#but also I wanted to see him so now you all have to as well

[incognit0slut]

Crawling back to you

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Simmons!Reader Summary: You never planned on having a casual fling with your brother's friend five years ago, nor did you expect him to fall in love with you, which forced you to end things abruptly. But now he's unexpectedly back in your life—older, wiser, and fully intent on winning your heart. Content: (18+) >12k words, reader has commitment issues, he’s the softest softdom i’ve ever written, female oral, fingering, unprotected p in v, a little squirting? teeth rotting fluff and a chaotic ending because who am i without my crack humor A/n: This is for @imagining-in-the-margins FWB writing challenge and somewhat a celebration post for 7k milestone. Idk how that happened but tysm :( I hope you like this as much as I did writing it because matt simmons is so underrated??? I’m also freaking nervous with this i haven’t posted a new fic in a while so please please please be nice i feel like throwing up

Surprise has a way of stopping time. Although you're not sure you can call it that. What you’re experiencing is more than just surprise, it’s the kind of feeling that makes you freeze in place. It’s not just a jolt to the system—it’s a full-body takeover. Your breath catches, your heart skips, and your thoughts scatter like leaves caught in the wind. How could they not, when the last person you expected to see is standing right in front of you, clad in the most questionable clothes?

You almost laugh at how absurd he looks. He’s wearing an oversized hoodie with a tacky “Washington D.C.” print sprawled across the front. It’s baffling why he’s draped in that shapeless thing over his freakishly tall frame, but it’s too hard to focus on something so trivial when you’re still grasping with the reality of seeing him again. You really can’t believe it. Spencer Reid is here. The Spencer Reid.

The guy whose heart you broke five years ago.

You should have seen this coming. In fact, you kind of did, when your brother’s friends came rushing into the hospital room, their voices a chorus of “oohs” and “aahs” as they crowded around the newborn cradled in Kristy’s arms. You exchanged polite greetings when they noticed you—Penelope even pulled you into a tight hug, gushing about how amazing you looked—and thankfully, there was no sign of him.

But you’d almost allowed yourself to believe he wouldn’t show up. When the small space became overly crowded, you stepped out into the waiting room to catch your breath… only to find him standing a few feet away with JJ.

And just like that, all the air seems to vanish from your lungs.

You had a plan, of course. In the back of your mind, you always knew a chance meeting was inevitable, whether you liked it or not. And that plan was simple. You’d offer him a polite smile. Exchange a few words, nothing too personal. You’d be friendly but distant, always make sure to keep the kind of composure that says you’ve moved on, and that the past is just that: the past.

But those well-laid plans seem fragile now, almost naive as you suddenly caught his smile. Now how do you stick to a script when your heart is starting to rewrite all the lines? Or blur the lines specifically, when the past and present merge so seamlessly that you’re reminded of the first time that same smile had charmed you.

You’re suddenly thrown back to that day five years ago, when your brother had thrown a barbecue cookout to celebrate some joint investigation his team had wrapped up. You didn’t know the details—didn’t really care to, if you were honest—but Matt had called you and insisted that you join him.

You hadn't thought much of it at the time. It sounded like another family gathering with a few new faces. But that was the day you met Spencer, and what began as a simple introduction quickly spiraled into something much more complicated. Really complicated. Because as charmed as you were by his smile, he had wanted something more from you when all you could offer him was your body.

So you ran away.

Although not very far, because apparently, he’s standing a few steps away from you, five years later. And the worst part? He’s now very much aware that you’re here. You watch as his jaw slacks open as he takes a double-take. You’re rooted in place. JJ, on the other hand, tugs his sleeve as she notices his demeanor slowly shutting down. She turns around to see what’s caught his attention, and when she spots you, a huge smile spreads across her face.

"Hey! You're here!” You force yourself to look away from him as she moves forward. You reciprocate the hug she throws at you. "How are you?”

You’re not entirely sure how to answer. How do you even explain that your heart just did a triple backflip and landed somewhere near your stomach? Or that you’re seconds away from having an internal existential crisis because, of course, the universe would choose this moment to throw Spencer Reid back into your life?

There's really no good way to sum that up. So instead, you plaster on a smile that probably looks more like a grimace and reply, "Good. I’m good.”

JJ doesn’t seem to notice the strained edges in your voice. “It’s so nice to see you again! How long has it been?”

There’s a moment of silence as you try to gather your thoughts. But before you can respond, Spencer’s voice suddenly cuts through the quiet. It’s soft, almost hesitant, as if he’s been holding onto this detail for far too long, but every syllable rings in your ears.

"Five years," he says. "Five years, three months, and seventeen days."

Your stomach does another flip. JJ raises her brows, her eyes darting between you and him. You carefully meet her gaze. "Actually, you and I met up last year.”

“Oh, right!” She exclaims, her face lighting up as the memory clicks into place. “You were in town for a conference, right? I totally forgot about that.”

“You were in town last year and you didn’t tell me?”

God, he’s making it terribly hard for you to keep your composure. You throw him a sidelong glance. “I didn’t know you wanted to see me.”

His expression shifts slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. He looks at you as if your words sounds ludicrous to him.

“I always want to see you.”

You can't decide what surprises you more, the fact that he still wants to see you after all these years, or how easily he says it. The words roll off his tongue so casually, so effortlessly, as if the weight of your shared past doesn’t cling to them. And to make matters worse, he's saying this right in front of JJ, who is now staring at him, clearly scrutinizing the significance behind his words.

You quickly shift your attention to her, forcing another smile. "So, are you going to head inside?"

JJ blinks at you. “Oh, yeah, I probably should.” She turns to Spencer and gives him a quick but knowing glance. "See you on Monday, Spence."

You glance at him. “You're not going to see the baby?"

"Spencer’s got something he needs to take care of,” JJ chimes in. There’s a slight edge to her voice, like she knows exactly what that ‘something’ is, but she doesn’t elaborate. She gives him one last look before heading inside.

You catch yourself looking up at him again. “You’re leaving?”

Spencer pauses, studying you carefully, his brow furrowing just slightly like he’s trying to read between the lines of your question.

“I was,” he says softly.

There’s a sudden tightness in your chest. “Right.”

“But now I don’t want to.”

There it goes again, the butterflies in your stomach. This is exactly why you didn’t want to see him. You knew that once you looked into his eyes, heard his voice, it would stir up everything you’ve spent five years trying to bury. You’d told yourself it was better to pretend that whatever happened between you was nothing more than a stupid choice. But now, standing here with him so close, you can feel all those walls you built crumbling down with just a few words.

You finally look at him, like really look at him. It’s impossible not to notice how he’s changed over the past five years. There are faint lines around his eyes now, signs of age that wasn't there before. His hair is longer, a little messier. It curls around his ears in a way that makes him look almost boyish, yet undeniably charming which suits him more than you'd like to admit.

But even with all the changes, his smile—gentle and just a little shy—remains the same. That smile reminds you of a time when things were simpler, where it was enough to convince you that you didn't have to keep your guard up all the time. But then you remember the reason you walked away, and his smile becomes a little harder to look at.

Because while he's changed, grown, matured, so have you, and you're not sure if there's room for the person you are now in the space that once belonged to both of you.

His eyes scan you in the same way you’re assessing him. “You look good.”

Your mouth twitches at his words. You didn’t expect him to be so straightforward. “Thank you.”

“You’re even prettier than I remember.”

The sigh you let out is long and weary. He really knows how to push your buttons.

“Spencer. Don’t.”

“What?”

“You can’t just say things like that after—” You hesitate, crossing your arms. "After everything. What happened to 'Hi, how are you?’. Or maybe something simple like ‘What have you been up to? Anything new?’”

He blinks, clearly taken aback by your abruptness. “Okay. Hi, how are you?”

You cast him a wary glance. “Good.”

"What have you been up to?"

"Work."

"Anything new?"

"No."

He pauses again, his eyes searching yours before he asks, "No new boyfriend?"

You frown. “Huh?”

“Girlfriend?”

"Spencer."

"Are you seeing anyone?"

"Spencer."

He smiles sheepishly, his shoulders sagging slightly. "You're right, that was inappropriate. I didn't think I would see you again, it’s throwing me off a bit."

“You didn’t think I would be here for my newborn niece?”

His smile turns into a grimace. "I guess I wasn't thinking clearly." He shifts on his feet, fidgeting with his fingers—a small, familiar tic that you hadn’t seen in years. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

“It’s fine,” you reply, though there’s no real bite to your words. His nervous energy is making it hard to stay annoyed. Your eyes narrow on his oversized hoodie again, the casual, almost careless choice that seems slightly out of character for the Spencer you remember.

He seems to notice you staring so blatantly. “What?”

“You look funny.”

A hint of surprise flashes across his face. “You think I’m funny?”

“Different,” you correct. “Did you raid someone’s closet on your way here or something?”

"Oh… I had to change my clothes. I got wet at the park earlier.”

You glance towards the window with a frown. "It's not even raining."

"I ran through the sprinklers."

The cease on your forehead deepens. Even that sounds so unlike him. Spencer Reid doing something that carefree in public?

“You ran through the sprinklers? Alone?"

You notice his expression shift as the question leaves your lips, something very subtle, but you’ve known him long enough to catch it. The way his eyes flicker, the slight hesitation before he answers, makes it obvious. There’s a hint of something unspoken in the way he looks at you, and suddenly, it all clicks into place.

He wasn’t alone.

You look away. It's ridiculous, you think. To feel this somewhat… jealous when it should be the last thing on your mind because, really, what right do you have? What you had with him wasn’t even a relationship to begin with. But despite all the logic in the world, you can’t help the pang in your chest, the twist of something bitter and familiar curling in your gut.

"It's not what you think," he slowly says.

You force a small, awkward laugh, trying to brush it off. "I wasn’t assuming anything. It’s none of my business, anyway."

"No, really, it's nothing like that." he insists, scrunching his nose in the way he does when he's trying to think. "I mean, I did meet someone at the park, but it’s not like… what you might be thinking. We were just talking, and… and then there were these sprinklers and it wasn’t really planned or anything, then she—well, technically, we weren’t even alone the whole time because there were other people around, and it’s not like we—”

“Spencer, you don’t have to explain—” you begin, but then something dawns on you. “Wait, is this what JJ was referring to? Did you… Did you have plans?”

You notice his Adam’s apple dip as he swallows. "Kind of," he admits. “But it wasn't anything serious. It was just, you know, a casual thing.”

You can't help the way your stomach knots. Casual could mean anything. Maybe a simple coffee between two friends, or even a lighthearted conversation over lunch. But in your experience, at least in the book you and Spencer had written together in the past, casual had always meant sex. And now, hearing him say it about someone else feels like a punch to the gut you hadn't expected.

You suddenly feel foolish for letting your mind go there, for assuming that whatever he meant by casual was the same thing it had meant for the two of you back then. It's been five years, and so much has changed. Maybe casual means something entirely different for him now, and you're the one stuck in the past, reading into things that no longer hold the same weight.

He must have noticed the slight falter in your expression, the way your eyes momentarily cloud over with something you can’t quite hide. He takes a step forward. "It’s really nothing.”

You take a step back. “Even if it is, it’s really not my business.”

“But it’s not,” he urges. He’s suddenly so persistent, and you can’t help but feel the embarrassment gnawing you at how easily he can read your mind. It's one thing to wrestle with these feelings privately, but having them so clearly acknowledged makes it all the more humiliating. You can’t believe you let yourself get so worked up over something that shouldn’t matter this much.

You eye the exit door. “I need to go.”

"Right now?” His brows knit together in confusion. “But your family’s here."

You’ve only spent a few minutes with him and you’re already running away.

"I just remembered I have to take care of… something."

The excuse sounds weak even to your own ears, but you don’t wait for his response. You quickly turn on your heel, and when he calls out your name with concern, you force yourself to keep moving, scurrying off down the hallway.

Me: I'm heading back first Big bro: You okay? Me: Bad headache Big Bro: You didn't eat anything, did you?

You scoff. What is it about your brother always zeroing in on eating whenever you complain about feeling off?

Me: You know I did. Just not much Big Bro: That’s what I thought. There’s some leftover dinner in the fridge. And check the second drawer in the kitchen, there should be some ibuprofen Me: Yes, Dad Big Bro: Don’t get smart with me Me: 🫡 Big Bro: Drink lots of water Me: Yes, sir. Anything else on your mind while you’re giving out parental advice? Big Bro: I’m just trying to keep myself from dragging you out of my house if you collapse Me: 🙄 Big Bro: The kids are staying with Kristy’s parents, I’ll drop by tomorrow morning Me: Okay Big Bro: Call me if you need anything

You toss your phone down on the bed, then let out the most exasperated sigh. Spending your Saturday night in your brother’s guest room is the last thing you expect to be doing, let alone faking a headache just to avoid confronting a situationship from the past. You honestly thought you’d outgrown this kind of avoidance, but here you are, slipping back into old habits as if no time has passed at all.

Ironically, your mind stumbles into the past, and you remember a conversation you once had with Spencer. It was during one of those nights when you both were tangled in each other’s arms. You could faintly remember the conversation started with him talking about his work.

He never actually told you the details of his cases, but he liked to share his thoughts on the different complexities of the human mind. And on that particular night, he was rambling about the psychological concept of avoidance, which he claimed to have detected the first time he spotted the bad guy. He went on at how people often retreat into familiar behaviors to protect themselves from discomfort.

At the time, you had brushed it off with a joke, teasing him about overanalyzing everything when the situation had already played out. But now the irony isn’t lost on you. You’re doing exactly what he once explained. It’s almost laughable if it didn’t sting so much to realize how right he was.

A sharp ding from your phone pulls you out of your thoughts, and one glance at it tells you exactly who’s messaging. The name on the screen makes your chest tighten, but you don’t even give yourself a moment to consider responding. You quickly turn the phone to silent, push yourself off the bed, and head straight for the kitchen. True to your brother’s words, there’s leftover pizza in the fridge, but the idea of reheating it doesn’t seem appealing to you.

You reach for the bottle of wine instead.

The red liquor tastes like butter, or something close to it. It’s similar in the way the liquid melts over your tongue, spreading warmth through your chest and settling comfortably in your belly. By the time you're sipping the second glass, you feel more relaxed, but then the sharp sound of the doorbell ringing cuts through the calm.

You glance at the door from the position of the couch. You have a strong feeling about who it is. But as much as you're sure of the who, what really gnaws at you is the why.

You hesitantly make your way toward the door, and sure enough, when you pull it open, Spencer is standing at your brother’s doorstep. The corner of his lips turns upward in an awkward, almost apologetic half-smile as if he’s unsure of how to begin or whether he should even be there in the first place.

You lean against the doorframe. “Did Matt tell you I was here?”

He gives you a pointed look, his eyebrows raising slightly. “No, but it wasn’t hard to figure out.” You throw him the same questioning look, and he explains, “This is the only place you’d stay in town because not only do you hate staying alone at a hotel, but Matt wouldn’t let you even if you tried.”

You can’t believe he still remembers your offhand comment about sterile hotel rooms. It’s one of the reasons you used to prefer staying at his apartment whenever you were in town.

“Why are you here anyway?” You ask. “I thought you had plans.”

He pauses for moment as if deciding how much to say. Finally, he clears his throat. “Can I come in? I’d rather explain it inside.”

"I don't think you owe me any explanations about what you do with your time," you reply, crossing your arms.

"Maybe I don't owe it, but I want to give it.”

“Which isn’t necessary.”

“But appreciated, I hope.”

You find yourself caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. You tell yourself not to read too much into it, but there's a part of you that can't help but soften at his words. Maybe it's the way his eyes reminds you of melted chocolate as he stares at you that makes you want to let him in, despite your better judgment.

You pull the door open. “Fine, but take your shoes off. Kristy’s very serious about hygiene.”

He does as he’s told and tucks away his shoes on the rack by the door.

“Do you want anything to drink?”

He shakes his head slightly, offering a small smile. "I'm good, thanks."

You nod and gesture toward the living room. He follows you, and as you both approach the couch, he instinctively moves to the far end, settling down cautiously as if not wanting to invade your space. You take a seat on the opposite end.

“So, what do you want to talk about?”

He leans back slightly, resting his hands on his knees. You can tell he's trying to gauge your mood, figure out how much to push and when to hold back. "Do you remember when we went on that date at the street fair?"

You frown, remembering how you had missed your bus home in one of your trips here and ended up wandering at the fair with him. “That wasn’t a date.”

"Fine. Do you remember when we went to the street fair together not on a date?"

“I remember."

His shoulders relax a bit at your response. “You spent ages deciding what to eat and you ended up choosing that little Korean stall in the corner. We had to walk a bit further to get there even when your shoes were hurting you.”

You think back, internally scolding yourself for wearing those damn boots that day. “You thought I was being ridiculous.”

"I didn't think it was ridiculous. I just didn't get it at first. Your feet were practically covered in blisters."

"I really wanted kimchi."

"I could tell, and it took me a while to understand why you went through all that trouble. Now I do.”

You glance at him, sensing there's more behind his words. “Why are you bringing this up?"

He meets your gaze. His brown eyes looking a little more golden underneath the dim light. "I guess this is me choosing.”

“That you’re craving for Korean?”

He gives a soft, genuine laugh, the kind that starts in his chest and reaches his eyes, making them crinkle at the corners. “Not exactly,” he says and leans a little closer. “What I’m trying to say is, that’s how I feel right now. I'm here because I want to be, not because it's convenient, but because it’s you.”

There’s a subtle flutter in your chest, and your skin prickles with a familiar warmth as he speaks. Your heart beats a little faster, not enough to be alarming, but just enough to remind you that you’re not as unaffected as you pretend to be. You can feel your palms start to sweat, and there’s that almost imperceptible hitch in your breathing that you hope he doesn’t notice.

“Spencer…” You don’t even know how to start. “It’s been five years."

He nods slowly. “I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do. A lot of has changed since the last time we saw each another, and you’re here acting like we both separated on good terms? Don't you hate me?”

His brow furrows slightly. “Why would I hate you?”

“Because I broke your heart. I—" Your voice falters as you struggle to find the right words. "The moment you told me you were falling in love with me, I... I ran. I couldn’t handle it. I pushed you away like a coward.”

“You weren't a coward, you were scared. And maybe I didn’t understand that back then, but I do now.”

You shake your head. “But I hurt you.”

The sigh he lets out is heavy, yet there's something deceptively calm about it, almost as if he’s already made peace with the past. “You did what you thought you had to do, and sure, it hurt. But I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and I realized that I don’t blame you for needing space. It wasn’t about me not being enough, it was about you needing to protect yourself.”

His words start to chip away at the wall you’ve built around your heart. “I thought you’d hate me,” you admit quietly.

“I could never hate you."

You lower your gaze, your fingers fiddling nervously with the edge of the cushion. “Alright, let’s say you choose me. Now what? What is it that you want?”

He pauses for a moment, his fingers curled into his palms. He looks away briefly, taking a deep breath as if gathering his thoughts, then returns his gaze to you. “I want another chance.”

If you were surprised to see him at the hospital earlier, this is something entirely different. There’s something akin to panic fluttering in your chest. It’s amusing, really, how the human body reacts before the mind fully comprehends as if your heart knows what’s coming before you do. You can feel it in the way your breath catches, in the way your stomach knots with a nervous energy you can’t quite shake. Because how do you even react to that?

You finally turn to face him, leaning your head against the back of the couch. This moment feels like some sort of déjà vu, and just like the last time, your mind is already bracing itself, preparing to give him the same answer you did back then.

“You know it’s never going to work.”

He mirrors you, but instead of the frustration or sadness you half-expected, there’s a gentle smile on his lips. “You sound so sure.”

“That’s because I am,” you reply. “I know what you’re asking for right now, and we don’t function like that. Not in the past, at least.”

“How did we function?”

“Based on sex.”

“And what do you think I’m asking for now?”

“More than sex, which isn’t going to work."

“Why not?”

“Because—” you start, but the words catch in your throat. You’re not even sure how to explain. The fears, the doubts, the past... all of it feels too big, too overwhelming to articulate in a way that makes sense.

“Because the idea still terrifies you?”

You frown, caught off guard by the directness of his question. “No.”

The smile stretches even more across his face. “Then give me one good reason why you think so.”

"Oh I can name a few."

He studies you, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he’s trying to read every thought racing through your mind. “Let’s make a deal then. You give me those reasons why we can’t work, and I’ll give you reasons why we can.”

You’re quiet for a moment, considering his offer. It’s bold, almost reckless, and yet... there’s something in his eyes that makes you want to accept the challenge.

"And if your reasons aren’t good enough?"

“Then we’ll deal with that when we come to it,” he replies softly. “But I’m willing to bet we won’t have to.”

"You really think you can convince me?"

"I can try." He leans a little closer, just enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from his body. "So, what’s your first reason?"

That’s too easy, too obvious. “You’re one of my brother’s closest friends,” you point out. “What happens if this doesn’t work out? I don’t want to put him, or us, in that position.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “That didn’t stop us in the past.”

You scoff. “Spencer, we were sneaking around behind his back. It’s not exactly the same thing. This… whatever this is, it would be out in the open, and that’s a whole different level of complicated.”

“It would be different, yes. But that doesn’t mean it has to be a problem. If anything, it shows how serious we were then, and how serious we could be now.” You scrunch your nose at his response. “Now what’s next on your list?”

"Uhh.. the distance! You’re in D.C., and I’m not. It’s not like I can just drop everything and move closer.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re a three-hour drive away, maybe two if I take the expressway. And honestly, with how much we both travel for work, I don’t see how that’s an issue.”

His reasoning is so undeniably logical you feel a flicker of annoyance, not at him, but at how easily he’s dismantling your arguments.

“You didn’t even want to visit me back then.”

"You were the one who didn't want me to. You kept saying it was easier for you to come here.”

His words hit harder than you expect. You remember all the times you insisted on making the trips yourself. You'd convinced yourself it was about convenience, but with him calling you out on it, you realize it wasn't about convenience at all. It was about keeping things on your terms, maintaining a safe distance even when that distance wasn't physical.

"Well, I had more flexible hours," you claim. The excuse is flimsy, and the way Spencer looks at you—patient, but not fooled—makes it clear that he sees right through it.

You try to think of your next reason, although the words seem to get stuck before they even form. You know you can easily rattle off more excuses, but something about the way he’s looking at you makes it harder than it should be.

“That’s it? You’ve only thought of two? I was expecting a bit more of a challenge.”

You scowl at him. "I didn’t say I was done."

"Take your time," he comments, leaning back slightly, still wearing that infuriatingly patient smile.

You huff softly, trying to regain your footing. "Okay, how about this? Sex."

There's a beat of silence. "What about sex?"

You feel the words forming, but they sound ridiculous even in your own mind. Still, you force them out of your mouth. Your subconscious is urging you to come up with more excuses to keep him at arm’s length. "That was all that we had. What if… what if we just fall back into the same patterns?"

“Don't you think that's a reason why we can work? If we were only ever about sex and we're still here, doesn't that show there's something more between us?"

“Or it just means we had a strong physical connection. That doesn’t necessarily mean there’s something more.”

“You really believe that? That all we had was just physical?”

“Yes,” you retort, though the confidence in your voice wavers slightly. Your eyes flicker away for a split second before you meet his gaze again. “That’s all it ever was and I don’t know if it can turn into something you’re trying to imply.”

He lets out a low, amused sound, as the corners of his mouth twitches upward. “You’re deflecting.”

“I’m being realistic,” you shoot back. “What if we try, and it doesn’t work? What if everything falls apart because we weren’t good at anything but the sex?”

His eyes light up, and suddenly he’s wearing the most boyish grin you’ve ever seen on him. “So you're admitting the sex was good?"

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

“You know what I mean. What we had was...” Wild? Passionate? Crazy-hot-mind-blowing sex? “…intense. But intensity isn't enough for a relationship. What if the rest of it doesn't hold up?"

He leans in closer, his hand hovering near yours on the couch.

“But what if it does?”

All you can do is stare at him.

“You’re giving me all these reasons to push me away again,” he continues. “But I’m here because I’m not afraid of those doubts. I’ve always wanted to give you more than what we had because you deserve something real. I want us to be real this time, and I think you do too, even if you’re scared to admit it.”

His words are affecting you more than you like to admit. You can slowly feel it in the tension building between you, it’s surprisingly not the uncomfortable kind, but the sort that pulls you in, that makes you want to move closer even though every instinct tells you to stay put.

And then it happens. You feel a slight tremor in your leg, an involuntary movement that causes it to brush against his. The contact is so light it's almost like it didn't happen at all, but it did. He notices—Of course he does—and now there’s a certain gentleness in his gaze like he knows exactly what's going on inside your head. He doesn't push, doesn't rush, just watches you with those impossibly kind eyes.

And in the softest, most careful voice, he asks, “Can I move closer?"

Your heart is pounding now, the rhythm echoing in your ears, in your chest, in the pulse at your throat. The sensation travels downward, a slow, steady beat that moves through your body, inching its way down your spine, tightening in your stomach before it settles low in your abdomen. It’s a heat that spreads outward until it reaches your core, leaving you acutely aware of every inch of space between you and him—and how much you want to close that distance.

You find yourself nodding. He shifts closer. “Can I touch you?”

You really want to say something witty, something that might deflect from the weight of the situation, but the words won’t come out. You can only manage another nod. He moves slowly, carefully, giving you every opportunity to pull back. But you don’t. You can’t. You’re rooted in place as his hand reaches for you.

His palm gently rests on your jaw. Your eyes flutter closed against your consciousness, and the tension that’s been coiling in your chest slowly unwinds, replaced by a sense of calm. When his thumb slides across your cheek, he speaks again. His voice is so close it's as if the words themselves are brushing over your lips.

"Can I kiss you?"

You inhale sharply. The word "Yes" hovers on the tip of your tongue, but you don't need to say it out loud. He can already see the answer in the way you’re leaning into him, and his mouth is on yours in an instant.

The reality is, you’ve kissed Spencer before. Plenty of times, actually. You know the feel of his lips, the way they can be both gentle and demanding, the way he tastes faintly of coffee or something sweet when he’s had a treat. You also think back to those hurried kisses in the past when time was short and the world was pressing down on you. Or the playful pecks that came with laughter. Even the desperate, heated moments when the need to feel something, anything, was too overwhelming to resist.

This kiss, however, isn’t like any of those. This one is slow, and achingly tender. His movements are unhurried. The way his lips glide over yours carries a deep sense of care, like he’s trying to memorize every soft curve. Just as you begin to melt in his arms, he pulls away slightly, not very far, but enough to hover close that you can still feel the heat of his breath on your lips.

There’s a tense silence as the tip of his nose brushes gently against your cheek. You can tell he’s giving you the space to decide what happens next, and there are a lot of scenarios running in your head. You could push him away, repeating history all over again. You could be in denial and pretend all of this never even happened. But something inside you snaps.

Maybe it’s the way he’s holding back, so gentle, so careful, too afraid of pushing too far. Or maybe it’s the realization that you don’t want him to hold back, that you need more, that you’re tired of resisting what you’ve both been dancing around for so long. Before you can second guess yourself, you’re clutching onto the fabric of his hoodie, tugging him closer.

He tenses for a moment, but the hesitation is gone almost as soon as it appears. His mouth finds yours again, and he lets out a deep, relieved sigh. You feel the soft, insistent push of his tongue against the seam of your lips. You hold onto him, parting your mouth eagerly before he slips his tongue with a desperation that catches you off guard.

Then his hands seem to be everywhere all at once, tracing the curve of your spine, sliding down to the small of your back, and brushing along the edge of your jaw. His fingers then tangle in your hair, tugging gently while his other hand skims over your waist. But when his hand slips inside your shirt, calloused fingers brushing your soft skin, you slowly pull away. “W-Wait.”

His eyes widen slightly, and you can feel the shift in his body. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no,” you say quickly, tugging him closer again. “I just… I think we should continue this conversation somewhere more… private?”

He pauses for a moment. “Really?”

“If you want to.”

A subtle smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Are you trying to seduce me for sex?”

You’re oscillating between being incredibly turned on and equally mortified. In a sense, yes, that’s what you’re asking. But you didn’t expect him to be so blunt about it. You don’t think he’s ever been this direct in the past, and now you’re wondering if you missed something before, or if he’s just tapped into a level of confidence you’re struggling to keep up with.

“Would it be inappropriate if I said that I am?” you ask hesitantly, and you can’t help but wince a little as the words leave your mouth.

“Since when have you been worried about being inappropriate with me?”

“Well, Spencer, if you haven’t noticed, there’s a five-year gap since the last time we slept together.”

His hand on your waist tightens slightly. “Five years too long, if you ask me.” Then he pulls you closer until there’s barely any space left between you. “You do realize this is you giving me a second chance, right?"

In a way, you do. You've spent so much time convincing yourself that you were better off keeping your distance. Walking away in the past was easy, but now… now it feels different. The years have stretched on, and the excuses you’ve made have started to wear thin. Especially when just being near him is starting to stir memories you thought you’d buried—some good, some less so—but all intense, all Spencer.

