest medical care money could buy. Everyone said he was the best, but when it really mattered, he did nothing for her. I was such an idiot.” There was an uncontrollable fountain of tears streaming down your face, and you were grateful for Sylus’s decision to drag you to somewhere secluded.

The familiar tendrils of an oncoming panic attack began to wash over you as you began to hyperventilate. No matter how much you wanted to blame Dr Zayne, or the universe, or your shitty luck, the only person you could really blame was yourself. You sent her to that hospital, you convinced her to hold on for a transplant, you spent her last months on this Earth slaving away in another city instead of by her side. There was no way to get that time back.

“Y/N, look at me. It’s not your fault.” Sylus’s voice was like a beacon of light that led you through the dark tunnel you were trapped in. He cradled your face in his hands, wiping away your tears as they continued to stream down your face. But when your tears showed no signs of slowing, he pulled you into his arms, his hands holding your tear-stricken face against his chest.

He ran his long fingers through your hair as he whispered everything you wanted to hear. "It’s not your fault. It’s okay to hate him. It will get easier."

You weren’t sure how long you spent with your face buried in his chest, but by the time you’d returned to reality, his white dress shirt was slightly transparent where your tears soaked through the material.

You laughed a little at the sight, and the corners of Sylus’s lips raised ever so slightly at the sound. When he saw you were okay, Sylus began to speak. “Don’t move. I’ll grab your bag and we’ll get out of here.”

Before he could leave you tugged on the sleeve of his suit jacket. “Hey, I’m sorry I ruined your dinner.” You truly were. Sylus did not deserve to be subjected to yet another one of your meltdowns, but he seemed to have a habit of being at the wrong place at the wrong time.

“No it's my fault, I ruined it by inviting them to join us. I promise I’ll make it up to you.” Sylus then manoeuvred through the restaurant toward the nightmare table. When he returned with your bag in one hand and the other outstretched toward you, your heart skipped a beat. Or two. He played the role of the knight-in-shining-armour quite seamlessly, and he looked every bit the handsome prince charming. You tried to remind yourself why it was so dangerous to be attracted to a force like Sylus, but when he smiled at you like you were the only two people in the room, all caution was thrown to the wind.

_____________

In the spirit of making things up to you, you made Sylus take you to a restaurant of your choosing. It was a hole-in-the-wall dumpling place that charged so little one would question if they were serving real meat. But you never found better dumplings, so you took the risk anyway.

The dynamic was completely subverted as you sat on the table that was slightly sticky with cheap cleaning chemicals. Sylus was the one who looked out of place, his suit was unarguably the most expensive thing in the room and it brought joy to your miserable night to see him out of his comfort zone.

“How did you find this place?” The question was warranted, other than you two, the only other occupants in the restaurant were a few middle-schoolers.

“I used to come here a lot with my friends in high school.”

“Did they all die from food poisoning?” Sylus seemed proud of his quick-witted joke. You gave him a pointed glare to convey just how unfunny that joke was.

“Funny, but no. We just drifted apart after we graduated.” The clipped reply shut down any further inquiry. You thought back to the fond memories you had in that restaurant. Things were different when you didn’t yet know the cost of failure; before you knew what you’d be losing. And while everyone may have moved on from this small town in the N109 Zone, you never left.

“Do you even have any friends?” You choked on your drink at the question. He was genuinely asking and the worst part was, you really didn’t.

Your constant struggle to make ends meet and maintain a high GPA for your academic scholarships made it impossible to have a social life. It didn’t help that you went to a college you couldn’t afford. It was hard to find people to relate to when everyone had grown up with silver spoons. Then after you graduated you landed at Onychinus, and it wasn’t exactly a friendly environment.

“Of course I have friends.” Your lie was a feeble attempt to preserve the last of your dignity. Sylus had seen you at your absolute worst, but there was something extremely dehumanising about letting him know you were insanely lonely.

“Really, who?” His genuine surprise only made your insecurity worse.

“You don’t have to sound so shocked. Plus, you wouldn’t know them.”

“Try me.” Of course he wouldn’t drop it. When has Sylus ever let something go?

“Well, there’s Mr Demir, and Luke and Kieran, and my newly acquired friend Dr Hunt.” In a desperate attempt to keep up your lie, you pretty much just named all the people you knew.

“Y/N, that’s the man who sells you your sandwiches, my assistants, and a geologist who sold you a gem.”

“Has anyone ever told you that no one likes a know-it-all?”

“I think you should get out more. Maybe tone down the sarcasm and you might just make a friend or two.” Your jaw-dropped in faux shock at his unsolicited advice.

“You’re one to talk, your best friend is a mechanical crow.” You snuck a dumpling off of his plate while he was distracted.

“I don’t need friends, they’re unnecessary burdens.” He took a swig of his beer. You thought he’d burst into flames if he drank anything other than red wine, but he adapted to his surroundings with little effort.

You put a hand on your heart as if in pain and jokingly gave him a solemn look.“Then why would you wish such a cruel fate onto me?”

“Because I hate seeing you this miserable, Y/N.” The amusement from your banter died a quick death at his confession. You thought you kept it together most of the time, though bawling your eyes out in the N109 Zone’s hottest restaurant probably didn’t do that facade any good. But for the most part, you handled the death of your mother relatively well.

“I’m not miserable. Not all of the time at least. Like right now, I’m only mildly annoyed!” You tried to change the topic the only way you knew how, with humour, but Sylus wasn’t budging.

“You take care of everyone but yourself and all it’s done is isolate you. There needs to be a give and take, sweetheart. People don’t like feeling useless.” He spoke to you softly, as if he was scared the timbre of his voice would cause you to shatter into a million pieces.

There was a sinking feeling in your stomach that followed his oddly specific guidance. He seemed to know more about you than you thought he did, and you were torn between feeling seen and feeling judged.

“That’s sound advice. Guess you’ve been reading more magazines.” You were grasping at straws, willing to try anything to get the unwanted spotlight off of your inadequacies.

“You also need to learn how to accept help without downplaying your problems.”

“Okay, okay. You sound like my mother. Has her soul possessed you?” There you go Y/N. Play the dead mom card, that’ll work.

He chuckled at your joke. You knew he found you funny.

“You don’t know when to quit, do you?”

“Yeah, the manufacturers didn’t include an off-switch. No refunds, sorry.” You stuffed a dumpling in your mouth as the tension subsided.

“Oh, I’m not returning you, sweetheart. They’ll have to pry you from my cold dead hands.” While you knew he was probably referring to the value you brought his company as his accountant, you couldn’t stifle the butterflies that wreaked havoc in your stomach.

You didn’t move when Sylus’s car stopped outside your house.

“Thanks for tonight, I had fun. Sorry it didn’t go to plan.” You turned to him after you unbuckled your seatbelt and the tight confines of the car felt even smaller.

“It’s fine, I liked this version of events better anyway.” His low voice reverberated through the small distance between you, nestling in your heart that was beating unhealthily fast.

“Me too. Next time you take a girl to dinner you ought to let her know if she’s supposed to dress like she’s going to the met gala.” Your advice had a bitter undertone because part of you still wished you could be the only girl he’d take to dinner.

“I usually do, but this particular girl doesn’t need a fancy dress to be the most beautiful girl in the room.” The candid compliment made the butterflies do summersaults, and while their gymnastics routine continued, you found yourself at a loss for words.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” Sylus leaned over the centre console and opened the door for you, completing the chivalrous act of opening the door for you in his own unique fashion. He was so close, all it would take was one small move and his lips could’ve been on yours.

“Goodnight.” You barely got the word out through the sudden bout of breathlessness you were experiencing. And when you were finally encased in the familiar four walls of your home, you thought about every moment you shared with Sylus and how different he seemed from the man you knew before.

The weekend passed by in a blur. The necklace that looked like a carbon copy of your mom’s was nestled on your neck. A permanent reminder that made ‘Operation Sylus: No More’ infinitely harder to achieve.

Perhaps you shouldn’t have asked him to stop being a dick, because what you thought would be an easy feat was beginning to feel like climbing a mountain with a peak you couldn’t even see.

You were staring at the list on your notes app on your brand new phone in hopes of searing it into your memory.

Operation Sylus: No More

The foolproof guide of getting rid of all feelings Sylus related by the end of November.

Step 1: avoid Sylus and all thoughts of him at all costs.

Step 2: no more funny jokes, his laugh is seriously deadly.

Step 3: force yourself to remember Miss Hunter in moments of weakness. She’s the one he really wants.

Step 4: try to find love elsewhere, like the corner shop owner, he may be in his 50s and happily married but he’s kind of a silver-fox!

Step 5: do not, under any circumstances, allow yourself to be alone with Sylus for too long.

You violated step 5 that Friday when you let him take you to dinner and you were reaping the consequences of your mistake. There was no way you could survive the free-fall if you couldn't get your heart to obey your mind. The disconnect between the two vital organs might be the thing that kills you.

When you heard something shatter in the hallway, you quickly put your phone down and went out to investigate.

The door opened to Mephisto standing on a side table where an empty vase used to sit. The vase was now on the floor in pieces in front of your feet.

“You did this on purpose.” You pointed an accusing finger at the bird, but all he did was tilt his head to the side as if he couldn’t understand you. You knew he could understand you perfectly well.

The cold war between you two started in your first week at Onychinus when he would swoop at your head spontaneously for no reason. Sylus told you he did it to everyone he didn’t trust and that he’d be over it in due time, but you were too vindictive to let it slide.

Several back-and-forth pranks later, the bird seemed to have remembered the tradition you managed to forget. “If this is your way of saying you miss me then you take an awful lot after your owner.” Your words faded as you made your way to the kitchen to find the broom. However, upon your return you saw that the floor was flawless and the door to your office was closed.

You rushed in with unparalleled speed to see your worst nightmare; Sylus leaning against your desk in his usual model-like fashion with your phone in his hand.

Panic coursed through you like never before as you remembered what had been left open on your phone when you set it down and the painful fact that you left it unlocked.

Prayers for a sinkhole to open up and consume you in that very moment went unanswered as Sylus looked up at you with a smirk on his face.

“Is my laugh really deadly?” He looked amused.

Come on sinkhole. Anytime now.

When you didn’t answer, Sylus moved toward you. When he was close enough to touch you, he leaned down to make sure your eyes were on his.

“Your deadline is fast approaching, Y/N. Care for a progress report?” The taunting question made heat rush to your face.

“It was stupid, I wrote it months ago.”

“Then why did you have it open?”

You couldn’t exactly tell him that his willingness to change his cold and cruel demeanour just to keep you as his accountant revived the feelings you thought were long dead. You definitely couldn’t tell him that the necklace that suddenly weighed down your chest made your heart skip a beat every time you touched it. And there was no way you were telling him that the dinner you shared was the happiest you’d felt in a long time.

“I was going to delete it when I heard Mephisto break something in the hallway.”

“Delete it? Guess you don’t need it anymore.”

“Nope.” You popped the P on the word for emphasis. “Can I have my phone back now?” He placed the device into your outstretched hand.

“So how do you feel about me now, sweetheart?”

You tried your best to appear unperturbed by his taunting. “Mad at your blatant violation of my privacy.”

“Forgive me. I saw my name on your phone when I went to check in on you and I was curious.”

“Mephisto told you I broke the vase, didn’t he?”

“Don’t deflect. Do you still have feelings for me?”

“No, they’re gone. Can we please drop this? It’s embarrassing.” You lied in favour of self-preservation and hoped he wouldn’t be able to see through your act.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Y/N. Many women confess their love for me every month.” You rolled your eyes at his ardent display of over-confidence and narcissism, though you knew he wasn’t exaggerating.

“Okay, brace yourself there bachelor. No one said anything about love.” It was true, you never said you loved him. Whether or not you did, well that was a secret you’d take to the grave.

“So then which feeling are we discussing?” The loaded question came out of his mouth so casually, like someone ordering a latte. A display of power that reminded you of just how little this mattered to him.

Your feet felt like they were grounded in their place by an invisible force and you were sure your cheeks were beet red. You knew your mouth was slightly agape in shock, but you couldn’t even close it. Meanwhile, Sylus was unfazed, treating your feelings like a game.

“Since when do you even care about how I feel?” The sudden outburst was accompanied by your hand running through your hair out of frustration.

Sylus’s jaw clenched and for a moment he said nothing. There was no hint of amusement left on his features.

“You think I don’t care about you?” He seemed irritated by the premise, but you couldn’t figure out why. You thought Sylus was proud of his clear disregard for other people’s emotions.

“You treated me like gum stuck to the bottom of your boot for years. What reason did you give me to think otherwise?”

“I don’t know, maybe the fact that I pay you more than my highest ranking footmen. Or that I had Mephisto tail you when you used to bike to and from work to make sure you got home safe. Hell, I invented the lunch budget when I hired you just to make sure you were eating— I even banned mushrooms from my kitchen in case you wanted to eat here. Not to mention the bullshit extra work I’d assign you just so you would stay longer.”

Choosing not to dwell on the implication of his silent acts of kindness, you interjected. “Hey, I took those tasks seriously!” The twins thought you were crazy when you asked if Sylus was making those assignments up. You knew you were right.

“Don’t interrupt me.” Your mouth clamped shut at his rather reasonable request. Sylus wasn’t a big talker, so when he monologued, it was important.

“Your kindness, your humour, it all caught me off guard. No one ever treated me like you did and I had no idea how to feel. The little doodles you sent back to me on the notes I left you delineating tasks? I kept every last one. When Mephisto complained to me about that time you put corn-starch in his water fountain and almost destroyed his wiring, all I could do was laugh. I treated you like I treated all my men because I didn’t want people to find out that you were my weakness.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, but the pressure wasn’t budging. There was so much you didn’t know about Sylus, so much you completely misunderstood. This revelation caused a series of chain reactions to go off inside your brain and the weight of what he was trying to say felt suffocating.

You dreamed of a time where Sylus would reciprocate your feelings, but the reality of it was more daunting than you realised.

“All my threats are empty with you, Y/N. You’re the only one who gets away with the attitude you give me. You tell me you crashed a car worth over half-a-million dollars and all I could think about was if you were okay. I even offered to buy your house for way more than it was worth just to get you back. Do you seriously think I don’t care?”

All sound came to a stifling halt.

“Wait, you were the ‘developer’?”

The inklings of betrayal wove their way through your skin as the pieces began to fall into place. The timing of the eviction notice, the fact that he’d shown up at your house the day you received it, the way he was so quick to agree to the ridiculous bonus.

He manipulated you like a puppet on a string and let you think you were in control the entire time.

“Don’t look at me like I’m some traitor.” His audacious demand made your blood boil.

“You are a traitor! How could you do that to me?” You yelled.

“You were going to leave me like I was nothing!” For the first time since you’d met him, Sylus raised his voice to match yours. Your entire body went cold at his vulnerability. He was afraid of being abandoned, and that was a fear you both shared.

“Not seeing you every day made my heart feel like it was being ripped out of my chest. I could barely focus, all I could think about was what you were doing, who you were with. So imagine my surprise when I come to find that while I’m being tortured every minute I’m away from you, you needed more time.

“I knew I was being selfish, I knew that your grief had nothing to do with me, but I’ve never been good at putting my feelings into words. That day in the graveyard when you wouldn’t even look at me, I thought I’d lost you for good. It ate at me like a parasite. I had to get you back and I won’t apologise for not playing fair. There isn’t a rule I wouldn’t break for you, Y/N.”

It was hard to hate him for what he did when you understood where he was coming from. You were two sides of the same coin. While you overcompensated for the lack of love in your life by becoming the ultimate people-pleaser, he avoided it at every turn, saw it as a weakness. But at the core of every human being was an innate desire to be loved and an inherent fear of being abandoned.

People couldn’t leave your life if you never let them in. That was a philosophy you saw both your mother and Sylus live by. It was lonely and difficult, and if you had the power of hindsight you would’ve tried harder to convince your mother she was worthy of love. You couldn’t make that same mistake again.

You loved Sylus, that much was ingrained into the flesh of your heart. For all his rugged edges, he had a way of making things happen that was akin to magic. His determination, his grit, it was admirable.

His intelligence was infuriating, you couldn’t get anything past him. If he received the Greeks’ horse instead of the Trojans, you were sure he’d have seen right through their ruse.

His desire to make the N109 Zone a better place stemmed from a sense of altruism you could only hope to possess. And when Sylus did things for others, he never expected anything in return.

But for all his greatest traits he had some difficult ones too. He’d hurt you more times than you could count, and even if he’d changed drastically since your mother’s death, you couldn’t quite trust that he wouldn’t hurt you again.

“You already know how I feel about you.” You confessed. It was no secret you wore your heart on your sleeve, despite your mother’s constant reminders that the world was filled with terrible people who’d take advantage of your candour. You chose to see the good in others, it boded better than the grim lifestyle that came with perpetual pessimism.

“Then why are you fighting this?” His question came out pained, and it was one you could answer.

“I’ve loved you for a long time, Sylus. I loved you even though you insulted me, ignored me, reminded me I was replaceable every chance you got.

“I told myself it was just how you were, that it wasn’t personal. But when you walked out on me in the hospital when I needed you the most, I loved you a little less.”

Sylus felt an unfamiliar twinge in his chest, like someone took a needle to his heart. He left that hospital because he wasn’t sure you’d even want him there, and it pained him to see you so distraught over a problem he couldn’t fix. When MC came to him with an important mission in Skyhaven, he saw an out, and like the coward he was he took it. If he knew that you’d lose your mother while he was away, he never would have left your side.

“When you didn’t call until weeks later, when you showed up only to tell me I was being dramatic for grieving, I loved you even less. Every time you screwed me over you made it easier to live without you.”

It hurt to remember the pain you were in back then, the immense pressure of the burdens you carried. But if there was ever a chance of you and Sylus working out, he needed to know the truth.

“I’ve only ever loved two people, Sylus, and in one month it felt like I’d lost them both. I still love you, I’m afraid I couldn’t stop if I tried, but I don’t know if I can be more than your accountant right now.” You couldn’t survive another heartbreak, that much was for sure.

Even though Sylus looked like he was going to be sick, you continued.

“I thought I was okay with you treating me like everybody else, thought I was strong enough to take it. But when I saw you with Miss Hunter and the softness with which you spoke to her, it broke me. I saw that you were capable of being gentle. You just didn’t think I was a worthy recipient of your kindness.”

He was quick to correct you. “That’s not true, sweetheart. Not at all. She has something I need, something I can’t take with force. It’s why I’ve had to adopt unusual methods. If I’d known it was causing you so much pain I would’ve explained. Fuck, Y/N, you deserve so much more than just my kindness, more than I could ever give you. I can’t even think of a person on Earth who deserves you at all.”

When Sylus saw the tears begin to slide down your cheeks, he resisted the urge to wipe them away.

“I’ll give you anything you ask for, anything but letting you go. There’s nothing so broken it can’t be fixed, Y/N. You taught me that. Let me fix this.” He tested the waters by taking your hand in his and when you let him, he pulled you into his arms.

For a moment, the room was silent. You listened to his heartbeat through his chest and it might have been even faster than yours. It felt like deja vu, reminding you of that moment in the restaurant, or that time in his hallway after Zayne’s phone call. Sylus was there to comfort you more often than not, why were you so scared of letting him in?

“I want to believe you, I just don’t know that I can.” Your voice was small, timid. As if you were afraid something you’d say would shatter the sanctity of this moment and you’d find out it was all a dream.

“I won’t stop trying until you do, sweetheart. You’re it for me, there’s no one else.” He kissed the top of your head with a softness you didn’t know he possessed and the words were like bandages wrapping around the wounds inflicted by your own envy.

In the comfortable silence, Sylus made a vow. “I don’t have regrets — you know that quite well — but I regret the way I treated you. I’ll spend every lifetime repenting for my mistakes, Y/N, and I promise I’ll never let anything hurt you again.” He squeezed you tighter and the comfort his warmth brought you was a welcome change to the cold you lived in all the time.

Desperate to diffuse the overwhelming angst of the situation, you pulled away from his embrace and clapped your hands together. “Okay then, as of today we commence ‘Operation Sylus: The Redemption'.”

His loud laugh resounded through your office, and it was a sound you’d never get tired of hearing. He grabbed your chin. “Have you always been this corny?”

“I watch a lot of movies, okay? Now, shake on it.” You shook his hand off your face and held out your hand with an invitation that he instantly accepted. With his warm hand encasing yours, you whole-heartedly hoped this operation would be a success.

Late December

You assumed the dynamic between you and Sylus would drastically change following your impromptu heart-to-heart. But the changes came in small waves.

It started with the middle-aged man who silently drove you to and from work with a permanent scowl on his face being replaced by Sylus himself.

Then there was the sticky notes he’d usually place on documents explaining the task and deadline, now with an added addendum.

— That necklace was the best decision I’ve ever made.

— Your hair looks especially nice today.

— Did you switch perfumes? I like it.

— That new lipstick suits you. Your lips are all I can think about.

You saved all of them in a drawer at your desk.

He had someone bring you your lunch every day and spent your entire lunch break with you. Somedays you talked until your tongue felt like it was going to fall off, other days you just sat and ate together in silence. And every Friday afternoon, instead of taking you straight home, he’d take you to visit your mother’s grave with a new bouquet in his hands.

You were glad he was taking things slow. His small gestures made your heart flutter without overwhelming you, but it had been a month since your confrontation, and he didn’t even try to touch you.

While your inexperience with love, lust and romance never impacted any significant aspect of your life before, it was growing increasingly difficult to wait for Sylus to make the first move. He didn’t want to scare you, that much was understandable. But you were growing angsty waiting for him the tension between you two hit a boiling point.

The glorious plan came to you while you were shopping with Luke and Kieran for Onychinus’s annual Christmas gala. It was a networking event masked under the guise of a holiday celebration where the people hiding in the shadows of the underworld could spend one night communicating on the surface.

Every year, Sylus insisted he couldn’t outsource waiters for the event because of potential security leaks, so you, the twins and a couple other of his staff were forced to fill in as the help. Sylus told you that you wouldn’t have to participate this year, but you began to look forward to the event. It was like an unorthodox Christmas tradition.

Your eyes drifted to the costume section of the party store, and when they landed on a short red Santa’s helper dress, you felt a lightbulb turn on in your head. Maybe you had to give Sylus a little nudge.

“Hey, aren't you guys kind of bored of the slacks and the dress shirts he makes us wear?” You sowed the seed of doubt into your unwilling accomplices.

“Duh. I hate dressing like a butler.” Luke’s eyes continued to scan the aisle for decorations. The hall was professionally decorated, but you added your own little details every year. It made things less drab and it gave the twins an excuse to spend hours in the party supply store.

“What if we went with Christmas themed costumes this year?” The twins turned to look at you with confusion, but they quickly warmed up to the idea when you pointed at the wall of seasonal costumes.

“I’m Rudolph!” They made their declarations in unison before breaking out into an argument in the middle of the party store.

“Just flip a coin!” You desperately suggested, taking a coin out of your wallet and placing it on your thumb, ready to flip. People were beginning to stare.

“I’m heads!” They said in unison, again.

“Kieran you’re heads, Luke you’re tails.” You assigned them the parts of the coin alphabetically and watched it flip through the air. When it landed in your hands, it displayed tails. You silently hoped they would move on from this unnecessary battle and restore peace to your shopping trip again.

“Sorry Kieran, Luke’s Rudolph.” Kieran complained for the rest of the day about how annoying being an elf was, and how, since he was an inch taller than Luke, it only made sense for Luke to be the elf instead.

They argued like the siblings you never had, and for all the pain and suffering they caused you, there was no denying you loved having them around. Besides, working for Sylus left the three of you trauma-bonded for life. There wasn’t really an out from this unconventional friendship.

_________________

You failed to remember to clear the costume idea with Sylus before the gala. He was just so busy trying to organise the event, and you were similarly swamped with ensuring all the invoices were sent out on time to the right vendors. You barely saw each other in the days leading up to the big event.

The dress was shorter on you than you anticipated. Coming up just above mid-thigh, it was nothing like anything you owned in your closet. The little hat it came with was cute though and you pinned it to your hair. The make-up you wore was the same as your everyday makeup, barring the eyeliner you’d spent way too long trying to perfect and your lipstick.

Other than the dress, you really did look the same as you did most of the time. Would Sylus even notice?

Right on cue, a knock on your door snapped you out of your train of thought, and you took a deep breath before opening it.

As you expected, Sylus looked unfazed by your choice in attire as you moved out of the doorway to let him in.

“I see we’ve foregone the uniforms this year.” His comment was a welcome distraction from your insecurities.

“Whimsy is part of the Christmas spirit, you know.”

“It’s cute. Did you get that dress from the children’s section?”