Maybe he's right. Maybe five years is too long to pretend that whatever was between you didn't matter.

You slowly meet his gaze. “I realize.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

You hesitate, not out of doubt, but because of the sheer gravity of what you're about to say.

"Maybe."

His sigh is audible when he hears your answer, and without missing a beat, he brushes the barest, lightest, most gentle of kisses on your lips. “Maybe is good.” Kiss. “I can take—” Kiss. Kiss. “—maybe.”

You think you should say something more, but all coherent thoughts scatter the instant his lips meet yours again. You return his kisses, hesitant at first, but quickly falling into a rhythm that feels achingly familiar. It doesn’t take long until his lips move into something more urgent. There’s a hunger there, a pent-up longing that he can no longer hold back. His tongue flicks against yours, teasing, coaxing, and you know you need to stop him before he starts to undress you right there on the couch.

You reluctantly pull back. “Bedroom. Now.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He pulls you to your feet, and you’re practically dragging him to the guest bedroom. When the door closes behind you, he’s quick to guide you toward the bed, his hands firm on your hips as he steers you backward. The moment your legs hit the edge of the bed, he pauses, his hands lingering on your waist, and for a moment, he just looks at you.

“Having second thoughts?” You tease. The sarcasm drips sweetly in your voice, knowing full well he’s been trying to win your heart the entire evening.

“No,” he mutters. “I’m trying to see if you are.”

You draw back from his arms just enough to climb onto the bed and lay down in the middle. “Does it look like I am?”

He shakes his head with that cute, bashful smile. Although there’s nothing bashful about the way he pulls off his hoodie and tosses it carelessly onto the floor. The shirt underneath is crumpled, and his hair is even messier, sticking up in ways that make you want to run your hands through it.

“Come here,” you motion for him. Without hesitation, he crawls between your legs and leans in for another kiss. His hair feels like the smoothest silk when you finally reach for it. There’s a slight dampness from the faint sheen of sweat on his skin, the way it curls just slightly at the ends, brushing against your forehead as he dips his head to capture your mouth.

You don’t think you can ever get tired of kissing him. There’s a familiarity in the way he moves. His lips mold perfectly to yours, soft yet demanding, as if he knows exactly how to draw out the deepest parts of your desire. And you feel it everywhere. In your pulse, in your veins, all the way down to the spot between your legs.

It intensifies even more when his lips begin to trail down your neck. You feel the first warm rush of arousal pooling in your panties when he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your throat, the fluttering veins below your jaw with so much intensity as if he's taking every one of your heartbeats for himself. Your grip tightens in his hair as he marks another spot near your collarbone.

“I’ve missed this so much,” he murmurs as he slowly nips down your neck. “I’ve missed you.”

You can only hum a reply, your voice catching in your throat as your head starts to spin from the way his hands are now trailing down your side. He reaches the hem of your shirt and pauses, fingers lightly tugging at the fabric.

“Can I take this off?” He asks, pulling back slightly just enough to look down at you. With his messy hair falling into his glossy brown eyes and swollen wet lips, how can you possibly say no to him?

Without a second thought, you nod, your fingers already moving to help him with the fabric. His eyes never leave yours as he slowly lifts your shirt. It slides up over your skin, and you raise your arms to let him pull it off completely, tossing it aside without a care. Your bra comes off next, and when that follows to the floor, his eyes sweep over your body.

There���s a certain look in his gaze. Devotion would be too strong of a word, but it’s something close—something softer, yet just as intense. You’ve seen desire before, felt it in fleeting touches and heated glances, but this is different. This feels different. It’s as if his gaze is reaching into the spaces between your thoughts, gently pulling at the threads that hold you together to unravel you in the most tender of ways.

He kisses the spot between your breasts.

“You’re always so pretty.”

He gives a soft peck just above your heart.

“So incredibly beautiful.”

Then his tongue flicks along the delicate curve of your chest, making a slow, teasing trail upward until he takes one of your nipples into his mouth. He sucks gently, rolling it around with his tongue, and you’re mesmerized by the lewd scene of him drawing your flesh between his lips. Your fingers instinctively find their way back into his hair, tugging on the soft strands as he continues to lap at your sensitive skin.

He then shifts slightly, his mouth releasing your nipple with a soft, wet sound before moving to give the same attention to the other. While he suckles and nibbles on one hardened peak, he rolls the other between his thumb and forefinger, sending a rush of pleasure straight to your core. If you thought you were wet before, you’re certain you’re drenched by now. Your panties cling uncomfortably and the growing desire makes you ache to peel them off.

He must sense your growing need because his kisses trail lower, down to your stomach, while his fingers toy with the waistband of your leggings. His touch is teasing, slipping just under the elastic, and you instinctively lift your hips, silently begging for more. He takes his time as he slides the fabric down your legs, his knuckles brushing against your skin before discarding them somewhere in the room.

Your attention is on him as his palm dances along your inner thigh, and the closer he gets to where you ache him the most, the more your breath hitches in your throat. When his thumb brushes over the wet patch on your panties, your hips buck against him. “Spencer…”

He glances over at you and lets out the most appreciative sigh. You really are beautiful. Eyes full of lust, skin flushed with his marks. You’re a vision of longing, and every part of him is consumed by the sight of you. “Yes?”

You squirm under his gaze. “Aren’t you… going to take them off?”

A slow, teasing smile spreads across his face. “What, these?” He gives a playful tug at the edge of your panties, his fingers just barely slipping beneath the fabric before pulling away. “Are you sure you want them off?”

You try to hold back your groan when his thumb finds your clit. “Yes. I-I’m sure.”

He grins, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you, but instead of giving in immediately, he begins to circle your clit slowly with his thumb, watching your reaction closely. “On a scale from one to ten, how sure are you?”

Now he’s starting to get on your nerves. You can’t hold back the small huff falling from your lips. He simply laughs then slowly takes off the last piece of your clothing. The cool air instantly hits your skin as he grabs your knees, spreading your legs apart. He skims along your naked body and when you notice where his gaze settles, you swallow hard, suddenly feeling very shy.

It's kind of ironic, you think, how you've gotten this far, and now, of all times, you're suddenly blushing like a damn teenager. It's as if your brain is catching up to everything your body already knows—that this is real, and it's happening. You can't help but laugh at yourself a little. Here you are, all tangled up in each other, practically begging him to get you naked and yet you're acting shy now?

He seems to notice the shift in your mood, his hands pausing on your thighs as he looks up at you with concern. He tilts his head slightly, his brow furrowing. “Did I do something wrong?”

You quickly shake your head. “I’m suddenly feeling very self-conscious.”

He studies your face for a moment. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” you blurt out, more forcefully than you intended, your hand instinctively reaching out to grab his wrist. “I… I guess I’m not used to feeling this exposed in front of you.”

He shifts slightly, moving closer so he’s eye-level with you, his hands still resting gently on your thighs. “We’ve done this countless times before.”

“I know, but that was years ago. Things feel different now… like there’s more at stake, maybe?” You let out a sigh. “It’s silly.”

“It’s not silly,” he reassures you. He soothes the skin behind your thighs. “But you don’t need to feel self-conscious with me. You’re beautiful, and I just want you to feel as good as you make me feel.”

If he keeps talking to you like that, there’s no doubt you’ll end up giving him your heart on a silver platter by the end of this. He shifts lower down your body. “We can go as slow as you want,” he continues, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another. “Just tell me what you need.”

You take a deep breath as his soft stubble grazes your skin. “I need you.”

“Then you’ll have me.”

You watch with heavy lids as he drags his lips along your skin until he presses the most tender kiss on your cunt. He really wasn’t lying when he said he could go as slow as you want because every kiss is achingly gentle, barely more than a feather-light touch. It’s the kind of softness that makes you writhe beneath him, and before you know it, your fingers are tangling in his curls while your hips buck against his face.

There’s a slight vibration on your skin—it could be his laughter, or maybe just a hum of contentment—but you don’t bother deciphering it. You’re too lost in the sensation as his tongue breaches your folds. You peer down and watch as he trails the tip of his tongue through your wetness, slowly tracing up and down your slit until he flicks it against your clit.

You’re honestly gone after that. You’re not surprised, though. If there’s one thing Spencer Reid is good at, it’s knowing exactly how to use his mouth. Sure, he’s a bona fide genius who spouts off random facts and quotes obscure literature, but his mouth? His mouth is a whole different level of expertise. It’s almost unfair how good he is. It’s like he’s studied you, memorized every little thing that makes you go crazy, and now he’s putting all that knowledge to devastatingly good use.

And it’s not like he’s doing it just for your pleasure. It brings him the same deep satisfaction. His eyes are closed, and he seems to lose himself in the act, savoring every taste, every reaction, every subtle shift of your body beneath him. It’s as though he’s completely immersed in finding an almost insatiable need to drink in everything about you. His tongue delves deeper, swirling around your entrance before sucking gently on your folds, pulling the soft skin into his mouth.

You find yourself pressing his head closer to your heat. His eyes flickers up to you. “You’re back.” Your response is simply another push of his head. “Oh. Needy, are we now?”

"Mhm," you manage to squeak out, feeling a rush of wetness seeping out of you. He leans in, his tongue catching a bead of moisture before it drips further, dragging it between your slick folds.

Your grip in his hair tightens.

“Spencer…”

“I know, I know,” he murmurs, his lips curling into a smile before his mouth descends again, this time focusing on your clit. His tongue flicks over the sensitive nub before he gently sucks, pulling it into his mouth with a slow rhythm that has you gasping. Each motion is perfectly timed and you feel yourself growing even wetter under his attention. His tongue swirls, then flattens before he sucks a little harder.

It doesn’t take long for you to feel that familiar coil in your stomach. The pleasure builds steadily, the tension winding tighter and tighter until it slowly overwhelms you. Spencer seems to sense it too, his hands gripping the back of your thighs a little tighter, pushing them further apart as he continues with unwavering focus. He’s not rushing, though, he’s savoring it, but his slow motion is enough to make you snap.

Your hips jerk against his mouth, and he doesn’t miss a beat, holding you steady as he continues his ministrations. He’s relentless in his gentleness, coaxing every ounce of pleasure from you, even as you’re left gasping for air. When you finally come down from the high, Spencer finally lifts his head and places a final, soft kiss on your inner thigh.

“Do you still feel self-conscious now?”

It takes you a moment before you can answer. You smile lazily at him. “Not after that.”

He grins and pulls you up into a sitting position. “Do you think you can give me another one?”

“Spencer,” you breathe out. “Even if you gave me thousands of orgasms, I’d probably ask for more.”

The laugh he lets out is warm and infectious, the sound vibrating through you in a way that makes you smile even wider. “Well,” he starts, slipping his hand down your thigh. “The human body is capable of experiencing multiple orgasms in a relatively short period of time, especially for women. So technically, you could keep asking for more, and I could keep giving them.”

“Even up to a thousand?”

“Maybe not to that extent.” He pulls you close, and you lean your weight against him. “Hold on to me.”

You do as you’re told and somehow you find yourself in a new position. When he spreads your legs apart, your senses go on high alert again. “Spence?”

He kisses your cheek, your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. “Try to relax.”

A gasp escapes your lips as his fingers dive between your thighs. Try to relax? Try to relax? Men and their audacity to tell you what to do, especially when they're the reason you're so wound up in the first place. Because how are you supposed to relax when his fingertips are brushing ever so gently over your clit? How are you supposed to calm your breathing when he’s spreading your arousal up and down your folds?

And how are you supposed to keep your composure when he suddenly fills you with, not one, but two of his fingers?

You feel yourself slipping and he tightens his other arm around your waist. “Told you to hold on.”

He’s starting to annoy you, but you listen to him and bury your face in the crook of his neck. You take a deep breath as he starts to move his fingers. Soap, you decide. It must be his soap, because he smells clean and crisp, almost like fresh linen and a hint of something peppery. It’s almost distracting if it weren’t for the way his fingers are curling inside of you.

Then you feel that sensation again, the kind that ripples through every nerve of your body. At first, it’s manageable, an intensity you think you can handle. But when he suddenly changes his technique, everything shifts. His entire hand moves in a fast, up-and-down motion that catches you completely off guard, and before you know it, you’re whining, your grip tightening on him as your head falls on his shoulder.

The rapid pace makes your head spin. It feels like he’s pulling the control right out of your hands, leaving you questioning your own limits. You’ve seen yourself getting wet, you’ve felt yourself become drenched before, but you’ve never experienced anything like this. You never realized your body could produce this much liquid. It’s not an overwhelming amount, but more than you’ve ever seen from yourself, and it splatters against his hand, dripping down your thighs.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even flinch when your nails claw into his shirt. He keeps going, and going, and going, until the only thing you hear is your rapid breathing against his neck and the slick, wet sounds he’s coaxing out of you. You’re overwhelmed (in the best way, of course) but you can’t stop yourself from cursing as the sensation intensifies, multiplies even.

It's not until your body starts to go limp that he finally takes pity on you. He slows down, his fingers pumping lazily inside you. “Good?”

“How did you—when did you—” you exhale a long breath. “I can’t feel my legs.”

He slowly withdraws his fingers out, only to rub your essence over your puffy clit, and your hips jerk once more before he finally stops. You're a trembling mess once you sink into the mattress.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you do that before.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever done that in my life.” Your eyes suddenly feel incredibly heavy that you can't resist letting them flutter close.

He kisses the tip of your nose. “Still up for another one?”

You peer through one eye, and when you catch him starting to undress himself, your other eye shoots open. The nod you give him is eager. His smile widens as he shrugs off his shirt, and you can’t help but let your gaze drop to the line of hair trailing down his stomach. You wonder what it would feel like under your tongue.

"Wait."

Your eyes snap back up to meet his. "What?"

His face twists into a grimace. “I don’t have a condom.”

Shit. Neither did you.

You roll onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow and resting your head in your hand. “And you’re realizing this just now?”

“I was too focused with you."

And by that, he means giving you the most intense orgasm of your life. You watch as his fingers hover over his belt. “You really didn’t think of bringing one when you decided to come over?”

“My intention coming here wasn’t exactly for this.”

“Well, it would be great if you at least considered the possibility." You study his face and blurt out the first thing on your mind, “I don’t want to stop.”

He shifts his weight on the bed. “Me neither.”

“I mean… we could have sex without using one. We’ve done it before. Once.”

He recalls what you're referring to and lets out an amused laugh. “Are you sure? Didn’t you freak out when you realized your period was late?”

“That was a coincidence! I was stressed out at that time, but I’m safe now—I think.” You pause, brows furrowing as you start calculating your cycle in your head. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m not ovulating.”

“Pretty sure?”

You give him a look. “No, I’m actually sure. I know my body, and I’ve done the math. See?” You gesture vaguely, as if the numbers and facts are floating in front of you. “No ovulation in sight.”

The corners of his mouth twitches into a smile. “Alright then,” he murmurs, and leans down to plant a soft kiss on your lips. “No ovulation in sight.”

“None,” you confirm before tugging his belt. “Can you please take off your pants now?”

He complies—with incredible speed—and when he’s finally as naked as you, your mouth waters at the sight of him. His cock is painfully hard, thick, with a bead of arousal glistening at the tip. You try to reach for him, but he has other plans. He crawls over your body and slips between your legs. He then grips the back of your thigh with one hand, pulling it up slightly to open you to him, while the other holds himself from the base.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The moan you let out is lewd. “Fuck, Spencer.”

An airy laugh slips out from him as he rubs the head of his cock around your clit. “So needy.”

You wiggle your hips. “Hurry up.”

He only hums in response, before easing his hips back just enough to drag his swollen tip through your slick outer lips. The underside of his cock splits your folds open with each stroke, and your head is spinning. It’s almost sweet how he’s taking this slow, but at this point, you’re so close to just shoving him inside you. You let out a frustrated whine when he pulls back, only to thrust forward just enough for the head of his cock to nudge at your entrance.

Your walls squeeze around him.

“O-Oh…” His mouth falls open slightly as he stares down at where your bodies meet. “I… I don’t remember you being this tight.”

You follow his gaze, watching the way your outer lips swallow him inch by inch. “I-It’s been a while.”

He pushes further, and your nails dig into his shoulders as he stretches you in a way that feels almost too much, and you can't help but tense when he thrusts further. He wraps your leg around his waist before leaning down, propping his weight on his elbows.

“Need you to relax,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over the pulse fluttering wildly in your neck. You do as he says. Breathe in, breathe out. Clench, unclench. And then you feel him easing inside you, oh-so-deliciously slow, until you squeak out a gasp when he finally fills you completely.

Because fuck, he stretches you—wrenches you open, and you’re consumed by his heat, the pressure, the sheer size of him. It overwhelms your senses, and all you can do is sing out a filthy moan. He follows your tune with a melody of his own, though his voice trembles, sounding more like he’s in pain as if he’s trying to hold himself back.

“You’re so warm,” he groans, his breath hot against your skin. “You okay?”

You nod and wrap an arm around his shoulders. “More than okay.”

“Do you think I can move?”

“Please.”

There’s no hesitation in the way he pulls back, only to sink into you again. His hips roll against yours in a way that feels both achingly slow and unhurried, like he’s savoring every second to memorize the way you feel around him. It’s like he can’t quite believe this is happening, that you’re giving him the chance to be tangled up with you in this position again.

And truthfully, neither can you.

But here you are, two bodies moving in perfect harmony, intertwined in the most primal, human way. Flesh against flesh, breath against breath. Even your heartbeats sync in the same rhythm. The world beyond seems to dissolve, leaving nothing but the pull of desire that draws you deeper into the moment, into him, until the boundaries of where you end and he begins blur into something undefinable.

It’s nonexistent. You’re glued to him, fused in a way that feels as if this is exactly where you belong.

No more running away, you decide.

“Kiss me.”

He’s in no position to decline, and within a heartbeat, he captures your lips in the sweetest kiss—well, as sweet as it can go. Because even though he tastes like honeyed warmth, his hips continue to pound into you, hitting that deep, tender spot inside. You whine against his lips. A needy, breathless sound that has him faltering for just a second, his hips stuttering against yours.

“You feel so—” he chokes on his words. “God, you’re so perfect.”

You’re perfect, you want to say, but you stop yourself, biting down on the words before they escape. It’s not that you don’t believe it. You just can’t bring yourself to admit it out loud. Not yet. Instead, your need wins out, pushing past everything else.

“More,” you gasp between shallow breaths.

He rests his forehead against yours. “Yeah? You want me to go faster?”

You whine in approval.

The instant he pulls back, his tip barely teasing your entrance before slamming into you again, a sharp gasp escapes your lips. He repeats the motion. Once. Twice. By the third time, he doesn’t hold back, driving his hips hard and fast, the wet sound of your bodies slapping together echoing off the walls.

You turn into a putty mess. You can barely think, let alone form words, your mind clouded with nothing but the feeling of him—inside you, around you. Your whole world narrows down to this moment, to the way he fills you so perfectly. His forehead stays pressed against yours the whole time, his lips hovering above yours he murmurs, “Tell me if it’s too much.”

But it’s not. It’s everything. Maybe even not enough. “I…” you gasp when a certain angle from him hits a deep spot inside you. “Oh, Spencer… harder, p-please.”

He’s more than happy to oblige.

He shifts slightly, then snaps his hips forward with a sudden, forceful thrust. He repeats the motion. Over and over again. His pace is relentless now, and he starts to pant, his breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts, every exhale brushing against your lips. There’s a tension in his body, a taut strain in muscles, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. And you can’t help but moan softly into his mouth, swallowing each of his gasps as his control starts to slip away.

“Where do you want—” His voice falters. “Can I—inside—”

You nod frantically. “Yes. Yes.”

It’s enough to push you both over the edge.

The sensation starts as a gentle warmth in your fingertips, slowly winding its way through your body. It weaves through your limbs, spirals up your spine, before gathering intensely at your core. You’re shaking, trembling, and you instinctively reach out for something to ground yourself. One hand threads into his curls, the other clutches his jaw.

Then it happens. His cock moves in a frantic rhythm, sending you spiraling deeper into intense pleasure for the third time tonight. Your inner walls tighten around him as your orgasm crashes through you, gripping him so tightly that it pulls a raw, breathless groan from his lips. He slams into you with uneven thrusts as he presses your body flat onto the bed, until he stops and shudders, spilling hot, white liquid deep inside you.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt something this intense before—not even with him in the past. Every inch of your body is buzzing as his warmth spreads through you, reaching places you didn’t even know existed. You cling to him, your nails softly grazing his back as he finally lets out a satisfied hum, his lips moving to pepper kisses along your face.

He starts with your left cheek. Two gentle kisses. He moves to your right, giving a light peck that lingers just a moment longer, almost as if he’s blowing a warm breath against your skin. You giggle as the air tickles you. Then finally, he settles on your lips with a sigh that merges into a kiss. It’s soft, sweet, and tenderly slow.

You let out another laugh when he finally pulls away.

“What?”

His curls fall messily on his forehead and you reach up, brushing it back. “You’re starting to grow on me.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “I grow on you?” You simply nod. “Like fungus?”

Your fingers pause in his hair. “Like what?”

"You know, fungus. It grows on things. Like mold or mushrooms,” he explains and gives you a smile. "Am I growing on you like that?"

You’ve been apart for so long that you almost forgot how his brain works. His unexpected comparison sparks your amusement, so you decide to humor him. “Depends on what kind of mushroom you are.”

He looks thoughtful for a while. “There's this mushroom called mycorrhiza. It forms a symbiotic relationship with trees and helps them grow by improving water and nutrient absorption."

“And that makes you what, exactly?”

“Essentially indispensable.”

“So you’re claiming you’re good for me?”

A slow, confident grin spreads across his lips. “I’m saying I’m exactly what you need.”

You burst out laughing. Your cheeks might actually ache from smiling this much. “That was pretty smooth.”

He looks incredibly pleased with himself. Then after a quiet moment, he buries his face in the curve of your neck. You close your eyes, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against yours, and a sigh escapes your lips. It’s like all the time you spent apart melts away in that single breath, and something inside you relaxes, as if he’s managed to sneak back into the parts of you you’d forgotten existed.

Maybe he is right. Maybe, after all this time, he’s exactly what you need.

You wake up to the sound of clatter. It’s loud, jarring, and it echoes around the house. You stir in bed, stretching your limbs before tensing when you feel something poking your back. Your hazy mind immediately snaps into alert, and you open your eyes fully, glancing toward the window. Sunlight is already pouring into the room, far too bright for how early you thought it was.

You quickly turn over to the other side.

“Spencer. Spencer!” you hiss, shaking his shoulders urgently. “Wake up! We overslept!”

He groans softly but doesn’t move. Another loud clatter bounces off the walls, and your heart pounds wildly in your chest.

“Spencer,” you whisper sharply, eyes widening. “I think Matt is home.”

That finally gets his attention. He blinks his eyes open. “Wha—?”

You’re already halfway out of bed, rushing to the window to peek through the curtains. Sure enough, you spot your brother’s car parked in the driveway. “Yep, he’s here,” you mutter under your breath, the panic rising as you turn back to Spencer. “And now he’s going to kill us.”

“He’s not going to kill us,” he mumbles, but even by his voice, you can tell he’s not entirely convinced. You watch as he finally slips out of bed, scrambling to pick up his clothes scattered across the floor. “We talked about this last night. It’s not going to be as bad as you think.”

You shoot him a look before quickly pulling on your own clothes.

“There’s a big difference between telling him, and him finding out that his sister is sleeping with his friend while he was away taking care of his wife and baby.” You yank your shirt over your head. “In his freaking house.”

When you put it that way, Spencer’s heart sinks a little. Although Matt isn’t a violent person, he has twice the muscle he does, and it’s not hard to imagine him being a lot less forgiving in a situation like this. He can’t help but picture the worst-case scenario even though Matt’s always been the reasonable type.

Until now, maybe.

“Do you think I should climb out the window?”

You stare at him in disbelief. "Spencer, you’re not sixteen.”

“Actually, I’ve never been in a situation like this,” he admits, pulling up his pants. “My biggest concern when I was sixteen was getting my first PhD.”

You forgot how ridiculously smart he is. Smarter than most people, definitely smarter than you. “Well now you’re getting firsthand experience.” You start pacing around the room. “Let’s just try to stay calm.”

“That’s kind of hard to do when your brother could walk in while I’m half-naked.”

You look at him in horror. “Then put your damn shirt on!"

Before he can reply, there's a noise from outside the room—a quick shuffle of steps, light and rapid, as if someone’s rushing down the hall. You barely have time to react before the door is wrenched open.

But it's not your brother.

It's far worse.

You feel your stomach drop when your eyes lands on the small figure of your nephew, standing there with wide eyes. His gaze shifts back and forth—from you, disheveled and clearly flustered, to Spencer, whose bare back is facing the door, still fumbling with his pants. From little Jake's point of view, it must look like the most confusing sight, because he quickly retreats, bolting down the hallway.

“Dad! Help! There’s a strange man in Auntie’s room!”

You don’t know whether to laugh or panic. The fact that Jake didn’t recognize Spencer without his usual suit is almost comical. You glance at him, noticing how his body has tensed, his back straightening in alarm.

“Who was that?” he whispers, turning to you with wide eyes.

"Jake.” You blow a strand of hair that falls across your face. “Who apparently thinks you're an intruder."

The blood seems to drain from his face. “He didn’t recognize me?”

Your eyes flick over his appearance—his wild, tangled hair sticking out in all directions, bare chest still slightly flushed from sleep, and pants barely zipped. “Not when you look like this, no.”

But before he can respond, you hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway, heavier this time.

Your heart leaps into your throat.

“Shit.”

“I should have climbed out the window.”

The idea of him dangling from the window is even more absurd. You glance toward the door. "Okay, wait here. Let me talk to Matt first." Your eyes flicker to his bare chest again, and you let out the most exasperated sigh. "And please, for the love of God, put on your shirt."

You don’t have time to wait for his response as you rush out of the room, quickly closing the door behind you. You take a second to catch your breath, trying to compose yourself, when a noise down the hallway draws your attention. Only then do you notice Matt cautiously advancing towards your way, his back against the wall.

That’s when you spot the gun in his hand.

“Seriously?” you hiss, staring at him in disbelief. “What the hell, Matthew!”

He looks at you, equally surprised. “Jake said there was a strange man in your room!” he replies defensively, tightening his grip on the weapon. “What was I supposed to think?“​

Your eyes shift toward your nephew, who’s peeking around the corner, his little head barely visible as he watches the scene unfold. This is definitely not how you expected your morning to go. A simple, awkward conversation was one thing, but having to disarm your brother while explaining this mess was an entirely different level.

“There’s no intruder, Matt. Put the gun down.”

He looks past you, his eyes zeroing in on the closed bedroom door. “Then who’s in there?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. There’s no easy way to explain this. How do you even start? That Spencer is standing half-naked in the guest room, trying to gather his dignity after being mistaken for an intruder by a six-year-old? You never thought you'd have to introduce Spencer to your brother this way, in his own house, under these chaotic circumstances.

You can feel Matt's eyes boring into you, waiting for an answer. All you can think is how ridiculous this all must look, and how there's no good way to smooth over the fact that, yes, Spencer Reid, his friend slash teammate, is behind the door. And the most absurd part? A part of you is more worried about the look on Matt's face than the fact that he's holding a gun.

“Please don’t be mad.”

You hold your breath as you slowly reach for the doorknob. You push the door open and let out a small, relieved sound when you see Spencer fully dressed, looking almost presentable, except for the wild hair that refuses to settle. He gives you a small nod before stepping out of the room.

“Uncle Spencer?” Jake’s small voice cuts through the tension. Matt’s gaze darts between you two, his jaw tightening as he puts the pieces together. You can see the moment realization hits him full force.

“Reid?” Matt’s voice is incredulous, bordering on betrayed. “What the hell is going on?”

“I can explain,” you say cautiously. “It’s not exactly how it looks.”

“Not exactly how it looks?” Matt echoes, his eyes narrowing at you, then shifting back to Spencer. “You’re in my guest room looking like you just rolled out of bed—”

“Fully clothed now,” Spencer cuts in quickly, which only earns him a frown from Matt.

“Not helping,” you mutter under your breath, shooting Spencer a look before turning back to your brother. “Fine, it’s exactly how it looks like. So… uh, surprise?”

You watch so many emotions flashing in his eyes. Matt’s always been a good brother. Sometimes annoying, but always reliable. He doesn’t usually get angry at you—quite the opposite, actually. He’s calm, level-headed, and more prone to offering advice than raising his voice. But now? The frustration is clear in his eyes.

He’s not mad exactly, but he’s definitely not happy either.

“Surprise?” Matt repeats, his voice flat. His gaze flick back to Spencer, who’s now shifting his weight awkwardly beside you. “This is how you decided to tell me?”

“Okay, it’s not how we planned it, obviously.”

“Clearly,” he deadpans. You put on the best innocent face you can muster.

You put on the best, innocent-looking face you can muster.

“Maaatttt,” you try again, deciding to use a different approach by being cute this time. “Don’t be so harsh.”

To your relief, it actually works on him, like it usually does whenever you try to charm your way out of trouble. His tough exterior falters because, no matter what, you’re still his baby sister. His face softens for a moment, shoulders dropping as he lets out a sigh.

“I’m not mad, okay? But I am your brother. And you,” he adds, pointing at Spencer. “You’re supposed to be my friend. I feel like I should’ve known about this before… well, before finding you like this.” Your shoulders slumps at his words. “How long has this been going?”

Now that is a tricky question. Explaining that you and Spencer occasionally had sex five years ago definitely isn’t something your brother needs to hear right now—or ever, really. You can almost feel Spencer tense beside you, probably having the same thought.

You clear your throat. “Last night.”

"Last night?" Matt looks at you as if you’re crazy. It might be the most disapproving look he’s ever given to you. "You're telling me this just started last night?"

"But—" you quickly add, holding up a hand to stop his train of thought. "We’ve been talking for a while, it’s not like it happened out of nowhere. Last night was just the first time we decided to actually do something about it."

“Right under my roof?” Matt’s brows pinches upward. “You lied about having a headache, didn’t you?”

“Wait, you had a headache? Why didn’t you tell me?”

You’re not sure you can handle two men pestering you at the same time. You focus on your brother instead.

“Look, we didn’t plan anything yesterday. Things just… happened,” you say, trying to explain without making it sound worse than it already does. “But it’s not only about last night. For what it’s worth, we were planning to tell to you. Just not like this.”

Your brother cocks an eyebrow. “So this isn’t a one-time thing?”

Spencer doesn’t hesitate. “God, no,” he says. You feel an arm snake around your waist. “I care about her. A lot.”

Matt stares at Spencer for a long moment, his face a mixture of frustration, concern, and something else. Acceptance, maybe. He looks back at you. “Is this what you want?”

You feel Spencer’s grip tighten on your waist. He’s also waiting for your answer.

“It’s what I want.”

Spencer’s thumb brushes over you as Matt lets out a long breath, his grip on the gun finally relaxing. “This feels weird.”

“In a good way?”

“In a bizarre kind of way.” Matt’s falls falls on Spencer again. “I’m still trying to process this, but if you hurt her—”

“I won’t,” Spencer promises. “I swear.”

“Good, because you know I can put you back to prison if you do.”

Oh, he knows. Spencer understands exactly what he means, after all, Matt was one of the few people who helped clear his name during one of the most horrific moments of his life. Even if there’s a slight jab in his words, Spencer can tell he’s being dead serious. Especially with that gun still attached to his grip.

You, on the other hand, are hearing this for the first time. “Wait, what?” you blurt out. “Prison? You went to prison?”

Spencer merely shrug. Matt finally lowers his weapon, shaking his head as if he can’t quite believe this is happening. “I need coffee,” he mutters, turning toward the kitchen.

“Wait…” Jake finally peeks out from behind the wall. You blink your eyes, forgetting he’s even there. “Does this mean Uncle Spencer is your boyfriend now?”

You feel three pair of eyes on you. Matt’s gaze is sharp. Spencer’s expression is cautious. And then there’s Jake, looking up at you with the straightforward curiosity only a child can have. To him, things are simple. Either you are, or you aren’t, and in hindsight, it really is a straightforward question. But nothing about this situation has been straightforward.

You look at Spencer for a fraction of a second. You can see the nervous hope reflected in his eyes. Maybe Jake’s question isn’t just his… maybe it’s Spencer’s too.

And sure, maybe it doesn’t have to be so complicated. Maybe it really is as simple as saying—

“Yes.” You can feel your heartbeat in your ears. “I suppose he is.”

If you’ve ever seen Spencer being happy, it pales in comparison to this. His eyes light up, and he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world. A genuine, almost boyish smile spreads across his face as you feel his warmth seep into your skin. There’s so much affection in his gaze it makes your chest tighten. He’s not just happy. He’s beaming.

Matt clears his throat awkwardly. “Come on, kiddo, let’s grab what your mom needs and get back to the hospital.” He glances back at you. “You guys coming?”

You nod absentmindedly. “Sure.”

He throws you both a look. Not hateful, but definitely not warm either. You see him grip his gun from the corner of your eye, more out of habit than necessity, before steering his son away with a firm hand on his shoulders.

“That went better than expected,” Spencer mutters the moment your brother is out of earshot.

“‘It’s not going to be as bad as you think’,” you mock, reciting the words he said to you half an hour ago.

“It wasn’t.”

“Spencer, he held a gun.”

“He thought I was an intruder. I would’ve done the same thing,” he points out, his tone surprisingly calm as he holds you by your waist. “Relax, okay? He’ll come around us. Eventually.”

“You’re awfully optimistic about this.”

“He likes me.”

He does have a point. Matt has always had a soft spot for Spencer, but you’re not sure how far that can go after what just happened. “I think you might have lost a few brownie points today.”

He considers the truth in your words. “Maybe,” he admits with a shrug. “But at least I earned a few with you.”

“Because of the boyfriend thing?” He’s grinning so wide that his eyes practically disappear into crescent moons. You poke the slightest dimple on his cheek. “Don’t act so smug. I’m still trying to process the fact that I’m dating an ex-felon.”

“I was framed,” he explains, and the way he says it so nonchalantly only deepens your confusion. He tries to smooth your frown with a kiss. “I’ll tell you everything on our first date.”

“Who said I’ll go on a date with you?”

“You will,” he simply says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“And what makes you so sure?”

Because he’s always been sure. The man who doubts everything, who overanalyzes every situation, looks at you with a certainty that makes your heart swell. You’ve seen that look before—the one that says he’s considered every possible outcome and decided this is the one that matters most. There’s something magnetic about it, the way he seems to know exactly what he wants, and right now, it’s you.

“Because I’m your mushroom.”

He’s so silly, yet there’s something so perfectly Spencer about it that makes the idea of not going on a date with him feel impossible. You shake your head, unable to suppress your smile.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter, but the warmth in your chest tells you he’s already won your heart.

And you don’t mind him keeping it.

[monstersflashlight]

do you have anything about some sort of reptile-based monster that involves hemipenes? i think it’s a very cool way to do double penetration with only one top

A/N: First part of this was one of the stories in the 10k followers event (find it here). Enjoy!

Lizard-brain: the research

Lizardman x fem!reader || double penetration, hemi-peens, tail play, light choking, exhibitionism, dirty talk (low key)

When he pulled out, you felt your holes twitching at the same time a mechanical voice said from the speakers: “You did well, researcher, very interesting data was recorded.” Shit, you forgot there were people watching and probably saw you get fucked within an inch of your life. All your coworkers just watched you getting double creampied by a giant lizard-man. Great.

You were allowed to go home after that, your boss telling you to go clean yourself and the next day you could go over the data with them. Your lizard mate wasn’t happy about it, but he complied knowing he could see you the next day. You felt many emotions when you left the place, not ready to name any of them, you only showered and went to sleep, your body sore in the best way possible.

You arrived to the facility next day, and the first thing your boss said was: “We need you to do it again,” you looked at them confused, what the fuck did they mean.

“What?” You asked, looking at the monitors in the wall to try catch a sight of your mate.

He explained some of the data they collected, but how it was still very early in the research to know for sure, that’s why they said: “We need more data, and you are his mate after all.” You looked at him with understanding, your scientific brain already working all the possible conclusions of all the data collected so far and how much more you could know if you kept it. But also...

“I need to talk to him about this,” you told them. You had feelings for a big monster, and he considered you his mate, there was a lot of possible ethical problems there.

“Oh yes, it talks. True.” They said, but like it didn’t matter at all.

That infuriated you, but you swallowed your complaints, trying to understand why you felt so protective over him. And then it clicked, mate bonds weren’t only one way, he felt the mate bond, but you felt it back. You cemented your bond with sex and now you felt tied to him the same way he was tied to you. That realization should have scared you, but only made your stomach flip with butterflies. You had a mate. And that came with a new goal in mind: demonstrate that lizard-people could go outside and live like equals to humans. That started with proving your mate bond was true and necessary, scientifically. And if that meant to be fucked in front of some researcher, so be it.

The talk with your mate went as well as expected. He was more than okay with the idea of fucking you again, but not so keen on the idea of other people being there. But the head researcher insisted it was important for somebody to be in the room with you to catalog fine movements and reactions that cameras couldn’t capture. You agreed with them on that, that’s the only reason you accepted (nothing to do with the fact that you might or might not have a bit of an exhibitionist kink).

And that’s why you were naked over a medical bed with your lizard-man mate over your body and a researcher standing a few meters away. Your pussy was already wet, needy and desperate to be filled to the brim again. Your lizard mate was looking at you intensely, caressing your body with one hand as he jerked his upper dick with the other. You knew this position meant big dick downstairs, and you were already anticipating the stretch.

He approached you and rubbed his small upper dick against your entrance. “Good job, keep going,” the researcher instructed. “Touch her pussy.”

Your lizard stopped and turned to look at them. “Don’t tell me what to do with my mate,” he growled, making the researcher step back and cover their mouth. “You are here because she wanted it, but I will kill you if you say more,” the danger in his tone indicated he wasn’t kidding. And it made your clit tingle.

You reached up to touch his face and redirect his attention to you, rolling your hips to feel his dick against your needy pussy. He pushed his dick slowly, breathing hard over you, his eyes never leaving yours. You could hear his tail thrashing behind him as you caressed his head with your short nails. He purred, making you giggle as he pushed his upper dick a bit further inside your pussy. The groan he got in response made him chuckle as you felt his claws probing your asshole.

“Are you going to be a good mate today, too?” His question was filled with hope, and you could only nod, trusting him and his magic precum to make it possible. Seeing as you woke up without any pain, you guessed the magic was more than great and would help you out this time around, too. “Such a good mate for me, your holes are so perfect,” he was talking to you but not really. He seemed far away, like your pussy was transporting him into another dimension.

He started rubbing his big dick against your asshole, and you instantly felt the calmness and relaxation of his precum, allowing him to push the tip inside. You cried out, way too big. There was no pain, but the stretch was noticeable as he kept going, and going, and going… By the time he was fully inside you were breathing hard and he had crazed eyes. It was intoxicating.

“How is he doing that?” The researcher asked out loud, stepping a bit closer and earning themselves a warning growl.

“Ssssshut up!” Your lizard mate hissed in their direction, his pace fluttering at the distraction.

“But I-” The researcher tried again.

You looked over at them, trying to move your hips to get your mate to move again. “I will fill a report later,” you told them between pants.

“But I-,” they insisted.

It was enough. “SHUT UP!” You yelled at them as your lizard man stopped moving completely to glare at you, surprised. “Shut the fuck up and I will answer the questions, but you won’t be able to get any responses if you don’t shut up and let my mate fuck me senseless,” you let out between your teeth.

Said mate liked your outburst very much, soon grabbing your face forcefully to look at you. He started fucking you with intent then, the combination of his dicks inside of you driving you insane in a matter of seconds. He reached you neck and squeezed, feeling the vibrations of your moans against his hand and increasing his thrusts to make you lose your mind.

You felt something different this time, the tip of his scaled tail reaching around his body to rub against your clit. The textured surface made you see stars and the universe as he played with you in every way, taking your pleasure to the next level. It was exhilarating, your mouth open and your head thrown back as he fucked you like a machine.

He lowered his body, whispering against your ear: “Come for me, my mate, let me feel your holes milking me.” And like a good girl, you exploded into a million pieces as he growled over you and painted your insides with his cum.

This time around he didn’t stop, though. He kept fucking you for what felt like hours, probably were. You forgot everything about research and people watching, you forgot everything about your boss and the world. You could only focus on his dicks inside of you and his tail rubbing your clit until you came so many times that you had to ask for mercy, which he sweetly complied. He kissed your forehead and pulled out, leaving you messy and exhausted.

Once again you found yourself creampied in front of all your colleagues. Your job was suddenly a lot more interesting than two days ago.

[amirasainz]

Can you please do driver reader is literally the absolute Angel of the paddock and everyone adores her, she’s the cutest sweetest little bean that you can’t help but love, she’s a Redbull driver and Christian always fawns over her and talks about his ‘daughter’ ( it’s clear she’s the favourite ). Even the older drivers love her e.g kimi, jenson, Seb, mark. Platonic pleaseeee

Omg, that is such a sweet idea. I did the format a bit differently, hope you don't mind.

Enjoy reading and send me some requests!!!

-XoXo

The Redbull Princess

YN YLN was a known name in the motor sport world. Not only was she the youngest driver currently on the grid - only 19 years - but she is the first female to ever drive for RedBull. Not oy that, but also the only woman on the grid.

Despite having a different gender, the other drivers never treated her bad. In fact, one could say that YN got the whole "Princess Treatment" from the drivers and teams. Each driver has taken a special place in her life.

Exhibit A: The protective one

The paddock was buzzing with energy, reporters swarming like bees near the Red Bull garage. YN was prepping for her media rounds, already feeling the weight of the spotlight on her. As she stepped into the press pen, a group of journalists immediately approached, firing off questions.

"YN, how do you feel about the pressure of being the youngest driver? Do you think it affects your performance?"

Before she could answer, Max appeared out of nowhere, slipping between her and the reporters with a grin that was anything but friendly. "I think that's enough for now," Max said, his blue eyes narrowing. "She’s got a race to focus on. Back off."

The reporters, visibly intimidated by the reigning World Champion, quickly shuffled away. YN let out a breath of relief, nudging Max with her elbow.

"You know, I can handle them."

Max chuckled, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, steering her away from the crowd. "Yeah, but why would I let them bother you when I can have fun scaring them off?"

"You're impossible," she laughed. "But thanks."

Exhibit B: The gossip King

YN walked into the Ferrari garage, still buzzing from practice. She found Charles leaning against his car, drinking water. His face lit up when he saw her.

"Charlie! Did you see that move I pulled in turn 9?" she said, excitedly plopping down next to him.

Charles grinned, instantly slipping into gossip mode. "I did! Smooth as butter. But did you hear about Fernando's radio message? He was furious about the tire degradation. Drama!"

YN's eyes widened. "No way! Spill all the tea, Leclerc."

Charles leaned in, whispering. "Apparently, his engineer told him to manage his tires better, and Nando snapped, saying, ‘I am managing them!’" He mimicked Fernando’s accent, making YN burst into laughter.

Exhibit C: The helping hand

The young RedBull driver just exited her car, when she felt someone grabbing her Birking Bag. When she quickly turned her head, she was meat with the sight of Carlos not only caring her bag in his hands and her coat on his arm, but carring his own stuff as well.

"Carlito, what are you doing? You don’t have to carry all my stuff for me." she told him, after they started walking towards the entrance.

Carlos mate an irritated sound, before responding to her. "Nonsense, hermana. Your job is to win this weekend. So let me help you with all the other things, comprende?"

Before Carlos could get an answer, she threw her arms around him, whispering a small thank you in his ear.

Exhibit D: The personal chef

YN sat in the Red Bull hospitality area, poking at her plate of food with a discontented look. Yuki walked over, noticing her lack of enthusiasm.

"Not good enough for you, huh?" Yuki teased, sliding into the seat across from her.

YN scrunched up her nose. "I don’t know what it is, but I just can’t eat this."

Without missing a beat, Yuki stood up. "I’ll make you something. What do you want?"

Her eyes brightened. "Yuki, really? You don’t have to!"

He waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, you’re picky. I know that. What do you want? Miso soup? Onigiri?"

YN tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Onigiri sounds perfect."

Within minutes, Yuki was back, placing a plate of freshly made onigiri in front of her. YN took a bite and sighed contentedly. "You're the best, Yuki."

He grinned. "I know."

Exhibit E: The "annoying" prankster

YN was busy trying to make sure her helmet and gear were ready when suddenly, her entire backpack fell off the counter with a loud thud, spilling everything.

"Lando!" she yelled, spinning around, catching the British driver grinning like a mischievous child.

"What?" Lando said, feigning innocence, hands up. "It slipped."

YN gave him a look but couldn’t help the smile creeping on her face. Lando always knew how to lift her spirits, even if it was through relentless pranks.

"One day, Norris, one day!" she warned, pointing a finger at him.

"I’ll be waiting," Lando chuckled, before helping her pick up her things

Exhibit F: The shoulder to cry on

"I just can't believe it. I was so close. How did I manage to bin the car into the wall on the last corner" muttered the 19 year old. Her face pressed in Oscars neck, who was busy stroking her hair. He knew better than to interrupt her during her rant. Knowing it would help her when she got everything of her chest.

After a moment, she shakily breathed out. Oscar knew that the only thing he could do now was to let her fall apart while he would catch every piece of her.

And that's what he did. While she cried her heart out, Oscar held her close to him, rocking them slowly in a soothing matter. It felt like nothing could happen to her in Oscars arms. He would protect her from the outside world as long as she needed

Sometimes actions speak louder than words

Exhabit G: The fashionista

Lewis stood beside YN, eyeing her racing suit critically before smirking. "That’s not gonna work."

"What do you mean?" she asked, confused.

He pointed at her boots. "Those shoes? No way. They don’t match the rest of the suit."

YN raised an eyebrow. "I'm not trying to walk the runway, Lewis. I’m racing."

Lewis rolled his eyes. "You can do both. Come on, let’s get you a new pair of shoes. You’ll thank me later."

And true to his words, YN received a new pair of racing shoes only a few hours later. They certainly looked better than her old pair.

Exhibit H: The mother-hen

George was hovering near the buffet in the paddock, watching YN closely as she piled food onto her plate. He narrowed his eyes as she bypassed the salad section.

"YN, you need to eat more greens. And have you had any water today?" George asked, his tone dangerously close to motherly.

YN groaned. "George, I’m fine. I had water this morning."

"That’s not enough," he replied sternly, filling a glass and handing it to her. "Drink. Now."

She pouted but took the glass. "Okay, Mom."

Exhibit I: The proud dad

During a press conference, Christian Horner stood beside YN, smiling at the reporters. "You all know my daughter here is the star of the show," he said, gesturing towards YN.

YN blushed at the comment. "Christian!"

The reporters laughed, but YN knew Christian wasn’t entirely joking. He had taken her under his wing from day one, treating her like family. And she couldn’t have been more grateful.

Exhibit J: Bwoah

In a rare quiet moment, YN had somehow convinced Kimi Räikkönen — the Iceman himself — to do a TikTok trend with her. As the camera rolled, Kimi deadpanned his way through the trend, barely moving but somehow nailing it.

"Thanks for doing this, Kimi," YN said, grinning as they finished.

Kimi shrugged. "Bwoah, don’t mention it, kid. But don’t tell the other drivers that you are my favourite"

YN laughed. "Deal."

[wannaeatramyeon]

Meeting Student!Gun Park for the First Time

G/N. 3.2k. Remember when Gun wanted to get his GED? Well. Stranger to~ Masterlists

"How old are you?"

"20."

Press X for doubt, you think, and that's the exact meme you send over on chat.

"20 like 20 or 20 like you're mid 30s and planning your mid life crisis 20?"

You know you're being rude and making a terrible first impression. It's the first day of a new school year, of a new school in fact, and for some reason the class is held on video call and you're all forced to pair off with a classmate for an icebreaker introduction.

It’s already cringe worthy and awkward enough, icebreakers must have been created as a form of torture. To add insult to injury, you're sure this guy is bullshitting you.

"I'm 20." He deadpans.

Momentarily, you’re stunned into silence. It stretches almost a tad too long before you manage to choke out, “My bad. Sorry."

Wow. You're torn between thinking that's a rough 20, this guy has easily got 40 years under his belt and oh no, when is your puberty and hormones gonna kick in like that.

And that's also the exact moment this 20 year old Gun Park takes a drag on a cigarette and you decide that it's definitely a rough 20.

"So what do you do for fun?" You probe, and you have the distinct feeling he might say something like alimony, planning his third marriage, investing in the stock market - whatever someone in their 50s might say but-

To your surprise and glee, his body language turns shifty. 

He likes to game he says, like it's a dirty little secret. Amongst other things. Mentions something about training and martial arts and you fight to keep a straight face as it turns out you were also right about investing in shares and the stock market.

Gaming, however, is what you latch on to.

"Cute. I bet I could kick your ass."

"Oh yeah?"

"Oh yes."

And this is how you ended up at 4am on a school night, playing Tekken with your new classmate and getting your ass kicked.

"One more!" You screech down the mic, after the KO sign appears on screen, mumbling something about cheating and how if you can time this combo just right-

There's a huff of laughter coming through your tinny headphones and an amused "Fine."

.

.

Dark circles under your eyes grow. It's been a week of straight losses.

You blame the sleep deprivation on Gun Park, though really you have your own stubbornness to blame.

He never tends to say much during the gaming sessions apart from the odd expletive and you rant enough after each of your defeats for the both of you.

Sometimes this will earn you a chuckle and he will snidely add that you asked for this, you were the one who was supposed to kick his ass. This would piss you off enough for another game or three in the hopes of defeating him and getting to gloat.

Which unfortunately has not happened yet.

With a sigh, you hope your camera quality this morning is bad enough and pixelated enough that your poor sleep habits don't show.

You scan over your classmates, the few that have their camera turned on and find him.

Gun looks completely fine. He looks completely fine in what must be 4k and ugh, you scrunch your nose up in annoyance.

You keep an eye on him through the class. Observe how he's usually paying rapt attention, scribbling and typing up notes every now and then.

It's impressive how studious he is.

In comparison, you're daydreaming. Thinking about lunch, other combos or characters to play to counter his own when you catch on to the back end of a sentence as your teacher mentions ‘this’ is something to pay attention to as it will be on the pop quiz.

Huh? You blink a couple times. What is ‘this’? Unfortunately she swiftly moves onto another topic.

You type out a direct message to the only person you know.

You: I missed that, what did she just say?

Gun: You should have been paying attention.

You: Fuck you man!

You see his eyes dip to the bottom of the camera screen, briefly moving as he presumably reads your message.

He smirks.

That night he kicks your ass again.

Then as consolation, reveals what will be on the pop quiz.

.

.

If Gun looked like that in 4k, nothing could prepare you for how he looked in real life.

You're setting up your laptop and notepad in the classroom, the first actual in-person session, when someone takes a seat next to you.

Initially you feel a surge of irritation that they could have sat anywhere else and chose to sit next to you, then you look at the offender and-

Hold on.

You double, triple-take-

Is that?

It must be.

Shit.

It's fucking Gun Park.

You don't entirely regret your initial comments on his looks because this guy definitely does not look 20 but goddamn he looks-

He chooses that moment, when your jaw is on the floor, to turn to you and give you a nod of acknowledgement.

"Y/N."

"H-hi." You manage, and even to your ears it sounds like a simpering fool.

He must have thought so too if the quirk of his lips is anything to go by.

The cherry on top is that you expected this guy to smell like stale smoke, instead all you get is fresh laundry and something faintly dark and heady like leather and cedarwood.

Fuck.

Control yourself, a disapproving voice in your head says. Even that sounds vaguely like Gun.

It does nothing to stop your wandering gaze, peering at him in your periphery when you think he's not looking.

After you have taken your chance to not so discreetly run your eyes up and down his form, the only thing that makes you feel better is his hair. Because yeah he might be hot, but holy shit that must be a gallon of hair gel in there.

.

.

The other thing, as it turns out, that makes you feel a lot better is that he doodles.

It’s utterly charming.

Someone like Gun Park doesn't look like he doodles, but in between lines of his chicken scratch (seriously, who can even read that), there's little stick figures.

Maybe all the time you thought he was being studious he was just drawing-

Wait. You squint at the picture.

Is this guy for real?

"Are they fucking?" You whisper, using your pen to point at the page.

He doesn't answer straight away. There's a moment of surprise as he reacts like this is another secret of his he has unwittingly let you in on before his nostril flares and his eyes narrow and you grin in response.

Your grin grows when he grits out an answer. "No. Fighting."

He doesn't call you a dumbass but you can hear it loud and clear tacked on at the end.

"Whatever, pervert." You counter. You guess if you squint even harder then you suppose they could be fighting. Although the way one is lying on top of another is very suggestive. You don't hesitate to point that out to him.

Gun closes his eyes and counts to ten.

.

.

Even without a seating plan, one forms.

Places taken by chance on the first day becomes a regular arrangement.

You exchange a few words with your classmates, familiarise yourself somewhat with their names and faces. Pieces of their backstory, why they're here studying for a GED but take your spot next to Gun regardless.

No one really talks to him, you've heard them saying he's menacing and intimidating. Yet when your first encounter of him was mistaking him as someone about to hit mid life crisis, how intimidating can he really be.

Besides, he still doodles his lewd figures that he insists are not in any way shape or form comprising sexual positions. So no, you don't find him intimidating at all.

.

.

Gun, as you have come to know, is a man of few words. He is also unsurprisingly not great at literature.

What you don't yet know is he likes to say what he means and mean what he says. His patience only extends to The Art of War, so all the flowery prose and poetry only serves to irritate him.

If Gun glared at you the way he's currently glaring at the textbook, you think you may either burst into tears or burst into flames.

Luckily you do neither of those things but you do take pity on him. Leaning over, you ask him quietly if he needs help.

He doesn't respond but the pen he's clutching in his right hand snaps in half.

Alright then.

Half an hour later, when the class empties out you ask Gun to follow you to the library.

He hesitates, and you add "if you've got time" to give him an out. In the end he doesn't take it and trudges obediently after you.

You very quickly learn that he really doesn't like literature. You're explaining and working him through the analysis and also mildly offended at the bored look on his face.

"This is a waste of time," he interjects and there's a sullen undercurrent to his words.

"Just memorise the analysis then." Exasperation tinges your tone, "That's all you need to do to pass."

He arches a brow at your words.

"They're testing your memory. So just remember what our teacher says."

There's an angry air of resignation as Gun nods, and you slide your notes over for him to copy.

.

.

Not long after, you have your first minor evaluation on the literature material.

You notice during the test that while the vein in Gun’s temple is prominent and he’s clutching his (new) pen tighter, there’s barely any pause as he fills in the answers.

A few days later, the graded papers are handed back. There's a sigh of relief from Gun.

He gives you a smile, small and genuine, eyes crinkling at the corner.

"You owe me one," you tell him jokingly though he takes it to heart and gives you a stern nod.

.

.

Gun repays his debt, with a coffee.

He places the paper cup on the desk in front of you. Logo of the coffee house to the side but still visible. It's new, expensive, and there’s regular lines around the block.

Of course it would be from there.

The issue is, who repays a debt with an espresso. He didn’t even ask for your drink of choice!

"Thanks for this thimble of coffee," you remark as Gun sniffs in distaste at your comment, placing his own matching cup in front of him and saying something about how it's the best untainted way to drink it.

Of course he would also be a coffee snob.

You tell him you usually like it with a bit more cream and a lot more sugar and he mutters that you sound like Goo.

You think that's an insult.

"Well, at least Goo has good taste," you snipe back with a grin.

Gun closes his eyes and counts to ten.

.

.

You: Are you doodling or actually writing notes?

You: Cos on camera you look very studious but I’ve seen your notepad

Gun: None of your business

You: Still drawing your disgusting pornographic stick men then

Gun: They are not-

Gun: Whatever

.

.

You: Ok, maybe that espresso wasn’t terrible

Gun: I know

You: Who’s Goo anyway?

Gun: …

Gun: No-one

You: Suuuure

.

.

You: Tekken tonight?

Gun: Aren’t you tired of getting your ass kicked?

You: >:(

.

.

You: Do you wanna go over the new lit material in the library this week?

Gun: Ok

.

.

Gun: Thanks for your help

You: :) 

.

.

Gun: You’re tired. You should game less.

You: Spoken like a coward!

Gun: Dumbass

You: Hey!!

.

.

Gun: I’ll bring you an espresso tomorrow. You need it.

You: Does it have to be an espresso?

Gun: Yes

You: …Thanks

.

.

To anyone else, the figure standing in the doorway is just smoking. To you, it suspiciously looks like they’re waiting.

It's not a crime. Gun Park can wait for whatever or whoever he wants.

What really throws you off is his smoking. You've seen him casually take one single drag before throwing the whole cigarette away. Even to you, it seems like a waste.

However, this time he smokes one all the way to the filter before stubbing it out. Then does the same to a second, and third.

Strange, very strange.

You approach him. Taking gentle steps, in case he might get spooked and bolt which is really a ridiculous notion for someone like him. Nevertheless, you keep your footsteps light, yourself clearly in view and you wander over to him.

"Hey," you say, with a somewhat forced smile. He doesn't acknowledge your greeting apart from a brief nod.

"... Everything ok?"

It's a perfectly normal question to ask but a vastly bizarre one for Gun. He doesn't look like the type of person where people casually enquire about his well being.