The question came so out of left-field it left you were stunned. Once the shock settled in, you suddenly felt self-conscious.

“No… Why? Does it look childish?” You couldn’t help the vulnerability in your voice.

Sylus closed the distance between you in a few long strides, his hands were on you in an instant. His palm was holding onto your waist the other tracing alone the edge of your dress.

“Quite the opposite, I’m just wondering why they’d make a dress so short for adult women.”

“Adult women can dress however they want, Sylus.” You chided.

“I know, but I’ll have my hands full if I’m trying to host this event and take care of the hoards of men that will be chasing after my girl at the same time.” He whispered the words seductively into your ear, the hand on your thigh slipping ever-so-slightly under the dress.

You ignored the warm, fuzzy feeling that bloomed through you at the sound of Sylus calling you his girl.

“There won’t be ‘hoards of men’. This will be the third time I’m working your annual gala and I’ve only ever gotten hit on like four times.” You knew from the way his eyebrows furrowed that you shouldn’t have told him that.

“Four times? Men hit on you four times while I was in the room and you didn’t tell me?” He was clearly angry, his rage unwarranted since it happened right under his nose.

“I didn’t think you’d care. Most of them were like fifty, anyway!” That was true, and every time one of them placed a hand on your shoulder or your forearm, it made you grimace.

“If men approached you in long pants and a dress shirt with a plate of refreshments in your hand what do you think they’ll do when they see you in this get up?” He walked you back until you were standing against the wall.

He had a point. Maybe it was too suggestive.

“I can change—”

“No. You never have to do that with me, baby. Just stay where I can see you, alright?”

“Okay.” You felt a blush paint your cheeks. The tension was bubbling up between you. His hand was searing into your waist, his other one moving dangerously high on your thigh. You really thought this would be the moment he kissed you. But then the warmth of his hands was abruptly gone.

“Okay. You ready to go?” He held the door open for you. That was it? Frustrated at your lack of results, you silently walked out of your house.

__________________

“Did you see Sylus’s date?”

“Of course, she’s definitely the hottest girl here.”

“I bet she’s had work done.”

“If so, I need the name of her surgeon.”

You eavesdropped on the hushed whispers of a group of women who were gossiping in a corner near the kitchen. The second you walked through the doors of the extravagant event hall, you both went your separate ways and you hadn’t seen him since. So much for not letting you out of his sight.

All you heard about the entire night was his mysterious date and her envious beauty. He never told you he was bringing one, nor did he ever ask you to fill the spot. But before you could completely spiral, you reminded yourself of Sylus’s promise. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. There had to be a perfectly reasonable explanation.

“Now what’s a pretty girl like you doing working here?” Your train of thought was interrupted by the voice of a man. You turned around, expecting to see one of the many sleazy old men who frequented these events and saw you as an easy target, but all you saw was a young, attractive guy in a three-piece suit. Huh.

“Hors d’oeuvre?” You offered the plate to him in place of a response.

“No thanks. I’ve had my fill, though I must say, the other servers aren’t quite as easy on the eyes as you.” His eyes shamelessly scanned every inch of you, head-to-toe, and you felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny of his gaze.

“Oh, um thanks.” The blush on your cheeks was an unwanted biological reaction, you weren’t used to attention from men within your age range. It wasn't like you thought you were ugly, you were just a bit of a hermit.

“What’s your name, beautiful?” You were about to answer his question when someone did it for you.

“Y/N.” The voice belonged to the man of the hour who seemed to have appeared out of thin air.

“Sylus, hello. Hors d’oeuvre?” Clearly you were running out of things to say if your default reaction was to offer everyone a snack, but it was hard to find the voice to speak when you saw the girl who had her arms wrapped around his.

Miss Hunter. You should’ve known. Your eyes passed over her beautiful dress and pinned up hair. She lived up to the rumours, she was definitely the prettiest girl in the room. Next to Sylus the pair reminded you of a renaissance painting. They made sense, and clearly not just aesthetically if he brought her as his date instead of you.

Sylus saw the way your eyes trailed off to MC standing next to him. He saw the self-doubt turn your eyes glassy, and all he wanted to do was whisk you away to a private room where he could show you just how badly he wanted you, and no one else.

But his enemies were in attendance tonight, it was part of the reason he didn’t want you there. Sylus’s only weakness used to be his mortality, and even that was debatable. But now his biggest weakness was tangible, and she wore an adorable Christmas themed dress that made every man in the room brim with desire. Miss Hunter may have been the focus of all the women in attendance, but all the men could talk about was the sexy server in the little red dress. It was driving him insane.

But MC was a hunter and if he endangered her, she could get out of it unscathed without his help. Their enemies were the same, which made them perfect allies, but it also made their loved ones easy targets. Sylus would never forgive himself if he let someone hurt you. So despite the excruciating pain that coursed through him at your hurt expression, he did nothing to quell your concerns.

But he couldn’t idly stand by and let this man make a pass at you either. It was clear Henry was not aware of Sylus’s newly established no-fraternising-with-the-staff policy.

“Henry, not distracting my staff, are you?” Sylus directed his attention to his business associate. Henry ran a security company which supplied a large portion of their weaponry from Onychinus. The contract they shared was a substantial source of revenue that Sylus couldn’t afford to compromise.

“I’m just wondering where you found such delectable staff.” Sylus felt his jaw clench at the way Henry undressed you with his eyes and your consequential discomfort. Fuck the contract, he was going to make that man pay. But he couldn’t inflict his revenge quite yet, so he played nice.

“Unfortunately my staff are exclusively mine. I’m sure you understand how difficult it is to find loyal help.” Well, at least he tried to play nice. The subtle jab at Henry’s recent whistleblower scandal was a low blow, but he wasn’t above kicking below the belt.

Annoyed and slightly confused by the exchange, you rolled your eyes at the testosterone-fuelled men bickering and cleared your throat.

“I think I’m needed in the kitchen. Nice meeting you, Henry.” You gave him the kindest smile you could muster and gave Sylus no smile at all. It was the least he deserved for blindsiding you with his date.

“I should check on the catering, excuse me.” Sylus followed you to the kitchen and the second he caught up to you, he pulled you into a nearby storage closet.

There was barely any room for the both of you in there, so you were pressed up against his body. You tried to create some distance between you two, but he just pulled you back in by your waist.

“What are you doing? I’m supposed to be working and you’re supposed to be socialising. We can’t do those things from here.” You berated him quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. You didn’t really need anyone from the staff discovering you in this compromising position. You’d had enough embarrassment in one night for a lifetime.

“Miss Hunter is just here with me on business.” Sylus’s statement did little to comfort the tumultuous storm in your mind.

“I don’t care.” In a sense, it was true. It seemed your mind didn’t care whether Miss Hunter was there with him on business or not, it still hurt all the same.

“Don’t lie to me, I can tell when you’re upset.” Sylus tried to caress your cheek but you pushed his hand away.

“Okay, fine. I’m upset. Now will you let me leave?” You tried to wriggle out of his grasp but to no avail. His hand squeezed your face as he forced you to face him.

“If you’re upset, talk to me about it. Don’t antagonise me by flirting with other men. It won’t end well for them.” The fire in his eyes swore retribution and you did not want to be Henry right now.

“I wasn’t flirting!” You tried to defend yourself but you knew he’d see straight through your ruse.

“That sweet smile of yours is reserved for me and me alone.” There was no way Sylus would’ve let that over-the-top smile slide and this was exactly how you expected him to react, but it only made you more upset.

“Right, but I just have to make do with sharing you with Miss Hunter.” The irony of the situation was not lost on Sylus, but he had a laundry-list of crimes, hypocrisy was the least of them.

“I’m all yours, baby. I promise it’s just business.” He sounded sincere, and you trusted him to tell you the truth. Sylus never lied unless it was out of omission, but when you asked him a direct question, he never failed to answer honestly.

“I can help you with business.” You tried to reason, your palm resting against his pounding heart.

“Not this kind, sweetheart. I’m just trying to protect you. I need you to trust me.” You trusted Sylus with your life, with your heart. Which was why you knew you wouldn’t like the answer to the question you asked next.

“Did you sleep with her?” The mere thought of it tasted like acid on your tongue. It wasn’t like you weren’t aware of Sylus’s past, but where the other women in his life came and left like the tide, Miss Hunter’s presence was persistent.

You needed to know just how far they’d gone, even if it might destroy you.

“Yes. It was one time when we first met in September. Before I realised how I felt for you.” The words pierced straight through you like bullets of radiation. Your palm slowly slipped off of his chest and you diverted your gaze to your heels. “Y/N, you know I only want you. It meant nothing to me.”

Perhaps it wasn’t the fact that they’d slept together that hurt you so deeply. Maybe it was the way he looked at her, the way she got under his skin. Sylus may love you, but what if he wasn’t attracted to you?

The thought slipped out of you before you could mull it over. “How am I supposed to believe that when you were all over in seconds and you won’t even kiss me?!”

A hint of recognition flashed through Sylus’s eyes as he realised the catalyst behind your frustration. For some odd reason that he could never figure out, you were insecure. Even though your charm bordered on lethal and your beauty was unparalleled, you still felt inadequate. It perplexed him how someone could look so divine and not be aware of it.

“I haven’t kissed you because I wanted to make sure you were ready, sweetheart. I was worried I’d scare you away, because I’m sure if I got a taste of you I wouldn’t know how to stop.” He sounded strained when he spoke, as if he was recalling his frustration at having to hold back.

You watched him intently, his words dripped with a desire you both shared. With his body so close to yours, it was hard not to wish he’d just act on his primal instincts.

“You’re entirely unaware of your affect on me. You have no idea how precarious the string holding me back from insanity has become. When I saw you in that dress, I was sure I wouldn’t be able to hold back. But then you'd look up at me with those angelic eyes and I realise I can’t risk losing you.”

Before you could even think it through, your desire became overwhelming and your lips were on his in an instant.

It was nothing like you expected, nothing like the chaste, sweet kisses you saw in your movies. It was heated, messy, desperate. His lips ravaged yours like a man on death row devoured his last meal. You felt his desire with every movement and all the doubt you had dissipated instantly. His hands were all over you, one softly held on to your neck, while the other held on to your waist like you might disappear.

His lips moved to your cheek, your jaw and eventually the sensitive skin on your collarbone. When he bit a particularly sensitive part of your neck, you let out a whine. You hoped he hadn't given you a hickey. His face came up to yours as he looked at your lips which were red from the impact and the desire running rampant in your eyes. It might’ve been the most beautiful you’d ever looked.

“Well? I’m still here.” You whispered against his lips before giving him a chaste peck.

Sylus knew you weren’t just talking about this moment. You never left, even when he gave you a million reasons why you should. He didn’t know what he did to deserve such luck, but he knew he’d never give you a reason to walk away from him ever again.

“We should get out of here.” Somehow you knew he didn’t just mean the storage closet. He shifted to lead you out but you quickly stopped him.

“You can’t leave your own party! What about your date?” As much as the idea of MC hanging off his arm made your skin crawl, it wasn’t right to just leave her alone.

“She’ll be fine. The only woman I care about is right in front of me, and I want to do so much to her than kiss her in a storage closet.” There was an underlying promise in his tone, and you felt the slightest bit of fear that you might’ve bitten off more than you could chew.

“You’ve lasted this long, what’s one more night?” Your last ditch effort to escape the dangerous situation was unsuccessful.

“Sweetheart, I can't wait another second.” He gave you a soft, gentle kiss that conveyed his fraying restraint. Your fear felt inconsequential when he was with you, you knew you could trust him wholly with every part of you.

So, when he led you out of the storage closet and all the way to his bedroom, you never once felt scared. Or insecure. Or inadequate. Sylus worshipped you like you were his salvation and he never once let you doubt yourself again.

Later that night, as you laid in his bed underneath his covers, staring over at his peaceful sleeping expression, you realised he was your salvation too.

Christmas Day

“What’s the surprise?” You asked the same question for the umpteenth time.

“Just be patient, we’re almost there.” You let Sylus lead you through what you thought was a building while you obediently kept your eyes shut. Eventually your feet came to a halt, and you were bursting with anticipation.

“Alright, open your eyes.” When you opened them you were in the living room of a charming beach house. It was so bright it took your eyes a while to adjust, but when they did you noticed that it was decorated with splashes of your favourite shade of yellow. The large balcony doors opened to the sight of a familiar beach, and you felt a range of emotions wash over you all at once. Sadness, nostalgia, yearning.

“Merry Christmas, baby.” Sylus’s voice behind you snapped you back to reality.

“What is this place?” The awe in your voice could not be concealed.

“It’s yours. I know how much you hate being on the beach, but I also know it meant a lot to your mother. From this balcony it’ll be like you’re right there without actually being there.” He sounded almost nervous while presenting his gift to you, worried you might hate it. But there wasn’t a word that could describe the pure gratitude and love you felt for the man standing in front of you.

“You bought me a house on my mother’s favourite beach?” The disbelief in your voice was almost tangible.

“Yeah.”

“Sylus, all I got you was a pocket watch!” You thought that since you were both not very big on Christmas, you would exchange small gifts. Clearly small wasn’t a word Sylus kept in his vocabulary.

“You gave me so much more than that.” The suggestion in his voice did nothing to soothe your guilt.

“This is too much.”

“Y/N, you’re more familiar with my assets than I am, if this made a significant dent in my bank account I think you would’ve noticed when I bought it a month ago.”

“You’ve had this for a month?” The shock persisted, but he was right. His expenses ranged from a box of paperclips to the purchase of a two-hundred-million dollar industrial complex.

“Yes, I bought it the first time you asked me to take you to the beach after work.”

“But what if we didn’t work out?” A month ago that seemed like a palpable possibility, but now you couldn’t imagine your life without Sylus in it.

“I’d find a way to trick you into taking it anyway.”

You all but rolled your eyes at the memory of his less-than-graceful plan to acquire your house until you ended up working for him again.

“Right, of course. You’re quite good at that I hear.”

“I’m good at many things, I’ll remind you later.” He drawled against your ear, but before you could force him to act on his promise he spoke up again. “For now, there’s one more surprise.”

You let Sylus lead you out to the balcony with his hands on your shoulders, driving you forward. He stood behind you, his chest to your back. He pointed to a hill on the left of the house where a beautiful willow tree sat atop the beach on a cliff.

“I bought that plot of land too. I don’t want to overstep, but if you’d like, we could move your mother here. Have her final resting place be at the place she loved the most.” His voice kept you anchored as memories of your mother threatened to pull you away. It still filled your chest with overwhelming sadness when you thought of her, but the thought that she could spend forever in the place that brought her the most joy filled you with relief. You didn’t get to give your mother much, but at least Sylus helped you give her this.

You couldn’t stop the tears streaming down your face if you tried.

Sylus had come a long way from that day at the graveyard, an even longer way from the day you met him. The fact that he grew to care about your mother as much as you did made your heart swell with love for him that expanded every day. Something you didn’t even think was possible.

“She would love that.” Sylus wrapped his hands around your waist, placing an ever-so-gentle kiss on your temple. “I wish you could’ve met her when she was alive, you would’ve loved her.” They were both the strongest people you knew, and it pained you that they never got to meet.

“I’m sure I would have. After all, I am a huge fan of her work.” You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you at his cheesy joke. You were rubbing off on him, that was for sure. He peppered kisses all over the side of your face at the sound of your joyful laugh and you had to squeeze out of his grasp to make him stop.

While you wished you didn’t have to lose someone so important to you to gain another, things always had a weird way of working out. Your future was still murky, but what you did know for sure was that ’Operation Sylus: No More’ could officially be declared a massive failure. And even though the physical hole in your heart still existed, the proverbial one shrunk to half it’s size; and you had the silver-haired man with the stone-encased heart of gold to thank for that.

Tag list: @blue-sky336 @sei-chuun @astolary @luna-looniesblog @rainkissedberries @syluslittlecrows @escape-your-nightmare @mangooes @bibistarx @kathypellar @stxrrielle @mansonofmadness @babygirl-panda19 @wegottastayfocus @zoezhive @futurecorpse92 @diabolichii @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie @cathuggnbear @blue-serendipity @huuvu @thisbitchreallyneedssleep @sh3sa1dwhat @justpassingdontworry @sylustoru @poptrim @mikachux3 @thargelalia @eolivy @vyntheria @dana-nite @miffysoo @babyx91 @fealy @sillyfreakfanparty @cassiesversion @serenity-loves-red @nommingonfood @sylusgirlie7 @browneyedgirl22 @silverbrain

Sorry if you were tagged but didn't get a notif, I think some of you might have your tags off because your blog wasn't coming up for me >:c

#love and deepspace #lads sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus angst #l&ds sylus #sylus imagine #sylus smut #sylus x you #lads angst #lads x reader #lads x you #lads zayne #lads fanfic #sylus fluff

419 notes · View notes

dad-friend · 3 days ago

Text

I hate adding to post but there's one thing I wanna add; sometimes starting a new medication gives you what I like to call sea legs. You know how sailors get back on land and are like "what the fuck"? Sometimes there's a gap between the med working and your brain realizing it works. Obviously I can't speak for everybody, but in my experience if you're used to a something being difficult, you have to kinda muster up the courage and energy to do it and you might put it off, or you might flinch away from a vaccine or too-cold shower even though you're running 20 minutes late and need to get in now. You're expecting resistance before it happens.

When we get in that kind of habitual weariness, sometimes it can be hard to realize a medication is working. ADHD meds, for example, don't magically organize your life, but they make it possible for you to do so. You still have to build the new habits.

Anti-depressants can be similar; many have the "sun is shining, birds are chirping" effect, but a lot of meds take a few weeks to begin to work and then its still up to you to take care or yourself and distance yourself from things that may exacerbate your condition

At first it feels like when you try to lift a gallon of milk in the fridge that you thought was going to be heavy and find out that actually, somebody used most of it and you just ended up aggressively yanking the milk carton into the air, but eventually you build new habits!

Obviously if a medication straight up isn't working or is having negative side effects don't just keep taking it, but I find this kind of mental image to be a helpful way to explain how my meds work to others and set reasonable expectations for myself and others

Anyway, OP I'm genuinely very happy for you and so glad you were able to find what works for you. hope anybody reading this who needs that help can do the same

90s movies: Psychopharmacology is as good as a lobotomy. If you take pills to treat your mental illness it will literally murder your imaginary friends and you will become a boring, lotus-eating conformist drone.

Me after taking my meds: drives the scenic route home to see if there are any geese on the pond and does a little dance in line at the grocery store and comes home to throw everything in my fridge into a stew pot because I can finally taste food again while singing songs at my birds in which I replace all the instances of "she" with "Cheese" and doing a Dolly Parton impression on the phone to my sister

27K notes · View notes

pythonmoth · 2 days ago

Text

cw: anxiety. post-traumatic stress disorder (torture). reader is traumatized. reader is a bit unreliable. military inaccuracies. hurt/comfort (I guess?).

simon riley x f!reader. implied simon riley x soap. implied simon riley x f!reader x soap.

First | Last | Next

Being home is incredibly boring, especially if you can't move much.

Your brother's been taking care of you, making sure you're eating, that you let your injuries breathe, and soon enough, the cuts on your feet allow you to move around on your own. It takes a whole month for your brother to leave you alone for longer than a few hours. It's a good thing, really, because if you want to spend hours just laying in your bed and crying in silence as you stare at the ceiling, you can. He would only come whenever you needed a ride, anyway.

Despite being able to move around and now even managing to use your sensitive fingers, you dread the idea of going outside. You have to wear sandals and loose pants, because your toes cannot, by any means, be touched by any kind of fabric yet, or else you're grimacing in pain. Feeling defenseless hasn't been a thing ever since you became part of the team. Not even your skills could take down Simon, but you could put up a fight with them all, easily; never won, but you were confident with anyone else on the street.

No doubt you could still beat them up, your skills are still there, but the idea of someone somehow restricting your movements felt like torture all over again. The idea of anyone getting a hold of you makes you want to throw up. Your mind and body betray you, making you remember those awful moments, and you don't realize you're pulling a face.

"You're spacing out".

You look up at the therapist, giving her a little nod as an apology, getting comfortable on the seat. Restless, you can't help but look around for a moment again. The office is incredibly white, clean, filled with mirrors for whatever fucked up reason, and the only thing that isn't grey or white is one of the cushions on the couch on the other side of the room. It's deep purple. It looks awful.

Seemingly realizing you won't be of much help with the question she just asked you, she gives you a smile. "How are your nails? I can see you're using your hands a lot more".

"They're healing" you reply, looking down at your fingers instead of focusing on the cushion. "I can use my hands pretty normally now, but I can't use the stove for long".

"Because of the heat". An affirmation. You've already mention it before, and you're not surprised she remembers that. Probably read it on her notes.

"It hurts, yeah".

"And how are your feet?" she asks, looking down at the way you absentmindedly drag your hands on your pants from your thighs to your calves in slow movements. You only realize what you're doing because you can hear the way her pen drags across the paper, distracting you.

"Well... I can only wear sandals. Doctor said I should be okay to move around with real shoes in three months".

"And what do you think?"

"He's the doctor. I want to believe he knows what he's doing, so I can't really question it. I do hope it heals sooner, though".

The therapist writes down on her notebook. With an uncomfortable feeling, you desperately want to know what she's writing, your eyes drifting to the movement of the pen, but you can't make out a single letter.

"So you trust the doctor, right?" she questions, moving one of her erasers to the other side of her desk. Your eyes are fixed entirely on it, on the little thud the eraser makes when she sets it down.

"He knows best, that's for sure. If he's there, must be a reason" you answer, tilting your head as she keeps moving her things around, making them fit somewhere else on her desk. The pencil goes to the left, then to the right, the eraser from top to bottom of the notebook, as if she's as antsy as you are.

"Do you apply that thought somewhere else? Like... at work? Or if you need help at a store and find an employee, maybe?"

The therapist's eyes are on you all the time, your hands, your anxious feet; your little habits coming to light with a single look. The way you bite the inside of your lower lip, the little double blink you make when she moves something in her desk yet again, even if you don't say anything.

"Of course. If they know their way around, it's only right that I ask for help, and trust that" you answer, frowning. You don't think that question is relevant at all, but she keeps writing, and writing.

"I see. Thank you. Now, you mentioned you've been texting G- Simon. Can you tell me how it makes you feel?"

You go silent for a moment, your fingertips dragging across your arm, so softly you can barely feel it. "It's better now".

During the first three months of being home, Simon would text you nearly every single day. He didn't expect a text back and you knew that, because you told him you wouldn't promise to be responsive. Simon would send you pictures of their plain meals, of Gaz sleeping on your bed, Johnny posing next to Price with their thumbs up, or terrible selfies of himself. Always without a mask.

Tuesday

11:27

"Price scolded Johnny because he had crumbs on his uniform. It was hilarious"

Saturday

03:26

"Just got back. Everyone ok"

Even Johnny would text you from time to time. It was mostly memes, awful stickers or ridiculous, random photos of Gaz mid talking, his face weird, or Price smacking Simon's head, or the entire team posing for a picture, Gaz' arm hovering to the side as if to hug your shoulders. You didn't even need to wonder why Gaz hadn't texted you; that man hated technology with a passion.

Still, you never texted back.

You didn't really pay attention to the texts, or the little voice notes, or the selfies. You didn't feel like reading them properly, always leaving them on seen or just grunting to yourself whenever you heard their distinctive tone. Why you didn't change it in the past few months, you don't know. Maybe that's a question for your therapist.

But then, the texts stop.

Monday

16:49

"Tough job"

"We leave at midnight"

23:42

"Text you when we're back"

Only, Simon doesn't text back. For days. For weeks.

You can't pretend you're not worried. It's impossible, really. You're half-tempted to call him, but you can't, you don't know how it will feel to hear his voice again. He said he'd text you and he hasn't, so he isn't back yet, and you don't want to feel vulnerable by opening up. Yet.

You go through Simon's chat, actually paying attention to whatever he sent you. You realize he sometimes sent you long texts, apologizing, accepting what he did, and even a few voice notes that you didn't notice before. They made your heart race as you listened.

"I hurt you, and I'm sorry. I love you, and you don't have to forgive me"

"Garrick told me to tell you that if you aren't eating he'll go and— shut the hell up, Johnny, I'm talking!"

"Tell her we'll go visit her by the end of the month".

That's Price's voice, you realize.

Feeling incredibly choked up, you check Johnny's chat next. You're expecting to find nothing but memes, as you've seen in passing, but when you see he sent you long, long texts, you finally let yourself cry properly.

He's been apologizing since the day you left, too afraid to face you but his texts are so poorly written you know he was in a rush, or crying, or both. His voice notes, however... they just make you break.