He must have thought so too if the look he gives you is anything to go by.

In response, he stubs out his cigarette (his fourth!) then asks, stilted and stiffly, if you want to come back to his for a game of Tekken.

At least that's what you interpret as he seems to be crazy cryptic.

"Are you interested in Tekken?"

"...Yes." You wonder what on earth this question is because did you hallucinate all those games you played together?

"Then meet me. After class." 

"Where? Here?"

"No. At mine."

"Where's that?"

"..."

He gives you another look, as if you're the one trying to coax a secret out of him despite him offering.

Gun dips forward, murmurs quietly into your ear his address and some vague directions like it's highly confidential information.

You nod along, thinking what is with this guy. 

.

.

So firstly, what the fuck.

Then secondly, what the fuck.

Don't think you hadn't noticed the designer brands Gun wears. If they're fakes, they're very convincing fakes. But you're almost certain they have got to be counterfeit when he brought you over to a junkyard claiming this is where he lives.

You've seen films like this. Granted, it's less in a junkyard and more in the middle of nowhere in America where college kids meet their gruesome ends in fantastical ways.

You never thought this would happen to you. You have sorely miscalculated. 

Is this Gun Park (if that even is his real name) going to butcher you and leave your body on top of a pile of scrap metal in the corner?

Instead of a night of gaming where you’re the one KO-ing him, he’s actually the one that’s going to chase you around wearing a mask and wielding a knife or axe?

"You’re here. Come in," Gun says, opening his front door just as your inner monologue begins to truly spiral out of control and you're considering doing a runner.

"Eh?" You grunt like an idiot, not noticing when the shack appeared nor when you stepped onto his porch, or the side eyes Gun had been giving you.

He gives you another look, likely regretting inviting you at all, and leaves the door ajar for you to either enter or turn back and go home.

.

.

"This is... nice," you lie, through the skin of your teeth.

Gun sees cleanly through your white lie and exhales a huff of amusement.

It's sparse. Peeks of luxury here and there - the extensive PC gaming rig, the entertainment system and consoles, to name a few.

Apart from that, it's barely a home.

"Take a seat." He offers, and it sounds more like an order. Obediently you sit on his sofa, feeling very much a guest.

"You're not in danger," he says, bemused at how awkward you are in his domain, how tense you hold yourself.

'That's exactly what a killer would say,' you think and when you hear a low chuckle, you realise that you said it aloud.

"Don't worry," Gun reassures and it doesn’t really help before he strides off to somewhere in his house and leaves you sitting alone.

He returns back minutes later as you’re in the middle of admiring his entertainment set up and going through his vinyl collection (because obviously someone like Gun has vinyls) with a coffee for you that looks much more milky and to your taste than the usual ones he offers. 

“Thanks.” you take your drink and return back to your seat.

Taking the first sip, you finally manage to relax. Sinking into a sofa that is much more comfortable than at first glance and you take in your surroundings a bit more.

Sort of. You actually take in Gun Park more. 

He’s casual, in a way you have never seen or even considered. Dressed in a t-shirt and grey sweatpants, hair floppy and the only styling is done with his hands running through his hair now and then to keep it back.

Even during the online classes, he is usually dressed up in an open collared shirt.

If you thought he was hot before, it’s nothing compared to now. There’s an air of domesticity, the drink he made for you cradled in your hands, and the distinct feeling that not many people have had the luxury to see Gun in his natural habitat, so intimate and vulnerable.

You wonder if this is how he looks all those nights you’ve been gaming together.

You catch his eyes, having been caught checking him out and he raises his eyebrows at your blatant staring. 

Blood rushes to your cheeks as he chuckles into his own espresso and takes a sip.

.

.

"Holy shit, I won!"

You're familiar with the KO screen. What you're not familiar with is being on the side of victory. You're usually a hair trigger away from rage quitting, from throwing a tantrum down the mic.

Finally. All your hard work has paid off. Time spent thinking of combos, attacks and defences (which would have been better spent studying) is coming to fruition.

You peer over to Gun, expect the controller he is clutching to maybe have been crushed into pieces with his freakish strength. Expected nothing except for a vein throbbing on his temple.

What you do find is-

Gun looking at you, fondness in his eyes. He's taking in your grin, letting your gloating slide.

Doesn't do more than roll his eyes when you perform a victory dance of sorts around him.

And when you get in his face to tell him that you're the winner, you're the best-

(More words are on the tip of your tongue but your gaze drops to his lip, drawn to the small smile he wears.

It sinks in.

The patience he has, the attention he gives, the way he has opened his home to you.

From the very first meeting, the even-handed way he has dealt with your insults, entertained you to the early hours of the morning on Tekken.)

Gun reaches out, tugs your hand and pulls you into his lap and agrees.

"Yes. The best."

You think it's a lie, an embellishment.

But the way he holds you - tender and precious, and the way he leans forward to rest his forehead against yours - soft, like you might break - can't be anything else but the whole truth.

[dollgxtz]

His Watchful Eye Pt. 6

Word Count: 15.k...(oops)

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, dubcon, vaginal sex, creampie, breeding, comfort sex, cunnilingus, overstimulation if you squint, mentions of murder, nightmares, manipulation, pet names like, kitten, sweetie, honey, tw for panic attacks, rape flashbacks, xavier appears

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh, @eliasxchocolate, @nozomiaj, @xmiisuki, @sylus-kitten, @its-regretti , @m0onlustre , @ve1vet-cake, @letgobro, @starkeysslvt, @yarafic, @prince-nikko, @leiaglmela @connorsui, @iluvmewwwww75, @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer, @mysssticc, @babygirl-panda19, @someone-somewheres-stuff, @zaynesjasmine1, @honnylemontea, @altariasu, @the-slytherin-poet, @sorryimakira, @pearlymel, @emidpsandia , @angel-jupiter, @hwangintakswifey,

AN: Hi everyone! This is also on A03! Please someone stop me, how the hell did I manage to squeeze in like 4k extra words than last time??? Anyways, enjoy the meal, I definitely have missed writing smut with yan!sylus and reader :3. Also a gentle reminder that reader has no specific skin tone! I just use images that I think represent the chapter well, you can imagine her however you’d like ^^

"I'll make it all disappear," Sylus murmured, his voice low and hypnotic, penetrating the darkest recesses of your fractured psyche. It was as if he possessed the power to reach inside your mind and vaporize the painful memories that clung to you like shackles. "You want to feel so good you won't think about him again?"

Read Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt. 5

The car roars down the empty road, its tires devouring the distance between freedom and your inevitable return to captivity. Luke sits at the wheel, his face completely hidden behind the bird shaped mask. You can’t see his eyes, can’t gauge anything from the way he’s holding himself—just the silent, unyielding presence of the man steering you back to your prison.

You wonder how he sees out of that thing.

Kieran sits beside him, his mask just the same, his fingers tapping a light, almost carefree rhythm on the dashboard as he finishes humming a cheery tune. His face, too, is entirely concealed, leaving you with nothing to hold onto—no eyes to search for clues, no expressions to read.

In the rearview mirror, you sense Kieran shift his head to look at you but can't entirely tell, his hidden gaze offers you nothing. The silence stretches on, broken only by the low hum of the engine and the steady, deliberate breaths of Sylus against your neck, the heat of his body keeping you trapped in more ways than one.

Sylus holds you tight, as if the moment he loosens his grip, you’ll dissolve into the darkness beyond the windows. His large hands are splayed possessively across your thighs, pinning you in place on his lap. Each minute that ticks by in this confined space feels like a countdown to something you can’t define, but the feeling of impending dread settles deep in your bones.

Your mind is a storm, thoughts swirling in an endless, chaotic loop. The gunshot that ended Reese’s life thunders in your head, over and over, refusing to let you go. You can still see it so clearly—the way his body slumped to the floor, lifeless, his eyes wide with the shock of it all.

It feels like it’s eating you alive.

This is your fault.

Yes, Reese was a monster. He’d kidnapped you, lied to you, dragged you into a nightmare you never deserved. But even now, that part of you—the part that still clung to honor, to a sense of right and wrong, the part of an honorable deep space hunter—hated what had happened. You hated yourself for it. He should have been locked away, brought to justice, not gunned down like that.

Your chest tightens. Why didn’t you stop it? You could have, couldn’t you? You didn’t have to let your anger take over, didn’t have to spit those words at him, didn't have to tell him to go to hell. If you hadn’t done that, Sylus wouldn’t have killed him right? The weight of it presses down on you, like you’re suffocating under the guilt.

You can feel it in your bones—the sharp sting of your failure, the way you let your emotions run wild. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You weren’t supposed to be the reason a person died, no matter how twisted or evil they were. You were supposed to be better than that.

But you weren’t.

And now Reese’s blood is on your hands.

The guilt coils tighter around your chest. You can almost taste the bitterness of it on your tongue, a relentless reminder of how you failed. Maybe if you had just kept your mouth shut. Maybe if you had found some way, any way, to de-escalate the situation, he’d still be alive. You wouldn't have to carry the weight of his death.

But you didn’t. And now it’s too late.

This is your fault.

You feel tears begin to prick at the corners of your eyes, but you quickly suck in a breath, forcing them back. You can’t let them fall—not here, not now. You can’t let Sylus see the storm raging inside you. If he sees you faltering, sees your weakness, he’ll think he’s won.

You sense his eyes on you, watching, studying, but thankfully, he says nothing. His grip around you tightens slightly, as if he’s aware of the cracks forming in your resolve, but for once, he stays silent, leaving you alone with the war you’re fighting within yourself.

Instead of crying, you shift, turning your head to focus on the window. The dark tint makes it difficult to see clearly, but not impossible. You can just make out the blurred outlines of buildings as they whip past, vague shadows in the distance.

How much longer would this take? How far had you come?

You think back to the agonizing walk that had led you to the convenience store—the endless hours of trudging through unfamiliar streets, hoping for an escape. Time had lost all meaning then, just like it had now.

Lost in your thoughts, you feel your body betraying you, your exhaustion creeping in. You start to drift off against your will, feeling the heaviness pulling at your eyelids as you sink further into Sylus’s lap. You fight it, not wanting to rest your head on his chest, fearing what you might wake up to. But it’s been days since you’ve had proper rest, and the pull of sleep is relentless.

Minutes stretch into eternity, and despite your best efforts, your body begins to give in. You’re teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when suddenly, Sylus’s gruff voice cuts through the silence, startling you awake.

“Luke, tell the chefs to have dinner ready in an hour. Kieran, cancel my meeting with the general.”

Luke and Kieran both nod silently, their masked faces giving nothing away, and just as you’re trying to make sense of the words, the car abruptly comes to a stop.

“Yes, boss!” the twins respond with a clipped tones, as if this exchange is routine.

Everything happens so quickly. The moment the car parks, Luke and Kieran scramble out of their seats with swift, practiced efficiency. The sound of the doors opening and shutting echoes in the quiet night. Sylus shifts beneath you, opening his door, and you awkwardly slide off his lap, trying to maintain some semblance of balance as he exits the vehicle. You watch through strained, weary eyes as he steps out, his figure towering over the open car door. Then, he stretches out his hand toward you.

You hesitate.

The gesture, though outwardly polite, is anything but friendly. It’s not an offer—it’s a command, an unspoken reminder of your captivity. The world seems to close in around you, the air growing thicker, and your heart begins to pound in your chest. Your mind races, but there’s nowhere to run.

“If you’re thinking about driving off,” Sylus says with a low chuckle, leaning down to peer into the car, “Luke’s already got the keys, kitten.”

You can’t help but shoot him a sharp glare. You’d thought about running, yes, but not now—not when escape was utterly impossible. The moment passes quickly, and you open your mouth, wanting to explain yourself, to insist you weren’t planning anything. But the words stick in your throat, useless.

Instead, you shut your mouth, swallowing your frustration, and glare at him in defiance. Wordlessly, you reach out and take his hand. His grip is firm, possessive, as he helps you out of the car. Carefully, you step onto the ground, your heart still racing, knowing you’re walking back into your cage.

You glance around as Sylus pulls you forward, your hand still trapped in his. The sight of the mansion looms ahead, its grand, imposing silhouette becoming clearer with each step. Tall iron gates and bird statues loom in front of you, a place that might have been beautiful if it weren’t for the dread curling deep in your chest.

The mansion is more than just a building; it’s a cage, one that now feels even more suffocating as Sylus forces you to walk beside him, hand in hand like you’re something precious. But you know better. This is control, a quiet but undeniable display of power.

With each step toward the front door, the walls of the world seem to close in tighter, and your heart races faster. The echoes of your own footsteps blend with the eerie silence of the night, the only sound that reminds you how very trapped you are in this place—never truly alone, but never free either.

As you walk toward the towering front doors, your eyes drift upward, almost unconsciously, to Sylus. His appearance has always been striking—red eyes that seem to glow with a mix of malice and amusement, and white hair with subtle gray undertones, catching the faint light of the mansion. His angular features, so sharp and perfectly controlled, show signs of wear now. You can see the tension in his brow, the tiredness in the slight creases around his eyes—things you hadn’t noticed before. It makes you wonder how much stress your escape had caused him. How much had he sacrificed in the time you were gone? Had he been frantic, furious?

As if sensing your gaze, Sylus turns his head slightly, catching you in the act of studying him. A smirk plays across his lips, and his crimson eyes flicker with amusement. "What’s the matter? Falling in love?" His voice is a low drawl, teasing, but there’s something predatory in it—like he’s already enjoying this little game.

Heat rises to your face, a mixture of irritation and something else you refuse to name. You look away quickly, forcing yourself to focus on anything but him. His taunts are the last thing you want to entertain, especially when your mind is still spinning with the weight of what lies ahead. Still, the words linger, taunting you as much as his smirk did.

Finally, the massive front doors loom before you, framed by the same wrought iron and heavy stone that always made the mansion feel more like a fortress. Sylus stops, standing tall beside you, his hand still gripping yours as if to remind you that escape, or even defiance, is out of the question.

He gestures toward a small panel embedded into the wall near the door. "Lean down," he orders, the edge of his voice soft yet commanding, "in front of the scanner."

Confused, you glance between him and the scanner, unsure of what he’s planning. You hesitate, but his unblinking red gaze locks onto you, expectant, leaving you little choice. Slowly, you lean forward, lowering yourself until your eyes are aligned with the scanner. A soft beep fills the air, followed by a click as the door unlocks.

You straighten, startled, staring at the door in disbelief. "Wait," you stammer, turning to Sylus. "Aren’t you trying to prevent me from escaping?"

A deep, rumbling laugh escapes him, and he shakes his head, the white strands of his hair shifting slightly as he leans in closer, his red eyes flashing with amusement. "Your eyes," he says with a grin, "can only get you into this place." He leans in further, his breath warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "Not out."

His words settle heavily in your chest, and a knot of dread tightens in your stomach. Your eyes—the very thing that could open doors here—were also the key to locking you in. Any hope you might have had, any fleeting thought of escape, is crushed in that moment. The world seems to warp, the walls of the mansion now looming around you like a trap. A cage disguised as opulence.

Why had he even bothered with something like that? The thought gnaws at you as you stand at the threshold of the mansion. Did he seriously think you would ever want to come back inside? The idea seems absurd. You were his captive, forced into this nightmare. There was no version of this where you willingly returned.

But as you glance back at him, his smirk still lingering on his face, you wonder if that’s exactly what he wants. He’s a man who thrives on control, on bending people to his will, and the thought that he might relish the idea of making you come back to this place, on your own terms, sends a shiver down your spine. Would he leave you out there in that desolate city, waiting, desperate, only to watch you break down and crawl back inside? The idea feels like a twisted game only he could design—where escape was impossible not just because of physical barriers, but because he'd burrowed deep into your mind.

You shake your head, trying to push the thought away, but the question lingers, settling like a weight in your chest. Did he think that, over time, you’d surrender? That this grand mansion, this cage, would eventually become a place you’d walk into willingly?

Sylus catches your hesitation, his red eyes glinting in the low light. “Strange, isn’t it?” he muses, his voice smooth and casual, as if he could read the questions racing through your mind. “A key that only lets you in. But maybe someday…you'll want to use it.”

His words hang in the air, and you can feel your pulse quicken, anger mixing with the uncertainty swirling inside you. He can’t seriously believe that, can he? That one day you’d walk back into this place of your own accord?

The very thought of it makes your stomach turn. You can’t imagine a future where you wouldn’t fight tooth and nail to stay away from here. Yet, there’s an unsettling confidence in the way he says it, a certainty that leaves you with more questions than answers.

“As if I would ever, prick,” you spat, your voice sharp and defiant.

Sylus laughs, his amusement rolling off him in deep waves, rich and unhurried. His red eyes gleam, locking onto yours with a look that holds something deeper than mere satisfaction. There’s affection there—twisted, yes, but genuine.

“Ah, there she is,” he murmurs, his grin widening. “I was starting to wonder if the N109 Zone had fully broken you.” His grip tightens, not painfully, but firm and reassuring, as he leads you into the grand mansion. To him, this was always meant to be your home, even if you couldn't see it yet.

You grimace at his words, irritation bubbling up inside you, making your heart race. This was still a game to him—a challenge, but not one born of cruelty. No, he found your defiance amusing, like a kitten batting at the hand that feeds it. He loved it, even.

You silently curse him under your breath as he leads you deeper into the grand house, your feet moving mechanically while your mind fights to keep up. The familiar sights come back into view, flooding your senses like a slow wave of nausea. The glossy black tile beneath your feet, the dark, lavish décor that loomed from every corner—it was all the same, just as cold and suffocating as you remembered.

Your eyes flick to the kitchen entryway, a place that had once offered a glimmer of hope, a chance to escape. You remember fleeing into it, heart racing, desperate to get away from all of this, only to be dragged back into Sylus’s grip. The memory gnaws at you, bringing a fresh wave of bitterness.

It makes you sick.

Every inch of this place, every dark aesthetic, seemed designed to remind you of your captivity. This was a cage, no matter how opulent or luxurious it appeared on the surface. And the worst part was the weight of his hand around yours—the possessiveness of his grip, the unspoken reminder that escape, no matter how hard you tried, was out of reach right now.

Sylus gently guides you toward the stairs, his grip still firm, giving you no room to hesitate. You feel your heart pounding in your chest as your feet start moving up the dark, winding staircase. Every step feels heavier than the last, your pulse thrumming in your ears as memories flood back—memories of when you had fled, heart racing, legs burning, desperate to escape this place. You’d made it down these very stairs once before, only to have freedom ripped away from you.

Now, you were being forced back up, step by agonizing step, into the room you had fought so hard to leave behind.

With every step upward, your resolve starts to crumble. The closer you get to that door, the more you feel the weight of your captivity settling in again, suffocating you. The darkened hallways, the oppressive silence—it all presses down on you, reminding you that no matter how much you fight, this is where you’ll always end up. Trapped.

You hesitate when you finally reach the door to the bedroom. The sight of it makes your stomach twist, your feet glued to the floor as a wave of dread washes over you. Everything in your body screams not to go inside, not to let yourself be locked in that room again. To run, to fight.

But Sylus is right behind you, close enough that you can feel his presence, his breath warm and steady, almost unnervingly calm. His grip on your hand softens, his thumb tracing a slow circle against your skin, as if to soothe your frayed nerves. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice gentle but laced with that unsettling authority. “Go on, sweetie.”

The way he says it is almost tender, but it only deepens the knot of anxiety in your chest. You can’t tell if it’s real kindness or just another layer of control. That soft, coaxing tone… it unnerves you more than his laughter, more than his taunts.

Despite every fiber of your being wanting to resist, you find yourself moving, stepping forward under the weight of his quiet insistence. You cross the threshold into the room, your body betraying you even as your mind screams to stop. The door clicks shut behind you with an almost imperceptible finality, and just like that, the familiar four dark walls of your prison close in around you once more.

You fight back the tears burning at the edges of your eyes as you step further into the room. The familiar surroundings feel like a punch to the gut—the large, imposing bed where Sylus had forced himself on you many many times, leaving behind scars you hadn’t realized had cut so deep. The leather couch in the center of the room, cold and impersonal, where you’d sat, waiting for the next wave of control to sweep over your life.

It’s too much.

For a moment, your knees threaten to buckle beneath you, the weight of it all pressing down with crushing force. The memories—dark, suffocating—swirl around you, making it hard to breathe. You almost crumble right there, unable to withstand the flood of emotions, of trauma that suddenly feels too close to the surface.

But before you can collapse, Sylus is there, his hand wrapping around your arm, guiding you away from the room and into the bathroom. His touch is firm but oddly gentle, a contrast that makes you even more uneasy. He’s pulling you toward the tiled space, and your mind races, trying to understand what’s happening as he begins to carefully, methodically, lift up your shirt to undress you.

“No,” you whisper, your voice trembling, barely audible over the sound of your own racing heartbeat. Your body goes stiff, your hands gripping the fabric of your shirt as if holding onto it could somehow protect you. “No,” you repeat, a little louder this time, your voice shaky and uneven. The tremors wrack your body, panic rising in your chest.

Sylus looks at you with something akin to worry, his touch slowing, but not stopping. He doesn’t force you, but his actions continue with a sense of inevitability, as though he believes this is just part of taking care of you, of ensuring you’re where you belong.

"I'm not going to do anything to you now, you just need a shower, sweetie."

But your mind is somewhere else entirely.

Flashes of memory assault you—dim lights, the scent of damp stone, and the overpowering fear of when you were in that basement. The man who had tried to force himself on you, who had pressed you against the bed with a hunger that still made your skin crawl. Your breath hitches as you remember his hands, his twisted smile. The terror, the helplessness—it's all too real, crashing down on you like a tidal wave.

You hadn’t realized just how deeply the trauma had sunk into you. Not until this moment, with Sylus standing in front of you, touching your clothes, his touch too familiar, too close to the horror you’d endured. You had been holding your emotions back but you couldn't now.

You flinch, your body recoiling instinctively as the memories close in around you. Your voice cracks, barely holding back the sob building in your throat. “Please…don’t.”

Sylus’s hands pause, and for the first time that entire day, you see it,—hesitation flickering across his sharp features. His red eyes, usually so calculating and cold, soften just enough for you to notice. His grip loosens, his fingers no longer working to take off your clothes but instead resting lightly on your shoulders, as if afraid of causing more harm.

“Be still,” he says again, his voice quiet and strangely tender. “I’m just trying to help you.”

But his words barely register. The panic has already set in, tightening around your chest like a vice. Your breathing grows shallow, quick—too quick. Your thoughts scatter, your heartbeat hammering so hard it feels like your ribcage might shatter under the pressure. The room spins around you, and suddenly you’re not here anymore. You’re back in the basement, cold stone beneath your feet, that man’s hands on your skin, forcing you against the wall. Forcing you on the bed.

You gasp for air, but each breath comes in ragged, uneven bursts. Your vision blurs, and your knees wobble beneath you. It’s happening all over again. The helplessness, the terror. It’s like your body has been pulled back into that moment, and no matter how much you try to claw your way out, you can’t.

Sylus moves swiftly, pulling you into his arms before you can collapse. His embrace is strong and grounding, his chest solid against your trembling form. “Breathe, sweetie” he whispers, his voice low, soothing, as if trying to coax you back from the edge of your panic. His hand rubs slow circles on your back, the gentle rhythm fighting against the chaos inside you. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

But you can’t. The air won’t come. Your breaths are sharp and shallow, your body on the verge of shutting down as you feel the world slipping away. You struggle, pushing weakly at him, but his arms only tighten around you, holding you firmly in place, anchoring you.

“Shhh, shhh…” His voice drops even lower, soft and almost tender. “I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe.”

The warmth of his body presses against yours, his presence somehow steadying the storm inside you. You eventually cling to him, not because you want to, but because it’s the only thing that keeps you from spiraling into complete panic. His hand continues to stroke your back in slow, measured motions, and though your heart still pounds in your chest, his touch starts to break through the suffocating fog.

“I’ll turn around, okay?” he says gently, as if sensing the root of your fear. “You can undress yourself. I won’t watch.”

There’s something in his tone—something that feels honest, reassuring, like he’s not just saying the words to control you but because he wants you to feel safe. You weakly nod, barely, but he catches it. He loosens his grip and takes a slow step back, raising his hands in surrender, his red eyes locked onto yours.

“I’ll give you some time. You don’t have to rush.”

With a careful turn, he faces away from you, his broad back filling the room but no longer imposing. His actions aren’t threatening; they’re deliberate, giving you the space he knows you need.

Your breathing slows and you blink back tears, but your body still trembles. You wipe the remaining tears from your eyes with a shaky hand, glancing around the bathroom as the panic begins to ebb. And then you notice it—something is different.

The bathtub is gone.

It had been there before, you remember. A large, ornate tub that had taken up the corner of the bathroom, a symbol of something luxurious in this prison of yours. But now, it’s nowhere to be seen. Your brows knit together in confusion as you stare at the empty space.

“Where’s the tub?” you ask, your voice hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Sylus doesn’t turn around, but his response is quick and calm, as if he expected the question. “I had it removed,” he says softly, his voice strangely careful, almost cautious. “I didn’t want you to drown yourself again.”

The words hit you like a slap, sharp and unexpected. You freeze, your heart skipping a beat as the weight of what he’s saying sinks in. He thought…no, he knew. He knew how deep the darkness inside you could go, how close you’d come to actually dying. He’d taken precautions—not just to keep you here, but to keep you alive.

You stand there, frozen, staring at the empty space where the bathtub used to be, and the reality sinks in—there’s truly no escape. Not from this place, not from Sylus, and not from the relentless grip of your own mind. He’s stripped you of every option, every avenue, until there’s nothing left but this.

Nothing left but him.

The exhaustion presses down on you, heavier than ever before. With slow, mechanical movements, you step into the shower, your limbs feeling distant, as if they don’t belong to you anymore. The warm water hits your skin, but it does nothing to ease the weight in your chest. You close your eyes, hoping that the steady stream of water can drown out the chaos inside your head—the panic, the hopelessness, the memories.

But they cling to you, stubborn and unyielding.

Images flash behind your closed eyelids—memories of that basement, the cold stone walls pressing in, the terror that gripped you when the man came too close, his hands reaching, his breath sour. You press your hands against the tiled wall, your body shaking as you fight the memories back, but they keep coming, like waves crashing over you, dragging you under.

And then there’s Reese.

You can’t stop seeing it—the moment his body hit the floor, the sound of the fatal gunshot echoing in your mind like a haunting refrain. His face, twisted in shock and pain. Your fault. The words circle in your mind like a dark mantra, mixing with the trauma of that basement. It’s all tangled together, and no matter how hard you try, you can’t make it stop.

"Go to hell, Reese."

The water cascades down your back, but it doesn’t wash away the guilt. It doesn’t drown out the horror. The images of blood and brain matter sliding down concrete walls.

You press your forehead against the cold tile, letting the water soak through your hair as you fight the rising tide of emotion threatening to overwhelm you. You want to believe that there’s a way out, some form of freedom—maybe not from this mansion, but at least from the grip of your own mind. But right now, standing under the relentless stream of water, you know that freedom is further away than ever.

No matter how much you fight it, you’re trapped. Inside this house. Inside yourself.

And the worst part? Sylus knows it.

You feel the tears begin to well up, hot and uncontainable, spilling over before you even realize you’ve let them go. They mix with the water, disappearing beneath the steady stream of the shower, unseen, unclaimed by anyone but you. For the first time in what feels like forever, no one is watching. Not even Sylus.

You let the sobs come quietly, your body trembling as the tears fall, merging with the warm cascade. It’s a strange relief, knowing that in this moment, he isn’t witnessing your breaking point. Sylus had made it clear—your pain, your misery, your tears, they all belonged to him.

But right now, this moment is yours.

As the tears fall silently, you press your forehead against the cool tile, letting yourself cry in a way you hadn’t allowed before. The sobs are shaky, barely audible over the sound of the water, but they are real, raw, and they are yours alone. The stream washes them away before they have the chance to leave a trace, like they never existed at all.

Even as your heart aches and the trauma still weighs you down, there’s a strange comfort in the tears that go unnoticed. For just these few minutes, you aren’t his broken thing to fix or keep. You’re just a person, trying to survive, trying to breathe.

And even though the water doesn’t drown out all the pain or the memories, it gives you enough space to let the emotions pour out—if only for a little while.

Xavier’s breath came in shallow bursts as he navigated the empty streets of Linkon City, the familiar hum of his hunter’s watch glowing faintly on his wrist. His blue eyes flicked between the road and the holographic screen hovering just above the watch face. The blue light illuminated his face, highlighting the sharp focus in his eyes. The signal from the phone booth was still there, blinking steadily. That was his main lead—the last place you’d been before everything went silent.

His mind replayed the sound of your voice from the call, every word etched into his memory. Kidnapped. You hadn’t said much, but the panic in your tone had been unmistakable. The moment the call cut, something in him snapped. There was no hesitation, no second thought—he had left almost immediately, speeding through the city, your trembling words echoing in his head.