"I'm so sorry. I can't undo what we did. You don't owe me anything, I just... really hope you can at least tolerate me. If not, please know I'll always care for you. I love you. Goodnight".

Something inside of your chest eases, maybe moved to the point of forgiveness, even if just a moment. Your therapist has been helping you unveil whatever you missed during that day— during the torture. It's been a tough process, and she insisted you visited twice a week instead of once, but it helped. You could now understand.

Still, understanding the situation only makes your worry grow.

"Text you when we're back"

For two long weeks, there's nothing, from nobody. Only silence and fear. For the first time since you left, you're scared for them. Scared you'll have to open the door one day and it'll be Price, or maybe not even him, telling you the team is dead.

On the second week, your therapist says you can give them a call, or text them if it's more comfortable. When you say you can't, she advices you to write them letters.

"Tell them whatever you wish to say. If you're angry, write it. If you're worried, write it. There's no good or bad feelings, and it's only right to feel them. Write them for yourself, and then you can choose to give them to your team, or not".

And you did.

A whole notebook of messy writing, some tears staining the paper, and your hate slowly turned to understanding. Real understanding. Not forgiveness, not yet, but it's progress.

By the third week with no news, you just can't handle it anymore. You press call without a second thought and your heart squeezes painfully in your chest when it rings, and rings, and rings.

Hopeless, you lay in your bed, your mind working overtime as you stare at the ceiling.

A muffled dinging sound startles you awake, shifting on the bed to find your phone because that's Simon's tone. Adjusting your vision, you realize it fell from your hands to the ground when you fell asleep. You dive for it, grimacing when your sensitive fingertips brush against the carpet, but to see his name there is enough for you to endure it.

Thursday

01:22

"Safe. Couldn't text you earlier"

01:22

"You called me. Are you hurt?"

01:22

"Safe. Call me"

"Now"

His name pops up not even a moment later, his ringtone filling your ears. When you pick up, he's barely breathing, and you wonder if you're about to be told bad news.

Simon explains they were on a very tough mission, and that that was why he couldn't text you, or communicate with you at all. You could hear him shift, move around. Restless.

They got caught in enemy territory, surviving the best they could for two weeks, Simon tells you. Johnny was shot in the leg and Gaz was the one who helped him out, since Simon was too busy dragging Price, who was bleeding out because someone decided it would be fun to put a bullet through his left shoulder.

"I wasn't any better. Dr. Wilson called me a dick, and then made me lay down because I was shaking. Ridiculous" he grunts, his voice hushed on the other side of the line. "Got shot on my side, I just didn't feel it, but I was better than the other two".

He doesn't seem to expect you to speak, huffing and shuffling. You can tell he's in the clinic room, the echo incredibly familiar by now.

Of course, he doesn't tell you that the reason why he didn't text you the whole past week, is because he's been asleep, drugged out of his mind because of the pain.

"Everyone's okay. No risk. Garrick's the only one who didn't get hurt. I think—"

"I was worried, Simon. I'm glad everyone is okay".

There's silence for a long moment. Simon takes a deep breath from the other side of the phone, sighing deeply. You could hear the smile in his tone. "I wouldn't let myself get killed, luv. I'm sorry I couldn't text you before. We're safe now".

You two spend the rest of the night on the call, with you mostly staying in silence and listening. You can't believe how scared you've been for all of them, for Simon. You know it's gonna be hard to fully forgive them, if at all, but you can't help the way your body relaxes as you hear him breathing against your ear. You can't help the way your arms curl around the pillow, seeking his warmth. As before.

The call goes on for long hours. When your soft hums as he speaks stop coming to his end, Simon goes quiet, realizing you've fallen asleep. He sighs and shifts to look at the ceiling, holding the phone against his ear. Focusing on your soft breathing, he let's himself fall asleep, the gunshot wound completely unimportant if he gets to listen to you sleeping again.

He just wishes you were there.

im so sick y'all, my head hurts, but I obviously couldn't resist! also, you guys like Marina? her new song is so good! mowgli's road's vibes.

the therapist's room I'm describing in the story is actually my therapist's old room. I hated it so BAD. the mirrors were a terrible decision. also, if you can't relate to this type of therapy, that's fine. it's just my experience.

again, styling is fully intentional. can y'all tell how our reader is feeling?~

taglist: @euphoricn @lilg101010 @enfppuff @carolchaotic @silas-fanfic-favs @nina-from-317 @an-ever-angry-bi @kittygonap @dorothy-rainbird-deactivated202 @adventurerabby @defronix @sheepispink @iambuttwodaysold @blackhawkfanatic @malevolentghoul @thriving-n-jiving @literallegendicon @echo9821 @angel-bugz @ssc7514 @clickbait-official @hades--baby @blackhawkfanatic @sirbonesly @saki---chan @skeletonsucker @nnsissys @kukavittu @tessakate @honestlymassivetrash @s-a-v-a-n-a-34

(we're so many now, wow! thank you all ♡)

412 notes · View notes

heli-writes · 3 days ago

Text

A dragon's heart, part 16.

Pairing: Barbarian!Bakugou Katsuki x female!reader

Summary: The dragonblood tribe is known for being cruel, barbarian warriors that slaughter, loot and rape all places they pass through. They are feared among the villagers and even bigger cities. Having lost most of their women to a plague, they're trying to ensure their tribe's survival by kidnapping women from other places. However, they're not the only monsters in human form out there. When y/n experiences this first hand, she has no choice but to ask for help from no other but the barbarian leader Katsuki Bakugou himself.

Disclaimer: trust issues, implications to abuse

[Please don't read if you are sensible to or triggered by the topics mentioned above.]

Note: Two chapters in a month? Say what. I know, I'm surprised myself. Blame it on a national holiday.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16

Series Masterlist

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Part 16

Y/n doesn't want to admit it, but she enjoys Katsuki's absence.

It's been three days and she has had more company than the entire time she's been with Katsuki. At least, if you don't count the several visits by the healers, that is. Mitsuki is still hostile toward her, but she doesn't leave y/n up to her own devices which y/n appreciates. Moreover, the two women she helped with the knives, have taken an interest in her. It seems as if they've noticed that y/n can be quite useful for a variety of tasks and thus give her chores upon chores. A lot of them revolve around creating weapons or taking care of weapons which y/n does not appreciate that much.

On the last day, y/n spent wrapping arrowheads to shafts. During the day, the skin on her fingers is ripped open in different places which is quite painful. However, y/n doesn't want to look like a wimp in front of the older women and works through the pain. Also, she enjoys the women's company and doesn't want to be sent away because she can't get the job right. She's afraid they'll send her back to Mitsuki.

Nevertheless, she must've done an okay job since her arrows pass inspection by Mitsuki (again). She tries to hide her hands from the blonde woman, but Mitsuki catches on anyway. She says something to the older women who then inspect y/n's wounds and put a slave and bandages on them.

The evenings she spends mostly alone in Katsuki's tent. The other women invited her for dinner around a bonfire, but y/n retreats to the tent rather quickly since the mountains are cold once the sun disappears behind their peaks. Being used to Katsuki's company, the evenings are terribly boring. Eventually, y/n occupies her time by carving game pieces out of wood. She hoped that maybe she could teach Katsuki the game when he returned. She's too shy to ask the women for that.

The next morning, y/n is picked up by the old woman with whom she mended clothes with. The woman animatedly tells her something that y/n doesn't get and leads her to a stone hut she hasn't seen before. Y/n swallows hard. Was I demoted because of my hands?, y/n wonders as the woman pushes her inside the tent.

Inside, an old bearded man stands by a forge and hammers onto metal. The old woman loudly announces their arrival and the smith lowers his hammers. He listens to the woman's rambles while looking y/n up and down. Y/n feels like she's shrinking under his gaze. Why did she bring me to a smith?, y/n wonders. The smith barely says anything and just grumbles as a response to the older woman.

After the woman takes her leave, the smith waves y/n over and shows y/n a couple of knives and some arrows. For a moment, y/n doesn't understand why he's showing them to her until she realizes that those are her work. She sharpened those knives and made those arrows. Looking at the smith and points at the weapons and then at her. “Yes, I did that.”, she tells him while nodding. The smith nods and waves her over to the forge. He doesn't actually believe that I can make weapons, y/n thinks.

Turns out, he doesn't but he makes y/n help him. Apparently, he is working on making a sword. He makes y/n hold the metal piece down while he hammers it into shape. When the forge cools down, y/n has to bring new firewood and it's her task to make sure that the forge doesn't cool down. He even lets her try hammering on some metal but quickly takes over again. I bet I don't have the strength to hammer metal into shape, y/n thinks.

By midday, y/n's exhausted and ash and grime stuck to her sweaty skin. She's glad when the smith waves her outside the hut for some lunch. It's only then that y/n notices how absolutely famished she is. Together, they eat a hearty meal of brown bread and thick slices of cheese and ham. Y/n thinks it's the most delicious meal she's had since she arrived here. Maybe it's because it reminds her of the rustic meals her family used to eat. Or, more likely, she's just that hungry considering that she hasn't done that demanding physical work in quite a while. Either way, she enjoys the meal she shares with the smith. Mostly, because the smith doesn't talk much. She's sure that it's not because he knows she doesn't understand him but it's simply because he doesn't talk much at all. She feels a lot more comfortable around him than around the women who keep talking around her until her head swims.

When she's done with her meal, the smith gives her a cup of tea and they sit in the sun for a little while. To occupy herself, y/n takes out her game pieces and a knife. Her set is complete, but the wood still feels rough. She tries to smooth them with the edge of the knife but she just keeps cutting notches into it. Frustrated she lowers the knife. Only then, she notices the smith watching her while sipping his tea.

Y/n can feel her cheeks heat. He must think I'm incapable of simple handiwork, y/n thinks.

Suddenly, the smith gets up and enters the hut again. Y/n hears him rummaging inside. When he comes out again, he hands her some sandpaper. Y/n's heart skips a beat. How nice of him!, she thinks and beams up at the smith. Immediately, she gets to work and starts smoothing the wood of her game pieces. When the smith finishes his tea, he waves her back inside and the two of them go back to work.

At the end of the day, y/n is absolutely spent. Nevertheless, she feels pretty good. The smith patted her on the head when he let her go for the day and y/n felt like she did a good job. She joins the other women for dinner around the bonfire and they laugh at y/n's ash-covered face. Y/n takes no offense in it as they also pat her on the back and shove some stew into her hands.

As she eats, she looks around the bonfire. Nadia is nowhere to be seen. She hoped to see her and start a conversation, but it was no luck. However, she did see some women take off with some bowls with stew in the direction of multiple living tents. I wonder if more women like Nadia live inside those tents, y/n wonders. But why am I the only one around the bonfire? And working?

After dinner, y/n waves the women goodbye to retreat to her tent for a well-deserved bath. After her bath, y/n sits on the bed working on her game pieces. Carefully, she runs the sandpaper over each piece smoothing the edges and softening their surface until they're nice to the touch. It's rather late when she's finished and slides underneath the covers. Shivering, she wraps her arms around herself.

It's rather cold without Katsuki, she decides as she's drifting to sleep.

~*~*~*~

Y/n's up early the next morning. She wanted to do some laundry before someone came to pick her up for work. She's glad that the wounds on her hands are healing rather quickly. She's standing outside hanging up her washing when the smith approaches her tent. She smiles at him and waves.

Guess, I'm up for another day at the forge, y/n thinks. Not that she minds, y/n actually likes working with the old smith. Maybe I have a thing for grumpy men?, she wonders as she follows the smith to his forge.

The day passes as the one before. She helps out the smith with a variety of tasks. While the smith does not make her hammer onto some metal again, he does make her blow into a large pipe. However, they both quickly give that up. I've got neither the strength nor the lung capacity for being a smith, I guess, y/n decides. It doesn't really matter to her since she's completely fine with playing the assistant.

After lunch, she hands back the sandpaper and the smith points towards the sachet in which she keeps her game pieces. Y/n takes them out to show him. The smith inspects them by turning them over in his hand and feeling the edges. He nods approvingly and hands them back. He asks y/n something she doesn't understand. Maybe he's asking what they're for?, she wonders.

Y/n draws the pattern of the game board into the dirt with a stick and sets up the game pieces. The game's rather easy to explain since the all game pieces can only do the same steps on the board. It doesn't take long for the smith to understand the rules of it and they play for a while until y/n beats the smith. With furrowed brows, the smith gets back to work and y/n follows him.

After the day's work is done, the smith demands another game which y/n is happy to comply. She's glad that someone is willing to play it with her. The game is rather simple: You win when you occupy the most places on the board which means you have to plan multiple steps ahead.

Y/n loved playing with her dad even though he beat her almost every time. Therefore, it's even more fun that she keeps on beating the smith. They keep on playing until someone calls them over for dinner around the bonfire.

~*~*~*~

Two more days pass and y/n continues to work with the smith. She's rather glad that Mitsuki seems to have lost interest in her and leaves her alone instead of handing her around people and inspecting her work. The work with the smith doesn't get boring since he makes not only weapons but household goods as well. He shows her how to make metal spoons which y/n takes up rather easily since it consists of hammering only a thin metal stripe into place and then carving and smoothing the surface with sandpaper. It's a process y/n already knows since her mother and she used to make lots of wooden spoons that they sold in the villages they passed through. The smith seems to approve of her results and she's allowed to keep the first spoon she made. During the lunch breaks, the smith and her keep playing with y/n game pieces and the smith even manages to win once or twice.

~*~*~*~

The air starts to get cooler as it rushes through Katsuki's ears. It's an unpleasant feeling but Katsuki embraces it nonetheless. It means home is getting close. He's even more glad when he sees the familiar mountain chain ahead of them. Kirishima on his golden dragon flies a head and does a somersault whoopingly. The men behind him cheer loudly.

They're all glad to get home. The raid was successful even though they ran into complications with some Todoroki soldiers. However, they faced no losses as Katsuki and Kirishima fought ferociously side by side leading them to victory.

“Yo, Kirishima, knock it off! You're about to lose our precious cargo!”, Katsuki howls through the wind but Kirishima only laughs as he falls behind his chief again.

While the village they raided was evacuated by the king's soldiers, there still was enough gold and goods to appease his men. Even better, in Katsuki's opinion, is that they managed to capture one of Todoroki's men alive. It's about time to squeeze out of this dirtbag what's really going on in the kingdom, Katsuki thinks.

“Ey, Katsuki, what do you think y/n will think when she sees all the goodies you brought for her?”, Denki teases at his side. “Ya think, she'll drop her panties for ya?”, the blonde laughs.

Katsuki glares at him and swivels Drami into Denki's dragon's path. The dragon yelps and quickly maneuvers out of the larger red dragon's way but Denki only laughs in response.

Of course, I wonder what she'll do when we see each other again, Katsuki thinks. He hopes his mother didn't take it too hard on y/n while he was gone. Part of him also wonders if y/n missed him in his absence.

~*~*~*~

Upon landing, a large crowd of people gathered to greet their warriors. Mothers and fathers hug their sons upon arrival. Even Kirishima's mate showed up which is a rare occasion. It sends Kirishima over the moon.

Katsuki scans the crowd for y/n but fails to find her.

“Son.”, his mother calls out to him. Katuski eyes her suspiciously.

“Where's y/n?”, Katsuki asks sharply. Mitsuki gives him a cool look before answering.

“I don't know. Haven't seen her in a few days, actually. The other women say that she's been dining at the bonfire every evening so I wouldn't be too worried about her.”, Mitsuki tells him.

Katsuki is relieved but still suspicious. “Any idea where she could be at?”, he asks.

Mitsuki shrugs. “Probably with the smith. She's been helping him out.”, she tells him.

Katsuki immediately sees red. “Working at the forge? How did that happen, mother? That's no place for a woman!”, he yells.

Mitsuki gives him a sharp look. “Who are you, a man, to determine what a woman can or cannot do? I heard she's rather good with forging and taking care of weapons. Maybe she is good for something after all.”, she replies.

Katsuki feels like ripping his mother to shreds. “It's your doing, I know it.”, he hisses, “Sending her to the forge, giving her such hard, dangerous work. You're punishing her for becoming my mate.”

“Do you really dare to accuse me of such a thing?”, Mitsuki hisses back, “Y/n is the mate of our chief, therefore she needs to pull her weight. She can't relax in the tent like the other women you brought here do. She needs to show her face when you're gone. After all, she's supposed to be the leader when you're not here.”

Katsuki's quiet at that. Of course his mother is right about that, but Katsuki is sure that y/n isn't ready for that.

“Moreover, isn't the smith one of our most honorable craftsmen?”, his mother adds and Katsuki bites his tongue.

“I rather hope so!”, a voice behind them says. It's Testutetsu, the smith's son.

“Is it true your mate picked up the role of my father's assistant?”, Tetsutetsu asks, “In that case, I owe her a thank you. After all, she picked up my work.”

Katsuki grinds his teeth. “I guess so.”, he replies. Tetsutetsu joined his men for the raid, but Katsuki knows the man would rather stay behind helping at the forge. Unfortunately for him, Tetsutetsu is one of the tribe's strongest warriors and therefore indispensable for such raids.

“Let's go and see if she's at the forge.”, Tetsutetsu proposes and Katsuki follows him after giving his mother a last, dirty glance.

~*~*~*~

“I'm surprised my father let her stay at the forge. He's rather picky with whom he works. There are days that he can't even stand me around the forge. Says that I talk too much and he can't focus.”, Tetsutetsu chats as they walk towards his family's workshop.

Katsuki huffs. “I guess he won't have a problem like that with y/n. She can't speak our language and therefore often doesn't speak at all.”, he grumbles. Tetsutetsu gives him a glance.

“Yeah, that must be weird. Can't imagine being mated to someone who doesn't understand me. How do you two even communicate?”, he asks.

“Barely.”, Katsuki says truthfully.

As they march up towards the stone hut that is the Tetsutetsu workshop, they see two figures sitting infront of the workshop on the ground.

“Father!”, Tetsutetsu calls out, “We're back!”

His father waves at him dismissively as the two younger men approach. Katsuki notices the game pieces on the ground. Y/n makes a move and the smith throws his hands into the air.

“She keeps beating me!”, the smith exclaims in a deep, gruff voice. Y/n beams up at him triumphantly.

The two men come to a stop infront of them and y/n notices them for the first time. Upon seeing Katsuki, she only smiles slightly and waves at him. It's not the welcome I hoped for, but at least she's happy to see me, Katsuki thinks.

“What'ya two playing?”, Tetsutetsu asks and crouches down before them.

“It's the girl's game.”, the smith says, “The rules are simple but the girl's hard to beat. She's got a smart head on her shoulders, I've got to give her that.”

“How does it work?”, Katsuki asks and sits down next to the smith.

“She's your mate. Let her show you.”, the smith says getting up to greet his son.

Y/n tries to put the game pieces away thinking that Katsuki has come to collect her, but Katsuki stops her and points at the board. Y/n is quick to understand and sets up the board again. She shows him how the pieces move and Katsuki is quick to take up the rules. They start a game while Tetsutetsu and his father watch.

As they keep moving the pieces around, the furrow in y/n's brow deepens.

“You almost got her, chief.”, the smith mumbles and Katsuki moves another piece. Y/n stares at the board for a long time. She tries to move multiple pieces before giving up. She looks at Katsuki and shrugs. The smith laughs.

“Seems like she's got some serious competition!”, he tells Katsuki and Tetsutetsu gives his father an amused look.

“You're in a good mood, dad.”, he says. The smith only shrugs. “The girl's been some fresh air around here.”, he simply replies. Tetsutetsu laughs.

“Oh my, I feel like I'm getting replaced here!”, he exclaims. His father shakes his head, “Well, you might be. Considering that the girl's actually good at executing orders instead of lounging around by the fire.”

Meanwhile, y/n packs her game pieces back into her sachet and gets up. Katsuki gets up as well.

“We'll be off then.”, he tells the Tetsutetsus. The old smith nods. “Alright then, y/n's welcome back anytime. Maybe she can even teach my son some work ethics.”, he replies at which Tetsutetsu only rolls his eyes. Katsuki walks on ahead and y/n waves at the smith smiling brightly before running after Katsuki.

“What a nice young lady.”, the smith tells his son, “I think our chief made a good choice there.”

~*~*~*~

Katsuki and y/n walk back to their tent in silence. Now that she's alone with Katsuki again, y/n doesn't know how to act. Nevertheless, she's happy that he played the game with her. Maybe he'll play again with me tonight, she thinks.

When they arrive at their tent, there are multiple men carrying wooden boxes into the tent. They greet their chief respectfully despite the blonde y/n has seen before who wiggles his eyebrows at Katsuki who only snorts in return. They enter the tent and y/n looks at the boxes with furrowed brows. Katsuki enters behind her and gently touches the side of her arm and gestures for her to walk to one of the boxes. With a knife, he yanks the box open. He rummages through the box and pulls out a beautiful dark green dress. Golden leaves and tendrils were stitched into both sides of the dress. The best part of it, however, was the long sleeves which is something all the dresses Katsuki brought her so far lacked. Katsuki holds the dress out to y/n who hesitantly takes it. Katsuki watches her expectantly as she inspects the dress and holds it against her own body to see if it fits her. When she looks up and meets Katsuki's eyes, she softly smiles at him.

Katsuki gestures to y/n to go through the box and take what she wants. Hesitantly, y/n walks to the box and peeks into it. Katsuki watches her for a moment as she looks through the contents of the box before turning around. I really deserve a bath, he thinks and leaves y/n to her own devices.

Meanwhile, y/n gets bolder in looking through the box. She finds more clothes that clearly originate from the Todoroki kingdom judging by the designs. They're winter clothes with long sleeves, lined interior fabric and fur overcoats. Y/n smiles as she runs her fingers over the soft, warm fabrics. He must've chosen them for me, she thinks.

Y/n takes the liberty to look at some of the other boxes. She finds a hairbrush, thick socks, books in her language, paper and all sorts of other trinkets. She also finds an expensive-looking flancon of perfume which she can't help and spray on her neck. A modest, flowery scent wavers through the air. Y/n thinks she never smelled anything that nice.

Suddenly, Katsuki enters the tent again. He's only wearing his linen pants and walks towards the closet to get some fresh clothes before hopping into the bath. When he passes y/n, he stops and sniffs the air. He looks at the flacon in y/n's hand and then sniffs the skin on her neck. He grunts and his nose wrinkles in disgust. What the fuck is this shit?, he thinks to himself. The perfume smells absolutely disgusting to him. Why would she cover up her scent like that? Is she planning to walk into enemy territory undetected?, he ponders. Meanwhile, y/n's cheek heat in embarrassment. Clearly, he thinks it stinks, y/n decides.

“That stuff needs to go. No woman of mine should smell so horrendous.”, Katsuki decides loudly and takes away the flacon. Y/n purses her lips at that but doesn't stop him. When he turns back around to her with a mischievous gleam in his eyes, y/n feels like he's about to do something bad.

Katsuki then lunges forward and grabs her by the wrist. He heaves her over his shoulders and marches into the bath hut with her. He sets her down at the entrance of the bathing hut. Y/n's heart thunders. She really doesn't like it when Katsuki shows her just how superior he is to her when it comes to physical strength.

Katsuki moves to the bathtub and takes off the rest of his clothes. Y/n watches his very naked, and very muscular, backside. She's getting embarrassed and tries not to stare at him. It's not like she's embarrassed by his nakedness (clearly she's used to it now), but considering her last naked experience with him (no, not the one where he kept walking around their tent fully naked), she expected to be more repulsed by him. Instead, she finds her gaze wandering and heat rising in places where it really shouldn't. Without noticing, her hand flies to the scar on her neck.

Katsuki notices her stares and gives her a complacent smirk. Then, he throws a sponge at her and points at his back. “Your man just came back from war, you should treat him a bit.”, he tells her.

Y/n is taken aback by it, but eventually complies and washes his back. Katsuki leans forward in the tub so that y/n can reach his back better. Y/n can't help but trace the muscles on his back. It's only then that she notices the many scares that adorn Katsuki's back. When she's done with his back, Katsuki leans back and gives her access to his chest which flusters y/n even more. Y/n stares at his broad chest and tries her best to not let her gaze wander more downwards. Katsuki takes her hand and lets it wander to his abdomen just above his – y/n yanks her hand back, her cheeks flushed in scarlet. Katsuki gives her a dirty laugh.

“It's not funny!”, y/n laughs getting up from her place beside the tub. Anger flushes her system. How can he make such jokes? Doesn't he understand just how traumatizing it was what he did to her? Or does he simply doesn't care?

Upon seeing her angry face, Katsuki understands that he crossed a line. His face becomes regretful He only wanted to see how far she'd go. Katsuki reaches for her hand that balled into a fist by her side. Gently, he strokes over the back of her hand and y/n relaxes.

“Sorry”, he mumbles and y/n understands the apology. She takes the bucket with cold water that stands next to the tub and pours it over Katsuki's head in one swift motion. Katsuki yelps and lets out a string of courses.

“Now we're even.”, y/n tells him grinning and Katsuki rolls his eyes. Y/n laughs and Katsuki is taken aback by how pretty y/n sounds when she laughs. Then, y/n takes the soap again and starts washing his hair. Gently, she runs her fingers through the wild, blonde strands and scratches his scalp. Katsuki leans back again and sinks a bit deeper into the tub. Y/n's hands feel good on him. He regrets pushing her earlier, but her soft hands make him remember how they feel around his dick. Quickly, he tries to shake the thought. He can't get a boner right now, not after y/n made clear what she thinks about touching him intimately. Instead, he tries to focus on the feeling of y/n's hand in his hair.

Katsuki hums relaxed and y/n can't help but notice how he leans into her touch. She tries the anger from earlier. Katsuki's been nice to her. He got her all these new, warm clothes and books. Clearly, he must've thought about her while he was away and y/n feels a little bit bad that she didn't think that much about him.

Maybe I can be a little bit nicer to him, y/n decides.

~*~*~*~

While Katsuki finishes his bath, y/n goes back to their tent and tries on some of the dresses Katsuki brought for her. They're a bit too long for her, but y/n figures she could ask the old woman for help in resewing them. It shouldn't be too hard to tailor them to her size.

The fabric feels nice and warm on her skin and y/n wishes she had a mirror to look at herself. She twirls around in the dress and when she comes to a stop, she sees Katsuki leaning at the doorway to the bath hut grinning at her.

“Ya like it?”, he asks and y/n smiles brightly at him. “Thank you, Katsuki.”, she tells him.

Katsuki's heart skips a beat. I'm being a good mate, right?, he thinks to himself and feels rather smug. He takes a step forward and examines y/n in the dress. He takes the hem of the skirt and swishes it around a bit. The fabric is rather heavy. Doesn't that bother her?, he wonders but y/n seems perfectly happy with it. He runs his fingers over her hips and y/n stiffens. He mistakes her stiffness as a rejection and he clicks his tongue. At least I can see her curves better like this, he decides.

Meanwhile, y/n grows hot under her clothes. I really shouldn't react to his touch this way, she decides, after all his touch hurt me before.

~*~*~*~

After Katsuki's hair is dried, he takes her to the bonfire. It's bigger than most nights and the smell of food and hot alcohol lingers in the air. There are men celebrating and laughing everywhere. I guess it's a feast, y/n decides. Katsuki maneuvers her to Kirishima who sits beside a pale, thin woman who keeps her eyes on the ground. Curiously, y/n looks at her. When the woman raises her head a bit and meets y/n's eyes, y/n smiles at her, but the woman quickly looks down again.

Disappointment flashes through y/n and she quickly adverts her eyes as well. Only then she notices that there are multiple younger women she hasn't seen before. They all look timid and pale. She counts 13 of them including Nadia who only slightly shakes her head when y/n spots her. Y/n walks over to her anyways.

“Nadia, where have you been?”, y/n asks. The woman glances at her husband who is sitting next to her talking to some other men. When he doesn't react, she replies to y/n: “At home, where else?”. Y/n's eyebrows furrow.

“Doesn't the tall blonde woman put you to work?”, she asks and Nadia crooks her head ever so slightly.

“They make you work?”, Nadia says in a hushed tone.

“Yes, I helped at the forge.”, y/n says proudly but Nadia only gives her a bewildered look.

“The forge? Oh, you must have it worse than us! I've told you Bakugou Katsuki is the worst of the lot!”, Nadia exclaims and winces when her husband laughs loudly and hits his own leg in amusement.

At first, y/n is surprised by that. Then, she remembers that people in the kingdom have very different ideas about what is suitable work for a woman. Her own people never made a big distinction between male and female work. Of course, hard labor often was done by men but it's mostly because they're naturally stronger than women. Nevertheless, such work was not forbidden for women. If one had a talent for a certain type of work, they were encouraged to take it up. For example, her father was exceptionally good at needlework. While her mother was good at mending clothes, it was her father who stitched pretty patterns into her clothes.

Before y/n could answer, Katsuki calls her back to his side. She quickly says goodbye to Nadia before turning to Katsuki's side. Katsuki's sitting in a circle with the same men y/n saw close to the dragon's den. One of the men hands her a cup with warm liquid which turns out to be a sort of hot wine. Y/n takes a big gulp of it. It tastes fruity and sweet. She immediately takes another gulp and the men laugh. Katsuki, however, puts a hand on her arm.

“Slow down, that shit's strong.”, he tells her but y/n only shrugs which earns her another round of laughter.

The men continue chatting among themselves and y/n watches how Kirishima offers some of the fruity wine to the woman next to him who courtly declines his offer. Kirishima gives y/n a deflated smile when he notices that y/n is watching them. Having already finished her cup, y/n extends her arm to take the cup from Kirishima.

“Geez, Katsuki! Your woman can drink!”, one of the men laughs when they see y/n on her third cup of wine. Katsuki rolls his eyes. “She most definitely will regret this tomorrow.”, he grumbles and Kirishima pats his back.

At some point, y/n doesn't remember when (probably due to the amount of alcohol she consumed), people brought out instruments and started playing music. The music of Katsuki's tribe is very different from the music y/n's people played. Since y/n's people were always on the road, they didn't bring big, heavy instruments along like drums or horns. They stuck to small flutes and light guitars. The dragon tribe's music is louder, faster and y/n can feel the drums within her bones. Eventually, people start dancing and y/n watches them for a while. While their dance isn't light-footed like her people's dances, they're still enchanting to watch. Heavy foot stomps are followed by graceful turns and rhythmic clapping.

It's been so long since I danced, y/n muses. She remembers the midsummer festival days before she met Katsuki. Even then she only could watch. Turning to Katsuki, she notices that the man is watching her over the rim of his wine cup. Immediately, an idea pops up in her head.

I bet he knows how to dance, she thinks.

She leans over to Katsuki and pulls on the hem of his sleeve. Then, she points towards the dancers and looks at him expectantly. He looks at her bewildered.

“Absolutely fucking not.”, he tells her and shakes his head. Y/n pouts and gives him a pleading look.

“I said no. End of discussion.”, Katsuki grumbles and turns away from her.

Feeling rejected, y/n stares into her empty cup. What an ass, she thinks. Then, another idea pops into her head. I bet the others know how to dance too, she thinks and takes a look at the men sitting next to Katsuki. There's Kirishima who looks a bit deflated and keeps glancing at the woman by his side. He's probably kind enough to teach me, y/n thinks. She almost made up her mind to ask him when her gaze fell on another man. It's the blonde called Denki who gave Katsuki the wiggly eyes earlier. I bet that would really piss Katsuki off, y/n thinks smugly, Good.

Determinedly, y/n stands up. Katsuki gives her a wary glance. Confidently, y/n walks over to Denki who's been watching her for some time now.

“What can I do for you, Miss?”, he asks and grins and y/n. Y/n tucks his sleeve and points towards the dancers.

“Oh, you wanna dance? Doesn't your man wanna dance with you?”, Denki asks and gives his chief a questioning look.

“Over my dead body.”, Katsuki simply replies.

“Then it's okay when I show her how to dance?”, Denki asks and Katsuki only shrugs. “Knock yourself out, Denks. Just be careful she doesn't puke on you.”, he tells his subordinate.

Denki flashes y/n a grin and stands up, leading her to the area where the people dance. Firstly, he shows her a simple coordination of steps which y/n imitates. When y/n feels confident in the steps, Denki speeds up the pace. Y/n has some trouble keeping up with him and steps on his toes. Denki only laughs and spins her around. Y/n has to laugh too and lets Denki take the lead now that she's gotten used to the steps and speed. Together they stomp and clap and Denki keeps spinning her around. Maybe it's the spinning, maybe it's the alcohol, but eventually y/n loses balance and crashes into Denki who luckily is a lot stronger than her and keeps holding her up. They both laugh at y/n's clumsiness and y/n feels fuzzy inside.

Dancing really is fun, she muses as she steadies herself. Expectantly, she looks up to Denki but he looks at something behind her. She turns to look at whatever Denki's looking at, but the man is quicker than her and he quickly pulls her in again.

“Katsuki's jealous.”, he whispers into her ear. Y/n only understands the word “Katsuki” and honestly, it doesn't need a genius or translator for her to figure out that Katsuki's probably not happy about her dancing with another man this closely.

Whatever, he didn't want to dance. It's his own fault when I dance with somebody else, she decides.

She pulls at Denki's arms who gives her an amused look.

“You're playing with fire, missy.”, he says before swirling her around for another dance.

Just when the musicians start a new song, Katsuki materializes next to them.

“Take your hands off my woman.”, Katsuki hisses at Denki. There's rage behind his eyes. However, Denki's not impressed by this.

“Pretty sure she put her hands on me first.”, Denki replies but stops dancing. Katsuki looks as if he's about to spew fire. Denki lets go off y/n and shrugs. “Not my fault you don't know how to please your woman.”, Denki says mischievously and retreats before Katsuki can reply (or punch him).

Katsuki turns to y/n who looks at him equally unimpressed. She rolls her eyes. “Men and their ego.”, she mumbles before turning around to join the group back at the bonfire. Katsuki stomps after her. Sulking, y/n sits down on a log crossing her arms infront of her chest. The men laugh at Katsuki as he joins them again. He tries to give y/n another cup of wine as a peace offering but declines sharply.

To be honest, y/n wanted Katsuki to be jealous. She hoped it scraped his ego enough to make him dance with her but Katsuki seemed to have no intention to do that. Whatever, y/n grumbles to herself, It should've been obvious that he doesn't know how to have a good time.

They stay at the feast for a little while longer. The men chat among themselves but Katsuki doesn't join their conversation anymore and y/n keeps glancing at the dancers longingly. Finally, Katsuki has had enough. He pulls y/n up and says goodbye to the rest of the lot before dragging y/n back to their tent. By the time, they arrive, y/n is still sulking which pisses Katsuki off even more.

Y/n starts to get ready for bed and disappears into the bath hut while Katsuki puts on his own sleepwear. When y/n returns, she still doesn't spare Katsuki a glance.

“I just hate fucking dancing!”, he exclaims loudly as y/n settles onto the bed. She gives him a flat look and shrugs. Then she turns around to slide under the covers.

I just can't get it right with her, Katsuki thinks angrily. He's getting more and more frustrated. A more reasonable voice in the back of his head says: You could've gotten this right. She clearly told you what she wanted and you were too proud to entertain the idea.

Katsuki stands at the edge of the bed and stares at her form. She seemed to have so much fun with Denki. She didn't even mind when Denki touched her hips or when her chest touched Denki's chest when she crashed into him.

It could've been you, she laughed with., that nasty voice says. Unfortunately, he has to admit that the voice is right. He could've made her happy tonight. He could've undone a little bit of the damage of the mating if he wasn't so goddamn prideful.

“Fuck it.”, he grumbles and leans over to y/n pulling her towards the edge of the bed. Y/n swirls around and looks up at him. “What?”, she demands and Katsuki motions for her to get up. Slowly, y/n does so.

“What do you want, Katsuki?”, she asks him increasingly annoyed. Katsuki pulls her into the middle of the tent which is still crowded due to the boxes that were brought in earlier. He stands closely toward her and puts a hand on her hip. He looks kind of embarrassed.

“So... I don't know how to do this. If ya want it, ya need to show me.”, he grumbles and laces his fingers with hers. Y/n stares up at him unsure what his intentions are. She sighs deeply and shakes her head.

“I don't know what you want from me, Katsuki.”, she says and takes a step back turning back to bed. Katsuki catches her arm and twirls her around to him. Clumsily, he starts to sway back and forth. Y/n has to laugh.

“Now you want to dance?”, she laughs, “And what is this? This is not dancing!”

Katsuki's ears turn red and he mumbles something y/n doesn't understand.

“Don't tell me the great Katsuki doesn't know how to dance!”, she says more solemnly. For a moment, she observes him before deciding: “Alright, I teach you how my people dance.”

Y/n takes a step back and for a moment Katsuki thinks she's going to lie down again. Then, she softly bows to him and raises her hand. When he doesn't react, she takes his hand and lays it flat against hers, so that their hands float in the air. Then she takes a step forward and a step back.

Katsuki imitates her embarrassedly. Y/n starts moving them in a circle and after four full circles, she steps closer to him, angling their hand sideways and pulling his other hand on her hip. They spin again.

Katsuki's face is a deep scarlet and a soft smile of amusement graces y/n's face. It's actually kind of sweet that he's trying, she thinks, he's still terrible at it though.

Eventually, y/n takes another step forward and leans her head against his shoulder and they sway back and forth, a dance move Katsuki appreciates. Y/n can hear the thundering of his heartbeat. Katsuki stops the swaying and drops her hand. Instead, he pulls her close against his chest. Gently, he strokes over her back and buries his other hand into her hair softly scratching her scalp. Carefully, he presses a kiss against her temple.

“I'm really trying, ya know?”, he mumbles before burying his face into her hair as well. Y/n hums and runs her hand through his hair which sends a pleasant shiver down Katsuki's spine.

“I really would love to be able to speak to you, Katsuki.”, y/n tells him, “Even if it's only to point out how stupid you are sometimes.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

tag list:

@cosmicbreathe @hello0815 @miacitocco @exoticrasin @angie-1306 @gold24fish @stardream14 @metab0rn @ldk3347 @skibbiescoober @nutellaenjoyer @c04ti @grimm3r @kalulakunundrum @midnightprocrastinator @tetisthings @cax-per

@ilovemushroomss @tinysoulmentality @anon-mouse223 @sagejin @teddyinks @alicecil87 @gabby-ha @edynarys @ebonyrose0013 @doeryy @assieayno @emmaafinchh @lookingforsyd @animesim @angelicarumiseiko @innerblazephilosopher @weebperson2003 @fancylonelygirl @your-mum3000 @girlufr @afre2023 @cheetopuffer0704 @yui-aya @ughrofhgbeogyfbf @doeryy

[Please comment beneath the last update if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters]

166 notes · View notes

yunholic-jongholic · 2 days ago

Text

Bound to the Bosses [Part 1] | C.JH x Reader x J.YH

SUMMARY | At the age of 20, you surrendered your freedom to a former mafia gang in exchange for a secure life and all your needs met. You pledged your existence to two of the members, Choi Jongho and Jeong Yunho, who managed the leading underground strip club and took you under his wing. They both permit you to perform on weekend nights, but once the lights go out and the workday ends, you belong solely to both of them.

PAIRINGS | Jongho x Fem!Reader x Yunho

RATING | Mature, 18+, NSFW, MDNI!!!

CONTENT WARNINGS | Mean Dom!Yunho, Mean Dom!Jongho, Strip Club Setting, NSFW, SMUT, Explicit Content, Alcohol Consumption, Cursing, Smoking, Mentions of Murder, Threats, Possessiveness, Jealousy, Threesome, Power Dynamics, Teasing, Foreplay, Hair Pulling, Fingering, Degrading, Praising, Dry Humping, Oral Sex (Reader Giving), Unprotected Sex (Don't do it...), Rough Sex, Marking, Bruises, Multiple Orgasms, Creampie, Cum-Eating, Size Kink, Overstimulation (THERE IS SO MUCH. IM CRYING. I DEFINETLY MISSED SOME. ILL COME BACK)

WORD COUNT | 5.3k

AUTHOR NOTE | 💋 Spicyyyyyy ;) Anyways, new 2HO Story. Tag List is now open to whoever wants to join (you can comment or message me!) This is a long LONG chapter series. (Most likely will be 8-10 chapters.) There will be more trigger warnings on each chapter since its very angsty. so please make sure to read warnings each chapter. Hope y'all enjoy this new story!

•

The distant wail of police sirens blended with the thumping bass of music booming from downstairs. Sitting in front of the mirror, you carefully applied your makeup, smoothing each line and adjusting your hair with practiced precision.

Yet, despite the familiar routine, a heavy sigh escaped your lips. Your stomach twisted in uneasy knots, the uncertainty creeping in—did you really want to step out there and perform tonight?

You stood up, slipping on your shoes and preparing yourself for another night of work. Stepping out of the room, you noticed someone standing silently in the hallway, eyes fixed on the world outside through the window. It was Seonghwa—the one who played the role of the gang’s unofficial caretaker, almost motherly in his demeanor.

You approached him, hesitating slightly before asking, “Have you seen Jongho anywhere?”

Without tearing his gaze from the window, Seonghwa replied, “He’s with Mr. Kim right now.” He exhaled a plume of smoke, the faint haze curling around his face before his eyes flicked toward you, sharp and piercing.

You swallowed, your voice wavering as you continued, “Could you... could you let him know I need to speak with him downstairs? It’s about my weekly allowance. Thank you.”

Seonghwa’s stare lingered a moment longer, his expression unreadable as he took another slow drag from his cigarette. “He’ll be informed,” he said flatly before turning his attention back to the view outside.

You murmured another thanks, his detached demeanor leaving an uneasy feeling in your chest. Shaking it off, you made your way downstairs, the muffled music growing louder with each step.

Descending the stairs, the dim lights cast a hazy glow over the room, shadows dancing to the rhythm of the pounding music. The bass vibrated through the floor, mingling with the murmur of voices and clinking glasses. You made your way to the bar, the cool surface grounding you as you leaned against it.

Before diving into the night’s performance, you needed a drink to steady your nerves. You signaled to the bartender, the familiar ritual bringing a brief sense of comfort amidst the chaos.

“Hey, I didn’t think you worked behind the bar,” you remarked, surprised to see who was serving drinks tonight.

Turning around with a playful grin, Wooyoung leaned casually against the counter, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Yeah, well, I like to switch things up now and then,” he replied, effortlessly charismatic.

You couldn’t help but smirk. From what you knew about the gang, Wooyoung was the loud, energetic one, but beneath his playful exterior, he was one of the sharpest minds when it came to decision-making and planning. His unpredictable nature kept everyone on their toes—tonight was no exception.

He slid a glass across the bar toward you, his eyes flicking over you with curiosity. “Starting off the night with a drink, huh? Rough evening already?” He teased.

“Don’t make me tell you... I’m just exhausted from... stuff.” You sighed, your shoulders sagging as you lifted the glass to your lips, taking a long, deep gulp. The burn was familiar, grounding, and it was just what you needed to face the night ahead.

Wooyoung watched you, his playful demeanor softening for a moment, but he didn’t press further. He knew better than to pry.

Placing the empty glass back on the bar, you offered him a nod before turning away, the music growing louder as you approached the stage. The lights were low, the crowd buzzing with anticipation. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself as you stepped into the spotlight, ready to perform despite the exhaustion weighing heavy on your shoulders.

While you were performing, your eyes scanned the dimly lit room, drawn to a familiar figure standing in the corner. Jongho. His presence was unmistakable—calm, composed, yet intensely focused on you. He stood with his back against the wall, a glass in hand, the amber liquid swirling gently as he took measured sips. His expression was unreadable, stoic and serious, his eyes never leaving you.

As the music faded and the lights dimmed, you wrapped up your routine, the applause a distant hum as your attention stayed on him. Steeling yourself, you made your way over, weaving through the crowd until you were face-to-face.

Jongho’s gaze was cold, his features rigid, revealing nothing of his thoughts. His eyes flicked over you, analyzing, calculating, before finally meeting yours. The air between you felt heavy, the weight of his stare pressing down on you. You opened your mouth to speak but hesitated, the words caught in your throat as his expression remained unyielding.

“Jongho... Mr. Choi,” you began, your voice steady despite the tension in the air. “I need to discuss my weekly allowance.”

He took another slow sip from his glass, his eyes never leaving yours as he lowered it. “So, what do you need now?” His tone was even, almost indifferent, but the sharpness in his gaze was unmistakable.

You swallowed, feeling the knot tighten in your stomach, but you pressed on. “Well... I wanted to ask for a raise this month,” you admitted, your voice softening as you continued. “I need to buy some new clothes... mine are getting worn out.”

Jongho’s eyes flicked over you, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before his expression returned to its usual cold demeanor. He leaned back against the bar, his posture relaxed but his gaze unrelenting.

Jongho’s lips curled into a faint smirk, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “Well, since you’re done with your dance session, you can come to my office. We’ll discuss it there.” His voice was calm, almost too casual, but his gaze was sharp, traveling slowly over your figure before meeting your eyes once more.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you maintained your composure, giving him a small nod. “Alright.”

Without another word, Jongho turned on his heel, making his way through the crowded room. You followed close behind, weaving through the sea of people as the music continued to pulse around you.

The journey felt longer than it should have, your mind racing with anticipation. You could feel his presence just ahead of you, calm and commanding, his pace steady and confident. Reaching his office, Jongho unlocked the door and stepped inside, holding it open just long enough for you to follow before closing it behind you.

The room was dimly lit, the faint glow from the city outside casting shadows along the walls. You stood there, your pulse quickening as you waited for him to speak, he locked the door behind you. Going to the desk, his back turned to you as he set his drink down on the desk.

"You know u are the one who ruins your own clothing." Jongho hums. Getting closer to you as he caresses your face with the back of his fingers. You look into his eyes and nod.

“Yes, sir. I know,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as his fingers lightly traced the curve of your bottom lip. His touch was gentle but commanding, sending a shiver down your spine. Your breath hitched, the tension in the room thickening—but before anything else could happen, a sharp knock echoed from the door.

Jongho’s expression shifted instantly, his jaw tightening as he pulled his hand away, irritation flickering in his eyes. He released a low, frustrated groan before turning on his heel and striding over to the door.

You stood frozen in place, nerves coiling tight as you watched him unlock and open it. Peeking over his shoulder, you recognized Seonghwa standing on the other side, his usual calm demeanor unchanged.

“Y/N was looking to talk to you,” Seonghwa said, his voice steady, his eyes flicking briefly to you before returning to Jongho.

Jongho sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I’m already talking to her,” he replied, his tone curt but controlled.

Seonghwa nodded, his expression unreadable as he took a step back. “Understood.” Without another word, he turned and walked away, his presence disappearing down the hallway.

Jongho shut the door with a click, his fingers lingering on the lock as he turned it firmly. His back remained to you for a moment, his shoulders tense, before he slowly turned around, his eyes locking onto yours once more. The air felt heavy again, the tension from before returning even stronger.

Jongho’s smirk returned, his eyes narrowing slightly as he crossed his arms, leaning casually against his desk. “So, here’s the deal,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “I need you to get back to work. Once your shift is over, come back to my office, and we’ll sort out your weekly allowance.”

His gaze lingered on you, a teasing glint in his eyes, his smirk never fading. The implication behind his words was clear, but his tone remained composed and controlled.

You felt your heart skip, but you managed a nod, keeping your expression neutral. “Yes, sir,” you replied, your voice steady even as nerves buzzed under your skin.

Without another word, you turned and unlocked the door, your fingers trembling just slightly. You could feel his eyes on you as you stepped out, the door closing behind you with a soft click.

Taking a deep breath, you steadied yourself before heading back to the main floor, the music and lights pulling you back into the rhythm of the night.

The hours dragged on, the music pounding relentlessly as you moved through the motions, one performance after another. By the time the clock hit 5 a.m., exhaustion weighed heavy on you. You sighed, wiping the sweat from your brow as you counted the night’s earnings—over $500. Not bad, but all you wanted now was to collapse in your bed.

Your mind was foggy, and the promise to see Jongho after your shift slipped away as fatigue took over. You made your way upstairs, each step feeling heavier than the last as you headed straight to your room.

But as you neared your door, the low murmur of voices caught your attention. It was coming from the room down the hall. The door was cracked open just enough for sound to seep through. You hesitated, curiosity stirring despite your exhaustion.

Quietly, you crept closer, careful to stay out of sight as you peered inside. Hongjoong stood in the center of the room, his back to you, his posture tense. Opposite him was Seonghwa, his arms crossed, face unusually serious. The air between them felt heavy, the conversation clearly intense.

You strained to listen, heart beating a little faster as you tried to make out their words, unsure of what you were about to overhear.

Your blood ran cold as the conversation became clearer.

“Well, we need to get rid of the body. Yunho said the guy tried threatening he would kidnap Y/N and kill her,” Hongjoong’s voice was low and sharp, barely contained anger seeping through his words.

Seonghwa’s glare was fierce, his jaw clenched as he responded, “I told the others that we’re not going back to a life of crime. We agreed to leave that behind. I say we punish Yunho for breaking our new rules.” His voice was cold, unyielding.