"Yeah, his name is S—"

Your words echoed in Xavier's mind, over and over, like a haunting refrain. You hadn’t been able to finish your sentence before the call had abruptly cut out, leaving him with nothing but that single, meaningless syllable. S. It replayed in his head as the car sped forward, finally breaking free from the limits of Linkon City and onto the dark, winding road that would lead him toward the N109 Zone.

He had tried to call back the second the line went dead, his hands trembling as he frantically redialed the number, but it was no use. The call wouldn’t connect. Maybe you had run out of money for the payphone. Maybe something far worse had happened.

The not knowing gnawed at him.

Who was S? The question had burned in his mind from the moment you said it. A name. It had to be a name. But just that one letter wasn’t enough to figure out who this person was, let alone why they had taken you. He cursed under his breath, gripping the steering wheel tighter as the dark road stretched out before him.

Whoever S was, they were dangerous enough to bring you to the N109 Zone. That part made his blood run cold. This place wasn’t just desolate—it was the kind of area that most people in the city pretended didn’t even exist. It was lawless, forgotten. A place where the desperate went to disappear, where the city’s darkness festered beneath the surface and on top of it, darkness everywhere you turn.

But why there? What did this S want with you? And why take you so far from the city?

He replayed the phone call in his mind again, your voice shaky but steady as you’d tried to tell him what had happened. The fear had been there, simmering just beneath your words, but you had clearly fought to stay calm.

Xavier’s heart pounded harder with every mile. There was something else that bothered him, something gnawing at the edges of his mind. Why had you been targeted? You were strong, capable—smart. One of the best deep space hunters around. You wouldn’t have let yourself be taken easily. That meant whoever S was, he’d planned this, thought it through, and knew how to get to you. That thought made Xavier’s stomach twist. This wasn’t random. It was calculated.

The car hit a bump in the road, jolting him back to the present, but his mind still raced. He needed to find you, needed to get to you before this S—whoever he was—did something unforgivable. He couldn’t stand the thought of you being out there, scared and alone, waiting for help that felt too far away.

He glanced at the holographic display on his hunter’s watch again, watching as the faint signal pulsed from the N109 Zone. It wasn’t much of a lead, but it was the best lead he had. That phone booth, that single clue you’d left him before the call ended, was his only connection to you now.

Who are you, S? The question echoed in his mind as he pressed down harder on the gas pedal, the car roaring down the empty highway.

He didn’t know what awaited him in the N109 Zone, but he knew one thing for sure: he was prepared to fight like hell for you.

After what felt like an eternity, buildings whipping past him, Xavier finally pulled up to the phone booth, his heart hammering in his chest. The headlights illuminated the cracked pavement and the battered glass of the booth, standing alone at the edge of the desolate lot like a ghost from another time. But of course, you weren’t there. The booth was empty. You were nowhere to be found.

Xavier’s grip tightened on the steering wheel as he sat there for a moment, staring at the empty phone booth. His mind raced, thoughts tangled in frustration and fear. You had told him you would call back—you had said you were going to that strange man’s house, and then you’d come back to tell him what it looked like. But now, standing there in the middle of the N109 Zone, it felt like that plan had shattered into a thousand pieces.

He stepped out of the car, the cold air hitting him like a slap to the face as he approached the booth. His eyes scanned the area, up and down, looking for any sign of you. But there was nothing. Just silence. The eerie kind that made his stomach twist with unease.

The booth was run-down, even worse up close. He stared at it, his thoughts flickering between panic and regret. Should he wait for you to come back, as you said you would? Or had something already gone terribly wrong? Every second that passed felt like a ticking clock, time slipping away, leaving him more uncertain than ever.

He leaned against the booth, raking a hand through his hair, trying to decide. You had been so determined—so sure you could handle this. You’d said you were going to check out this strange man’s house, get some rest, and then return. But the thought of you going there alone, to that man—whoever he was—made him sick.

I should’ve told you not to go with him.

The regret hit him hard, twisting deep in his chest. He should’ve been more forceful, should’ve stopped you. The second you’d mentioned this man, this stranger who had somehow convinced you to follow him, alarm bells had gone off in his head. He had sensed something wasn’t right. Why hadn’t he told you to stay away? Why hadn’t he made sure you didn’t go?

But you were strong, capable—you had always been stubborn, determined to handle things on your own. And he had trusted you to do that. But now…now you were missing. And he was standing in an empty lot with no idea where you were or who had taken you.

Xavier clenched his fists, staring at the phone booth as if willing it to give him answers. The last place you had been. He thought about turning around, driving through the N109 Zone, checking every corner, every building. But the reality of how vast and dangerous this area was made him hesitate. He didn’t even know who to look for. S. The mysterious man whose name had been cut off by the phone’s disconnect. That wasn’t enough.

Xavier’s stomach growled, pulling him from the fog of his frantic thoughts. He hadn’t eaten properly in hours, and the adrenaline that had been fueling him was finally wearing thin. He gritted his teeth, the pang of hunger a sharp reminder of just how long it had been since he’d stopped moving. He didn’t want to waste time, but he knew he needed to eat, to think straight.

Reluctantly, he climbed back into the car and started driving, scanning the streets of the N109 Zone for anything that looked remotely functional. This part of the city was basically wasteland—most of the buildings were crumbling, their windows broken, and the streets were nearly empty. He almost decided to give up before spotting a flicker of neon in the distance.

It was a convenience store—small, dingy, and barely lit—but it was open. The cracked neon sign buzzed weakly, casting a dull glow over the entrance. It didn’t look promising, but it was all he had. He pulled up, the car’s tires crunching over the broken pavement as he parked.

Xavier stepped out, his eyes narrowing as he approached the entrance. The store looked as worn out as the rest of the area, its windows covered in grime and dust, but the lights inside told him it was still in business. He pushed the door open, the warmth of the store enveloping him.

The place reeked of stale air and something faintly metallic. Shelves lined the narrow aisles, most of them half-stocked but there was variety. Xavier grabbed a few snacks—whatever looked edible—and made his way to the counter, where a grimy man with disheveled hair and yellowed teeth sat behind the register, staring at him with a disinterested scowl.

“Do you take gold?” Xavier asked, pulling out a small pouch from his pocket. It wasn’t unusual for places outside Linkon City to not take gold, as a lot of places were still living in the past. Couldn't hurt to ask though.

The man behind the counter laughed, a rough, guttural sound that made Xavier’s skin crawl. “Gold, huh? Figures. You Linkcunt folks just keep coming in here actin’ like it’s worth more than it is.” He leaned forward, eyeing Xavier with something between amusement and suspicion.

"No, we don't take it."

Xavier pocketed the small pouch, unsurprised by the man's harsh words, “You said Linkon folks? Who else from the city has been here?” His tone was casual, but his heart skipped a beat. Maybe someone else had seen you?

"Linkcunt," the man corrected with a sneer. The man’s eyes flicked up, narrowing slightly. “Why, you looking for someone?” He eyed Xavier and leaned back in his chair, his voice taking on an edge of curiosity.

Xavier pressed, trying to keep his voice steady. “Maybe. Just wondering who else might’ve been through here recently.”

The man scratched his stubbled chin, considering. “Well, there was this disheveled-looking girl who came through a little while ago. Had a lot of attitude, that one. Demanding help. Swiped some snacks and shit when I wasn’t looking. Took off before I could do anything about it.” He shrugged, clearly not too bothered by the theft. “But that’s basically all I know.”

Xavier’s heart stopped. A disheveled girl… Could it have been you?

His pulse quickened, the pieces clicking together. You must have come through here before disappearing. The man didn’t seem to know much more, but this was a sign. You had been close—you had been right here.

“What’d she look like?” Xavier asked, trying not to sound too eager.

The man waved a hand lazily. “Didn't look that closely to be honest. Bitch looked like hell, though. Clothes all messed up, like she’d been through something. But she was quick—didn’t stick around long enough for me to really notice much else. Don’t know where she went after that. Just up and vanished with my stock”

Xavier nodded, feeling a surge of both hope and frustration. You’d been here, that much was clear. But now you were gone again, slipping through his fingers like a ghost.

"You really shouldn't talk about women like that".

He paid for the snacks with some dollar bills he kept in his car for out of city trips, and turned to leave, leaving the disgruntled cashier. His mind already racing to figure out where you could’ve gone from here.

Xavier’s heart pounded in his chest as he stepped back outside, the cold night air hitting him like a wall. You’d been here. Not long ago, from the sound of it. He could almost picture it—your disheveled form rushing through the aisles, grabbing whatever you could before vanishing into the shadows again. You were close, too close to give up now. But where had you gone?

He clenched his jaw, glancing around the empty streets. There were too many directions, too many places you could have disappeared to. The N109 Zone was vast, a labyrinth of forgotten corners and abandoned buildings, and there was no telling where you might have run off to next.

His mind raced, trying to make sense of the little he knew. You had come here to get food, maybe out of desperation—running on fear and adrenaline. And then, like the man said, you were gone. No tracks, no sign of where you’d been taken.

Xavier pulled a crumpled pamphlet out of his jacket pocket, his fingers brushing over the faded image of a sleek pair of boots. It was the same pamphlet the shoe store clerk had given him earlier, and now, it seemed like his only other lead. A shoe store… It might seem like a stretch, but he had learned to follow even the smallest clues. If he couldn’t figure out where you had gone, maybe he could figure out more about the man who had taken you. And starting with something as small as his shoes might just be the break he needed.

He studied the pamphlet again, his eyes narrowing as he recalled his brief conversation with the clerk. The shoes had been expensive, high-end—definitely not something most people in the N109 Zone would be wearing.

But S wasn’t like most people, was he?

Xavier’s mind spun as he hurriedly typed the address from the pamphlet into his hunter’s watch, the holographic screen glowing softly as it processed the information. The watch pinged, highlighting the location of the store in the city. It wasn’t far, but it was a place he wouldn’t have expected someone from the N109 Zone to frequent.

If S was wearing those shoes, it meant he had money—or at least access to it. That was something Xavier could work with. People like that left trails, even in places where they thought they could stay hidden.

He started the car again, his pulse quickening as the watch projected the route onto the windshield. The shoe store was his next stop, and if he was lucky, he could get more information about who S really was. Maybe someone there had seen him, or better yet, could point him in the direction of where he lived or did business.

As the car sped toward the heart of the city, Xavier’s determination sharpened. He was getting closer to answers—closer to finding you. If he could learn more about this mysterious man, this “S,” then maybe, just maybe, he could figure out where you were being held.

As Xavier sped through the dark, crumbling streets of the N109 Zone, the world outside his car blurred into a mix of shadows and faint streetlights. His mind was focused on finding you, piecing together the next step in his search. Then, out of nowhere, a piercing scream shattered the stillness.

His foot slammed on the brake, the car lurching to a stop as his heart raced. The sound of the scream echoed through the desolate streets, raw and desperate. He scanned the area frantically, searching for the source of the cry for help. Then he saw her—a woman stumbling into the dim light from a broken streetlamp, clutching her side, her face twisted in pain.

“Help! Please, help me!” she gasped, her voice cracking with panic as she looked directly at him, her body collapsing onto the cracked pavement.

Xavier’s hunter instincts kicked in immediately. He couldn’t just leave someone like that. He shoved the car door open and rushed toward her, his eyes darting around, looking for any potential danger. The streets of the N109 Zone were unpredictable, but he couldn't just ignore someone in need.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” he asked, his tone urgent but calm as he knelt down beside her.

The woman’s breathing was shallow, her face pale and contorted with pain. She clutched her ribs, wincing with every breath. “I don’t know,” she whimpered, “I was attacked. I need help… please…” Her eyes were wild with fear, darting between Xavier and the shadows beyond, as if expecting someone—or something—to come after her at any moment.

Xavier’s heart pounded, his mind racing. “I’ll get you some help,” he assured her, reaching for his phone. But as he fumbled for it, he felt a shift—something wasn’t right.

The woman’s eyes flicked over his shoulder, her panic momentarily replaced by something colder, more calculating. Before he could react, a blur of movement rushed behind him.

A sharp clink. The keys.

Xavier’s blood ran cold as he spun around, just in time to see a man slip past him, keys glinting in his hand. The stranger, quick and agile, darted toward Xavier’s car, jumping into the driver’s seat. How did I not see this coming? The realization hit him like a punch to the gut—this was a setup.

“Hey!” Xavier yelled, lunging forward, his heart hammering in his chest. But it was too late.

The woman, now standing tall with no trace of pain or injury, smirked at him, her expression smug and mocking. “Thanks for the ride, city boy,” she sneered, her voice dripping with satisfaction as she ran toward the passenger side of the car. She moved easily now, as if the earlier fear and desperation had been nothing but an act. It had been.

Xavier’s mind raced as he sprinted toward the car, but the engine roared to life before he could even get close. The man in the driver’s seat gunned the accelerator, the tires screeching against the pavement as the car sped away, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake.

His heart sank as he watched the taillights disappear into the darkness, the weight of the situation crashing down on him. His car. His keys. Everything—gone in an instant. And with it, any chance of quickly finding you.

He'd have to walk on foot.

The steam from the shower still clung to your skin as you stepped out, your mind swirling in a haze of exhaustion and hunger. Your stomach growled loudly, reminding you just how long it had been since you last ate. The hot water had done little to wash away the weight of everything pressing down on you—the memories, the fear—but it had, at least, cleaned the grime from your body. You were left feeling raw and exposed, unsure of what was coming next.

You opened the glass door of the shower and grabbed a towel laying on the counter, wrapping it around yourself quickly before exiting.

You saw Sylus had elected to lean against the doorframe when you stepped out, and he turned around to face you. His eyes, those sharp, red eyes, softened when they met yours. "The chef has prepared food for you," he said, his voice gentle. The tenderness in his tone felt unnerving, like everything else with him, but the thought of food was too tempting to resist.

But before you could respond, he gestured to a set of neatly prepared shopping bags laid on his bed outside the bathroom. “I want you to open these first. Consider them gifts I had planned for you… before you ran off.” The edge in his words lingered, but his expression remained neutral. You vaguely remembered him clipping your nails while you were in the bathtub, a pile of shopping bags at his feet.

Ah, you had forgotten all about those. You wrapped the towel around yourself tighter, a knot of discomfort forming in your stomach.

You hesitated for a moment, then slowly approached the bed, your hands trembling slightly as you began to take out the "gifts". The first bag contained delicate pieces of underwear—soft, lace, and undeniably expensive. You swallowed hard, feeling a wave of unease crawl up your spine.

“Gifts for me? Or for you to see on me?” you muttered, unable to hide the malice in your voice, the bitterness slipping out.

Sylus’s lips quirked into a small, amused smile, his red eyes flickering with that familiar, unsettling glint. "Why not both?," he replied softly, the weight of his gaze lingering on you as though he found your defiance amusing.

These weren’t just clothes; they were symbols of his control, of how he saw you. Like you were his little doll to dress up. Still, you nodded hesitantly, accepting the garments with quiet reluctance.

Beneath the underwear were more practical clothes—soft, comfortable tops, leggings, and dresses. Each piece was chosen carefully, and despite yourself, you appreciated the effort, if only because you were desperate for something to wear to avoid Sylus's lingering gaze on your damp body. You chose a simple, slightly loose white dress, letting it fall over your damp skin. Then slipped on one of the many underwear he had bought for you. Sylus watched you quietly, a small smile playing on his lips as he waited for you to finish.

“You might've lost a few pounds from stress, once you start eating more, it’ll fit better,” he said casually, his tone matter-of-fact as though he hadn’t just casually referenced your weakened state. The words hung in the air, a subtle reminder of how long you'll be trapped here. Then, with a surprising softness, he added, “You look beautiful nonetheless, honey.”

“Honey.” A new pet name.

Surprisingly, instead of making you grimace like his usual endearments, it sends an unwelcome heat crawling across your face. You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself not to react, but the flush is unmistakable. Against your will, your gaze drops, and you look away from him, the sudden surge of embarrassment catching you off guard.

Sylus notices, of course. His smile deepens slightly, a quiet satisfaction flickering in his eyes as if he can sense the effect his words have on you. He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his gaze on you—steady, watchful—his presence filling the room in an unnerving way that makes it harder to breathe.

He extended his hand toward you, the gesture oddly tender and yet impossible to trust. You hesitated, unsure if taking it would solidify his power over you further or if refusing would draw out something worse. But you take it, residing to the fact that you didn't have much choice.

He moved toward the door, your hand held in his grip. “Come,” he said. “The food is waiting.”

Your stomach growled again, and despite the tension between you and him, you found yourself trailing after him, your body driven by the gnawing hunger you couldn’t ignore. As you stepped into the dining hall, the rich, mouth-watering aroma of freshly prepared food hit you like a wave.

The table was filled with an extravagant feast. Platters of roasted meats sat alongside bowls of vibrant vegetables, glistening under the kitchen lights. There were thick, tender cuts of lamb, still steaming from the oven, their edges crisp and golden. Roasted chicken, its skin perfectly browned and seasoned with herbs, sat atop a bed of caramelized onions and garlic. Beside them, a platter of seared duck breast, cooked to perfection, its fat rendered into a rich, savory glaze.

On another side of the table were bowls of creamy mashed potatoes, rich and buttery, their surface dusted with flecks of chives. A dish of roasted root vegetables—carrots, parsnips, and beets—was arranged in a beautiful display, their edges crisp and caramelized, drizzled with a balsamic glaze. There was a vibrant salad of mixed greens, tossed with fresh pomegranate seeds, crumbled goat cheese, and candied walnuts, the dressing a light, tangy vinaigrette that made your mouth water.

A basket of freshly baked bread sat in the center of the table, the rolls warm and soft, their golden crusts begging to be torn apart. Small bowls of whipped butter, infused with honey and herbs, accompanied them, the scent sweet and savory.

But it didn’t stop there. Desserts, too, were laid out, tempting you even further. A decadent chocolate tart with a glossy ganache topping, dusted with powdered sugar and fresh raspberries, sat next to a platter of delicate fruit tarts, their centers brimming with custard and topped with glistening berries. A tower of macarons in various pastel shades—lavender, pistachio, rose—completed the lavish display.

Sylus pulled out a chair for you, his smile widening as he watched your eyes dart from one dish to the next. "Well don't just stare, sit down".

The sight and smell overwhelmed you, and for a moment, you felt like a prisoner presented with a royal meal, knowing full well the chains still bound you. But hunger gnawed at your insides, and no matter how conflicted you were, your body screamed for sustenance as you sat.

"Eat," Sylus urged, taking a seat across from you. His eyes never left yours, watching, waiting for your reaction.

Your hand trembled slightly as you reached for a piece of bread, the warmth of it soothing in your palm. You tore it open, the soft dough yielding beneath your fingers, and dipped it into the whipped honey butter, taking a small bite. The flavors burst in your mouth, and despite everything, you couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh of relief.

The food was perfect—too perfect. And as you took another bite, you couldn’t help but wonder: was this all part of the game too? Or was it simply nourishment after the storm?

Sylus leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on you as you ate, his expression unreadable. He didn’t speak, just watched you in that unsettling, familiar way—like he was always studying you, always thinking, always planning. His silence, for once, was almost a relief, allowing you to focus on the food and ignore his presence as much as possible.

You couldn’t help it. The hunger gnawed at you, and the feast before you was impossible to resist. The flavors were rich, the textures comforting, and before you realized it, you had cleared almost four plates. Each bite had momentarily dulled the chaos in your mind, letting you push aside the fear, the memories, and the discomfort that still lingered in your chest.

Sylus didn’t comment as you reached for more, nor did he interrupt. He seemed content to let you eat in peace, his eyes never leaving you but his lips remaining closed. It wasn’t until you finally pushed the last plate away, feeling the fullness settle in your stomach, that the silence between you felt heavier.

The weight of exhaustion began to settle over you. The warmth from the food and the sheer relief of being full left you feeling heavy, your eyelids growing heavier by the minute. You hadn’t realized just how tired you were until that moment. Your body felt like it had finally reached its limit.

Sylus stood up, breaking the silence. His movements were smooth and deliberate as he pushed his chair back, his gaze never leaving you. “You must be tired,” he said softly, the same unnerving tenderness in his voice as before. “It’s time for bed.”

You tensed slightly at his words, but your body, worn down by hunger and stress, didn’t have the strength to protest. You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, afraid of what might come out if you did. There was no point in resisting, not tonight.

Sylus moved toward you, his hand extending again as if offering comfort. You hesitated, looking at his outstretched hand, but you didn’t have the energy to reject him. You let him guide you, his touch gentle yet firm as he led you toward the bedroom you were dreading your return to.

You don’t remember when exactly you slipped into unconsciousness, but the world had faded into nothing after Sylus lifted you into the bed. His arms were unexpectedly gentle, cradling you with a kind of care that felt entirely out of place. You were vaguely aware of him pulling the blankets up around you, tucking you in, but then everything went dark. The exhaustion you had been fighting all day finally consumed you, and you sank into the deepest sleep you’d felt in what seemed like forever.

There was comfort in the darkness, the kind of peace that only comes with complete surrender to sleep. No fear, no panic, just the void. You floated there, cradled in warmth. But soon, the darkness gave way to a dream, vivid and consuming.

Xavier appeared first, stepping out of the shadows of your mind. His familiar figure brought an immediate sense of relief. His ashy blonde hair fell into his face, and his striking blue eyes bore into you with the same warmth and intensity that always made your heart flutter. There he was, just as you remembered—strong, dependable, and safe. He reached out, his hand extending toward you, and without hesitation, you moved toward him.

The moment your hand met his, your heart melted, the overwhelming sense of security flooding through you. For the first time in what felt like ages, you felt safe. You felt home.

But something changed.

Xavier’s gaze, once filled with affection and care, shifted. His eyes darkened, turning cold, distant. The warmth you’d found in his presence quickly evaporated, replaced by something harsh and unfamiliar. His lips curled downward, a shadow crossing his face, and his grip on your hand tightened. The shift was sudden, the dream warping around you like a twisted reflection of reality.

"Why did you want him dead?" His voice cut through the dream, sharp and cold, the softness you’d expected from him nowhere to be found.

You blinked, confusion gripping you as his words sank in. “Huh?” Your face faltered, your heart pounding in your chest. His cold stare drilled into you, and you could feel something inside you cracking under its weight. What was happening?

"You're the reason Reese is dead," Xavier said, his words landing like a punch to the gut. His voice, usually so steady, so comforting, was now filled with anger, with accusation. His grip on your hand turned painful, his fingers digging into your skin with an almost crushing force.

“No...” Your voice wavered, barely able to push the word out as your mind reeled. “That wasn’t my fault, it was Sy—” You tried to explain, to say anything to stop the blame from settling on your shoulders. But the words caught in your throat, and you couldn’t finish. You couldn’t get them out.

His face twisted, contorting with anger and something that looked like disappointment. His blue eyes, once a source of warmth, were now filled with icy judgment, the coldness sinking into your skin like knives. His grip tightened further, pain shooting through your hand, but no matter how hard you tried to pull away, you couldn’t escape.

The dream around you blurred, the edges of reality warping and distorting. The ground beneath you seemed to shift, unsteady, while Xavier's figure loomed larger, his presence suffocating. The weight of his blame pressed down on your chest like a stone, suffocating you, filling your lungs with an overwhelming sense of guilt.

You tried to explain again, your voice strangled by the intensity of the moment, but Xavier wasn’t listening. His hand was like a vice, his fingers digging into your skin as his gaze pinned you in place. His words repeated in your mind, echoing louder and louder—“You're the reason he’s dead.”

Xavier's face began to twist, distorting into something grotesque, something no longer human. His once gentle features morphed and stretched unnaturally, his blue eyes darkening into hollow, accusing pits. His grip on your hand became unbearable, crushing the bones in your fingers as his form continued to change, shifting from the man you loved into a nightmare. The warmth that had briefly comforted you was gone, replaced by a deep, bone-chilling cold.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to pull away, but the force holding you was relentless. You stared in horror as Xavier’s form became unrecognizable, his skin taking on a gray, cracked texture, his mouth elongating into a grimace filled with sharp teeth. His eyes, now nothing more than deep, empty voids, bore into you with a hatred that sent shivers down your spine.

“You’re a murderer,” the figure spat, its voice now a low, guttural growl that echoed in your ears, far louder than it should have been. “Murderer.” The word hit you like a physical blow, making your entire body tense as you tried to make sense of what was happening.

“No…” you whispered, your voice trembling as you desperately tried to defend yourself. “It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t—”

“You have blood on your hands!” the figure roared, its voice shaking the world around you. Xavier’s face continued to twist and contort, veins bulging from his neck, his body looming over you like a towering monster. “You told him to die!”

The words echoed again and again, crashing into you with the force of a tidal wave. The weight of guilt slammed into your chest, almost knocking the wind out of you as the grotesque version of Xavier leaned in closer. His voice became more vicious, more unforgiving. “You let him die, and now the blood is on your hands!”

You looked down, and your breath caught in your throat. Blood. It was everywhere—on your hands, dripping from your fingers, pooling at your feet. Panic surged through you, your heart racing as you tried to wipe it away, but no matter how hard you scrubbed, the blood only seemed to multiply, staining your skin, your clothes, everything around you.

“You’ll never wash it off!” the figure screamed, its voice shaking with rage. “Never!” It grabbed your shoulders, shaking you violently as it continued to scream. “You’re a murderer!

You struggled, trying to pull free, but the figure’s grip was unbreakable. The dream spiraled into chaos, the world around you collapsing into darkness as the screams filled the air, overwhelming your senses. The blood seemed to rise like a tide, crawling up your arms, soaking through your skin. You gasped for air, but it was suffocating, the guilt swallowing you whole.

“Murderer!” the figure roared again, louder this time, shaking you until your vision blurred. “Murderer! Murderer!"

Tears streamed down your face as you tried to shake your head, to deny it, but the accusations wouldn’t stop. The guilt, the blood, the rage—it was all around you, suffocating you, crushing you.

And then, just as quickly as it began, the figure stopped. It stood over you, silent now, but its eyes—those hollow, accusing voids—were locked onto you. “You can never escape what you’ve done,” it whispered, the venom in its voice chilling you to the core.

You shot up in bed, heart hammering in your chest, a scream tearing through your throat before you even knew what was happening. The sheets clung to your sweat-soaked skin as you gasped for breath, the nightmare still gripping you in its suffocating hold. Your hands shook violently, fingers instinctively rubbing at your palms, expecting to see the blood, the thick, crimson stain that had haunted you moments before.

But there was no blood.

The room was dark, dimly lit by a lamp settled on the nightstand. Sylus sat beside you, awake, casually reading a book. His red eyes glanced up from the pages, calm and steady, showing no sign of surprise at your sudden outburst.

“You’re okay,” Sylus said softly, his voice low but steady. He closed the book, setting it aside as he reached out, pulling you closer, into his arms with a gentle grip. The warmth of his body on yours was meant to be comforting, but the lingering terror from the dream made his touch feel heavier, suffocating.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, the echoes of the nightmare still gripping you. The blood, the screams, the weight of guilt—it all felt so real, too real to shake off. Your hands trembled in your lap, still trying to rub away the invisible stain that wouldn’t leave.

“Shhh,” Sylus soothed, his voice soft as he stroked your back with deliberate calmness. “It was just a nightmare, kitten.”

But his words barely penetrated the thick fog of panic swirling in your mind. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to steady your breathing, but the image of Xavier’s cold, accusing gaze still lingered in the corners of your thoughts, leaving an ache in your chest that refused to fade.

Sylus’s gaze never wavered from you. He was patient, his grip around you getting stronger as you fought to regain control, his expression a mixture of curiosity and concern, though it was impossible to tell how much of it was real. He watched you wordlessly, waiting patiently for your breathing to slow as he rubbed your back in soothing motions.

And you did, eventually. Slowly, your heartbeat began to slow, the cold sweat drying on your skin as the nightmare finally started to loosen its grip. You were still shaken, but reality was settling back in.

Sylus smiled, his eyes softening slightly. “Good girl,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "You feel better?"

"It's not my fault..." you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper as tears began streaming down your face, hot and unstoppable. The weight of the nightmare still pressed against your chest, the guilt wrapping itself around your heart. "Reese... I told him to die, kinda. But you killed him!"

Your words trembled in the air, and for a moment, the room felt suffocatingly silent. Sylus’s arm stilled on your back, his red eyes watching you closely. His face remained calm, unreadable, but something flickered behind his gaze—curiosity, perhaps, or even amusement. He began rubbing your back again.

He leaned in slightly, his voice low and steady as he spoke. “I killed him because he took what was mine,” he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “You didn’t pull the trigger, I did. Don’t fool yourself, sweetie.” His fingers gently wiped away the tears falling down your cheeks, lingering on your skin a second longer than necessary.

“His fate was sealed the moment he touched you. You’re not responsible for his death.”

Your heart ached, the confusion and guilt twisting inside you. The memory of Reese's lifeless body, the sound of the gunshot, played over and over in your mind. You knew that Sylus had been the one to end it, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that your words, your anger, had driven the final nail in the coffin.

"But I—" you started, your voice cracking, but Sylus shushed you gently, pressing a finger to your lips.

“Don’t burden yourself,” he whispered, his voice soothing but firm. “Reese was a pest, and pests are dealt with. It wasn’t your fault. You said what you needed to say in the moment” His eyes softened, his gaze almost affectionate. “And now, you’re here—with me. Safe.”

"Am I?" you sobbed, the weight of your emotions crashing down on you all at once. The tears came faster, and with them, the memory of that night—the night Sylus had taken everything into his own hands, literally. The sharp pain, the feeling of your skin being sliced open as he calmly removed your birth control implant, resurfaced in vivid detail. The raw fear that had gripped you then returned now, surging like a wave you couldn't hold back.

"At least Reese never hurt me," you choked out between sobs, your voice trembling, barely holding together. "You, on the other hand..."

Your hand instinctively went to your arm, tracing the faint scar left behind from when Sylus had decided, without a second thought, that he would control every part of you—inside and out. The scar was still there, but it wasn’t just on your skin. The memory of that violation ran deeper than any wound that could heal.

Sylus’s expression didn’t shift at your words. His calm gaze remained fixed on you, though there was a slight narrowing of his eyes. His hand paused in its comforting motions, hovering just inches from you, as if calculating how to respond.

“I did what was necessary,” he said, his voice calm, controlled, almost dismissive. "Everything I’ve done has been for you. For us. Why are you crying over a man that handed you and countless others over for crack?"

The flood of emotions broke through all at once at his words.

"Because-because he wasn't supposed to die. Hunters aren't the reason people die, we save people...he could've went to jail he wasn't supposed to-"

You crumpled, sobs wracking your body as the weight of everything—of all you had endured—became too much to bear. Memories you had tried to suppress, to bury deep within you, rose to the surface like dark waves crashing against fragile walls.

The man from the basement. His hands grabbing you, the smell of his breath, the sheer terror that had paralyzed you as he tried to force himself on you. You had fought, screamed, but the memory was still there, etched into your mind like a brand that would never fade. The nightmare you had just woken from had only served to rip open the scars you had so desperately tried to heal.

Your words came out in broken fragments, incoherent between sobs. "That other man…he tried… I couldn’t— I couldn’t stop him…" Your voice cracked, your chest heaving as you babbled through the memories, the trauma wrapping itself around you like a suffocating shroud. "He—he wouldn’t stop… I couldn’t breathe, I was so scared…"

You weren’t even sure Sylus was listening. You couldn’t look at him. Everything blurred together, your mind overwhelmed by the pain, the helplessness, the feeling of being trapped again in that moment. You curled in on yourself, trembling as the sobs became uncontrollable, the terror of that night suffocating you all over again.

Then you felt it—Sylus’s hand, soft and deliberate, gently cradling your cheek. He leaned in, his voice softening into something almost unbearably tender, a tone you never thought he was capable of.

"Poor thing, you're such a mess," he murmured.

His eyes lingered on you with a mix of pity and affection, as though you were something fragile, something cherished. It was as if watching you unravel before him caused his heart to ache.

“I can help you forget,” he whispered, his thumb brushing away your tears with slow, careful strokes. “Let me take the pain away, kitten. You don’t have to carry it anymore.”

His words were soothing, like a lullaby coaxing you away from the edge of your breakdown. His touch was uncharacteristically soft, his presence surrounding you like a cocoon, making it harder to pull yourself out of the depths of your despair. For a brief moment, the way he looked at you—like he truly cared—made you falter.

"I'll make it all disappear," Sylus murmured, his voice low and hypnotic, penetrating the darkest recesses of your fractured psyche. It was as if he possessed the power to reach inside your mind and vaporize the painful memories that clung to you like shackles. "You want to feel so good you won't think about him again?"

You hesitate at his words. The rational part of your mind urged you to turn away, not to respond. To pull yourself from his embrace and fight him. But the other part, muddled by trauma, drove you to stay. To seek comfort, any comfort, even in his arms.

From your captor of all people.

“Yes…” you whimpered, blinking away tears. You didn’t know why you answered that way—your mind screamed at you to stop—but you found yourself reaching out, your fingers clutching the collar of his shirt and pulling him closer.

Anything. Anything to make this pain stop.

His lips crashed against yours before you could even register what was happening, consuming you in a kiss so passionate it bordered on painful. All rational thought evaporated as his tongue plundered the recesses of your mouth, stroking along your palate and tangling with your own tongue in a sensual dance as old as time itself.

You were consumed, caught in the storm of his touch, unable to think beyond the overwhelming need to escape the agony of your memories—even if only for a moment.

Your hands flew to his face of their own accord, fingers threading through his hair as you clung to him like a drowning woman gasping for air. You kissed him back with a fervor born of desperation, pouring all your pent-up anguish and trauma into the hungry clash of lips and teeth. The two of you panted against each other, like animals ready to tear each other to shreds.

Some distant part of you screamed that this was mistake, that doing this with him willingly was certainly wrong. He had kidnapped you after all. Stolen you. But it was drowned out by the pounding of your heart, the ache of need pulsing between your thighs. His hands slid under your dress, calloused palms skimming over hypersensitive flesh, and you arched into his touch with a whimper.

"Sylus..." you whined, already feeling the desperate ache reach your core.

"I know, kitten. Patience, we just started" he said, amusement adorning his face.

His lips found yours again, hot and demanding, silencing any lingering protests. You melted into the kiss, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. The taste of him was intoxicating, a heady mix of desire and danger that left you craving more. His fingers find the hem of your underwear, wasting no time to remove the obstacle from your wet depths.

Your whole body trembled as Sylus's lips blazed a path down your body, trailing molten kisses along the column of your throat. Each brush of his mouth against your sensitive skin sent electricity singing through your veins, igniting another fiery ache between your thighs. When he nudged aside the fabric of your dress to nuzzle the slick flesh of your cunt, you let out a strangled moan, your fingers curling into the sheets beneath you.

The tip of his nose grazed your swollen bud, and your back arched off the bed, every nerve ending sparking with raw pleasure. "Nnnngh…" you whimpered, hips bucking instinctively toward his teasing touch.

Sylus's deep, resonant chuckle rumbled through you, vibrating against your core in a way that made your toes curl. "So responsive," he murmured, his warm breath ghosting over your dripping folds. "Tell me, kitten-were you this wet for him? Did he make you shiver and moan like this when he touched you?"

He grips your thighs almost possessively, waiting for your answer.

His words were like a bucket of ice water dumped over your head, plunging you back into reality. Shame crashed over you in nauseating waves, your arousal doused by the realization of how easily Sylus manipulated your body. Tears leaked from the corners of your eyes as you squeezed them shut, fists clenching in the bedding.

"No," you choked out, voice brittle. "Never. He never touched me like this…Sylus, please…" The plea was torn from your throat, part desperation, part disgust. You felt filthy, tainted by your own traitorous reactions to Sylus's sensual assault on your most intimate parts.

But despite the revulsion roiling in your gut, your body still yearned for more.

"Its hard to say no when you beg me like that," he said, seemingly satisfied with your answer, began trailing a hot, wet streak against your folds. A gasp punches through your throat, eyes fluttering as you try not to lose all control. The mere feeling of his tongue was sending your brain into frenzies. But it wasn't enough. Wasn't enough to block the pain.

"Sylus, ple-mmph!”

You grip the bedsheets even tighter when he tenderly cuts off your plea with a moan against your clit, his tongue beginning to spread the entrance of your lips apart feverishly. Your breathing gets rapid when you feel something hot breaking past the entrance, deeper and deeper into your walls. Sylus's tongue delved deeper, stroking along your inner walls with devastating skill.

"You don't have to hold the bedsheets." he says, withdrawing momentarily from your depths. He wordlessly guides your hands to the top of his head, and before you can say anything, he's back licking up and down your folds, eventually making his way back in completely. The immediate shockwaves of pleasure make you grip his hair basically against your will, and you tearfully hold his hair as you neared an orgasm.

The pleasure built to an unbearable crescendo as Sylus's tongue relentlessly stroked your inner walls, each slick thrust driving you higher toward the brink of climax. Broken moans spilled from your lips, intermingling with his hungry growls of appreciation. Tears streamed down your face as your hips rocked shamelessly against his mouth, silently begging for the oblivion that hovered just out of reach.

Sylus's strong hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he feasted upon your aching cunt. He seemed enraptured, almost worshipful in his attentions, lavishing your most intimate places with devoted licks and sucks. He ate you out like a starved man. Like he craved you.

Like he missed you.

Occasionally his nose would rub against your clit again and again, a delicious friction that made you sob with the intensity of it all.

When his lips finally closed around your swollen clit and sucked hard, you nearly vaulted off the bed, a strangled scream tearing from your throat.

"Mhgn! Sylus! Please, I can't…it's too much!"

But he didn't let up, his talented tongue circling the sensitive bundle of nerves with ruthless precision. Your vision whited out as you finally reached heaven, wave after wave of ecstasy crashing over you until you thought you might drown in it. Your walls clamped down on his invading tongue, pulsing with the force of your release, unwittingly calling out Sylus's name as you did so.

Finally, blessedly, Sylus withdrew. You melted in the sheets, finally letting go of his hair, boneless and shuddering in the aftermath. Tears streaked your face, but for once, they weren't because Sylus had hurt you. He had done quite the opposite actually.

Taking in the sight of you sprawled before him, flushed and panting, your body trembling. With a wicked smirk, he trailed a hand along your trembling thigh, drawing a shuddering moan from your throat. Evidence of your orgasm coated his mouth, and you watch as he licks the remaining from his lips.

"Tired already?" he teased, quite enjoying the way your body tensed under his touch. "For a hunter I expected you to have more stamina."

The haze of post-orgasmic bliss dissipated as quickly as it had descended, harsh reality crashing back in with brutal clarity. Tears pricked your eyes as the weight of your shame threatened to crush you. You had begged him for it, eagerly spread your legs for your kidnapper as if y'all were lovers. What was wrong with you?

"I..." you trail off, vision blurring with tears once more. What were you going to say? What could you say?

Sylus trailed lazy kisses along your jaw, seeming to sense your internal turmoil within your head. His lips rubbed against your sensitive skin, sending unwanted sparks of pleasure skittering through your nerves.

"If you're still able to think," he murmured against your throat, "then I clearly haven't kept my promise of helping you forget." His nimble fingers worked at his belt buckle.

The leather strap slid free of the loops with a hiss, dropping forgotten to the floor. Soon after, you felt the straps of your dress slip past your shoulders, past your waist, and eventually off your body completely. Sylus's gaze raked over you, lovingly and hungry, devouring the flush on your skin, the swell of your heaving breasts. You felt bare under his scrutiny, stripped of all defenses.

"And here I thought I was doing such a good job of distracting you," he purred, palming himself through his jeans. The rigid line of his erection strained against the faded denim, an obscene bulge that made your mouth go dry. You watched as he began taking his shirt off from over his head, his chiseled stomach and chest coming into view.

"Please..." you whimpered, the word torn from your throat as fresh tears spilled down your cheeks. Your body trembled, caught between the whirlwind of conflicting emotions roiling within you. Revulsion. Lust. Desperation. Self-loathing. You don't even know what you're asking for.

Sylus's expression softened as he gazed down at you, his thumb brushing away the moisture collecting on your lashes. It was uncharacteristic of you to beg for anything other than freedom. It was pulling at his heart and making him feel weak. "Shhh, it's alright sweetie," he soothed, his voice a low murmur. "I'm keeping my promise. Don't think, just focus on me."

Slowly, reverently, he lowered his mouth to yours in a kiss that stole your breath and shattered your reservations. His lips moved over yours with aching tenderness, sipping at your parted lips as if savoring the sweetest nectar. The press of his body against yours was solid, reassuring, anchoring you in the whirlwind of sensation.

His tongue slipped past your defenses to stroke the sensitive flesh within, each languid thrust a silent promise of the ecstasy to come. One large hand cradled your face, angling your head to deepen the kiss, while the other smoothed soothing circles on the small of your back.

When he pulls back, eyes staring down at you, it feels like he's staring into the depths of your soul. His eye begins to glow dangerously, and you begin to feel your mind start to spin and the room start to grow hazy. Voices begin pouring into your ears.

Devour him.

He's right there.

Grab him!

But just as quickly as they started, they stopped. You lay there shocked, unable to process what just happened.

"Your mind says a lot more than your mouth does, kitten" he chuckles, and you can only blink confusingly at him as he begins unzipping his pants. He stands up momentarily to remove his pants and you watch as his cock finally spring free. You feel a gush of arousal as you watch it throb, precum slightly leaking at the tip.

"W-what?" you ask, one half of your brain focusing on his raging erection and the other half wondering why the hell your mind felt like it was splitting in half just a second ago.

But you have no time to ponder such questions as Sylus begins to tower above you once more, grabbing your legs and spreading them apart. You squeal at the sudden touch and shiver when his tip rubs against the slit of your opening. His face is twisted with pleasure and his lips are parted, as if he's restraining every part of himself not to push everything into you at once.

"Slow...please" you beg, your hips involuntarily pushing down on the head of his tip when it greets your opening.

"You want me to go slow, yet your hips are lifting off the bed like you can't wait to have me buried inside you," Sylus teased, his voice a low, wicked murmur. He enjoys the way your face twists in annoyance.

 "So greedy, aren't you kitten?"

"I'm not trying t-mmph!"

You words lodge into your throat as you feel the head of his tip pierce your hole. You gasped, back arching as you stretched impossibly around him. A painful stretch causes you to groan and try to pull away, but Sylus puts a hand on your stomach, holding you down and ceasing all resistance.

"Be still, hah, it wont hurt for long". Sylus lips are parted as he lets out his own breathless groan, his senses being overwhelmed with you as he sinks deeper and deeper.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Sylus groaned, his eyes squeezing shut as he fought for control. He eased forward slowly, inch by excruciating inch, letting you adjust to his substantial size. Your velvety walls resisted initially, clamping down around him like a vice.

Sylus paused, buried to the hilt inside you, his pelvis flush against yours. "Breathe, kitten," he instructed, his voice strained with the effort of holding still. "Try to relax okay?."

You tried to relax, to focus on the pleasant pressure building deep in your core instead of the dull ache in your stretched flesh. Gradually, you yielded, your muscles unclenching as Sylus began to move.

"Good girl," he managed through clenched teeth, withdrawing until just the tip remained before sliding back in with agonizing deliberateness. Over and over, he set a torturously slow rhythm, savoring every drag of your fluttering walls along his rigid cock.

 Soon, the sting gave way to blossoming pleasure, radiating outward from where you were joined. You found yourself meeting his measured thrusts, your hips rocking up to take him deeper, chasing that euphoric friction. Sylus's pace quickened marginally, his self-control fraying at the edges. The slap of flesh against flesh echoed obscenely in the room, a filthy symphony that drowned out your labored breaths and muffled whimpers.

Each deliberate thrust carried you further from the pit of anguish threatening to swallow you whole. The exquisite drag of Sylus's thick cock along your sensitive walls obliterated every coherent thought, leaving only the raw, visceral pleasure of the moment. Higher and higher you climbed, chasing the blissful oblivion he promised, until the first warnings of an impending climax rippled through your trembling form.

Sylus shifted his angle slightly, and stars exploded behind your eyelids as he grazed a spot deep inside that made your toes curl. A strangled moan tore from your throat, lost in the slick slide of bodies and the heady musk of arousal perfuming the air.

"That's it, sweetie," Sylus coo'd, his voice low and rough with lust. "Let go. Think about the one making you feel good right now. Think about me. Only me."

His words shivered through you, igniting something primal and needy. Your hips bucked up to meet his thrusts, desperate for more, harder, faster. Your mind snapped and went blank. You were drowning in sensation, drowning in him, and you never wanted to surface. Never wanted to think about reality ever again.

"You're so cute like this," Sylus purred, punctuating each word with a savage grind of his pelvis against yours. "Brain empty and filled with too much cock to think. Should just keep you like this..."

His filthy praise melted your reservations, stoking the desperate frenzy consuming your body and mind. Nothing else mattered beyond the slick slide of flesh and the heady perfume of sex saturating the air. In this moment, Sylus owned you wholly, a willing slave to his lust. All you could do was surrender, drowning in the exquisite agony of your impending release.

The coil of tension in your core tightened with each passing second, your impending climax hovering just out of reach. Sylus sensed your mounting desperation, his rhythm faltering as he chased his own release.

"You're so close," he growled, his rhythm growing erratic as he chased his own completion. "I can feel you tightening up, greedy little thing."

"Go ahead, cum. Let me hear your pretty sounds."

The lewd demand shattered your composure, catapulting you into heaven and you practically screamed his name. Pleasure crashed through you like a tsunami, obliterating every coherent thought. All you knew was the pulsing ache in your core, the rhythmic throb of Sylus's cock buried deep, prolonging your climax until you couldn't take the sensations anymore and almost begged him to stop thrusting.

“Sylus…” you whimper weakly.

Your vision grew blurry as you teetered into overstimulation, your walls clamping down on Sylus's pistoning length like a vise. Thankfully, he was at his own end. You hear a guttural groan of your name in your ear, and then felt the hot splash of his seed painting your insides soon after. His thrusting completely stopped, and the both of you lay there, panting and unmoving.

It was only when you felt his warm seed spilling out onto the bed that you snapped back into reality.

"Did you-"

“Yes, I did it inside,” Sylus murmured, his voice calm, almost too calm. “Where else would it go?”

Before you could even process his words and sit up, he was on you, pinning your arms down to the bed with a swift, ruthless precision, as if anticipating your next move. The weight of him was suffocating, leaving you no room to escape. Panic surged through you, your body instinctively twisting and writhing beneath him, but it was useless. You were trapped.

“After your little escape," he continued, voice laced with playful amusement, "I’ve realized I need to put in more effort. Taming you isn’t as easy as I thought...a baby should be a nice, heavy, leash for you"

“Sylus… please,” you stammer, your heart pounding in your chest. Desperation claws at you as the gravity of his words sinks in. “We don’t need to do this. Not like this. Please, let’s solve this without a child?—I’ll do anything you want. I won’t try to run again, I swear.”

Tears blurred your vision as you begged, the words tumbling out in a frantic rush, your voice cracking with the weight of your fear. But Sylus just smiled, that soft, chilling smile that made your stomach drop. He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned closer, his hand disappearing beneath the bed.

“I know you won’t be running away again. In fact…”

Your breath hitched in your throat as you watched him, terror coiling tighter with every passing second. What was he doing? What was he reaching for? You searched your mind desperately, trying to think of anything, anything at all that might change his mind, but you knew better. Sylus was relentless. He hadn’t forgotten your attempts to resist, and now he was only more determined.

And then you felt it—the cold, unforgiving touch of metal snapping around your ankle.

Your eyes flew wide open, your pulse spiking as you looked down in horror. An ankle chain. You were shackled.

“No,” you whispered, your voice trembling. "No...is this..?"

“Anything I want, you say?” Sylus's voice oozed with satisfaction, a smile creeping across his lips as he leaned in closer. The warmth of his breath contrasted sharply with the cold metal now binding you in place.

“Then make us a baby, sweetie,” he purred, his fingers tracing lightly down your arm. “That’s what I want most right now.”

The weight of his words settled like ice in your chest. A shiver coursed through your body, your mind racing, searching for some way out, but the chain around your ankle clinked softly with every tiny movement, a reminder of how trapped you really were.

“It’s long enough to reach everything in here, including the toilet and shower,” Sylus said, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he leaned down to press a slow, deliberate kiss to your cheek.

You shuddered beneath him, your tears finally spilling over as the full weight of your situation crashed down on you. “Is this… my punishment for running?” you whispered, your voice fragile and trembling, as if the question itself might break you.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes gleaming with something you couldn’t quite place. “No, it’s not a punishment,” he said, his tone soft but resolute. “It’s a necessity, honey.”

His words hung heavy in the air, sealing your fate as surely as the chain around your ankle.

Tears broke free, pouring down your face in uncontrollable waves as the reality of it all crushed you. You sobbed openly, your body shaking under the weight of it, and yet there was nothing you could do. Sylus leaned down, his presence overwhelming, his hand softly brushing the side of your tear-streaked face. His voice was low, almost soothing, as if he believed he was offering comfort instead of twisting the knife deeper.

“The faster you accept this,” he whispered, stroking your hair gently, “the easier it’ll be for you. Accept your place by my side and have my baby.”

"I'll take care of both of you, I promise."

His words only made the knot in your throat tighten further. You hated him. You hated him with every fiber of your being, but worst of all, you hated yourself. Hated the fact that you had once given yourself to him willingly, that you had let the devil himself have your body in a moment of weakness, as if you hadn’t known exactly what he was capable of.

The shame of it burned through you, deeper than any chain ever could. How had you fallen so far? How had you ever let him touch you, let him inside your body, your mind—your soul? The answer twisted cruelly in your gut.

But even despite all the burning hatred you had for him in this moment, another unknown feeling sprouted. One that ached and felt almost unbearable to think about. A longing. Festering within the walls of your strained heart and mind. You refused to acknowledge it though, choosing to drown in the sorrow of your new situation.

Sylus shifted beside you, wrapping his arms around you as if you were lovers instead of captor and captive. His warmth pressed against your skin, a twisted parody of intimacy, and you lay there, eyes fixed blankly on the ceiling. You felt his breathing slow beside you, felt his presence still as he settled in comfortably at your side. But you were miles away, staring into the abyss above, where there was no escape, no solace.

Only the cold, bitter truth. You had let the devil in, and now, there was no way out.

[firewasabeast]

Can you please do a hurt/comfort Eddie + Tommy friendship with Bucktommy - Tommy gets hurt in some way (mentally/physically/sick/etc) and Eddie helps him until Buck can get there

you gave me a reason to finish the fic I started earlier today! thank you!

His teeth were chattering. Had been since he woke up after hitting the ground.

He didn't hurt anywhere, which was never a good sign.

He laid there, surrounded by trees. Cold, wet leaves underneath his body. He could hear crickets and frogs all around him. Could smell smoke somewhere nearby.

There were distinct sounds of metal creaking mixed in with nature.

Slowly, he moved his head to the right, then to the left.

Fire.

It was about fifty yards away. Thankfully, due to the recent rain, the fire was contained to the helicopter that had so gracefully fallen out of the sky.

He wasn't sure how he ended up so far from it. Had no memory of being ejected or jumping or whatever happened that made it so he wasn't inside those flames.

He lifted his hands to his face, could barely see them as the sun set below the trees. He was sure there was blood. Dirt, mud, leaves, and blood.

They shook so fiercely he wasn't sure how he had any control over them at all.

His breathing was labored, heart beating rapidly. No matter what he tried, he couldn't seem to calm himself down.

Suddenly, in the distance, he heard something.

People talking.

Not just people, familiar people.

Family.

“H- Here,” he barely managed to get out, figuring they'd be running toward the fire instead of him. He cleared his throat, tried again. “Here! I'm here!”

The talking stopped, then there was running.

He could feel the pounding of the footsteps as they approached.

“Hey, we gotcha, Buddy!”

“Howie?”

“Yeah, it's me. Saving your ass, once again.”

Hands were on him now. Lights shining in his eyes, causing him to squint. He could hear others talking. Hen, Eddie, Bobby. Couldn't quite make out what they were saying.

Chimney had him focus on him. “Can you tell me your name?” he asked.

“T- Tommy,” he answered. God, he wished he could stop shaking. He couldn't barely get out a word.

“Year?”

“2024.”

“Best paramedic you know?”

“Hen,” Tommy replied, choking out a laugh.

“Hey now!” Chimney exclaimed, mocking offense.

“I knew I liked you,” Hen said with a smile. She patted him on the shoulder before getting back to work.

Chimney chomped on his gum a couple times before asking his next question. “Can you wiggle your toes for me, Tommy?”

Tommy shook his head. He lifted his arm, tried to pull Chimney closer to him so he could whisper. “I c- can't feel anything,” he paused, sucked in a shaky breath, “b- below my waist.” He knew what this meant, and he also knew he was in shock. The adrenaline pumping through him was the only thing keeping him remotely alert.

Chimney nodded, sharing a glance with Hen. “Cervical collar for our dashing pilot here, please, Hen.”

“Already on it.”

“Ho- Howie?”

“Yeah, Buddy?”

“Ev- Evan?”

“Buck went home early today,” Eddie answered, moving into Chimney's place so he could do whatever work needed to be done. “Chief is cracking down on overtime, so he had to be sent home.”

“We've... We've been sa- saving f- for the wedding,” he explained, although he wasn't sure why. Everyone there already knew that.

Eddie took Tommy's hand and wrapped it up in his own. “You were probably already up in the air when Buck sent you the text complaining about being sent home.”

“He'd say... He'd say th- the chief didn't want us t- to have the good hors d'oeuvres.”

Eddie nodded, tried putting on a smile. “He did mention that on his way out.”

Tommy squeezed Eddie's hand. “We m- might have to re... reschedule.” His lip trembled at the thought, tears welling in his eyes. Evan was so excited for the wedding. Had been working diligently and meticulously on every detail since they got engaged in October. He wanted a winter wedding, and didn't want to wait another whole year, so February it would be. With it being December now, Tommy didn't see any way he'd be able to fully recover by then.

If he did at all.

“Let's not worry about that right now, alright, Man? I don't think Buck will care when the wedding is, as long as there is one. Let's focus on that, okay?”

Tommy nodded. Blinked a few times to rid himself of the tears.

A few fell anyway.

“Ed- Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Do I... Do I still have my legs?”

“You certainly do, Kinard,” Bobby interrupted. Tommy wasn't sure how long the captain had been on his other side. Bobby gave his shoulder a light squeeze. “You've got all your limbs right where they should be. You ready to move now, Kid?”

Tommy could've laughed at the nickname. He'd been called that by Bobby a couple of times, many years ago. It'd been a long while since then.

He nodded. “Ready.”

Eddie didn't let go of his hand as they lifted him and began carrying him to the ambulance. Tommy was a bit surprised. He didn't remember ever being moved onto the spine board. Hadn't felt a thing.

A part of him had wondered if they'd even been working on him during that time. That maybe Eddie was the chosen distraction until he drifted off and his breathing stopped.

He was glad to know he was wrong.

*****

Bobby drove them to the hospital, with Eddie staying in the back beside him. It was a bit cramped with him, Eddie, Chimney, and Hen all back there together, but the fact he was surrounded by these people made him feel a bit more comforted.

Tommy looked over to where his and Eddie's hands were still tightly gripped together. He wasn't sure if Eddie was refusing to let him go, or if he was refusing to let Eddie go. Didn't really matter either way. He needed something to keep him tethered to reality.

He shook his wrist back and forth a few times to get Eddie's attention. “Can you... Can you call Evan? Please?”

“Of course,” Eddie replied, grabbing his phone out of his pocket with his free hand.

“You've got some cuts on your arms, Tommy,” Hen explained as Eddie pressed Buck's name. “We're gonna work on those on the way to the hospital, so you might feel some stings, okay?”

“Yeah. That's okay.”

Eddie put the phone on speaker and Buck answered on the third ring. “What's wrong?”

“Buck-”

“Who is it, Eddie? I just left work an hour ago. Is it Bobby? Hen? Chim?”

Tommy took a deep breath. “B- Baby.”

Silence.

Then.

“Tommy? Is that you?”

“Had a... a little accident.”

“What hospital?”

“The usual,” Eddie replied.

“I'm heading there now.”

“Evan? Evan!” Tommy exclaimed, wanting to get his attention before he got in the car and started to drive.

“I'm here, Tommy,” he answered. “I'm gonna meet you at the hospital.”

“I don't wanna... wanna scare you,” Tommy said, and he could feel the tears burning his eyes again. “I can't. I can't feel my legs.”

“He's stabilized,” Chimney added quickly, before Buck could ask. “Likely a lower spinal cord injury.”

Another pause, followed by a quiet. “Okay. Okay.”

“He's doing well, Buck,” Eddie reassured him. “We're all right here with him. He won't shut up about you, like always.”

Tommy smiled. He hoped Evan did as well.

“Feeling's mutual,” Buck replied. His voice was softer now. Tommy knew the words were meant to keep him focused and thinking positively.

It worked.

“Need you t- to be safe.”

“I will, Baby. I'll drive safe and I'll be at the hospital as soon as I can, okay?”

“Okay. L- Love you.”

“I love you, too. So damn much, T- Tommy.”

Tommy wasn't sure who hung up first, but he could tell by the way Evan's voice wavered at the end that he was probably close to falling apart.

“Thank you,” Tommy said as Eddie put his phone back into his pocket.

“Whatever you need, Bud, I'm here.”

“Just... Just keep ho- holding my hand.”