Hongjoong fell silent, his expression conflicted, but he didn’t argue.

Your heart plummeted, panic rising in your chest. Yunho... killed someone? And now the leaders were planning to punish him? But what did that even mean? You shuddered at the possibilities, dread coiling tight in your stomach.

You backed away from the door, feeling the world spin around you. It was suddenly hard to breathe, the air feeling heavy and suffocating. Without another thought, you turned and hurried back to your room, your mind racing with fear and confusion.

What were you supposed to do now? What would happen to Yunho? And if they found out you overheard, what would they do to you?

You stared at your reflection in the mirror, your face pale, eyes wide with lingering shock. Your heart was still racing, but you forced yourself to breathe, pushing down the fear and anxiety that threatened to consume you. With practiced precision, you buried your emotions, slipping back into a composed façade.

Your hands moved mechanically as you began undressing, shedding the remnants of the night’s performance in favor of something more comfortable. Just as you reached for a shirt, a sudden knock echoed from your door.

Your heart jumped, panic momentarily flaring before you snapped into action, quickly pulling on the closest set of clothes. You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to appear calm before opening the door.

Standing before you were Yunho. His expression was neutral, unreadable, his tall frame leaning casually against the doorframe.

“Oh! I thought you were Jongho... I completely forgot to see him after my shift,” you blurted out, your voice rushed as you tried to mask your nerves.

Yunho’s brow furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Unnecessary details,” he replied bluntly, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at you. There was no hint of warmth in his voice, just cold indifference.

You swallowed, trying to keep your composure. Every word from his mouth echoed in your mind, mingling with what you had just overheard. You couldn’t help but wonder—did he know? Did he suspect you had heard everything?

“What... what brings you here?” you asked, fighting to keep your voice steady, hoping he couldn’t sense your fear.

“Did you make money tonight? I need to pay Hongjoong back,” Yunho asked, his voice calm but firm, his eyes coldly scanning the room.

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of Hongjoong, the memory of his conversation with Seonghwa flashing through your mind. You felt a lump form in your throat but forced yourself to stay composed.

“Y-Yeah... I made over $500 tonight,” you stammered, your voice barely steady. Not wanting to provoke his impatience, you quickly moved across the room to where you’d stashed your earnings.

Your fingers fumbled slightly as you retrieved the cash, the weight of his gaze heavy on your back. Turning around, you saw his eyes fixed on you, unblinking and expectant.

You took a few steps toward him, holding out the money. “Here. This is everything I made tonight.”

Yunho’s eyes flicked down to the cash before reaching out, his fingers brushing against yours as he took the bills from your hand. His expression remained unreadable, his demeanor cool and detached as he began counting the money.

You watched him in silence, your heart racing as you waited for his reaction, unsure of what he would do next.

Yunho’s eyes lingered on the cash for a moment before he tucked it into his pocket. “I’ll be right back,” he said curtly, his voice giving nothing away as he turned and left the room.

Your chest tightened with worry, the memory of Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s conversation echoing in your mind. You couldn’t just sit back and wait.

Quietly, you slipped out of your room, trailing behind Yunho at a safe distance. You kept your footsteps light, your body pressed against the walls as you moved through the dimly lit hallway. The air felt colder, the silence unsettling as you watched him approach Hongjoong’s office.

He knocked once before entering, the door clicking shut behind him. You crept closer, your heart pounding as you leaned in, pressing your ear to the door.

Muffled voices filtered through, their tones low and serious. You could barely make out Hongjoong’s voice, cold and commanding, followed by Yunho’s calm but measured replies.

Your breath caught as the conversation grew more intense, the tension palpable even through the thick wood of the door. You pressed closer, desperately trying to hear more, hoping that Yunho would make it out unscathed.

Suddenly, the voices stopped. Your blood ran cold, panic flaring as you realized the room had gone completely silent. You held your breath, frozen in place, waiting to see what would happen next.

You pressed yourself closer to the door, heart pounding as the conversation grew clearer.

“Yunho,” Hongjoong’s voice was cold, his tone laced with disappointment. “Seonghwa and I know about your little incident earlier. You do realize we agreed—no more of this. We’re not allowed to get involved in these crimes again... not after what happened last time. It almost got Seonghwa killed.”

There was a heavy pause, the weight of Hongjoong’s words sinking in. Through the door, you could feel the tension radiating from the room.

Yunho let out a sigh, his voice quieter as he replied, “I... I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” There was a genuine remorse in his tone, but you could also hear the frustration buried beneath it.

The room went silent again before Hongjoong’s voice cut through, his words cold but calm. “Look, we’re not going to do anything drastic... but you could lose your title for this. We made rules for a reason. If you can’t follow them, you don’t deserve the position you have.”

You could almost picture the scene: Hongjoong’s eyes locked on Yunho, his presence imposing and unwavering. There was the sound of a chair scraping against the floor, and you realized Hongjoong had stood up.

The air grew heavy, your chest tightening as you heard his footsteps approach Yunho. “We can’t afford any more mistakes,” Hongjoong continued, his voice low. “Get your act together... or I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Your blood ran cold, your hands trembling as you clung to the door. You knew Yunho was in trouble, and if Hongjoong was serious, things could get a lot worse. You held your breath, waiting to see how Yunho would respond.

“Yes, boss,” Yunho’s voice was subdued, obedient, his defiance seemingly extinguished. You heard footsteps approaching the door, and your heart leapt in panic.

Without wasting another second, you darted away from the door, hurrying back to your room as quietly as possible. You slipped inside, shutting the door softly behind you, your heart pounding in your chest.

Sitting on your bed, you tried to catch your breath, your mind racing with everything you’d just heard. You couldn’t shake the coldness in Hongjoong’s voice, the threat lingering ominously. What would happen to Yunho now? And if they found out you were eavesdropping...

A sharp knock on your door snapped you out of your thoughts. Your heart jumped, panic briefly flashing through you. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself before calling out, “Come in.”

The door opened, and to your surprise, it was Jongho who stepped inside. He closed the door behind him, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp as they locked onto you.

“Oh!” you blurted out, guilt from spying on Yunho and Hongjoong still fresh in your mind. You quickly composed yourself, remembering why he was here. “Oh, right... my allowance...” you muttered under your breath, feeling slightly embarrassed for forgetting.

Jongho raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk playing on his lips as he approached you. “Did you have a good night at work?” he asked, his tone casual, but his eyes seemed to be searching for something, observing you closely.

You nodded, keeping your response brief, the tension from earlier still weighing heavily on you. Jongho stood over you, his presence imposing as his eyes lingered on you, his expression unreadable.

Before he could say anything, another knock interrupted the moment. You sighed, the fatigue and anxiety catching up to you as you turned your head toward the door. Jongho’s eyes narrowed, annoyance flickering across his face as he looked over, clearly displeased by the interruption.

The door creaked open, and Yunho stood there, his face void of emotion, his eyes flicking between you and Jongho. The tension in the room grew heavy, the air thickening as the two men stared each other down.

“It was my turn tonight,” Jongho snapped, his irritation evident as he crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing at Yunho. His posture was firm, claiming his authority without hesitation.

Yunho’s jaw tightened, his eyes hardening as he stood his ground. “We both share her,” he retorted coldly, his voice laced with defiance. “And if anything, I was already about to fuck her... I just had to pay Hongjoong back first.”

Your heart skipped a beat, your face flushing a deep shade of red as their words sank in. Their bluntness left no room for misinterpretation, and the realization hit you hard—they were both in the mood, and they both wanted you tonight.

You swallowed, the tension between them palpable as they stood on either side of you, their eyes flicking to you before returning to each other. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, your mind spinning as you processed the situation.

Jongho’s eyes narrowed, his irritation turning into something darker, his stance unwavering as he stepped closer, his gaze never leaving Yunho. “You had her last time. Tonight, she’s mine.” His voice was firm, possessive, his authority undeniable.

Yunho’s lips curled into a mocking smirk; his demeanor calm but his eyes flashing with challenge. “That’s not how it works, Jongho. We agreed to share, remember?” His tone was taunting, his posture relaxed but his intent unmistakable.

Caught between them, you could feel the tension crackling in the air, their rivalry intensifying right in front of you. Your pulse quickened; your body frozen as you realized you were the center of their standoff.

"Fine. you are so damn greedy now." Jongho hisses. "You can go after me." He finished as he starts lifting your shirt up exposing your skin. You just sat there in shock flickering your eyes on both of them.

"I am not going after you." Yunho glares at Jongho. Jongho smirks pulling you onto his lap. "We are sharing her tonight." Yunho's voice got deeper. You look into Jongho's eyes nervously feeling your face heat up. You shifted on Jongho's lap trying to sit more comfortably until you felt Yunho's hands travel up your body, snaking over your neck caressing your cheeks. You soon started leaning towards Jongho to kiss him, Jongho's lips crashed into yours as you both started making out.

You felt Yunho removing the rest of your clothes off, exposing your entire body to both of them. Jongho was the first to pull away and reattach his lips onto your neck sucking and kissing the skin. You moaned and slowly started moving your hips on Jongho grinding on him. Jongho groaned at the feeling, gripping your waist to keep you moving on him.

"She is so fucking needy." Jongho teased looking up at Yunho. "She is already soaking." Jongho let go of your neck and waist pushing you off causing you to whine. Yunho smirked and immediately pulled you onto his lap.

"Is that so?" Yunho smirked whispering and nipping on your earlobe. You nod softly as Yunho re-adjusts his position underneath you and places both of his hands on your breasts, squeezing them as they were stress balls. You whimpered at the feeling, Yunho smirking at your reactions. Yunho resting his chin on your shoulder as he continues to play with your breasts, squeezing and rubbing them.

Jongho on the other hand was now unzipping his pants, pulling his cock out. Yunho groaned as you started shifting on his lap softly grinding on his crotch.

"Fuck, you are needy." Yunho hisses. You hum in response. "Okay stop teasing me Y/N." Yunho throws you off of him and pins you on the bed.

"So, who is taking what tonight?" Jongho asks. Yunho sighs, looking down at you.

"Actually, I will take her mouth. I want to see her pretty face as I fuck her." Jongho smirks. Yunho nods just accepting it. Yunho flips you over and forces you on your knees as he stands behind you. You watch Jongho go over you and kneel down in front of you.

Yunho slides his hand over in between your folds rubbing two fingers back and forth before doing anything else. You immediately start moaning trying to close your legs together but his other hand grips one thigh to keep them open.

"Yunho!" You moan trying to stay calm, but you can't. Soon Jongho grips your face and presses his tip against your lips forcing himself in. Your eyes started watering but kept moaning and now gagging.

"Fuck..." Jongho curses now gripping ahold of your hair holding it up. You felt Jongho's cock twitch inside your mouth and soon you felt Yunho's hand leave, being replaced with his cock. You felt your insides go into knots as Yunho shoved himself deep inside you.

"She is completely wet..." Yunho breathing got heavy as he slowly started thrusting in and out of you.

"She is enjoying this too much." Jongho groans. You feel Jongho's tip hit the back of your throat causing you to gag and cough out.

"Too much to handle?" Jongho looks down at you keeping himself deep inside your throat. You look up at him feeling completely dizzy, eyes tearing up and you moan louder sending vibrations against Jongho's cock as Yunho slams harder into you. You felt your legs going numb as you kept trying to hold yourself up.

"Stop shaking like a weak scared puppy." Yunho groans and grips your waist tightly, sure to leave bruises tomorrow. You moan out and immediately pull away from Jongho's cock. Drool and saliva stick to your bottom lip and the tip of his cock as you moan loudly from the pleasure Yunho is giving you.

"Fucking bitch." Jongho snaps pulling your hair back and slamming himself back into your mouth. You have no chance to breath or moan. You try to grab ahold of jongho's thighs trying to hold on. Jongho pushes your head deeper, soon you started swirling your tongue around his shaft.

"Fuck I am close..." Jongho curses. Yunho groans bucking his hips into you. Wasn't very long until Jongho came right inside your mouth. Yunho on the other hand was still fucking you and Jongho finally pulled his cock out as he looked down at you leaning towards you.

"Make sure you swallow it all." Jongho speaks as you try to. Your nose scrunches up, but you just obey his order and continue moaning. Yunho hisses as you feel his cock twitch inside you.

"Fuck..." He curses as he releases inside you. You heavily breath out, chest puffing in and out as you try to catch your breath. You whine as Yunho pulls out of you.

"She is completely fucked." Jongho’s smirk deepened as he reached out, his fingers gripping your chin, tilting your face up toward him.

His touch was firm, commanding, yet there was a certain level of control behind it. Your breath hitched, your body tense under his intense gaze. Your eyes were clouded with exhaustion, struggling to stay open after the long night. Everything felt hazy.

"Look at me," Jongho murmured, his voice low but demanding. His thumb brushed over your cheek, his smirk never fading. "I think I can do another round with her." Jongho hums looking into your eyes.

"We can swap places this time. I want to see her pretty face now." Yunho gets up switching sides with Jongho. You felt completely weak and didn't think you could handle a 2nd round with both of them.

You looked at Yunho completely tired. He leans down towards you sitting on his knees.

"You are doing a good job tonight..." Yunho hums caressing your face. You shifted on your knees looking into his eyes blushing as his compliment.

Very soon you felt Jongho slam deep into you causing you to cry out. Your arms gave up and immediately fell onto Yunho's lap feeling over stimulated inside.

"Get up." Yunho picks your face up harshly squeezing your face. You look up at him moaning once again as Jongho grips your waist, pounding into you.

"Jongho!" You moan loudly out gripping onto Yunho's thighs, digging your nails into them looking up at Yunho. Yunho smirked as he presses his cock against your lips. You leave a soft lick against the tip, moaning against it.

"Fuck." Yunho hisses at the feeling. You feel your insides completely melting.

"I don't even think you can fit me in your mouth..." Yunho hums as you continue licking and moaning against him.

"Hm? Got nothing to say?" Yunho smirks. You turn your head to the side but immediately get turned back towards Yunho. He grips your face harshly causing you to whine.

"I bet she is enjoying this." Jongho groans. Yunho nods in agreement as he sits up and pushes himself down your throat. You immediately cough at the feeling of it hitting the back of your throat. You try to swirl your tongue around the shaft as Yunho starts bucking his hips into your throat.

"Fuck. Y/N." Yunho groans throwing his head back as he continues. "She definitely is..." He grips ahold of your hair biting his lower lip.

"She is taking us very well... She deserves a great allowance this week." Jongho readjusts himself before slamming back into you. You were soaked and messy all over.

"I am close again..." Jongho moaned as his thrusts got sloppier, you soon felt another release inside you. Yunho was still fucking you and not very long until he came inside your mouth as well.

"Make sure you swallow it..." Yunho huffs out as he pulls himself out. You nod and try your best feeling completely wrecked and messy.

"I... Can't do anymore..." You whimper feeling your body tremble as you fell onto Yunho's lap after the sessions.

"You did amazing tonight..." Yunho caresses your face, and you can tell they were satisfied with you.

"You need to take a shower and get ready for bed. We will pay you later." Jongho helps you up from Yunho's lap and you nod slightly leaning against Jongho completely exhausted.

"We might need to help her take a shower." Jongho laughs at how weak you are now.

"N-No. I can do it." You huff out pushing yourself up and grabbing clothes to take a shower.

After your shower, you rushed straight to bed, exhaustion weighing down on you. The moment your head hit the pillow, your body relaxed, ready to finally drift into much-needed sleep. But before you could completely unwind, the door creaked open.

Jongho.

You groaned, pulling the blanket up slightly. “Please… I’m too tired. No more,” you whined, your voice muffled against the pillow.

To your surprise, Jongho chuckled. “No, I’m not here for that,” he reassured you, his tone unusually light. “I wanted to give you a gift… along with your allowance.”

That caught your attention. You peeked up at him curiously as he approached your bedside, his usual confident expression softening ever so slightly.

“I was going to do it earlier,” he continued, irritation flashing across his face, “but Yunho interrupted.” His annoyance was evident, but he quickly shook it off, reaching into a bag.

“Don’t tell or show the others I got you this,” he muttered, almost embarrassed as he pulled out a plush teddy bear. The sight of it was almost comical in his hands, so out of place for someone like him. He looked almost… defeated, as if giving it to you made him feel exposed in a way he wasn’t used to.

Your heart warmed at the gesture. A small, genuine smile formed on your lips as you reached for the plush, hugging it tightly against your chest. “It’s very cute. Thank you, Jongho…” you murmured, your voice soft as you nestled into the comfort of the gift.

Jongho cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the moment stretching on. “Anyways… goodnight, Y/N,” he said quickly before turning to leave, his usual composed self-cracking just slightly.

As the door shut behind him, you buried your face into the plush bear, a rare sense of comfort washing over you. With a deep breath, you finally allowed sleep to take over, the tension of the night fading away.

•

DIES.

(Nothing else. No Notes. Sorry y'all I am a true freak.)

#ateez smut #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #jongho fanfic #jongho x reader #jongho smut #choi jongho x reader #yunho fanfic #yunho x reader #yunho smut #ateez yunho x reader #ateez jongho x reader

158 notes · View notes

mashkatzi · 23 hours ago

Text

Luigi taking care of you on your period (FLUFF)

a/n - agh sorry this took me so long guyss. This is based on this ask - hope you enjoy anon! <3 Also i was listening to Pink Matter by Frank Ocean on repeat whilst writing this so do with that information as you wish… maybe this is a little self indulgent maybe not. Anyways enjoy my loves x

It’s the second day of your period, always the worst. You’re lying on the floor in your living room, curled up in a foetal position, trying your hardest to make the pain go away. You roll onto your knees and bend forward, resting your head between your thighs, hands planted flat on the floor in front of you. You rack your brain, trying to remember the position that’s supposed to help ease period cramps, according to a women's health article you read months ago. You let out a frustrated huff. Nothing is making the pain subside.

“Still painful?”

Luigi looks down at you from the sofa. His laptop rests on his thighs, illuminating his face. The glasses perched on his nose reflect the screen, displaying some program he’s been working on for the past few weeks.

“Yeeessss,” you draw out.

“Come, let’s cuddle. Maybe it’ll help,” he says, reaching out an arm and placing a comforting hand on your back. He rubs up and down. His hands are big and warm.

One thing about Luigi—he’s always warm. Even when it’s cold, he’s warm. You, on the other hand, always run cold. You love cuddling up to him, soaking in his body heat, nuzzling your head into his chest while his big hands roam over you. Your own personal heater.

The thought of curling into his warm body is inviting, but the thought of actually getting up to move is not. You turn your head to look at him and flash a smile.

“Hm, that would be nice,” you reply.

“Yeah?” Luigi smiles back, shutting his laptop and placing it on the table next to him. He stands up, stepping over your body. You straighten your back, sit up on your knees, and lift your arms toward him—much like a baby wanting to be picked up. He stands in front of you and reaches down, grabbing you under your arms and lifting you effortlessly. You wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. His hands settle on your plush ass, squeezing it through your sweats. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck, and he giggles. His stubble is scratchy against your face.

“Let’s go,” he states.

“Where are we going?” you giggle back, already feeling more relaxed.

I suppose it's true what they say about happy hormones. Some people exercise, others use drugs to experience a rush of endorphins, but for you, happiness is Luigi. He will always be your happy space.

“The bedroom. I promise it’ll be more comfy, baby,” he assures you, carrying you down the hall toward your room.

He opens the door to your shared bedroom, revealing a mess—an unmade bed, sheets disheveled. Luigi tries his best to quickly neaten the sheets with one hand while the other rests on your lower back, supporting you. Once satisfied, he drops both himself and you onto the bed.

His back rests against the headboard as you shift, getting comfortable in his lap, head against his chest, legs bent into yourself. One arm hooks under your knees, the other drapes around your waist. His fingers fiddle with the fabric of your top.

“This okay?” he asks while scanning your face, checking that you’re comfortable. He’s always been able to read you like a book, picking up on the slightest changes in your expression and knowing how you’re feeling, what you’re thinking.

“Perfect,” you reply, nuzzling further into him. You feel his body relax into yours, satisfied that he’s doing his job to help ease your pain.

“You know, this would feel so much better if we were both naked,” he smirks.

You let out a breathy laugh. Surely, he’s joking.

“No, babe, I’m serious. I read this article about skin-to-skin contact and how it helps when you’re in pain or distress.” Luigi starts listing off the reasons why skin-to-skin contact will help alleviate your pain, rambling about hormones and pain receptors. Even though both of his hands are on you, his fingers move in sync with his words. His eyebrows lift and fall, his blinking becomes more intense as he recalls the information.

God, you love this nerdy man.

“—so then your brain sends signals to your pain receptors and—”

Before he can continue, you place a gentle hand over his mouth. He’s brought back down to Earth, and you feel his lips curve into a smile under your palm.

“Okay, doctor. I’ll get naked,” you say with a teasing smile.

Luigi’s cheeks flush red. He always gets shy and embarrassed when he realizes he’s been rambling. You feel slightly guilty for cutting him off, so before you do anything else, you reassure him.

“I love how much you care about me, my love. Really, I do.”

His expression softens upon hearing your words. You place a small kiss on the tip of his nose before climbing off his body. You feel another cramp, the dull ache making you wince. You rest a hand on your stomach as you walk toward the bathroom, aware of Luigi’s eyes trailing after you, watching the way your hips sway.

In the bathroom, you undress but decide to keep your bra and underwear on. You take a quick glance in the mirror. Your hair is a tangled mess, heavy bags hang under your eyes, and hormonal acne peppers your lower jaw. But regardless of how unattractive you might feel, Luigi always looks at you like you’re the most beautiful girl, never failing to shower you with compliments and uplift you when you talk down on yourself. You smile at your reflection, then turn and walk back toward the bedroom.

The bedroom door is open, and you see Luigi standing before the bed in nothing but his boxers, removing his sweater. His sweats are in a pile on the floor, and his glasses are folded neatly on the vanity. You pause at the doorway, leaning against the frame, arms crossed, watching him for a moment.

His body is on full display, his chest and abs look as though they’ve been chiseled into stone. The muscles in his arms flex as he haphazardly throws his sweater onto a chair. He notices you staring at him and smirks, dimples appearing. You feel warmth rush to your face, embarrassed that you've been caught staring.

His lips spread into a wide grin, his dimples appearing. He swells with a sense of pride. Luigi prides himself on his work ethic. He puts his all into whatever he does, and you admire him for that. His body for starters, due to his back pain he was unable to work out for a while, but you watched him through the endless hours of research and trial and error as he found a routine that worked for him. You slowly began to see the changes, the lines appearing on his abs the way his arms began to fill out his shirt sleeves, the way his leg muscles flex as he walks. You always make sure to point out the changes and to shower him with compliments, to make sure that he knows he looks good, even when he thinks he doesn’t.

“You gonna stand there and stare, or are you going to join me?” Luigi teases, slipping back under the covers.

You push off the frame and walk toward the bed. Luigi lifts a corner of the blanket, inviting you back in. Sliding in, you shuffle all the way under the duvet, leaving only your head poking out. Luigi chuckles, flashing you a boyish grin as he reaches for you under the blanket, gripping your hips and dragging you toward him.

“Come here,” he laughs.

Your almost-naked bodies tangle together as his muscular arms envelop you. His warmth seeps into your skin. You rest your head in the crook of his neck, his natural musk filling the air around you. You feel your whole being swallowed by his. The pure intimacy of it all makes your brain feel fuzzy.

You look up to place a peck on his lips, but he stops you with two fingers under your chin, before you can pull away. His lips meet yours, lingering for a moment before he pulls away, satisfied.

“See? Naked is much better,” he muses.

“Way better,” you agree with a smile, settling against him once more.

And in that moment, wrapped in Luigi’s warmth, you feel completely at peace.

One of his hands snakes upward, stroking your hair so tenderly. You let out a satisfied hum to let him know you’re enjoying it.

You close your eyes and stay this way for a while, listening to Luigi breathe, his chest rising and falling beneath you. You match your breathing to his, savoring his company and the intimacy of the moment.

Luigi breaks the silence. “Feeling any better, sweet girl?”

“A little. I still feel kinda stiff,” you respond, wrapping your legs tighter around his body. You feel another cramp, this time in your back, and immediately stiffen against him.

“Another cramp, baby?” Luigi asks, feeling you tense. “Want me to rub your back? Maybe it’ll help, huh?” He waits for your response, shifting slightly to look at your face.

You look up at him, catching his gaze. “No, Lui, let's just stay like this,” you whisper into his ear. “I’m comfortable,” you assure him, the feeling of guilt lingers, he had pulled away from his work just to cuddle with you. Still, you can’t deny how enticing the thought of a massage from Luigi sounds.