Eddie nodded, squeezed a little tighter. “I can do that.”

[tame-the-lion-writes]

Thinking about reader finally stumbling onto one of the dogs shifted into their human form. Maybe Soap raiding the cabinets in the kitchen for a late night snack? Reader obviously freaks tf out about a whole ass man in their house... but the rest of the force are still in their dog forms. Reader's confused why their once very protective dogs are completely okay with this strange man in their house, and why this man is claiming to be one of her dogs.

(Note that these answers are non-linear! I’ll be having fun with a few more asks/requests as if this hasn’t happened yet 😉)

All you wanted was some water to ease the dryness in your throat, but as soon as they noticed you picking up your phone from the bedside table, the dogs kept tugging at your clothes to hold you back—something they never did. You swatted them away without thinking much of it, though, too sleep-adled to think that maybe, just maybe, they were doing it for good reason.

And then you saw the man in your kitchen.

“Why are you naked.”

It wasn’t much of a question. More of a statement—or an exaggeration, really—because he wasn’t naked. He was just wearing sweatpants that hung low on his hips, exposing a deep V-line and a happy trail that would’ve had you drooling if not for the sheer strangeness of the circumstances. At first, you weren’t even sure if you should be afraid—because it was comedic, the way he locked eyes with you, halfway through chomping down on a spoonful of cereal from not even a bowl, but a mug.

He swallows hard, and that’s when you grab a knife—earning several barks from your dogs. At you. Not him.

“He’s literally the intruder here!” you argue back. “You bark at, like, every other guy? What about him?! He’s massive!”

“Aw, thank y—“

“That wasn’t a compliment!”

The man’s smile tightens as he slowly puts the mug and spoon down, and lifts his hands as if in surrender. 

“Easy, lass,” he continues, eyes darting between your face and the knife. “I’m a friend.”

“The fuck you are—“

“Look. Look.” He gestures back and forth between himself and the dogs, who stand in place between you two. “You’re missin’ a pup, aren’t ya? Foxhound that gets into everything? Soap? Thah’s me!”

‘Me?’ What the hell was this guy thinking? But sure enough—just as he said—Soap was missing from the group. It was just Price, Ghost, and Gaz—all tense like you. If not more so. Gaz offers a whine in negotiation, stepping forward to get you to back up a little further, away from the stranger. There’s a beg—no—an intelligent plea in the Labrador’s eyes that nearly makes you falter, unsure of reason or rhyme.

Unsure of yourself.

“That’s— that’s not possible,” you laugh nervously, reaching for the phone in your pocket. “Dogs don’t turn into people, or vice versa. Now get out of my house or I’m calling the poli—“

— “Wouldn’t do that if I was you.”

And now there’s a third fucking person. Standing in your kitchen. Right where Price used to be. And now the shock runs cold, adrenaline gone in place of confusion. And a quick skip through the stages of grief into acceptance.

“Well,” is all that gets out of your mouth. “Shit.”

The world spins, and everything goes black. You’re out like a light. All you see is ‘human-Price’ moving forward, then darkness, and the sensation of two arms catching you before you hit the floor.

The boys hang around until morning light after that, sitting in the living room in dead silence. At least until Gaz gives a final suggestion.

“… You think we can pass it off as a dream?”

_

Bonus Thoughts:

You do, in fact, wake up as if it were a dream. Because you’re back in bed per usual, and the house is in order, and the dogs are piled around you like nothing ever happened. You eye them all suspiciously, then slap yourself. Because what kind of weirdo imagines her pets as hot, tall, buff men? Pervert.

Meanwhile, the boys are just exchanging the quietest glances before you settle back in bed. Because for a good few seconds, they think they’ve been discovered.

Also Soap has suffered a collective *bap* from everyone because it’s what he deserves for threatening their free food supply.

[animeyanderelover]

I already did this concept with Dazai in those Hc's so I will not add him in here again.

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional behavior, clinginess, manipulation, blackmailing, bribing, paranoia, attempted murder in Nikolai's part, isolation, abduction, death of reader in their previous world

Tags: @shumidehiro @izanami78 @leveyani

Isekai'd into their world

Nakahara Cuuya

🟠Bullshit! That’s the initial reaction that Chuuya has when he finds out. There’s a limit to how much he is willing to believe even though throughout his life he has seen some things you’d have to witness with your own eyes to believe in them. It is true that there is nothing about your past he has been able to dig up as your life has seemingly started the moment you were discovered by an elderly couple on the streets. You’ve always claimed that you couldn’t remember anything before you where found and since there has been nothing the police was able to find out about your past, they gave up on the case as you were slowly assisted into society. Chuuya doesn’t believe your claims though that you suffer from amnesia. He might be hotheaded but he’s been working for the Port Mafia for years now, has even been made an Executive. The one skill you develop in this position is to get a fairly good read on the person in front of you, on their body language as well as on whether or not they speak the truth or not. So whilst he has no solid proof about whether you lie to him or not, there is this intuition that he has in his guts that there is something you are hiding.

🟠His overprotective and paranoid thoughts tend to spiral so his first assumption is that maybe there is someone after you and that you’re on the run. If that is the case you don’t have to worry. Chuuya can and will provide protection if someone is after your life. The longer you remain silent about your past, the more impatient he grows. Chuuya hasn’t always been honest to you either, especially regarding his position in the Port Mafia. But you needlessly fuel his anxiety as you don’t reveal anything, only feeding his paranoid thoughts as he wonders what you could hide that is so atrocious that you don’t even want your lover to know. Yet when you tell him the truth finally, sensing that he is close to snapping, he gets mad at you. Are you mocking him?! Don’t lie to him now! He doesn’t believe you. He doesn’t believe you until you see yourself forced to reveal everything you know about him. You know about Sheep, about Arahabaki, about the Port Mafia and about so much more. Only then does he believe you. The truth did not ease his worries though. No, instead Chuuya feels betrayed. Betrayed that you have known everything about him from the very beginning.

🟠He can’t hide. He can’t pretend anymore either. What’s the use? You know everything about him. With no facade to hide anything anymore Chuuya grows weirdly aggressive yet vulnerable. He doesn’t know how he should deal with this situation where he had no control over what he reveals about you and what not. It is fucking weird to know that in your world he doesn’t even exist and is instead a fictional character. What do you even think about him when he stands in front of you? Do you even see him as a real person? With really nothing to lose anymore Chuuya just abducts you then and there, unable to come up with another solution on how to handle this situation. Obviously he doesn’t tell anyone else about you though as he himself has to properly come to terms with the truth. As heavy as the feeling of betrayal sits though, there’s also desperation and paranoia. Desperation because he feels like he deserves to find out more about you as well since you already know far too much about him and paranoia now that he understands that you’ve died before in your world. You can’t be fine after all that happened, right? He’s going to help you.

Fyodor Dostoevsky

🍎Fyodor has always deemed you to be someone who stands out from the common crowd, for reasons he doesn’t understand either. Perhaps it is because your eyes perceive what others can’t see as he will never forget his first encounter with you. The glimpse of pure fear in your eyes as you gazed at him, seeing the demon disguised as a man. The way your body flinched away from his touch as he reached out to you, sensing the doom that would befall you the moment he’d feel your body. Only very few people have ever been able to realise him for the higher being that he is and it is the fact that a common sinner like you sees right through him upon first meeting him that makes you special. Fyodor tests his theory out only once by cornering you, giving you no chance to hide behind others as you are left alone with him. The sadist in him is relishing in the untarnished fear he sees in your eyes, purple orbs gazing at you as you slowly move away from him. He doesn’t follow you but he doesn’t have to. You poor thing now can’t run away from him anymore. You’ve dared to catch the devil’s interest and for that you will greatly suffer for Fyodor only knows how to take and destroy.

🍎It is when he figures out that you have no past that you only deepen his obsession. It’s intriguing. No past sins to judge you by, no trace of an existence stained in impurity before you appeared in this city. No matter how much research Fyodor does, he’s unable to figure you out. You’re a mystery to him, to a messenger of God. Oh, it is indeed a dangerous game you are playing. What could you be possibly hiding from him that is so forbidden that not even he can know? It’s like you’re trying to trigger him and it is this lack of control, the inability to cast divine judgment upon you as you are incomplete without a past to hold you accountable for that leads Fyodor to do something he normally never does. He rushes the process slightly, lures you faster into the spider’s web until you are trapped. The first thing he asks of you to confess is your past, the one thing he can’t find out about you. What are you? Are you a sinner or are you something more? No normal human should be able to deprive him of information he can always gather. The time for your confession has finally come, the day of your judgement has at last arrived. Now then you little mouse, confess.

🍎If only you would know how much you fuel his obsession the moment you are forced to reveal the truth to Fyodor. A sinner always pays with death to free them of their sins yet you have already died in your own world before you were brought to his own. You are free, or at least freer, of sins than anyone else on this planet. So before this world can ruin you once more he is going to isolate you, to shield you from the impurities of this world. After all it is the duty of an angel to bring salvation to those who are worthy. Now he also understands why you were so afraid the moment you saw him. What was the first time for him to ever meet you was after all only the first time for you officially meeting him as you had seen him multiple times before as nothing more than a fictional character in your own world. Maybe there is a scientific explanation of how it is possible for you to be transported into a world that was only fictional in your old reality but Fyodor pushes another agenda onto you. Have you ever considered it to be the will of a higher being? Have you ever considered it to be a second chance given to you? Don’t you worry too much. He will help you flourish in this world.

Jouno Saigiku

♦️​BadumBadumBadumBadum. The melody of your heart when Jouno finds you one day stranded in an alleyway is certainly a good indicator of the fear and the anxiety currently swirling around inside your mind. Be assured though, he is here to help the little wounded puppy he's found himself right now. You'll just have to tell him who you are and where you are from and he'll get you safely back. That is at least the plan, the only problem is that you refuse his help. Hmm, that is strange. You're acting a bit suspicious, you know? Your little heart is telling him that his appearance seems to have only increased whatever stress you've already felt before. Is there something you're trying to hide from him? Even though his eyes are not able to perceive you, you don't strike Jouno as someone who has done something wrong that would force him to take actions against you. Still, he interrogates you, at least until he has gotten his confirmation that you haven't done anything criminal nor plan to do so. Technically that should be enough yet your heartbeat still hasn't calmed down. He's the reason. You're afraid of him. A reaction that usually only the bad guys have when seeing him.

♦️​The Hunting Dogs are heroes even internationally, normally citizens like you rejoice when seeing him. There are still things he'd like to ask you but you actually seem to gather some courage, tell him shortly that he has no reason to keep you trapped any longer since he has gotten his comfirmation. He isn't exactly pleased with the tone you use but he lets you go, though he's still quite dissatisfied with what he has gotten. As if fate is smiling down upon him though he soon has the pleasure to meet you again. You're still as close-lipped as the first time he met you but since he has now figured out where you work he decides to make acquaintances with your co-workers who are far more talkative. He can sense you standing there in the corner, your heartbeat going crazy as they tell him that you've recently started working here and haven't told them much about your past either. So you really just keep it a secret from anyone. That only makes him more curious, you know? With his position it is relatively easy to gather intel on you though it is when he is served with little to nothing that he truly starts realising that you must carry quite the secret around.

♦️​That is the kickstart of his obsession as he wants to figure out what it is you are hiding. What is the dark secret you don't want anyone to know about? His only clue lies in you and so he torments you with his visits, constantly attempting to guess what it is you are hiding only to never figure it out. How could he have known that you died in your previous life only to be reincarnated into a world that was purely fictional in your old world? It is after the abduction that you are left with no choice but to spill out the truth and as much as he would like to ridicule you for such an otherwise blatant lie, your heart is not lying. You're actually speaking the truth. And Jouno doesn't know how to reply to that, just staring at you with a furrowed face as if considering what the best response or even best reaction is to the truth he has so desperately wanted to know for so long now. You think that you see a glimmer of unease appearing on his face before he suddenly bends down, his hands grasping your chin. Just how much do you know about him? Even though you are his beloved Saigiku has ever considered revealing too much to you yet perhaps you already know too much, leaving him strangely vulnerable.

Nikolai Gogol

🕊️​To Nikolai you have always been entertaining. He has the fondest memories of the both you meeting for the first time, a sentiment you most likely don't share with him. After all it was obvious from the very first encounter that all that you felt for him was dread even though his disguise should have been immaculate, able to fool anyone else. He hides his sinister and twisted character when he needs to do so yet you have seen right through him and it is this seemingly keen intuition of yours that has gotten him so invested in you. Nikolai has never meant for this interest of yours to stay nor to develop into a burning passion that threatens to rip him off the wings he so desperately hopes to obtain. The demon threatening to steal his soul is none other than you, his crooked feelings for you spinning and turning as Nikolai finds himself trapped between two clashing desires. One is to obtain his freedom by murdering you, another one is his desire to keep you and share his sad fate of isolation and oppression due to his own feelings with you. It is a constant inner fight and more than just once has he considered ending your puny life yet there is one factor that ultimately stops him.

🕊️​He plans to torment you, to ruin the life you have so carefully built for yourself and the freedom you have in it yet it is the little information he can gather that has him pausing. No family, no friends, no past. You are essentially like a ghost who appeared overnight. He has no past which he could use to chain you down, nothing personal he could hold against you and that knowledge that he can't properly oppress you unless he knows about it torments him and only infuriates him more as if you were indirectly mocking him. Fine, he'll cut the games short then. When you wake up the next time, it is in a little cage with a cheerful Nikolai asking you how you're doing and if you have slept well. That grin only widens and turns into somethin hideous when he sees your eyes overflowing with fear. Yes~ Let that fear corner you and tie you down. Share your suffering with his own. There is still something, you precious dove, that he really needs to know. Only then can he fully drag you down to the bottom of despair with him after all. You need to tell him a bit more about your past. Your family. Your friends. He needs them for his plans. Imagine his surprise when he sees the relief appearing on his face.

🕊️​That grin on his face disappears as he realises the truth, even if only for a short moment. It isn't the fact that you are from a different world, it isn't that you died in your previous world either that sobers him down for one or two seconds. It is the realisation that you will always be freer than he will be. There are no family, no friends, no pets he could use to play with and to break you with. There is no information he can obtain about you unless you tell him yet here you are, knowing already so much about him since he was a fictional character in your old world. Half of your wings he will never be able to clip off. For one frightening moment his hands suddenly wrap around your neck and start squeezing down with enough force to have you gasping and choking before all of a sudden he lets go, leaving you to cough for air. When he bends down he has put on that playful appearance once more, whispering to you that it's still too early for you to die. He must say, you managed to catch him off guard for a moment there but that's alright. If things are more difficult there are more entertaining after all. He will make sure to plug every single feather off of your wings until you're just as broken as him.

[alastor-simp]

“I Won’t Ever Be Scared Of You” - Alastor x Female Reader

❥Summary: Alastor transforms into his demon form to defend the hotel. He promised himself he would never reveal that side of himself to you, but what happens when you do see it?

❥Tags: Sequel, Alastor x Fem Reader, Unafraid Reader, Alastor Demon Form, Hazbin Hotel Episode 5, Dad Beat Dad Episode, Mimzy, Lucifer Morningstar, Confessions, Friends to Lovers.

❥Notes: This is the sequel to a previous story I had written "I See No Fear In Your Eyes." I really wanted to do a bit of a continuation on how the story ended, so I conjured this up. This also takes placed during episode 5 (Dad Beat Dad) of Hazbin Hotel. Hope you all like it. Enjoy:)

Sequel to this fanfic I wrote - Link

"LETS GO EVERYONE!!! WE GOTTA MAKE THIS PLACE PERFECT FOR WHEN MY DAD GETS HERE!!" Charlies voice rang out in the lobby, as everyone scattered about, preparing for when the king of hell arrived. Husk and Niffty started to sweep up while Sir Pentious helped to bake cookies for everyone and Lucifer. You decided to help string up some welcoming decorations around the higher part of the wall, as well as place a "Welcome" sign for the king to see when he arrived. You had never met Charlies dad before, sparking your curiosity on what he was like.

Your thoughts were cut off by loud static surrounding you, making you turn to see Alastor next to you, eyes monitoring the door with a strong hatred, demonic symbols floating above him. What's up with him? Finishing what you were doing, you walked closer to Al and gave him a bit of a poke on his side. His eyes quickly flashed towards you in anger, until he realized it was only you, which calmed him down. Ever since the confession you had at his radio tower about why you didn't fear him, your relationship with him had grown. His mannerisms were still the same, but he had adopted a softer, sweeter demeanor when he was around you, even allowing you to touch him on certain accusations. You still hadn't figured what to call this relationship you now had with Al. Affectionate friends or very close partners? It wasn't romantic per say, but it still left you a bit confused. "Oh, Hello my dear! Something troubling you?" Alastor tilted his head at you, eyes growing soft at the sight of you. "I should be asking you that. Whats with the sudden power surge? Are you angry about something?" Alastor froze for a moment, hands grasping at his microphone a bit tightly before turning to gaze back at the door. "No." Alastor said it quickly, but you can tell he wasn't being truthful. "Do you dislike Lucifer?" You asked him with a tilt of your head, copying him. Alastor remained silent before he gave a loud sigh. "I'm not very fond of him, my dear. He is the ruler of hell, with tremendous power, and yet he hides himself away and refuses to accept his responsibilities."

His eyes had turned into radio dials, for a split second before calming down, yet his smile was widen enough to reveal his black gums. Giving a sigh, you motioned to grab one of Alastor's hands that was still holding his microphone tightly, giving it a soft squeeze, causing Al to look at you with confusion. "Look, this is important to Charlie, and she needs to ask her dad for help with heaven. I'm not telling you to all of a sudden change your view on him, but please try to behave a bit. Just for today, please?" Alastor's eyes continued to stare at you, before he closed them and opened them again with softness. He could never refuse those kind eyes of yours. "Alright, my dear. Its a deal!" He said, jokingly, making you laugh. "Thanks Al." You gave his hand, another squeeze before letting it go, going back to setting up.

Fast forwarding to now, you watched as both Alastor and Lucifer were having a "I'm the better dad" song battle for Charlie. Welp, you tried. You knew Al had tried his best, but after a couple insults between the two, the deal you had with him completely broke, honestly it was shocking to hear Alastor say "F✪✪k you" since he has almost never swore ever, since he arrived at the hotel. The song fight continued on, until it was interrupted by a short chubby demon, who came badgering inside the hotel. She quickly introduced herself as Mimzy, one of Alastor close friends, and also being a singer at a club she ran. She started chatting with everyone at the hotel, indulging herself in the liquor that was at the bar, it was surprising how much she could drink. You noticed that some of the liquor supply was getting low, so you thought it would be best to get some more, since everything had calmed down a bit. You had pulled Charlie to the side, letting her know that you were going out for a bit to get some more alcohol for the bar, which she nodded at, giving you a thumbs up before she run back over to chat with her dad. Grabbing your wallet, you ventured out the hotel, looking back to see the others listening to Mimzy chatting about before you went outside and shut the door.

*Few Hours Later*

"MIMZY!! WE KNOW YOUR IN THERE, YOU LOUSY BIT✪✪!". A voice rang out as a loud bang was heard from the other side of the hotel doors, causing the hotel to shake. A group of loan sharks had arrived at the hotel, heavily armed with weapons and attempting to break down the hotel doors with a battering ram. The residents of the hotel began to panic as large fireballs were crashing through the windows, nearly hitting them and causing large shards of glass to scatter everywhere. Vaggie had quickly grabbed her spear, ready to fight the loan sharks, until a hand was place on her weapon, causing her to lower it. "No, my dear, leave it to me. It's time I remind everyone why I am h̨̭̹̠̍̚e̷͑ͥr͉͢͝ȩ̬̤̺̇ͮ̕."

The air inside the hotel began to change, as the static started to get louder. Alastors eyes had turned demonic and a green aura began to cover the whole hotel. Dark tendrils had materialized from Alastors back, allowing him to levitate into the air. "A reminder to all, ŇØŦ ŦØ Μ€ŞŞ ŴƗŦĦ ŦĦ€ ŘΔĐƗØ Đ€ΜØŇ!" Belting out an evil cackle, the tendrils had bursted out of the hotel, destroying the catapult, and crushing the loan sharks into bloody puddles. Growing into a monstrous height, Alastor emerged out of the hotel doors, horns growing in size as well as his eyes turning into radio dials and multiple tentacles protruding from his back; "Ɨ ŴƗŁŁ Đ€VØỮŘ €ΔĆĦ ΔŇĐ €V€Ř¥ ØŇ€ Ø₣ ¥ØỮ!

*Alastor POV*

"Oh how much I have missed this!" Alastor thought to himself, as he massacred the loan sharks that were scattered outside the hotel, running for their lives to escape his deadly clutches. It was futile, as no one comes into the radio demons territory and gets away with it. Scanning his eyes for more prey, he held one of the poor souls in his hand before dropping him in his jaws. "Hmm not quite as tasty as venison, but who could resist fresh sushi!" Alastor thought, as he cackled away, his tentacles continued to tear apart the loan sharks to pieces, organs and blood scattering the ground. The screams soon stopped and the only sound that could be heard was overwhelming static and monstrous growls, as glowing bright eyes scanned all over, making sure all of the annoying pests were disposed of. "Al?" a soft voice had come from below him, making him freeze in shock. Turning around in his gigantic form, his eyes casted down, spotting you, gazing up at him with wide eyes, mouth opened into a perfect O shape.

"Oh no! Oh no no no no no! She wasn't meant to see this! She wasn't meant to see this grotesque part of me!" His thoughts were scattering, feeling fear for the first time. Alastor remembered when he promised himself that he would never have you see his true demonic form, fearing that once you saw how he looked, the eyes that you gave him that held no fear, would be no more. A sinner as sweet as you, who confessed to him about everything that you admired about him to his face, shouldn't have to see this. Alastor didn't know what to do and quickly turned away from you, ashamed at himself, until he heard a "Wow!" from behind him

*Your POV*

"WOAHHH HE'S SO TALL!" Your mind was racing with many thoughts, as you walked closer to Al, putting the bag of alcohol bottles down on the ground. "Holy crap, you got very big. Can you hear me from up there Al?" You raised your voice up a bit louder, figuring Al couldn't hear you since he was almost the size of the hotel now. Alastor slowly turned back around, with his radio dial eyes still present, but they looked at you with slight concern. Alastor had bent down a bit, trying to get closer to you, but keeping a good distance as he worried it would startle you. "Đ؀ޅ.ĐØ€Ş ŦĦƗŞ ŞƗĐ€ Ø₣ Μ€ ŇØŦ ₣ŘƗǤĦŦҀР¥ØỮ, Μ¥ Đ€ΔŘ? His voice was booming, possible due to being in his demonic form, but it was softer then when he was munching on the loan sharks. Gazing up at Al with confusion, you asked him why would you be frightened. Alastor had closed his eyes, turning his head to face away from you; "Ɨ ΜΔĐ€ Δ ƤŘØΜƗŞ€ ŦØ Μ¥Ş€Ł₣ ŦĦΔŦ ¥ØỮ Ŵ€Ř€ ŦØ Ň€V€Ř Ş€€ ŦĦƗŞ ŞƗĐ€ Ø₣ Μ€"

Narrowing your eyes at him , you let out a huff, before walking closer to him. "Pick me up." Alastor turned back around in shock, not expecting you to say that. After some hesitation, Alastor placed one of his large hands down in front of you, allowing you to step on to it. Holding on to one of his large fingers, you allowed him to hoist you up, becoming eye level now. Once you were eye to eye with him, you crooked your finger at him, telling him to move closer. Alastor hesitated again before moving his head closer towards you, his forehead and eyes being extremely close to you. Reaching one of your hands up, you placed it on his forehead, before moving closer and pressing a soft kiss on it. Alastor eyes had widen at your actions, but he didn't move from his position, as you continued to pepper kisses on his forehead. Removing your lips, you nuzzled your forehead against his, "Alastor, I told you before that I would never grow to fear you. Whatever form you take, I will never be afraid of you." Stepping back, you gazed into his bright eyes, lips drew into a soft smile.

Crimson dial eyes remained locked on you, as they slowly closed. A chuckle was heard from Al, as he shook his head from side to side, before moving closer to you, placing his forehead back against yours softly. "Darling, what a wonder you are." His voice had returned to normal, no ounce of static etched in it. The two of you remained in that position, before Alastor had pulled away, bright eyes peering at you with admiration. "As much as I love this form of yours, it would be better if you shrunk back down, especially since you won't be able to fit through the doors." You said with a laugh, earning you a loud booming laugh from Alastor, as his whole being shook, having to hold on to his fingers to steady yourself. "I suppose your right." Alastor said, as he slowly brought his hand back to the ground, allowing you to jump off his hand.

Your eyes continued to gaze at him, as his body slowly began to shrink, eyes returning back to normal slits, and large tentacles disappearing from his back. He was soon back to his old self, rubbing parts of his suit to be rid of any dirt or grime. His joker-like smile was still trained on you, but it was full of tenderness, as he look down at you. "There he is, the handsome devilish radio demon is back!" Smiling brightly at him, you placed your hand against his cheek, giving it a soft rub. Alastor gave you a genuine smile, grabbing your hand from his cheek and placing a soft kiss on to it. Releasing your hand, his arms had wrapped around your back, pulling you into a soft hug, his head moving closer to your neck, giving it a nuzzle, making you giggle at the ticklish sensation. The sweet moment was interrupted by the sound of clapping behind the both of you. Looking ahead, you saw Mimzy approaching, a bit of a smirk on her face. "Oh Alastor! What a fantastic show! Bravo! As always. Thanks for helpin' lil' old me out of a tough spot, you're always such a pal!" Her dialogue got cut off, as some debris from the hotel fell next to her, making her jump a bit in shock. Appearing unapologetic, she looked back at the two of you, "Oops. Heheheh… sorry about the mess, but I'm sure the lil' bug can take care of it for ya."

Alastor had loosened the hug, turning all the way around, but not before hooking his arm with yours, keeping you close to him. His smile was still stretched out as always, but his eyes held irritation. "I think you should go, Mimzy. Now." He said towards Mimzy, stunning her for a bit. "Oh pff, Alastor, you're such a kidder, you! Haha, you are so funny!" She flicked her hand at him, not taking him seriously, but you knew that expression he wore, he was not in a joking mood, his eyes lacking mischief. "I mean it. You deliberately brought danger to this place just to have me clean up your mess. I can't have that here." He had pulled you a bit closer, as he continued to talk with Mimzy, clearly telling her to f✪✪k off. She apparently did not take the hint, as she continue to ramble on, "But you love takin' care a' me! What? You don't actually give a shit about this tacky place, do ya? Come on. I know you. you heartless son of a bi✪✪h~" Her finger continued to poke at his chest, causing him to let out a small growl.

Grabbing her finger from his chest, you pushed it off him, glaring down at her. "I believe he told you to leave." Mimzy did not appreciate you touching her and scoffed at you. "And who the hell are you dollface?" Wow, she even forgot who you were, and she literally just met you a few hours ago, when she barged in. "I'm the one who knows and sees the real Alastor, and doesn't try to exploit him to get out of sticky situations." Alastor eyes had widen at your words, a bit shocked at this fiery side of yours. Mimzy had backed up a bit, not expecting that: "Well I-" "Did I stutter? Leave!" Your words had cut her off, as you continued to glare down at her. Huffing while stomping her feet, she walked past the both of you: "Well fine! Who needs ya!" She continued to stomp away, not before flipping the both of you off.

You continued to glare at her when she walked away, before you got distracted by the sound of static-filled laugther next to you. "My my~ Who knew you were such a firecracker, my dear." Al had unhooked his arm from yours, but he wrapped it around your back pulling you closer. You gazed up at Al, who was smirking down at you, making you flush a bit. "You weren't meant to see that, I'm sorry." Your head dropped down in shame, until a hand had hooked your chin, motioning your head to look back up at him. "I quite like it, ma chérie. Just as you love the many sides of me, I very much enjoy this feisty side of you." His finger had traced your bottom lip, his crimson eyes filled with a strong desire as well as adoration. Inching closer, his lips had placed itself against your redden cheek, causing your heart to skip a beat. Pulling back, his smile was gentle, before he stood back to his regular height, his hand moving from your back to one of your open palms, interlocking your fingers. "Come along, my dear. We better head back inside!" He pulled you along, having you walk next to him, as you made your way back towards the hotel. He had snapped his fingers, using his powers to have the bag of liquor levitate behind the both of you. His hand was so warm. You gave his hand a gentle squeeze, which he reciprocated back as you both went back inside to join the others.

-END-

Sinners:

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[thewolvesofthenorth]

Chapter Two

Chapter Two of Man of Honor

Series Masterlist ❖ Main Masterlist ❖ House Of The Dragon Masterlist

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 2k+ 

Summary: Cregan finally manages to speak to you, but it doesn’t go the way he thought it would.