“Wait, I can try one of those massage techniques I read about! Remember I was telling you? They helped me, maybe they’ll help you too. Here, baby, just spin around, lay on your belly.” He gently maneuvers your body under the duvet until you're lying face down on the bed. “Comfy?” he asks.

You adjust slightly, wiggling into a comfortable position. “Yeah, but baby, I promise you don’t have to—”

Before you can finish, Luigi cuts you off. “Come on, just let me take care of you,” he retorts, flashing you a small smile you can’t resist. He moves to sit next to you on the bed, the blanket draped over his lower half.

“Okay, fine,” you huff playfully, smiling up at him. He slowly pulls the blanket down, exposing your bare back.

Luigi places his palms on your lower back, moving them up and down the length of your spine a few times, applying deep pressure. You close your eyes and let out a small groan, his touch offers immediate relief.

He then presses small circles into your lower back with his fingers, repeating the motion as he slowly works his way up to your shoulder blades. Then, he moves back down, making slight changes to the motions, checking in with you every so often. All you can manage in response is another groan, the relief is so satisfying you struggle to find the words.

Above you, Luigi chuckles. “Damn, my hands are like magic, huh, baby?” You can picture the way he’s smiling. This is his love language, acts of service. Luigi always has a solution to your problems, and if he doesn’t, he’ll find one. God, what have you done to deserve such a man? You catch yourself thinking this multiple times a day.

“Hmm, whatever you say, babe,” you tease, giggling, jokingly downplaying just how much the massage is helping.

Luigi continues, gradually easing the pressure until his touches are featherlight. You feel yourself slipping into slumber, lulled by his gentle touch. At some point, you drift off, vaguely aware of Luigi wrapping you in his arms before sleep fully takes over.

When you wake, the sun is beginning to set, its warm glow spilling through the window. You aren’t sure how long you were asleep, but you’re no longer wrapped in Luigi’s arms. You still feel his lingering warmth and reach out, scanning the bed with your hand, searching for him. Your hand finds his thigh, and you open your eyes to see him, still shirtless, sitting up in bed with his laptop perched on his lap, fingers furiously typing away, completely engrossed in his work.

“Luigi?” Your voice is croaky from sleep. You crane your neck to look at him.

“Hey, baby, sorry, did I wake you?” he asks, shutting his laptop and placing it on the floor. “Was the typing too loud?”

“No, not at all. Hmm… I think I’m hungry,” you murmur, rubbing your hand up and down his thigh. You stretch under the blanket, letting out a satisfied groan.

“You still feel any pain?” Luigi asks, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, then your lips. You playfully jut your tongue out slightly before he pulls away, he makes a face of mock disgust. You chuckle.

“No, the massage worked. Thank you for that, my love,” you reply.

Luigi looks at you, tilting his head as he admires you for a moment, his eyes full of love and adoration. You meet his gaze, offering a small smile. Silent "I love you’s" pass between you before Luigi takes a sharp inhale. He slides off the bed. “Hey, let me get us something to eat. You want anything in particular?” He reaches for his sweats, pulling them on before tossing you his sweater.

“Oh, Lu, you’ve already done so much. Let me make us something,” you offer, sitting up and pulling his sweater over your head.

He glares playfully before smiling. “Absolutely not. What did I say earlier? Let me take care of you!”

“Okay, okay, you can cook.” Secretly, you're relieved. Between the two of you, Luigi is by far the better cook. He spent years perfecting old family recipes while in college, tweaking the recipes with tricks he picked up from cookbooks and online videos.

“Maybe I’ll make carbonara… Oh, wait, actually, I’m kinda craving risotto. It’s warm, and it’ll help you feel a bit better.” Luigi extends a hand to you, and you slip out of bed, walking hand in hand toward the kitchen.

You smooth your hair back and head to the sink to wash your hands while Luigi opens the fridge, pulling out ingredients for his famous risotto. He grabs a knife and begins dicing an onion with practiced ease. You push yourself up onto the counter, admiring his smooth knife skills.

The two of you stay like this, Luigi moving around the kitchen, preparing your meal, while you sit and drink him in. As he cooks, he starts explaining the small tweaks he made to his family’s traditional recipe. Originally, the onions were fried in butter, but he found olive oil to be a better alternative. He carries on rambling about the benefits of oil while you sit, listening to his nerdy ramblings.

Once the risotto is ready, Luigi carries two plates into the living room. You trail behind, carrying two glasses of water. He sets the food down, and you settle beside him on the couch. After eating, the evening unfolds in comfortable warmth, cuddling, talking, and laughing about everything and nothing.

“I love you so much, you know that?” you tell him, pressing your forehead against his.

“I know baby, I love you too,” he whispers, pressing the softest kiss to your lips

#luigi mangione thoughts #luigi mangione x reader #luigi thoughts #luigi mangione fluff #luigi mangione x yn #if you don’t like this please keep scrolling :)

128 notes · View notes

bnyf · 16 hours ago

Text

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ#1 crush ♡

╭﹕୨୧﹒yandere male elf x female human reader ♡

┊ warnings : yandere content and themes, unhealthy behaviors, relationship and relationship dynamic, sexual content, noncon, kidnapping, size difference, strange dynamic.

╰﹕୨୧﹒authoress note : after receiving some unwanted but much needed criticism i've tried my hand at writing a little better and fixing errors. i apologize in advance if there's any errors or gaps in my writing, i also apologize for the messed up story that this is. ik some people don't like the way i write the reader but like??? idgaf sorry anyways other than that, i hope you guys enjoy, please read the warnings and proceed with caution <3 i would also like to say that this post is kinda inspired by a very popular yandere artist on here with a male elf oc

what a treacherous fate had befallen on a vitreous soul such as yourself.

it truly is unfortunate, you're so unlucky. how could your luck have run so low? to think, this everyday mundane routine would now be your nightmarish reality was stomach wrenching. you never did anything to deserve this, this was simply some sort of faulty by the gods, right? there's no way this is your horrible ending. no way.

you sobbed and yet... he hummed and chastised you by smacking your puffy clitorous.

it's always like this, it's been like this for...? a while now apparently. you've completely lost track of time. maybe a month or so if you're playing the guessing game.

well, if it wasn't obvious already, you've been taken hostage by an insane elven prince. probably the most insanely angelic, good-looking, prettiest and sick minded male you've ever met.

he really needs professional help. something that he can more than afford considering his house is almost made of gold, his herculean physique adored and draped only with the most expensive clothes, jewels, silks, soaps and scented creams and perfumes. his perfume, so extravagant, worth more than your vital organs all put together. that was the part you admired about elven people, they are so intelligent, so ahead of humans.

but to him? therapy is cheap and free! you're the first ever human he's laid eyes on and that's all he really needs. and really, you're the one to blame for his actions. it's all you. so you should take responsibility, right?

he's sought out humans before, trying to break the barrier between the two worlds and connect with them. he was damn near obsessed with coming into contact with the human realm and ruling over them like a god despite the fact that any sort of magic that threatens to break the barrier and connect the realms or offer passage through the two realms is absolutely forbidden. this is such a serious offense that if caught violating, can lead to public execution.

but your little caregiver did not! give one flying hoot at all, nor did the rules really even apply to royals as the royals participated in a lot of magical corruption and kept it all on the low.

so what a surprise! not really that he'd succeed in his conquest. not entirely since he'd only manage to bring one human to the elven realm, but now he knows for sure he's making great progress. and not only succeed in getting a nitty gritty palms on any human, but such a cute little human female like yourself.

humans are a lot more fragile, smaller, weaker, lesser intelligent beings, almost like a sub species from elves. so that's why you must be taken care of with so much extra love and attentiveness. all this was his reasoning for treating you like a minor being, enabling you and excuses for his weird kinks.

there was no way you'd ever dream of over powering him, not when a large veiny arm wrapped so tightly around your wrists, holding it behind your back, and the other with it's slender long digits effortlessly reaching your g spot.

it was 'bath time' or whatever, which called for a thorough inspection and cleanse. or just another excuse to use your body to his likings.

his tongue lap at your folds and clit, moaning in delight and relishing in all your juices spraying him. his voice muffled by your pussy, making wet sounds as he attempts to praise your gorgeous body: all of which sounds like incohesive unhinged, obsessive rambling of course.

if you ignore this scene and focus on other small things around you maybe you can, somewhat imagine yourself having a luxurious warm bath in the tub, with flowers and scented stuff in the water, scented candles creating a relaxing atmosphere, marvelous one-sided glass view... maybe not the one-sided glass view that's actually a little too scary to think about but yeah, you're having a nice little bath.

the most relaxing bath in the most prettiest and pearliest tiled bathroom you've ever been in.

your insides contorts though and you find yourself coming again undone on those perfectly manicured fingers of his, messing up his perfect face with your essence. your voice is loud and echoes throughout the bathroom, all the way into the bedroom and closet but never enough to each anyone's ears as he's casted multiple protective barrier spells to keep your presence unknown from other elven people. you've came like 5 times already and he won't let you rest, getting high off your pussy juices.

"poor baby, you look so tired, shhh don't worry~ mama will take care of everything, just relax and be good for me, okay? it'll all be over soon, my darling ^ mama will get you all cleaned up and dressed, right after this..." you wish you had the energy to welp out an 'ewwwwww da fuck?!' right about now but you were so weak and constantly sedated. you felt helpless as his bulbous tip hits your pussy, rubbing it back and forth to coat and lubricate himself with your juices. he leisurely teases, making your hole spasm and grasp around nothing, your body reacting in a lovely manner to his advances.

he licks his lips, only putting the tip in before quickly pulling back out. taking his time cause he wants to drive you insane like him. and luckily for him, his mind games always work so well.

his precum leaking and smearing you in the process as he rubs his whole length, measuring your pelvic area with his cock length and soon putting it in to see how far it'll actually go.

you almost blacked out. even though he prepped you well for this it still stings, he's just too big. and you? way too tight, squeezing him like you want every last drop of his seed, has him shivering and grunting in the process.

"fck- you're so tight, baby ngh~"

has him seeing stars and by the time he's balls deep in you and hitting the tip of your womb, you're a drooling and moaning mess. can't even control his obsessive thoughts from spilling out his mouth, he immediately gets to work on those hips too like a wild animal, only sparing a few seconds to sloppily kiss you and slap your thick behind.

it only takes a few minutes before he breaks his load inside you and shifts you into another position, manhandling you and roughing you up like a meat toilet, all for his own enjoyment and pleasure.

his long silky hair tickling your skin. when you think about it, he's so masculine with many feminine traits too, like the perfect balance actually and it is to be expected from an elf. he always wants to be in control, always wants to take care of you like a god watching over his creation. it sorta overlaps with him calling himself your mama but it makes sense in a way. he doesn't see himself as a woman in any sort of way, he just wants unrestricted authority over you.

your tears stream down your cheeks which he licks away and kisses, it only hurts your head trying to rationalize this or even understand it, your vision goes all blurry and for the next few rounds, your in and out of consciousness while being filled.

when you're awake again, you're draped in silk half naked and powdered up, you feel your caretakers strong arms wrapped around you, spooning you as rubs circles into your skin. he's also half naked with nothing but a cloth draped around himself. you both lay on a soft layered bed with many squishy pillows and blankies. fruits, steam veggies and grilled meat laid out on a silver tray for you to enjoy, though your stomach was filled with his cum.

#yandere x reader #male yandere #male yandere x reader #yandere #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere male #yandere oc #yandere writing #yandere x y/n #yandere blog #yandere boys #yandere elf #yandere smut #yandere drabble #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere fantasy

81 notes · View notes

nanamisgirly · 23 hours ago

Text

PLEASE, STAY

↪ ( ˶ a part of you wants to scream that yes, you did care. you still do. that you were just too afraid to stay. but you do none of that. instead, you do the only thing you're good at, you walk away. and he lets you. for mere seconds, he lets you leave— again. and then you hear him “don't you fucking do this again.” his voice isn't a plea, it's a command. for a moment, you think that he won't let you go. that maybe—just maybe—he'll grab your wrist, yank you back, force you to deal with this. but he doesn't. because he still wants you to choose him. and you never do.˵ )

pairing ᥫ᭡。richman!Gojo x bodyguard reader. they had a sort of situation ship before.

content ᥫ᭡。fem!reader, no curses au, they're both around 30, smut at the very end, very provocative gojo (?), mean reader ig, a lot of cursing, angst, oral sex, unprotected p in v sex, mention of blood, fights scenes, broken bones, pet name (mostly sweetheart and once baby), sexual tension, slow burn, explicit language, explicit content, power dynamics, military mention (mild ptsd), gun mentions

word count ᥫ᭡。13k

notes ᥫ᭡。this is for my 200 followers 🥹 thank you for all the reblogs they are very very much appreciated!! I didn't know where I was going with this fic lmao, I just hope that some of you will enjoy reading it! I'm always open to feed back :))) be mindful this is my first long (?) fic, I threw some stuff together and hoped for the best oops

you were assigned to gojo saturo. of all the men you could possibly protect, it had to be him— you're ex-friend with benefits.

you sat across from him at a table that probably cost more than your entire apartement, fingers twitching under the weight of irritation. the upscale place was dimly lit, the kind meant for quiet luxury.

“you both understood?” your superior asked, sharp gaze flickering between the two of you. Gojo grinned, the same playful smirk on his annoyingly handsome face. the past nine years had only done him favors, he'd grown taller— making him tall like a damn tower— his features sharper, his frame broader. 'maybe he'd been training' you thought. ‘or it’s just life sculpting him into something even more irritatingly perfect.'

you left him when things started to be serious. back then, Gojo had some difficulties to understand he was just a sex friend. but it didn't really matter, you had to leave for the military anyway.

for a long time, you didn't want to process feelings, attachments— that was just bullshit. and now, nine years later, somehow, you were right back where you started.

you retired from the military after sustaining severe injuries. but you still craved the thrill— fights, missions, the adrenaline rush. it kept you on track. like drugs, you were addicted. so you became a sort of bodyguard. over the years, you had protected royals, rich heirs, celebrities— anyone with a target on their back. it owned you the reputation as being the best in your field. you were ruthless, cold-blooded, killing without hesitation if needed.

your face remained stoic, your gaze locked onto gojo as he held yours. “yeah, got it. babysit the rich brat until the gala's over.” you mocked, leaning back against the chair.

satoru chuckled, he couldn't help but tease you “oh, come on now. you make it sound so boring” tilting his head like a cat toying with its prey. “i thought you'd be happy to spend some time with an old friend”

you scoffed. “friend is a strong word, Gojo” that response only fueled his mischief. “you're right” he crosses his arms as he continues “we were never just friends” insufferable brat. “i'm here to do my job. nothing more” you said without a hint of emotion in your tone, fixing him with a glare that should've shut him up.

it didn't.

his piercing blue eyes gleamed with amusement “of course, sweetie," he purred, resting his elbows on the table, leaning in “just admit you missed seeing my beautiful face.”

you exhaled sharply, already exhausted 'maybe a small knife pressed against his throat wouldn't hurt— just a little warning.'

“what i miss, is protecting some quiet person who knows their limits and let me do my damn job in peace. this, is what i truly miss”. Gojo hummed, shamelessly dragging his gaze over you “personally, i missed that sharp tongue of yours.”

“alright, enough,” your superior cut in, his tone serious— a clear warning that he had no patience for the ridiculous back-and-forth between you two. “stay close at all times. there are threats left and right against him leading up to the gala.” he turned his attention to gojo “you don't act up, and you listen to whatever she tells you.” the rich man was clearly enjoying himself “don't worry, i love when she bosses me around” he winked at you before standing up and leaving the restaurant. like this was all a game to him.

your superior exhaled heavily, already bracing for the headache to come. then, he dropped the next bomb. “you need to stay at his place.”

you try your best to keep a straight face. “what?”

“gojo is already informed. you're moving in tonight.” and with that, he left the table, leaving you seething.

your fist met with the surface with a dull thud. “damn it,” you muttered, frustration curling hot in your chest.

this is going to be a long, long week.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

you rode to gojo's house, spending the time to talk yourself down. you had spent years perfecting your composure. you had survived war zones, assassinations, and high-profile threats. there was no reason for gojo fucking satoru to get under your skin.

and yet.

his house— no, his mansion— was perched high above the city, a fortress of sleek glass and security. the driveway alone was bigger than some of the safe houses you'd stayed in.

when you pulled up to his gates, the night was well-advanced, the cold biting at your cheeks as you lifted up your helmet. you met some guards at the entrance stating that gojo was expecting you. of course, he was.

the second you stepped through the doors, the place smelled ridiculously expensive. the living room was massive, with a sunken seating area surrounding a glass-enclosed firepit. there are floor-to-celling windows stretched across the space, offering a panoramic view of the glittering cityscape below. a massive, curved staircase led to the second floor, the railings lined with soft, glowing, light strips, guiding the way up.

the place screamed luxury— unapologetically extravagant, but with taste. just like satoru gojo.

you sighed, rolling the tension from your shoulders as you tugged off your gloves. the ride had been long. your muscles ached. your motorbike uniform clung to you, slightly damp with sweat. all you wanted was a shower and some sleep.

“you're so sexy in that uniform” his voice came from above. you looked up to find him leaning against the railing, messy white hair, sleeves rolled up to reveal toned forearms, collarbone peeking through his loose neckline of his shirt.

and that goddamn smirk.

“gojo,” you warned, voice firm. he ignored it entirely, blue eyes twinkling as they dragged over you with zero shame. “seriously, bending you over in it wouldn't be so bad.” your fingers twitched. satoru in all his splendor.

“wouldn't be so bad if i curb-stomped you into the floor.” you respond. gojo restrained a laugh, eyes sparking with mirth. he fucking loved this— pushing your limits. “actually, i wouldn't mind that either” you grit your teeth at the comment. “just show me where my fucking room is."

when you reached him, he let out a dramatic sigh, “not even a little peck before sleep, sweetheart?” you blankly stared at him “alright, no need to look at me with so much love” he ironically says as he turned around, leading you to your room.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

4am. the digital clock glowed dimly as you pounded your fists against the heavy bag. you slept only two hours— which, honestly was decent considering you never slept well. the military had drilled into the art of light, vigilant rest, training you to snap into action as the slightest disturbance. and staying here, with gojo just down the hall, only worsened that already unstable peace.

“fuck it” your fist connected with the training bag, a loud thud echoing through the empty gym. you did a home tour by your own after gojo dropped you to your bedroom— and to your relief, you found a fully equipped training room. exactly what you needed to burn off frustration time to time.

sweats dripped down your temple, muscles burning from exertion as you moved with precision and force, the heavy bag jerking with each impact. your t-shirt had been abandoned long ago—tossed to the side as the heat from training built up—leaving you in nothing but sports bra and low-slung sweatpants.

“gojo, are you going to stay there for long?” you snapped as he stayed put in the doorway, thinking you hadn't noticed him those past fifteen minutes, arms crossed like he had all the time in the world. he grinned, unbothered “was testing if you could notice a threat even while distracted” you snorted “well, now that you oh-so-sweetly reassured yourself, could you fuck off?” your fist slammed onto the bag harder, sending it swinging violently.

you felt gojo's eyes on you, it almost burnt holes on your skin. his eyes darted at the sweat slipping on your back. “damn," his voice was low “i think i prefer you like this— hot, sweaty, breathless.” he insisted on the last word. your eyes flicked to his figure as he took slow steps forward. “i think i like you gone.” he clicked his tongue, tilting his head as if you disappointed him “why always so hostile? i could be way more helpful than that punching ball.”

you were too fucking exhausted for this, your next punch sent the bag flying so violently it nearly knocked over the weight rack. you caught it with one of your wrapped hand, fingers tightening around the worn leather. you exhaled sharply, preparing yourself to face gojo and his bullshit. “i swear satoru—” you stepped closer to him, closing the space between you. only to realize how stupidly tall he was up close. you weren't small but standing like this— with a solid eight inches between you— made you feel very tiny next to him.

“satoru," he repeats “it's been a while since you've said my name. say it again” he leaned in, eyes lazily tracing your lips, the small hairs at the back of your neck sticking to your skin, your full breasts pressed tight against your sports bra. a strong desire lingering in his eyes as he imagined licking every drop of your sweat. he tested your patience “you know,” he murmured “i really love this view.”

and that was it, you had enough. in no time you grabbed him, hooked your arm, and flipped his ass over your shoulder— slamming him onto the floor. before he could react, you were on him, your thighs straddling his hips, your hand wrapped around his throat. gojo eyes widened in shock— he did not expect that. but the surprise was soon enough replaced by a slow curl of his lips.

“fuck,” he chocked out “that was hot, sweetheart.” you tightened your grip around his neck “gojo, you're a fucking perv.” you felt something hard pressing between your legs. “i'm just a man." he lifted his hand, acting innocent "you kept bouncing around that bag, how could i not get some ideas?”

the worst part of all those stuff is that you were turned on by all his teasing. your panties dampened any time he made a comment over the little talk you both had in those past ten hours.

“gojo, you're a total pathetic man,” you mutter rolling your hips down harder, closing your thighs firmly around him just to hurt a little more. his pupils blown wide and his lips part sightly— that fucking bastard was loving it. “y-yeah, pathetic” he chokes out “i- i'm a- a very p-pathetic m-man." your panties were so damn soaked by now as his length presses sinfully against your core. you refuse to acknowledge the feelings, you don't need it, you don't need him, you don't need to go back to him.

you release his throat with a final squeeze, eyes heavy, dragging your fingers down his heavy chest— feeling the hard ridges of muscle tense under your touch, before you push yourself up and off him. you see his hips twitching up, as if he was chasing the missing heat of your pussy. gojo let out a broken— needy whimper, as you adjust your waistband and roll your shoulders back, trying to gather your thoughts. ignoring the aching pulse between your legs.

your feet leading you to the door. you throw one last glance to gojo, you can see his erection straining against his pants from where you stand, aching to be taken care of— gojo's features twisting in desperation. “be ready at eight a.m. We've got recon to do.” and with that, you leave him there, fighting the urge to go back inside and kiss him senseless.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

the ride to the venue is longer than necessary with gojo whom insisted on riding with you. you should have known better than accepting his demand. he can not keep his hand to himself.

at first, his hands rested innocently on your stomach, but as soon as you took off, he let them slide lower, palm resting on your inner thighs— fingers tracing circles way too close to your core. the vibrations of the bike only make it worse.

at the next red light, you snap your hand down, gripping his wrist. “keep your hands to yourself” you warn him “either way i'll have to cut them off” his chest rumbles with laughter against your back. “what if i don't want to?” you hear his teasing voice through the speaker of your helmet “you're never asking about what i want, sweetheart.” his hands squeezing you through your pants. “i think i'm gonna kick your ass off the bike. go to hell that damn mission” your jaw tightened, ‘why does he have to make everything so difficult’

the light turns green and you don't hesitate to accelerate like a damn crazy— earning some curses from gojo, his arms wrapping around you, his thighs locking firmly against yours. once he accommodate to the speed, he's laughing, slightly enjoying the way you speed down the street like you're trying to outrun the heat pooling between your legs.

you parked in front of the luxurious hotel, one of the most extravagant hotels in the city by the way. the gala will be held there, a beautiful place— a perfect representation of gojo's wealth and arrogance. “gorgeous place, huh?” he muses. “maybe we should get a room after the mission, to celebrate our teamwork.” you swing your leg off smoothly, ignoring him as you unbuckle your helmet.

when you step inside, multiple people are working on the preparations— setting up tables, adjusting lighting, and fussing over floral arrangements. you walk straight past them, heading toward the ballroom where the gala will take place. the room is massive— high ceilings with floor-to-ceiling glass windows, multiple balconies. it's beautiful, but a logistical nightmare for security. too many places to hide, too many potential vantage points for a sniper.

gojo lets out a low whistle, walking a step behind, hands in his pockets— acting like a damn tourist instead of a man with an actual bounty on his head. you walk past the ballroom, letting him doing whatever he is. you head toward the back corridors, checking the service entrances, mapping out the security offices. The staff is too busy setting up to pay you much attention— except for the occasional glance at gojo, probably wondering if he's some high-profile guest.

then something shifts. a group of security personnel moves in, just a little too fast. too coordinated. you recognize the stance immediately— trained, disciplined. not just the hotel staff. your instincts scream at you, your feet move before your mind fully catches up— you step toward gojo to warn him…and that's when you see it. a figure in the hallway, gun raised. aimed directly at gojo's head.

your body moves before your brain processes. you twist on your heel, muscles coiled, and throw your knife. it slices through the air, and the second it buries itself deep in the shooter's forearm, he lets out a sharp yell, his aim faltering. it's all you need. you charge.

your combat boots barely make a sound as you sprint toward the shooter. you're on him before he even recovers, grabbing his wrist and twisting it outward— hard.

POP. he screams, his shoulder socket dislocating from the brutal angle, the gun slipping from his fingers. your knee flies up, slamming into his sternum. you feel his ribs shift under the impact, his breath leaving him in choked gasp before you shove him aside like trash.

“holy shit—” gojo starts, but you don't hear the rest as you see three more attackers already closing in. one of them lunges with a knife— fast, trained. but so are you. you shift sideways at the last second, grabbing his wrist mid-swipe. then in a brutal motion, you twist. his own blade sinks into his thigh. a strangled gurgle leaves his lips as he stumbles back, collapsing to his knees, clutching the handle buried in his leg.

suddenly you feel arms wrapping around your waist, lifting you from the floor. you snap your head back, cracking the nose of your opponment with the force of a fucking hammer. blood sprays onto your shoulder and the wall. your fast to slam your elbow into his throat, his air supply instantly cut off, his body jerking as he crumples to the floor.

the last guy is bigger, stronger— seems to be military trained from the way he moves. but that doesn't matter, you've had to deal with fiercer men before. when he's close enough, you drop low— leg swings out in a sweeping arc. CRACK.

his legs are ripped out from under him. he fall onto his back, gasping for air. you don't let him breathe, your fist driving down, once.

twice, three times.

the last punch bursts his lip open, blood dripping down his chin. your fingers wrap around his throat. you lean in close, sweat dripping down your temple, eyes heavy of the need to kill. “you fucked with the wrong person.” you hear a broken noise coming from his lung. you tighten your grip.

and then— clapping.

you whip around, chest heaving. and there stands gojo, grinning like the devil himself “well, well, well.” he whistles, stepping over the bodies of the men you just demolished. “i gotta admit, that was fucking sexy” your brain is still catching up, heart pulsing with adrenaline “what the hell is wrong with you?” you snap. “we almost got fucking assassinated.”

his grin deepens. “sweetheart…” he crouches down, tilting his head. “that wasn't an assassination.”

you freeze. you hope it's not what you think it is.

he gestures lazily at the unconscious men. “that was a test.” he lifts his shoulders, unbothered. “wanted to be sur you still got it” he winks, amused.

your blood runs hot. “a test?” gojo shrugs, way too casual for someone who just watched you beat the absolute shit out of four men. his gaze drags over you— knuckles bloodied, chest rising and falling hard— and his smirk only widens.

you don't think much as you launch at him, fury taking over— fully prepared to knock that smug grin off his face for good. but this time, he's ready. he catches your wrist mid-swing. “no, no,” he purrs, his grip tightening just enough to make you aware of his strength. “play nice.” your free hand grabs the collar of his shirt, yanking him closer “fuck you and your stupid games," you spit "i can't wait for this week to end.” you see red.

gojo's amused eyes faded into something darker. his eyes once playful, turn sharp, dangerous. “and what?" his voice is low, cold— jaw clenched so tightly it might break. "leave like you did nine years ago?” his face inches closer, his warm breath hitting your skin. “leaving without a second look?” your stomach twists. he's standing too close— looking at you like he wants to rip you apart.

your chest rises and falls sharply. your body is still burning from the fight, but this— this is worse. you rip your wrist from his grasp, shoving him hard enough that he stumbles back a step. and he laughs. an empty laugh, far from his usual cocky, full-bodied laugh. “that's all you ever fucking do, huh?” his voice is sharp. “run.” you flinch, ever so sightly. but he sees it. and he seems satisfied ‘i finally got a reaction out of her.’

"i didn't have a choice". you force the words out, voice controlled. gojo's expression darkens. “bullshit, you always had a choice.” he steps forward, and this time, you don't move back. if he punched you, it will be well-deserved. you wouldn't dodge it. his fist on your face would hurt less than the words coming out of his mouth.

“you just didn't choose me.” your heart stops, feeling something inside you cracks. but you don't want him to see it. so, as much as you hate what you're about to say, you steel yourself and let it out “what, you think i owed you something?” the words taste bitter, burning your tongue even as they leave your mouth.

gojo's lips parts, but nothing comes out at first. then quietly— too fucking quietly “no.” his voice is ragged, raw. “but i thought you cared.” you feel it like a punch to the gut. gojo never says things like this. he surely is all teasing remarks and well-placed avoidance but never is he a looking like you ruined him. like you destroyed a part no one could ever rebuild— except… you.

a part of you wants to scream that yes, you did care. you still do. that you were just too afraid to stay. but you do none of that. instead, you do the only thing you're good at, you walk away. and he lets you.

for mere seconds, he lets you leave— again. but then you hear him “don't you fucking do this again.” his voice isn't a plea, it's a command. for a moment, you think that he won't let you go. that maybe—just maybe—he'll grab your wrist, yank you back, force you to deal with this. but he doesn't.

because he still wants you to choose him. and you never do.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

the ride back home is fine. if fine meant quiet, tense, and filled with too much unsaid shit hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break. then yeah, it is fine.

gojo didn't pull his usual antics— no wandering hands, no teasing remarks. just silence. his hands stay firmly on his own thighs, gripping the edges of the seat. and somehow that irritates you even more.

you can feel the weight of his gaze the entire ride back, burning into the back of your head like a brand. he doesn't speak, but his presence is suffocating.

by the time you pull up to his estate, he gets off the bike before you can even kill the engine. his movements are sharp, jaw clenched, shoulders tense. for a moment, he just stands there, staring at you, like he's debating something. you stare back, chest rising and falling with the remnants of adrenaline still buzzing through your veins.

but then, with a low scoff, he turns on his heels, and heads inside without a word. you don't follow. not immediately. taking a moment for yourself. trying to gather back your composure.

you stay seated on your bike, hands tightening around the handlebars, knuckles white. heart pounding like a war drum against your ribs. the wind bites at your skin, but it's nothing compared to the cold settling in your chest.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

the next day is spent preparing for the gala. you go over the blueprints of the venue again, double-checking entrance and exist, every potential blind spot.

the chaos from yesterday has been cleaned up— not a single trace of the fight remains. the bloodied bodies have been taken care of, the shattered glass replaced with pristine tables, the blood smeared across the walls scrubbed away as if it never existed. as if it was nothing more than a fever dream.

you analyze the guest list, looking for possible threats. you argue with gojo about security placements, mostly because he doesn't take anything seriously. “take a look at this. tell me if you recognize anyone shady.” the tall man barely glances at the screen before muttering, “they're all shady.” you roll your eyes "that's not helpful." he shrugs, stepping toward the grand windows. “i don't really care.” that pisses you off. “gojo, could you at least pretend to care?” you put a hand on your hips, patience thinning.

he exhales through his nose, barely sparing you glance over his shoulder. and then, with a calmness that cuts deeper than yelling ever could, he says, “you're the one who didn't care, remember?” and that shuts you up.

he doesn't wait for your response, doesn't push, doesn't linger. just clasps his hands behind his back, taking a slow tour of the ballroom, his gaze dragging over the chandeliers, the polished floors, the extravagant decor— all while completely ignoring you.

the gala is tomorrow.

and you don't know if you're ready.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

morning comes too soon. you barely slept, torn between the looming mission ahead and the cold, unbearable silence that had settled between you and gojo. since that night at the hotel, it had been nothing but tension— thick, suffocating, unspoken. a battlefield of sidelong glances, clipped conversations, and empty spaces where words should have been. especially your words. words of regrets.

and now, as you sit stiffly across from gojo on his sleek leather couch, arms crossed so tightly your nails bite into your skin, it's clear nothing has changed. he doesn't look at you. he hasn't since that night. since those words left his mouth, cutting deeper than any blade you took.

your superior clears his throat, dragging you back to the present. his voice clipped, all business. “you'll be attending as a couple.” the words slam into you like a wrecking ball.“you're kidding” you say flatly, glaring at your superior. “no,” he says simply. and you hear gojo letting out a laugh. the sound sends cold down your spine.

“it's the best cover. gojo is a known public figure, and he's expected to bring someone. you, on the other hand, aren't on anyone's radar. it's the perfect excuse to keep you close and avoid suspicion.” you shake your head. “there has to be another way.” you bite the inside of your cheek, gripping your own arms as if that'll keep you from exploding. this is a fucking disaster. “there isn't.”

fucking hell.

how are you supposed to play lovers when everything between you is broken, shattered, and stitched back together with nothing but avoidance? you can feel gojo's eye on you, but you refuse to meet them. you already know what he's thinking. that you well-deserved that. that you were the one who ran away from him nine years ago, without any explanations.

your jaw locks as you finally risk a glance at him. he's watching you, studying you. blue glacial eyes pinning you in place. then slowly, he tilts his head. lips curling into a grin. “well,” his voice low, with something dark. “this should be fun.”

the moment your superior is done talking, you push yourself off the couch and stride toward your room, your pulse hammering too fast. it's too much.

the air is still charged, like static before a storm. even more now that you know you're going as a couple. behind you, gojo doesn't say a word. he doesn't try to stop you either. of course, he doesn't.

you try to convince yourself it's easier this way. easier to act like none of it matters. like the past isn't clinging to both of you with bloodied, desperate hands.

the second the door clicks shut behind you, you let out a breath you didn't even realize you were holding. the tension in your shoulders lingers, pressing your forehead against the door. 'focus' you tell yourself. tonight is business, the mission comes first. it's not about him— not about your feelings.

you step into the bathroom, turning the shower knob. water rushed out, steam filling the space almost instantly. hot, scalding— exactly what you need. you peel off your clothes, letting them drop carelessly to the floor before stepping inside.

the first touch of water burns, but you don't move away. instead, you welcome it. let it wash over you, over your skin, over the lingering heat still trapped in your body from the way gojo looked at you earlier. your hands slide over your arms, down your sides, over the curves of your body, the pressure firm as if you could scrub away the past— him.

the water runs through your hair, down your back, down your thighs, and still, you can't shake the way your body remembers him. the way it still reacts to the mere idea of him. it pisses you off. your fingers tighten into fists before you force yourself to exhale, resting your forehead against the cool tile. you stay like this for a while. letting the water scald you, hoping it can burn out the thing still curling inside your chest, still whispering his name in the back of your mind.

by the time you finally step out, steam curls around the mirror, the bathroom thick with heat. you wrap yourself in a towel, sighing as you push the door open. as you step closer to the bed, you notice a box on your bed. black, sleek, expensive. your breath catches for a second, it's not hard to guess who left it. you approach it slowly, a wary sort of anticipation buzzing under your skin.

on the box, a note. a small, folded piece of paper with gojo's handwriting.

‘’ sweetheart, i can't let you ruin my reputation with those cheap dresses you own. i have an image to maintain, after all. a rich man can't have people thinking he's poor. wear this. — satoru ‘’

your breath stutters for a second. sweetheart. something in your chest tightens, flutters, pounds. you crush it, fight it. with steady hands, you set the note aside and lift the lid of the box— and you freeze.

the dress inside is breathtaking. it's a shade of blue so deep, so striking— the same as his eyes. you swallow, fingertips ghosting over the fabric. it's impossibly smooth, slipping through your fingers like liquid, designed to mold to every curve, to hug your body like a second skin. a dress that demands attention. you take it out of the box and immediately notice the back. or rather, the lack of one. the fabric dips dangerously low. with a sort of thin white belt that wraps behind your neck, fastening at the nape before cascading down in a delicate, tantalizing line. tracing your vertebral column. a seductive dress, yet functional enough to fight in case.

you return your attention to the box. your eyes widen as you see a pair of underwear. a soft filthy shade of blue, slightly lighter than the dress delicate and teasing. the panties are sheer in all the wrong places, practically see-through, the thin straps barely qualifying as fabric. offering little to the imagination. there's subtle glittering embellishments, catching the light just enough to draw eye.

just enough to drive a man insane. your throat runs dry. that fucking bastard.

you dig further into the box, only to find jewelry. a necklace so fine it barely feels real, elegant enough to steal attention. earrings that shimmer subtly, matching perfectly with the delicate bracelet nestled beside them.

everything about this is so intimate. you hate that your heart still reacts, that your fingers tremble slightly as you lift the necklace, as you let the fabric of the dress slip between your fingers. every single piece was selected with intent. this isn't just a gift, it's a statement.

gojo satoru is back at it again. back to his games. back to this push and pull. he's testing your limits once again. you need to show him, you need to keep your bold cold. mission. mission then next… gojo.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

8:17 p.m. you see as you finish getting ready. adrenaline rushing through your veins. your hands move on mechanism, fastening the holster around your thigh before slipping the small firearm into place, the slit of your dress perfectly concealing it. since gojo is the host, there won't be any security checks for you at the entrance.

you allow yourself one final breath, steadying your pulse as your hand move to the door handle. tonight, your job is to protect him. nothing more.

you push the door open, and nothing could have prepared you for what is waiting for you. in front of you stand an anxious gojo, fixing his suit jacket, smoothing the fabric before his fingers nervously reach up to adjust his tie.

your breath hitches. the tie he's fumbling with is the exact same shade as your dress— his signature blue, the color of his eyes, the color that haunts your dream more often than you'd like to admit. his scent hits your nose, flooding your senses. something fresh, subtly spiced. it messes with your head, makes it hard to focus. his hair a little bit messy, like he's been running his hands through it while waiting for who knows how long.

and when his eyes find yours, everything in you freezes.

gojo stays still. his usual teasing remark falter, no lazy smirk, no arrogance. just… silence as his gaze consumes you. it's like the weight of the last few days of distance disappears, and all that remains is the way the dress clings to your body.

“i-” he starts. “that's…you- i mean,” he shakes his head, trying to gather his thoughts. he takes a slow step forward, his hand reaching out. you don't hesitate, taking it in yours. his fingers are warm against yours, his grip tight, like he's afraid to let go. to let you go.

he gently turns you, his eyes trailing over the open expanse of your back. he swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. “what's happening, satoru?” you tease “you finally dare to look at me, after all the ignoring these pasts days?” you tilt your head back, lifting your chin to meet his eyes. even in your heels, you remain towered by him, his presence overwhelming. gojo's eyes betray something deep— pain, maybe regret.

“sweetheart…” he murmurs, pulling you closer by the hand that holds yours. the sudden motion takes you by surprise, a gasp leaving your lips as your body crashes into his. “you have no idea what you do to me.” gojo growls softly. the heat of his body pressing against yours, makes you weak. you can't stop the way your breath hitches.

the word mission keeps echoing in your head. you shouldn't give in, not when he got so defensive, not when you still had walls built around you. “gojo,” you whispers as his eyes flickers to your lips. he leans in, his forehead touching yours, closing his eyes. “we need to figure it out.” he says simply. “give me a chance.” his hands grip your waist, molding your body to his. “tell me why you left, please.” his voice filled with a raw, aching honesty that make your heart drop.

your brain is racing at a thousand miles per hour, your pulse drumming in your ears. the connection between you two is palpable, undeniable. your hands go to the back of his head, tugging sightly his hair, making gojo groans. you breathe out his name, your lips just brushing against his “after the gala,” you murmur. “but let's go for now. we're running late.” you pull back but the heat remains. a pretty shade of pink creeps onto gojo's cheeks. the sight of it makes you smile.

you both reach the bottom of the stairs, and before you can move toward the door, gojo's voice calls out, low and filled with something close to mischief. “wait.”

you stop in your tracks, turning to look at him, and that playful smirk makes its comeback. he lifts your hands, then loosens his grip just enough to intertwine his fingers with yours. his eyes fixed on your face, watching for your reaction. “it's better like this,” he says, his voice mix of teasing and seriousness. “if we're playing couple, let's do it right,” he adds. you shake your head in disbelief, unable to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “satoru, let's go now." he opens the door, the cold night air hitting your skin “i love when you call me saturo, sweetheart.”

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

the streets blur past, neon lights casting fleeting glows over his sharp features as he drives through the city. Gojo insisted on being the one to drive, choosing one of his luxurious car— not without making a comment on how it'd be nearly impossible to ride your bike in that dress but he'd gladly let you ride him in that dress.

the ride is quiet. not the comfortable kind, but the charged, suffocating kind. you can feel his eyes flicking toward you between red lights.

the hotel appears, tall and grand, its golden lights illuminating the massive entrance. unlike when you came checking security, the driveway is packed with luxury cars, men in tailored suits, women in gowns worth small fortunes. there're even photographers lining the barricades, flashes firing like relentless lighting.

despite your superior's briefing, you still feel nervous. of course you have attented events like this before to protect your clients, but never were you the center of attention.

suddenly, dodging bullets in a batteflied seems far less stressful than whatever the hell this masquerade is. at least, the car windows are tinted, giving you some more minutes.

gojo feels you tense up as he stops in front of the entrance. he turns to you, bringing a hand to cup your face, tilting your chin so you meet his gaze. “it's okay, sweetheart," his thumb traces soft, reassuring circles on your cheek. “i'm with you. focus on the job, okay?” then, with an easy smile, he steps out of the car.

the moment he does, you hear people calling his name, cameras clicking furiously. and gojo being gojo, steps out with that infuriating confidence, adjusting his cufflinks like he owns the damn place. pretty fucking bastard

gojo makes his way to your door before the valet even moves. he opens it himself, hand extended, waiting. and you can feel this is not only for the show. you let out a sharp exhales, taking his hand to get out of the car.

the moment your heels hit the ground, the flashes explode even brighter, voices pitching higher, demanding your attention. gojo's fingers intertwine with yours—firm, possessive—as he pulls you closer, leaning down just enough so only you can hear. “wanted to let you know,” his breath tickling your ear “knowing what's under this dress is no helpful to hide my boner in front of these photographers.”

before you can react, he presses a slow, deliberate kiss to your temple. then with the smooth ease of a man who knows exactly what he's doing, he lifts your hand to his lips and plants the softest kiss against you knuckles. “also, don't forget to smile.”

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

inside, the gala is exactly what you expected— crystal chandeliers spilling molten gold over the sea of designer-clad elites, laughter too polished to be real, and conversations laced with unspoken agendas. the air is thick with expensive perfume and quit power plays.

gojo moves through it effortlessly, magnetic as ever. he plays the perfect host, flashing easy grins and exchanging pleasantries with people you couldn't care less about. you, on the other hand, remain sharp, scanning the room, keeping your senses on high alert.

or at least, you try.

it's hard to stay focused when you're super-aware of gojo's warmth. his palm resting low on your back, fingers tracing lazy, absentminded circles against your spine. his lips graze your temple as he leans in, voice low with some meaningless observation, but his breath is too warm, too deliberate. a shiver runs down your body.

the hours stretch on, an endless cycle of fake smiles and calculated small talk. the weight of the night starts pressing against your ribs, exhaustion creeping in. you need a moment.

“i'm getting us drinks,” you murmur, pulling away from gojo's touch, ignoring the way your body immediately protests the loss of warmth.

“how thoughtful of my wife” he teases, lips curling into something wicked. you almost fall to the floor, headfirst.

wife. the word comes too easily from his mouth, like it belongs there. you catch yourself liking it.

shaking off the heat starting to take over you, you weave through the crowd, reaching the refreshments table. your mind still lingers on gojo, your thoughts are full of him. you're convince you need him. you don't want to run anymore.

a shadow of a smile tugs at your lips.

when you turn back— two glasses of champagne in your hand— gojo is gone.

your pulse stumbles. your breath quickens, eyes scanning every corner, every exit. nothing. where the hell is he?

you shove the glasses onto the nearest table, ignoring the startled look of a waiter. your training urges you to stay calm, but panic claws at your throat. gojo isn't just your responsibility. he's—

focus.

you spot one of the security personnel near the ballroom's entrance, a stocky man with an earpiece and a sharp gaze. you stride toward him, voice low but urgent. “did you see gojo leave?” the man frowns slightly “he stepped out a few minutes ago. took the private elevator up.”

your stomach knots. “who was with him?”

“not sure. a few men. well-dressed.” fury spikes through you. 'and that didn't alarm you?' you could beat his ass off if it wasn't for gojo right now. where did they find those incompetent men.

spinning on your heel, you move fast, heart hammering. the gala's noise fades behind you as you push through the discreet hallway leading to the private elevators. the display shows it stopped on the roof.

your pulse spikes. you slam the button. nothing. locked.

“fuck” you mutter under your breath. you don't have time to wait. without hesitation, you head for the stairwell, heels be damned. you rip the gun from its hidden strap at your thigh and climb two steps at a time. the adrenaline burns away any exhaustion, pushing faster.

by the time you reach the the top, your breath is ragged. hand tight on your gun, you push the rooftop door open just enough to see—

and your blood turns to ice.

gojo stands near the edge, bathed in city lights, his white hair a stark contrast against the night. the wind howls between the buildings, the breeze fluttering his tie— the same shade of his eyes, the same shade of your dress.

his usual carefree stance betraying nothing, hands in his pocket like he's discussing business over whiskey rather than staring down the barrels of guns.

four men surround him. they're dressed too well to be common thugs, but you know better—real danger rarely looks the part. one of them, a broad-shouldered man with a jagged scar curving at the corner of his mouth, has his gun aimed directly at gojo's chest.

your grip tightens around your own gun.

and then gojo speaks. “i suggest you let me go,” he drawls, voice laced with amusement. “or my wife's going to rip you apart.” he smirks “also, we arranged we talk after the gala, to make things clear, i don't think she'd be very happy that you keep me for the night.”

the men exchange glances, unimpressed. scar-lips steps forward, a cruel smirk twisting his scar. “you're worth a lot, Satoru Gojo.” a ransom situation.

gojo pinches the bridge of his nose like they're giving him a headache. “look,” he starts, tilting his head slightly. “i don't know who sent you, but this is embarrassing. four of you? to handle me? if i were you, i'd start running before she gets pissed.”

they barely have a second to process his words before you make your move. you can't risk any longer. and gojo is doing perfectly at distracting them.

one breath. one shot.

you step out. aim. fire

the bullet buries itself into the shoulder of the man nearest gojo. he stumbles back with a pained grunt—

and gojo moves.

he moves faster then the wind whipping through the rooftop. in the time it takes for scar-lips to turn toward you, gojo there. a sickening crack echoes through the rooftop as gojo drives his elbow into the wide man's jaw with enough force to send him staggering. without pause, he pivots, driving a brutal kick into another's ribs. the crack is sickening.

you react instinctively, ducking behind an industrial vent as one of the men pulls a gun in your direction. another shot rings out— gojo's this time. he moves like liquid shadow, disarming one of the attackers with terrifying efficiency. the man barely has time to process that he's slammed into the ground.

scar-lips, despite his disoriented state, reaches for his gun again.

gojo doesn't let him. he's on him in a blink, gripping his wrist with an almost lazy ease before twisting it violently in the wrong direction. the man screams, his gun clattering to the floor. gojo doesn't let go. instead, he leans in, voice sickeningly sweet. “told you she'd be mad.”

you freeze. you've seen trained fighters. you are one. but this? this is something else. the speed, the precision, the sheer control— it's unsettling. suspicious.

the last man standing tries to flee, you take aim and fire a warning shot near his feet. he freezes, hands trembling in surrender.

the rooftop falls into silence, only the labored groans of the fallen men breaking the stillness. the adrenaline still surges through your veins as you lower your gun, stepping closer to gojo, who brushes nonexistent dust off his sleeve like he didn't juts annihilate four men in less than two minutes.

“you good?” he asks, eyes flickering over you, concern hidden beneath his usual playful tone. “i should be asking you that.”

“what? you think a couple of suits can take me down?” he winks, but there's something unreadable in his eyes. something he doesn't want you to see. you don't press. at least, not now.

instead, you step forward, pressing your heel into scar-lips' injured arm. he yelps “so, who sent you?” scar-lips stay still, unwilling to say anything.

the other men groan on the ground, the sting of their broken bones keeping them from trying anything stupid. gojo sighs as if he's bored. as if this whole thing is an inconvenience rather than a threat to his life. he reaches into his jacket, pulling out his phone.

“you know,” he hums, tapping the screen with a lazy smirk “i could call someone. but they wouldn't be as nice as she is.” he gestures at you with a tilt of his head, his tone light, but his eyes? glacial.

scar-lips doesn't flinch. you press down harder on his arm. “fuck! alright, alright!” gojo grins like you just made his night.

“contract” he grits out. “someone put a price on your head. it's big. too big to ignore.” gojo clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “that's vague. who?” scar-lips looks like he's debating wether answering is worth the consequences. “not local”

“international” you press. he nods, slowly. “someone wants you dead, gojo. badly. all we got was a time and place.” his gaze flicks up to you, sharp despite pain. "and instructions to take you too".

the air grows thick. “me?” the man on the floor exhales “whoever hired us knew you'd be with him. they want you alive.” something cold settles in your stomach. gojo, however, laughs. it's quiet, then louder, echoing against the rooftop.

scar-lips looks at him like he's lost his damn mind. “what the fuck is wrong with you?” gojo wipes at the corner of his eyes like he actually found that funny. “man, you guys must be new do you know how many times someone's tried to put me in a body bag?” he leans in closer, voice dripping lower. “and not one of them ever succeeded.” gojo nods toward you, lips quirking. “someone wants her alive? buddy, you should be more scared of that than anything else.”

you glance down, they want you alive. that means whoever put out this hit isn't just after gojo— they're after something he has. the implications make your blood runs cold. but you don't have time to dwell on it.

one of the men on the ground— one you thought was barely conscious— lunges.

it happens fast. too fast.

a blade glints under the rooftop lights, aiming straight for gojo's ribs.

your gun fires before you think. the gunshot rings out, echoing accross the night.

the man crumples.

scra-lips yells, trying to scrambles back, but gojo's hand shoot out, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him up. “i'd be annoyed if this wasn't so damn prediactable.” his voice has lost its amusement. it's cold now. deadly. “you made a big mistake touching what's mine.” gojo's fingers tighten. for a second, you think he'll kill him.

but instead, gojo sighs—a sound full of tiredness— and his grip loosens. “i'd love to drag this out, but we have a gala to return to,” he says, and with that, he lets go. the man collapses to the ground, coughing violently.

gojo steps over him like he's nothing more than a discarded piece of trash. he reaches for your hand, gently pulling you away. “someone's coming to pick you up.” he adds, his tone far too casual for what just happened “be grateful. i called someone to take care of you, buddies. i only do that to my special guests.”

he slams the rooftop door shut behind them with a sense of finality, cutting off the chaos that lingers in the air.

as you make your way down the stairs, you abruptly stop, questions swirling in your mind. “what's wrong?” gojo asks. you meet his gaze, searching his eyes, trying to figure out what he's hiding from you. he steps closer "you okay?” you should nod. should brush it off like you always do.

but you don't answer, and you feel the weight of silence settles between you. it's suffocating, you don't know how to break it. so you shake your head. you want to ask him why he hired you. why he needs you when he could've handled everything alone. you want to know if there's more to this—more to you—than just being his bodyguard. the questions burns at the back of your throat, but you swallow it down, afraid of what the answer might be.

gojo's hand pulls you from your spiraling thoughts, his touch gentle—like always when he touches you—making you gasp. his palm cups your cheeks. “hey.” his eyes are full of concern, worried. his tumb brushes over your cheek, a fleeting touch, as if he's trying to ground you. you're not sure if it's for your sake or his.

“you're acting weird,” he murmurs, tilting his head. your throat tightens. “and you're acting like this is normal.” a short laugh escapes him, not a single hint of humor in it. his grip on your face loosens, but he doesn't pull away. “what do you want me to say?”

“i want you to tell me why,” the words come out quieter than you intended, but no less desperate. “why hire someone to protect you?” something flickers in his gaze, quick enough that you almost miss it. his fingers twitch against your skin. “you really think i need a bodyguard?” the way he says it sounds wrong—too light, too easy.

“exactly. you don't." your voice is unwavering now, the certainty of it strengthening you. “not after i saw what you did tonight. the way you fought— it was effortless. you're better than any soldier i've ever seen.” you hesitate, the memory clicking into place. ”better than me.” and now that you think about it, you remember your punch he blocked that night, back at the gala preparations. the sheer force he used. you should have realized then.

gojo is quiet for a moment. then, finally, he sighs, letting his hand drop from your face. the loss of his warmth makes your chest ache. “i thought it'd be obvious by now,” he mutters, looking away.

it isn't.

it's not obvious at all. and the fact that he won't just say it outright makes your frustration curl tight in your chest.

you take a step back, shaking your head. “well, as you can see… it's not.” you cross your arms, the hurt leaking into your voice. gojo's head snaps back toward you, eyes narrowing. “you overthink too much.” you scoff, anger bubbling up despite your exhaustion. “then give me answers. if you did, i wouldn't have to.”

his jaw clenches, and for a second, you think he's going to throw out some flippant remark, something to brush this all under the rug like he always does.

but then—

he takes a step forward.

and another.

until there's barely any space left between you.

“maybe i don't want you to know,” he says, voice low, almost quiet to hear. the words send a sharp pang through you. he's never been this blunt before— not like this. “why?” you whisper, almost afraid to ask, but you need to go through this. together. “once you know, you won't look at me the same.”

your heart clenches at the quiet honesty in his voice.

“satoru," you murmur, refusing to back down, “you dressed me tonight. you brought me here as your date. you even called me your wife.” your voice shakes, but you keep going. “and i was scared to lose you tonight.” the words slip out before you can stop them, raw and unfiltered, the weight of them hitting the space between you with unbearable force.

gojo stills. his breath is uneven, and his eyes—those brilliant blue eyes—widen just slightly. you close your own, exhaling shakily before continuing.

“i ran once. nine years ago.” your voice is barely a whisper now. “i was young. i was afraid. and it was a mistake.” his entire body tenses. “Satoru,” you open your eyes, meeting his. “i want you. all of you. and surprisingly, i'm willing to stay. to stand next to you. to kill for you if that's what it takes to keep you safe.” you pause, your voice thick with emotion. “i'm not afraid of threats. i don't want to run anymore.”

gojo looks wrecked. completely and utterly undone.

you step closer, pressing a hand to his chest, feeling the rapid, unsteady beat of his heart beneath your palm. “nothing you could ever say will change the way i see you.” your voice is firm “nothing.”

he swallows hard, his hands twitching at his sides like he doesn't know whether to pull you in or push you away— to protect you from people that would want to hurt you, only to hurt him.

but then— he breaks.

his arms wrap around you, crushing you to him, his grip almost desperate. his forehead drops to your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. and for the first time, gojo satoru—the untouchable, unshakable man— trembles.

“making me go through all that," he says against your hair, "being irrefutable with me and letting me beat the hell out of four men—" his fingers gripping the fabric of your clothes like he's terrified you'll disappear. “it took you all that to finally tell me what's on your heart?”

you let out a watery laugh, wrapping your arms around him just as tightly “i'm sorry.” he lets out a shaky breath, his lips brushing your temple. “stay,” it's not a command, not a plea— just a confession. you close your eyes, letting yourself sink into his warmth, into the way he holds you like he's never wanted anything more. “i'm not going anywhere.”

and just like that, nothing else matters.

the gala, the stares, the whispers— none of it exists as you slip out through the back entrance, hands locked together, ignoring the world you're leaving behind.

gojo doesn't let go.

not even when he open the car door for you, not even when he slides into the driver's seat. his hand stays on your thigh, fingers warm and steady, tracing idle patterns against your skin. every red light is an excuse— an excuse to lift your hand to his lips, pressing slow, deliberate kisses on your knuckles, the pads of your fingers, the inside of you wrist.

you shiver, watching him through lidded eyes. “you're being soft.” gojo hums, a lazy grin pulling at his lips. “you love it, don't you?” and you don't deny it.

the drive is quiet, heavy with something unspoken. when he pulls up in front of his house, fingers still tracing slow, burning circles on you thigh, the weight of earlier comes crashing back. you shift in your seat, eyes flicking toward him.

“what were you going to say earlier?” his hand pauses for just a second— just long enough for you to notice. then, instead of answering, he leans in, his breath hitting your jaw as his lips ghost over your skin. “you really want to talk about that right now?”

the air is charged, thick with frustration and need. his lips press against the corner of your mouth— featherlight, teasing, but you can feel the restraint in the way his fingers grip your thigh. you tilt your head, giving him more access as a sigh leave your lips. “i need to know.”

gojo groans, low and deep. his hands move— one sliding up higher up your thigh, the other tangling in your hair as he pulls you toward him, his lips finally crashing against yours.

the kiss is messy, heated, all tongue and teeth and pent-up frustration. you don't even remember shifting onto his lap, only that his hands are on your hips, gripping tight enough to leave marks. his breath is ragged when he pulls back, forehead pressed against yours. your lipstick stains his lips, smudged, messy, sinful.

“you really wanna do this now?” his voice is rough, uneven. his fingers slip beneath your dress, brushing against your bare skin. “because if i start talking now, i won't stop. and i'd rather have you like this, falling apart in my hands. or my tongue. begging for more.”

your pulse is wild, but you don't back down. “satoru.” you lift a hand, softly wiping the lipstick from his lips. “tell me.” his sigh is one of defeat, his head falling back on the headrest. “i didn't hire you to protect me.” his voice is quieter now, raw in a way you've never heard before. “i hired you because i wanted you close.”

your breath catches. gojo chuckles, but there's no humor in it. “you ran from me nine years ago,” he presses open-mouthed kisses along your neck— wet, lingering. “did you really think i was going to let you do it again?”

your eyes burn with emotions— ones you don't have time to process because gojo's lips trail lower, his tongue flicking out, teasing, tasting. "being an influential young man got me some enemies. I had to know how to fight like a soldier— if not better. as the years went by, I became even more influential. and with some quick calls, I was able to find you."

“i don't think i deserve you, gojo.” the words spill out, breathless. gojo clicks his tongue, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. his hands frame your face “sweetheart,” his voice barely above a whisper “let's go inside,” his teeth graze your skin “i'm going to show you just how much you deserve me.”

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

you barely step through the threshold before gojo's hands are on you again, pushing you against the wall. his kiss is devastating, all-consuming, a plea and a demand in one. his hands roam, sliding down your sides, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, like he's afraid you'll slip through his fingers again.

“you're killing me,” he groans, voice hoarse, “i need you. need to taste you.” your dress is barely hanging on, undone but still covering you like some cruel temptation, and that makes it worse for him. he doesn't pull it off— not yet. his fingers skim the fabric, then push it up, bunching around your waist. that's when he sees them.

your light blue panties— delicate, sheer, adorned with tiny pearls. the one he meticulously chose for you earlier. he fucking loses it at the sight.

“sweetheart.” his voice shatters, his breath stuttering as his thumb brushed the pearls, the fabric already damp. a pretty little thing wrapped up so nicely just for him. his hands shake when he presses his palm flat against your cunt, cupping you through the soaked fabric. “you're so wet. you wanted me this bad?”

you whimper, nodding, your knees already weak.

he drops to his knees so fast it's almost embarrassing. he doesn't even push your panties aside right away. instead, he leans in, kissing up your thighs— not just to tease, but to worship. his lips press against every scar, every mark, each one a silent promise. “my pretty strong girl,” he murmurs, his fingers squeezing your legs. “i will take care of them later.”

“satoru—”

his mouth finds the inside of your thigh first, biting down hard enough to make you whimper before soothing the mark with his tongue. then finally, finally, his mouth is on you. a hot, wet, messy kiss pressed right against your cunt, sucking you through the fabric of your panties. you gasp for air, your hands tightening on his white hair, earning a moan from him, an actual moan.

his tongue pressed flat against your cunt, teasing you through the pearls and lace. you gasp, body jolting, thighs trying to squeeze together, but he won't let you. his strong hands hold you open, force you to take it.

“f-fuck—" you breathe, fingers diving into his hair.

gojo grinds his face into your pussy like a possessed man. “god, you taste sweet even through this,” he slurs, drunk on it, his voice muffled. “missed having my mouth on you.”

his tongue dragged over the fabric, lapping, teasing, sucking, his fingers slipping underneath to pull them to the side. “Gojo—” your head slams back against the wall.

he didn't let you finish as he spreads your pussy open with his thumbs and buried his face between right into your core, eating you out like he was trying to ruin you for anyone else. like he needed to prove something.

it's sloppy, desperate, obscene.

he's licking into you with long, deep strokes, his nose bumping against your clit. his fingers dug into your ass, yanking you closer, forcing you to grind against his mouth, fucking his tongue with every rool of your hips.

“t-too much—” your body is trembling.

“been too long, huh? missed me eating your pretty little pussy?” sliding his tongue down to fuck into you, groaning when you clenched around him. you were so wet, so fucking wet, dripping down his chin as he worked you over, puling moans out of you that made his cock throb painfully against his zipper.

his arms wrap around your waist, locking you in place, forcing you to take everything he gives. his moans vibrate against your skin, needy, delirious, he's getting off on this as much as you are. “taste so fucking sweet,” his voice is muffled by your heat. “could stay down here forever.” he doesn't stop, doesn't let up— not even when your thighs squeeze around his head, when you're shaking so hard you can barely breathe.

your body locks up, pleasure tightening, so close it hurts. his fingers dig into your flesh, his lips wrapping around your clit, sucking just right, and that's all it takes— you break apart with a cry, shuddering, coming all over his tongue.

gojo groans like he's tasting something forbidden, something addictive, lapping it all up, refusing to let a single drop go to waste.

by the time he pulls away, his lips and chin are glistening, his pupils blown wide, his chest rising and falling like he just ran miles. your dress is still on, but your panties are pushed to the side, and gojo is a wrecked mess between your legs, staring at you like he's ready to die for you.

“come here.” you grabbed him by the collar, pulling him into a flithy desperate kiss. his hands scrambled to get his belt open, shaking so badly he barely undo it. “l-let me help,” you whisper, your hands brushing his as you pull his belt free, undoing his zipper. “i want to make it up to you” you look at him in the eyes “for running away.” your hands slide over his thighs, palming the thick outline of him through his pants. he's already rock-hard. gojo let out a pathetic whimper. “s-shit, you don't have to—”

the second you slide down his boxers, his cock slaps against his stomach, thick, flushed, dripping. “f-fuck—” he lets out when your hand wraps around him. he's so hard it must be painful, a bead of precum leaking from the flushed tip.

you dropped to your knees and looking up at him through your lashes “i need to, satoru”

gojo chokes “fuck— yeah, please—” with nothing more you took him in your mouth. his hands immediately flying to your hair, not pulling, just holding, like he needs something to ground himself

his entire body jerked as your tongue drags up his length, flicking over the tip before you sink down, taking him deep. tongue pressing against the thick vein running along his dick. you hollowed your cheeks, bobbing your head, your hand stroking the rest of him. it's slick and obscene, the sounds echoing in the hallway. your lips stretched around him.

“f-fuck— sweetheart,” gojo is a mess above you. a whimpering, panting mess. his thighs tensed, his whole body shudders. “fuck, f-fuck— too good, it's too fucking g-good—” he wants you to let you continue. he wants to watch you take him apart.

but he wants to feel you. it's been nine long years for fuck sake. he just needs your pretty little cunt wrapping around his cock. “i-if you don't stop— shit— if you d-don't stop r-right n-now, i'm gonna—” he grabs your wrists, and you pulled off with a sinful pop, lips swollen, eyes gleaming.

“bed. now.”

except… you don't make it to the bed…

you get as far as the couch before you're shoving him down, straddling his lap, gripping his shoulders. his cock is still out, flushed, leaking, twitching against his stomach. and your soaked panties are still on, pulled to the side, teasing him.

“reverse cowgirl.” you say, full of tease. his brain short-circuits. “w-what?” you don't answer. you just move, shift until your back is to him. you give him a full view on the open dress, the curves of your body, the barest glimpse of your soaked panties sill clinging to your folds.

“oh, fuck— ohhh fuck.” his head drops back against the couch. his hands finding your waist as you took his base and let your hips ever so slowly sink down.

you both are drowning. “t-toru— ahh, ‘s big—” your voice breaks. you forgot how fucking big he is. surely the biggest cock you’ve ever took. “th-that's okay, s-sweetheart,” gojo is hardly holding on, shaking beneath you. “you're d-doing good— fuck— your walls are sucking me i-in. i— fuckfuckfuck—”

inch by inch, you take him, stretching, gasping, feeling him pulse inside you.

sweat drips down your back. gojo leans in, licks it up. and then—

he loses his patience.

he grabs your hips, slams you down, and fuck, you both scream. his fingers are bruising, his breath wrecked against your spine, and you're already a trembling, cock-drunk mess in his lap. “t-toru— please—”

“shhh, sweetheart,” he pants, barely coherent. “let me make you mine again.”

he drags you down onto him, thrusting up to meet you, filling you so deep you can feel him in your stomach. “ohhh— fuuuck, toru—” your hands scrambling for purchase against the couch as you rock back against him.

“that's right, sweetheart,” his forehead pressed against your bare spine. “take me— please, take all of me.” he pulls you back onto him harder, a desperate, needy little sound escaping his throat when he sees the way your pretty blue panties cling to you, your pussy stretched around the base of his cock, underwear soaked. “s-shit, your panties— fuck, that's so—” gojo can't even finish his sentence. his hands slip under your dress, his fingers finding your hard nipples and pinches them through your bra.

“satoru, i—” you sob, rolling your hips, grinding down. “that's it, ride me,” he begs, his hands palming your soft breasts. “you feel so fucking good, s-so tight—” you lift your hips just to slam back down, picking up a rhythm, and gojo loses his fucking mind. his moans spilling out in rapid desperate gasps. “fuck, baby—”

his length throbs inside you, his hips bucking up uncontrollably. he grabs at you, at your dress, your thighs, anywhere he can touch, his lips pressing frantic, open-mouthed kisses along your back.

“d-don't stop— please— ohh f-fuck, please don't stop—” he sounds so ruined, so completely fucking gone.

somehow you grind down even harder, sending the poor guy's body jolting. he's straight-up choking, his moans turn high-pitched, pathetic, whimpering. “sweetheart, i-i can't— oh fuck, i'm gonna—” his voice breaks, shaking “i can't hold it— i can't, i can't—”

you lean back against his chest, turning just enough to catch the sight of him— his head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, mouth parted, his entire body trembling beneath you. “t-toru,” you whimper, tightening around him. “cum for me.”

that's it. that's all it takes.

Gojo slams you down onto him one last time, a ragged, broken cry ripping from his throat. His cock pulses deep inside you, his grip on you almost bruising as he spills into you, moaning like he’s coming apart at the seams. his chest rising and falling erratically, his entire body completely ruined.

and even as the pleasure fades, he doesn't let go. “you're mine. not letting you go again.” he doesn't give you time to respond as he suddenly grabs your wrists, shoving you face-down into the couch. “but that doesn't mean i'm done with you.” his body is still trembling, his cock still throbbing inside you, slick with both of your release.

“one round isn't enough,” heavy voice in your ear. he rolls his hips once, slow and deep, dragging his dick through the mess he's made of you.

your whimper is swallowed by the cushions, fingers clawing at the fabric as he strats moving again. his pace is slow at first, torturous, letting you feel every thick inch stretching you open again. then he pulls out almost completely—just the tip remained inside— before slamming back in, so deep your vision blurs.

“mhhh— satoru!” the force of it knocks the breath out of you, makes you choke on your own moan. his hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding up your back, fisting your hair.

“look at you, sweetheart,” he pants, voice slurred, filthy. “so wet—so messy—fuck, listen to yourself.” and oh, you can hear it. the lewd, obscene squelching of your cunt sucking him back in with every thrust. it's dripping down your thighs, coating his cock, soaking the couch beneath you.

“s'dripping” he groans, pulling out just to watch the way your hole clenches, fluttering around nothing. your slick mixed with his cum spills out. glistening, pooling between your legs. “fucking— shit” he grits his teeth, fisting his cock, slapping it against your swollen cunt. “such a pretty mess."

“p-please,” you sob, wiggling your hips, trying to push back against him. you're so sensitive, already teetering on the edge again. “please what?” his grip tightens in your hair, yanking your head back so his lips brush your ear. “use your words, sweetheart. beg for it.” your brain is mush, squirming beneath him, but you give him what he wants.

“please— please, t-toru fuck me— use me. w-want you s-so bad— need you so bad—” his breath shudders “you're so hot,”

and he slams back into you, deeper, harder, faster. you scream, your arms giving out as he fucks you into the cushions. his pace is wild, frantic, desperate— his cock found your g-spot. hitting it over and over again. until you're body is nothing but raw nerves and white-hot pleasure.

“y-you like this?” gojo struggles finding his breathe, sweat dripping down his temple. “like getting fucked stupid? like being ruined?” you can't even speak— just babbling his name.

“sweetheart, im not gonna last— fuck, i wanna feel you cum again, i need to feel it—” he moans, he swears your cunt was made perfectly for him and only him. one hand slipping between your legs, fingers rubbing at your clit in messy, quick circles.

“come on— cum on my cock, wanna feel your cum all over me,” your whole body seizes, pleasure ripping through you so hard you think you black out for a second. you scream his name, back arching, legs shaking, walls clenching tight around him he nearly collapses. “ohh— ohhh ‘s gooood— wrapping around my cock aghn,”

his hips snap forward, his voice breaking as he lets out white long hot creams. he cums so much, it leaks out around his dick— balls.

for a moment, the only sound in the room is your ragged breathing, the lewd, sticky wetness between your legs, the faint creak of the couch beneath you. gojo breaks it with a breathless, shaky laugh. “you're a fucking dream,” he mumbles, pressing lazy, wet kisses to your shoulder. his arms wrapped tight around your waist.

“satoru…” you whisper his name, running your fingers through his damp hair. he exhales and lifts you into his arms. he carries you like you're something sacred, irreplaceable. something he'll never allow to slip through his fingers again.

"bedroom," he murmurs against your temple. “i need to love you properly.” your breath catches, a lump forming in your throat. this is different. you wrap your arms around him as he carries you through the dimly lit house, his body still inside yours, still pulsing, still clinging to every last bit of warmth you give him.

tonight, he took you like he was desperate. like he had something to prove, like he needed to reclaim you after all these years apart. but now…

now he's looking at you like you hung the stars in his sky.

when he lays you down on his bed, it feels like the world stops. like you both exist in your own universe. gojo hovers over you, his hands tracing over every inch of you. he maps your body with his touch, memorizes you with his lips, presses soft, reverent kisses over your skin.

and he pauses when he reaches your scars. trembling hands ghost over them, his expression unreadable. his eyes, impossibly blue even in the dim light, flicker up to yours. his fingertips linger on your scars, tracing them so gently it make your breath hitch.

“nine years,” his lips press over each mark, worshipping. “nine agonizingly years without you.” your chest aches. you cup his face, wiping the single tear coming down his cheek with your thumb. gojo closes his eyes, leaning into your touch like he needs it to breathe. “you don't get it.” murmuring it more to himself than you.

he looks down at you like you're everything. like he doesn't believe you're real.

you don't get a chance to respond before he's kissing you—slow, deep. it's not just hunger, not just lust. it's grief, it's relief, it's the kind of love that breaks you open and remakes you all at once.

when he finally pushes into you, it's not desperate. it's deliberate— he's trying to mold himself to you, he wants to leave an imprint of himself inside you forever. “satoru—”

“i know, sweetheart,” he kisses the corner of your mouth, your neck, your collarbone. “let me love you.”

you do. you let him take his time. let him move in deep, slow thrusts that leave you breathless. let him pull every last moan from your lips until your nails dig into his back. his name falls from your lips like a prayer, over and over again.

“feel that?” satoru takes your chin in his hand, making you look at him. “feel how deep i am? how i'm filling you up?” there's no rush, just the overwhelming feeling of being connected— having each other the way you were always meant to.

“toru, please,” you gasp into his mouth. “i've got you,” he mutters, nose brushing against yours. his fingers lace through yours, pinning your hands above your head, your legs wrapping around his waist, your body arching into him.

“you're everything,” he whispers. “you always were.” your chest tightens, you feel yourself shatters as heat coils in your stomach, winding tighter and tighter.

you're so full of him, of love, of longing, of everything you've spent nine years trying to ignore.

“i love you,” and it sets something free inside you.

gojo chokes on his breath. his rhythm stutters. his fingers tighten around yours. his lips tremble against your skin. “say it again,” he begs.

“i love you, Satoru.” his hips snap into you harder, pace remaining slow as if he's trying to commit every part of you to memory. “say it again, sweetheart.”

“i love you—” his body tenses, his release crashing over him at the same time you hit yours. his lips find yours as you both shatter together.

when he collapses on top of you, he doesn't let go. doesn't even try. you're still tangled together, still connected when he speaks. “i was serious,” you hum, sleepy, completely boneless in his arms. “about what?” his fingers stroke over your hip. “about calling you my wife.”

you tilt your head, searching his face. he's looking at you like you're his entire world. he's never been more sure of anything in his life. “i don't just want you here tonight,” he says softly, kissing the tip of your nose. “i want you here forever.”

tears sting your eyes, but you smile, brushing his hair out of his face. “then start calling me that now, satoru.” gojo grins— that beautiful, bright, devastating grin.

“come here, wife.”

( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)

86 notes · View notes