Warnings: Angst angst angst, language, fluff, slow burn, pining

⟸ Previous Chapter ❖ Next Chapter ⟹

Much to Cregan’s chagrin, you were still skillfully avoiding him, but he had managed to convince Sara to aid him on his endeavor to get you to speak, or even just acknowledge him. Sara had of course rebuffed him at first, but after several days of his nagging, she gave in. She told him that the only place where you would surely be alone was the godswood, and that she would inform him the next time you were there, but the rest was up to him after that.

Cregan expressed his gratitude and the wait began. Two days passed before Sara informed Cregan that you were making your way to the godswood, and his throat grew tight with anxiety.

What am I even going to say?

He waited a while before making his way to the godswood, careful to avoid catching anyone’s attention lest he be pulled into other matters. He needed to patch things up with you as best as he could. The snow quietly crunched beneath his feet as he walked through the godswood, an eerie silence filling the air as he neared the heart tree. As he grew closer, he could make out your silhouette sitting on a rock at the foot of the heart tree, head bowed in silent prayer. As he took a step forward, a twig snapped, and he winced as the sound echoed through the trees.

Cregan’s breath caught in his throat as you whipped your head around at the noise and met his eye. Despite the day already beginning to grow dark, he could see how beautiful you looked. You sat frozen, heart pounding in your chest at the sight of him standing there, staring at you with an unreadable expression on his face. After a moment, you stood, silently dusting the snow off your cloak, and acted as if he wasn’t mere feet away. Realizing what you were about to do, Cregan closed the distance between you with a few short strides, catching your arm as you turned to walk away.

“Wait,” he managed to choke out. “Please.”

You turned and narrowed your eyes at him as you freed your arm from his grasp.

“What do you want?” You spat; voice laced with venom as you addressed him for the first time in months. Cregan cringed at your tone, having never been on the receiving end of your anger, and the usually composed and strong man suddenly felt like a child. He took a deep breath to steady his thoughts, silently praying to the old gods for strength.

“I - I wanted to apologize,” he began. “I’ve been horrible to you as of late.” You scoffed at his words.

“Oh, you’ve realized that now, have you?” You shot back, crossing your arms with a glare. “What? Did you fall off your horse?” Cregan looked at you in confusion.

“Did you hit your head? Have a little too much ale or something? Because why else would you suddenly remember that I existed?” He flinched at your response, not knowing how to reply.

Seven hells, this is off to a great start.

“No -,” he started.

“No? So, what is it then? Why are you here?”

“I’m trying to say that I’m sorry,” he answered, head bowing with remorse. Cregan felt so small in your presence, with your wrath directed at him, that he wanted to curl into a ball and hide from your fury.

“You’re sorry?” You retorted. “After months of ignoring me, all you have to say is ‘sorry’?”

“You’ve also been avoiding me!” He replied. “You’ve come up with an excuse at every turn just to keep your distance, and you never told me why.”

“Oh, so it’s all my fault now, is it?” You sneered, your anger rising with each passing moment.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Well, it certainly sounds like it. Do you even know why? Why I avoid being near you?”

Cregan opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off.

“I avoid being near you because I couldn’t stand to look at you. I couldn’t stand to be in your presence, listening to you talk about Arra and how great she is. How perfect she is. How I could never compare to her.”

“I’m -.”

“And that’s not even the half of it,” you continued, ignoring his attempt to speak. “You can’t possibly imagine how it feels to be replaced. To have your best friend ignore you and spend his time with someone else, doing things that you used to do together, and then come back and talk about how great of a time he had. Do you even remember? Do you remember the words you spoke to me right here where we presently stand?”

“Yes,” he managed to say, “I remember.”

“What were the words then? What was it that you said?”

“I told you that we’d marry, and I’d make you the Lady of Winterfell.”

“You promised. You swore it,” you said softly. “You swore it by the old gods and the new.”

“I know.”

“And yet you betroth yourself to Arra.”

“I - I know that I’ve wronged you, but it was never my intention.”

“Oh? What was your intention then?”

“I - you - it,” Cregan stumbled over his words as you looked at him in rage. “It’s what’s best for the North. It’s my duty.”

“What’s best for the North? Your duty?” You snapped, hands now shaking with rage. “Is that your excuse?”

“No, but -,”

“You are an arrogant fool,” you seethed. “You think yourself so honorable, but you are far from it. You are a disgrace to your house and bring shame to the Stark name. You swear an oath, but then proceed to break it. You are nothing but a coward and don’t deserve to be a Stark.”

“We - we were children,” he defended, and the moment the words left his lips he knew he’d made a grave mistake.

Fuck!

“We were children,” you slowly repeated. “We. Were. Children…. So that’s it? It was just a game to you then.”

“No - it,” Cregan tried to backtrack, but you held your hand up to stop him.

“I’ve heard enough,” you said, and you straightened your back and looked him in the eye. “It may have been nothing but a game to you, but it wasn’t a game to me, Cregan Stark.” With that, you pushed past him and marched out of the godswood, not sparing the dejected man another glance.

Once you were out of sight, Cregan’s knees buckled, and he fell to the ground despair. He let out a growl as he hit the snow in frustration. He should have told you how he felt, told you how he had been blind to his own feelings. But instead, he’d completely mucked things up and made the rift between the two of you even bigger. 

You were right, he was nothing but a coward.

But he also had a duty to uphold.

A duty to the North.

A duty to his people.

And duty is sacrifice.

Tears silently streamed down your face as you solemnly walked to the Great Keep, skillfully keeping yourself hidden in the shadows and away from prying eyes. The cold unforgivingly nipped at your wet cheeks, making your tears feel like ice against your skin, but you paid it no mind, too distraught from Cregan’s words to feel the frosty bite of the North. You were angry that he had managed to corner you in the godswood. You were angry at him for breaking your heart more than he already had. But mostly, you were angry at yourself for hoping that he would say something different than what he had.

How could I have been so stupid?

So blind?

Your mind raced with so many thoughts as you finally arrived at your chambers and sat on your bed. You slid off your shoes and stripped off your cloak before lying down and staring at the ceiling. You weren’t sure what to do anymore. On one hand, you wanted to leave Winterfell so you wouldn’t have to see Cregan anymore. On the other, you wanted to stay because you loved him and couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing him again. Your heart ached at both options because no matter what, you’d still be losing and knew you wouldn’t be happy no matter which choice you made.

If only I could turn back time and she never came to Winterfell.

Maybe even farther back so Cregan never made his promise.

Your heart clenched as you remembered his words, the phrase tauntingly echoing in your ears.

We were children.

We were children.

We were children.

He had said those words so easily, as if he’d practiced saying it. As if it was acceptable to make such promises as children and they weren’t to be taken seriously.

Oaths of marriage shouldn’t be taken lightly, but I guess they don’t matter if we made it when we were children.

I really thought it meant something to him.

You let out a huff as you sat up, running a hand through your hair. You needed to move on. You needed to do something other than pine for someone who clearly didn’t care about your feelings. Who would rather break his word and toss you aside as if you had not been by his side your whole lives. As if you hadn’t made sacrifices of your own.

You had turned down numerous suitors over the years because of your feelings for Cregan and hopes of marrying him, but now you knew that you should have done what was best for you. If Cregan had really meant his words that day in the godswood, he would have told his advisors and made it known. Instead, he kept it a secret and put it out of his mind because you were both children and he thought of it as another one of your childish antics.

He never had the intention of actually marrying me.

He was just a stupid boy making stupid promises to a stupid girl.

A stupid girl who was stupid enough to listen to his stupid words.

Stupid.

Stupid.

Stupid.

That night you cried yourself to sleep, unaware of the man who stood just outside your door, listening to your sobs of pain, and knowing he was the cause of such sorrow.

After you had left Cregan in the godswood, he had stayed beneath the heart tree praying to the old gods. Praying for guidance and for help to make the right choice. He was torn. He knew his feelings for you. He knew that they had always been there, but he was too blind to see it until now. But he had also made an oath to Arra and her parents. He had made an oath to his people, to the North. He simply could not forsake his word for his own selfish desires, but he had also given his word to you all those years ago, and the pain that he was causing you was eating him up inside.

Some time had passed and by the time Cregan returned to the Great Keep it was nearly the hour of the bat. As he walked through the quiet halls to his chambers, he decided he wanted to try and speak with you again, in hopes of somehow repairing the damage he had done. Once he arrived at your door, he took a deep breath and was about to knock when he heard it.

You were crying.

Cregan’s heart dropped to his stomach.

He had caused this.

He was the reason why you were currently bawling your eyes out alone. It felt like a lifetime ago that he was the one comforting you when you were upset, but now he was the cause of your misery. Cregan stood there, forehead resting against the wooden door, unsure of what to do. Should he go in and comfort you? Should he leave?

You’d probably yell at him and throw him out if he came in, especially after the earlier interaction, but he wanted nothing more than to pull you into his arms and tell you everything was going to be fine and that he was sorry. He knew he should probably leave, but his feet refused to move, and guilt consumed him as your weeping continued.

If only he’d had the courage to tell you his feelings, you wouldn’t be going through this.

If only he had remembered the oath he’d made, you wouldn’t be so broken.

If only he wasn’t bound by duty as the Warden of the North.

It felt like hours, when it was really minutes, before your whimpers eventually stopped and Cregan knew you’d fallen asleep. He turned as if to walk away but paused. You were always a heavy sleeper, especially after crying, but there was still a slight chance that you would wake up, but Cregan was willing to risk it. He took deep breath and quietly opened your door, and the sight that greeted him made his breath hitch. There you were, hair splayed out around you, the dim light from the moon illuminating your delicate features.

He took the chance to admire you, noting the way your lips were parted just a bit, and a quiet snore coming from your mouth. He smiled at how peaceful you looked, free of the despair he had caused. As he trailed his eyes over your body, the evening breeze graced the room and made you shiver in your sleep. You had been so distraught that you hadn’t even sought comfort in the warm furs adorning your bed. Cregan tip-toed to your side and slid his arms under your small frame, careful to not rouse you from your slumber, as he shifted you just enough to cover you with a blanket.

As he pulled the cover up to your chin, he caught sight of your tear-stained cheeks. As he wiped them way with the pad of his thumb, you turned your face and nuzzled into his palm, letting out a small sigh at the contact. Cregan froze, worried that he’d woken you up, but breathed a sigh of relief when you made no other movements. He tried to draw his hand away slowly, afraid that you would somehow wake up, but was stopped when you abruptly grabbed his arm and rolled over, unexpectedly pulling him into the bed.

He quickly caught himself before he landed on you and held his breath as he gradually lowered his body to lay next to you, praying that you wouldn’t choose that moment to wake up. He thanked the gods when he managed to settle himself behind you, arm slung over your body, trapped in your grip. Cregan steadily shifted until he was right up against you, nothing but the thick material of the wool and furs separating your bodies and closed his eyes.

He smiled as he recalled how the two of you would often fall asleep like this as children. How you two would somehow always manage to wake up in each other’s arms, your head resting on his chest, his arm tightly curled around you. He had never given it much thought back then since you’d been children, but then chastised himself since that kind of thinking was what got him into this mess to begin with.

He tried to think of the last time you’d fallen asleep in his arms and realized that the last time was shortly after your sixteenth name day, several months after his father had passed. Your septa had admonished you the next morning when she’d found you in his arms, saying that it was not appropriate to sleep beside a man that was not your husband, especially when the man was the young Lord of Winterfell, and she had not hesitated to give him the same scolding. The two of you never slept beside each other after that.

Cregan was saddened at the memory, having never recognized the obvious affection between you two. He closed his eyes, listening to your breathing and occasional snores, and breathed in your scent. The smell of pine with a pleasant undertone of smoke invaded his nostrils, and he draw soft circles over your hand as he felt how your body perfectly fit against his. He committed it all to his memory and wanted to savor this moment for as long as he could, knowing that he would probably never get another chance at this with you.

Cregan laid awake behind you for several hours, and as the hour of the owl approached, he reluctantly released you from his embrace and stood. He couldn’t help himself as he leaned down and placed a kiss on your cheek and forehead before exiting your chambers, giving you one last look before he shut the door silently behind him.

Unbeknownst to him, you had opened your eyes just seconds after the door had shut.

⟸ Previous Chapter ❖ Next Chapter ⟹

[meloyellow236]

The TWST boys write letters to Yuu/The Prefect!

All of them except for Ortho+Checka are meant to be interpreted as romantic, but many can be interpreted as platonic as well. The reader is gender-neutral, but more feminine adjectives will be used when referring to them. Rollo's part is fairly suggestive. Characters will probably be a bit OOC.

Minor spoilers for their respective books in each section, but I try to keep it as spoiler-free as I can, except for who overbloted. If anyone has any questions or comments, please leave an ask or comment :)

NRC:

Heartslabyul:  

Riddle Rosehearts - 

My dearest rose, 

You are the loveliest person I have ever known. It is a miracle that you chose to get to know me, and even more so after I hurt you and your friends so deeply. I have made many mistakes, but you, my rose, look past them. I understand that you may choose to go home one day, but even so... 

Please just give me a moment of your time, a fraction of your thoughts, and I’ll be satisfied. Any inch of you that I can get, I want, even if you still believe me a tyrant. If it pleased you- No, if it only made you look my way, I would gladly break any rule of the queen’s or my mother’s. Understand that, my rose, and I am sure you’ll know what remains unsaid in this letter. 

Yours Truly, 

Riddle Rosehearts 

Trey Clover - 

Prefect, 

Hello. I wanted to thank you, first and foremost, for helping out Heartslabyul so much. You’ve been a very good influence on Ace and Duece, and it’s nice to see Cater open up to someone. Not to mention, Riddle’s been improving every day. I can’t even describe how much you’ve helped me... I just hope you know that I’ll always be grateful for what you’ve done. You’re welcome at Heartsabyul at any time. I have some donuts waiting for you if you want. 

From, 

Trey. 

Cater Diamond - 

Prefect, 

Heyyy! Whatcha doing right now? I’m sooooo happy that you came to NRC even if, like, all of the housewarden’s tried to ratio you. I do not subscribe to that, BTW. #NotCool, #Yikes-A-Tron. But,  like... On a more serious note, I am happy that I got to know you. It’s nice to have someone I can just be myself around. No drama, no expectations, just... Yeah. I know that you’re gonna leave at some point, and it’s almost a relief. You’re honest about it, which is something that many can’t say. 

Ugh, that was probs TMI! I’m not trying to trauma dump here, oops. There’s this cute cafe that opened up downtown, totally Magicam-worthy. You wanna meet up there sometime? 

- Cay-cay ♦️  

Ace Trapolla - 

Prefect!! 

I need your help! So, Trein’s got this super hard test coming up on Friday- Like, Riddle-got-a-99-last-year level of hard. Yeah, that’s without the extra credit, but STILL! That’s failure to the tyrant! So, you’ve got to come over to Heartslabyul right now and help me study. Pleaseeeee!!!! I’ll owe you one! 

Oh, and don’t bring Grim. Deuce’s also got plans, there’s no need to ask him. You know, in case that matters to you. 

See ya, 

Ace 

Deuce Spade - 

Dear Prefect, 

Hello, how are you doing? Can you believe that it’s already been so long since we became friends? When we broke that chandelier, I was ready to never talk to you again... But now look at us! I’m on my way to becoming an honor student, and you’re working on finding your way home! I’m happy that you’re going to be able to go soon, I know how bad it feels not to be able to see your family (and probably friends in your case) after so long away, but also sad that you’ll be leaving us. 

I’ve got it! Let’s get your ghost camera, and we’ll take lots of photos of us all over campus! Two of each, so that way no matter what, both of us will always remember what we went through together. That sounds like a good idea, right? 

From, 

Duece 

Savanaclaw: 

Leona Kingscholar - 

Herbivore, 

Hey. You’re an idiot, you know that? You’re stupid and impulsive and don’t know when to quit or give up. That’s why you keep looking for me in the botanical gardens, right? You just don’t know when to stop. I’m sure that you’ll realize I’m not worth your effort soon enough. But until then, you have to come to see me more often. You’re my pillow, I don’t get good enough sleep if you’re not there. 

I’m in the usual place. Get over here as soon as possible. 

- Leona 

Ruggie Bucchi - 

Hiya, Prefect... 

I’ve been thinking, and you should let me come over to Ramshackle and fix the place up for you. No upfront cost, of course, but... I want the right to use the kitchen as I please, whenever I please. 

Why, you’re asking? Shishishi... Not telling. You’ve just got to trust me on this, I’ll make it worth your while. Then again, maybe I’ll just blow the kitchen up and you’ll have to live at Savanclaw again! That’d be fun, huh? 

If you don’t want me to, ya better give up your kitchen for a little while! I’ll get that microwave up and running again in no time.

- Ruggie 

Jack Howl - 

Dear Prefect, 

Hello, have you been feeling alright? I’ve noticed that Crowley isn’t the best provider of food. While on my morning runs, I’ve noticed Grim loudly talking about how he doesn’t have enough tuna. He does it pretty often. So, I’ve thought of a solution; You could try eating breakfast with me. I always get big portions, so you could have some. If you want, I could even try lifting you and carrying you places. I need to get better strength training anyway, and then you’ll have a buddy to get stronger with. It’s always better to have a friend with you. 

From, 

Jack 

Octavinelle: 

Azul Ashengrotto - 

My Pearl, 

Allow me to start this letter by saying that you are truly the crown jewel of my riches and that none can replace your beauty. You are the loveliest, most perfect little pearl, and I adore you with my whole heart. And yet, I cannot seem to convince myself that you feel the same. You say you do, and even if it is a crime to believe your lips hold lies, I cannot believe that to be true. If it was, why? Not just why you would tell me- A scheming man who has hurt you and your friends- that I hold the keys to your heart, but why you would choose what I hold underneath. I’m no good for you in terms of personality or how I look, and yet... You still hold me dear. And for that alone, I want to take you to the Coral Sea where my home lies, but not for a deal this time. Just... Because I want you and my mother in the same place. The two most important people to me meeting... That’s the best thing I can think of, to be honest. 

With Love, 

Azul Ashengrotto 

Jade Leech - 

Dearest Prefect, 

It has come to my attention that you haven’t had a chance to enjoy a proper mushroom dish since arriving in Twisted Wonderland. Now, that will not do for much longer. This letter should contain a box with three containers worth of mushroom dishes. You are to eat them and write back to me with what you thought of each of them. In return, I shall continue to provide you with free food. 

Do be warned, however, that they should all be eaten as fast as possible once you get them in case my brother chooses to throw them out. Also, so that way Grim cannot eat them. I would not recommend it for a cat.

Kind Regards, 

Jade Leech 

Floyd Leech - 

Shrimpy!!!!!! 

You and me. In the courtyard. Now. 

I’m going to squeeze you. 

🐬°˖𓍢✨໋ 🐋✧°.🐟⋆ 

🦐🥢🥢🥢🥢🧨 

I’ll see you later if you want me to or not. 

- Floyd <3333333 

Scarabia: 

Kalim Al-Asim - 

Hello!!!!

I love you!!! I love you, I love you, I love you! You’re the most wonderful person in this school, and you’ve done so much for both me and Jamil! It would be silly for me not to love you. I love how your hair looked in the wind when we went on that carpet ride, I love how you looked in the school’s uniform and how you looked when you tried on my dorms, and I love how you look no matter how you dress because you’re a beautiful person inside and out! I love you, and nothing can change that! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ 

Hugs and kisses, 

Kalim Al-Asim 

P.S. Let’s go on another magic carpet ride soon, okay? I want to show you how pretty the moon looks when it’s full and you’re flying!

Jamil Viper - 

Dear Prefect,

Thank you for saving me when I overblotted. I am aware that what I did was wrong, and I apologize. I hope you can understand where I’m coming from. Either way, I feel as though I must do something more for you to show you that. Please come to Scarabia tonight. I will make you a special dinner if you do. Please, don’t tell Kalim. I want... something special, for the two of us this time. 

See you later, 

Jamil Viper

Pomefiore: 

Vil Schoenheit - 

My Dearest Potato, 

I regret to inform you that you have bewitched me. So much so that I willingly took on a role as a villain in this next movie. The villain falls in love with the hero’s love interest, and then, in a “shocking” turn of events, she chooses the villain to stand by. Of course, they’re both defeated, the hero gets with his childhood friend in some lesson of how love will always be waiting for you, whatever. But I still chose it, even if Neige plays the hero. 

I finally have a love interest, and they remind me of you. You could have stood by his side, you know. You should have. I poisoned him; That action speaks for itself. And yet, you decided to stay with me. Just like how that villain in this story gets the girl the hero originally wanted. 

I’ve won your heart as well, haven’t I? 

Sincerely, 

Vil Schoenheit 

Rook Hunt - 

Trickster, 

Bonjour, mon amour! I could not resist sending you another letter. You see my darling, I long for you like I long for the sunset on a hot day, for an oasis in a desert, for a hint of rain during the dry season, for the sun during the days when it pours. I'd imagine you'd taste like the rain as well, Trickster, and if given the chance, I'd taste again and again, in an attempt to satiate more than just my curiosity. 

Oh, Trickster, have you any idea how you’ve bewitched me? Why, just the sight of you is enough to send me spiraling, wishing for the smallest fraction of a chance that my affections are shared. How cruel is fate, to deny me the right to live and die within your arms? La petite mort would be heaven if it was with you, but death would truly come for me if it wasn’t. 

Je t'aime de tout mon coeur, 

Le Chasseur D'Armour 

Epel Felmeir - 

Prefect, 

I need some help. I found out that milk can make ya grow stronger, and also help you get taller. However, Vil has banned me from drinking it because I drank a carton in two days. Something about it raising my cholesterol or making me break out, I don’t care. So, I need to keep it at Ramshackle. That’s okay with you, right? Well, I sure hope it is, cause it’s getting in there if ya want it to or not! I’ll see ya soon, just make sure it’s in the fridge. I’ll get ya some of my family’s apple juice in return, it’ll be good. I reckon ya liked it last time. 

Epel 

Ignihyde: 

Idia Shroud - 

Prefect, 

Get to my room, and fast. There’s an event taking place, and I need a player two. This one requires another person to be in the same room, so I can’t ask any of my mutuals, and you’re the only one I trust with this. I can’t ask Ortho either, don’t ask why. 

Also I recently got pink lights in my room like those normies. That’s why everything looks kind of pink, it’s not my hair. Just in case you were wondering if I was embarrassed or whatever, you’re wrong. Just get over here ASAP, no time to waste. 

- Gloomurai 

Ortho Shroud - 

Hello, how are you? ( ˵ •̀ ᴗ •́˵) I am very happy to get a chance to talk with you. I have recently learned how to type out these little faces called ‘kaomoji’ that my big brother loves. Here are some of my favorites: 

♡✧( •⌄• ) 

ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ 

•ω• 

ᓚ₍ ^. .^₎ - This one is a cat! 

I would like to share more with you. Please come to Ignihyde so I can teach you how to get them on your phone as well. I can provide free updates while you’re here if needed. (✿˶◕‿◕˶人◕ᴗ◕✿) 

Sent To: PerfectPrefect@email.com 

Date: XX/XX/XXXX 

Return Email: orthoshroud2@email.com 

Diasomnia: 

Malleus Dracona - 

My Dearest Child Of Man, 

If Longing was painful, how much farther would I have to fall to crash and burn at your feet? The only answer I can give is that I already would have. I would build monuments in your name and would offer you the world and more if only you would say you loved me back. 

Could this be considered love? Could these feelings I hold deep within my heart, only to divulge in the darkest hours of the night with none but the stars and you to bear witness to my passion, be a form of love? Or is this simply my yearning, a longing for your heart, and wanting to have someone to call my own? 

The moment I laid eyes on you, I knew that you were the one I wanted next. How I wish I could scream your name from the rooftop, and raise my voice in song only to sing your praises. You have the face of an angel, and I am sure that you must have the mind of one as well, for even if the voices in your head remind you of nothing more than pain and suffering, they have still been able to mold you into the perfection you are today. But maybe you have devils as well, trying to smite you as you sleep, but just as I do all of your angels, I will pick them up and kiss their heads if they are a part of someone I care for so much. You are perfection, Child of Man, and this dragon wishes only to live with the crumbs of affection as my treasures. 

Yours Until The End Of Eternity, 

Prince Malleus Dracona Of Briar Valley Hornton 

Lilia Vanrouge - (Okay so for Lilia I could have SWORN that he calls the prefect ‘Beastie,’ but I can find that nowhere. Literally at all, no one seems to have used it for him, but I know that I’ve seen at least one person do it. I now think that it’s a headcanon thing but I’m not sure, if anyone knows who did this or if it’s canon, please tell me. I’ve been searching for far too long and I am in too deep.)

Beastie, 

Hello, my darling~! I have an easy-peasy little request for you, m’kay? You just need to travel over to Diasomnia, and then... I’ll make you a meal! Malleus has been out trying to find this one gargoyle on campus all day since I brought up wanting to learn a new recipe, and Sebek and Silver both ran off earlier to go help him. I don’t know how to tell them that the gargoyle they’re looking for definitely isn’t at Night Raven College. Raising kids is quite hard, especially when things like this come up... 

But you’ll be there for me, won’t you, Beastie? Pretty please? I’ll see you tonight if you want to, a little date if you feel up to it. Mwah! 

xoxo, 

Lilia 

Silver “Vanrouge” - 

Dear Prefect, 

I had the most wonderful dream. I think I did, at least. I can’t remember it, but I remember how familiar these eyes were, and I knew it was you as soon as I awoke. And I know it's true, that dreams are seldom what they seem... But if I know how you are, then I know what you'll do; You'll look at me the same way you did once upon inside my dreams. And tell me all about the animals that you found with me when I awoke. What I wouldn’t give to hear you tell me about every birdie that comes to me; I’d be willing to fall asleep in the forest every day if only to hear you cooing to the birds when I come to. I wonder if each little bird has someone to sing sweet things to, a little love melody like what I long to play for you one day. Well, either way, I’m growing sleepy now. The effects of my curse will soon be on me once more. I’ll see you either later today or tomorrow, depending on how long I’m asleep. If you need me or simply wish to keep me company, I’m currently resting in the woods. 

Best Wishes, 

Silver 

Sebek Zigvolt - 

HUMAN! 

I have something to show you; A new notebook to be filled, gifted to me by Master Lilia. He said that it is a ‘scrapbook’, which humans fill up with pictures and drawings of themselves and their friends. To fulfill the purpose of this illustrious gift, you must come to Diasomnia at once! You shall be the first of the first years to be added, along with Silver. Prepare enough of those photographs you have to fill half of the book. The other shall be dedicated to Wakasama! 

Sincerely, 

Sebek Zigvolt  

RSA+NBC: 

Che’nya - 

Prefect... 

When are you going to visit RSA, huh? It would be purrr-fect to get a chance to see you again. You’re quite the pretty purr-son, dontcha think? Or maybe I’ll just drop by at the next unbirthday party... Riddle and Trey would like that, but I wonder what you’d think. Hum-hum-hummm... 

Kitty Kisses, 

Artemiy Artemiyevich Pinker <3 

Neige Leblanche - (The Reader is called NRC’s ‘princess’ in this one, but not called a woman or anything)

My Dearest, 

Hello! How are you fairing? Have you been doing okay since the VDC? I know that you looked pretty shaken up back then, so I wanted to make sure that you’ve been okay. After all, you’re NRC’s princess! As far as I can tell, anyway. I’m happy that there’s someone around Vil like you, he always looked like he needed a good cheering up. And you’re like a fairytale! Such pretty hair and eyes and skin; Oh, I’d ride away with you on a white horse if I could! 

Ah, that’s odd to say to someone I don’t know very well, isn’t it? I’m sorry, that’s my fault. You still want to be friends, right? If you do, please come visit me at some point. Or, just send me a letter back. I’ll make sure that you get priority over any fan letter. 

Love, 

Neige Leblanche 

Rollo Flamme - (Kinda sugesstive) 

Mon Amour, 

There are times I wish I could tear you down and take you apart only to sew you back together. Rip you to shreds only to tenderly put each piece back where it should be. Drink from you until there's nothing left and then fill you up with all of the love I could offer, make you mine and mine alone. Those greedy thoughts shouldn't even make their way onto this paper, shouldn’t even be in my head, and yet here I am, penning them in a letter never to be sent. 

I truly wish you never see these letters, for I'd hate to be the reason your face turns to disgust, even if for a moment. Of course, I don't regret writing them. You will never read them, after all, but I believe I should get my thoughts out like this rather than bottle them up, lest I do something stupid and let you see them. I pray that you will never have to see me in a state like how I write to you, over my bedside table in the dead of night, eyes barely open and breath still recovering from dreams of a sweeter pleasure than I should sully your name with. 

I mention those dreams I have of you a lot, it seems, although I mean it in the most innocent way possible. Ever since I met you, you've infested my dreams and wormed your way into my heart like a parasite I can't rid myself of. My dreams are all of the sweet moments I have longed for and never gotten. I only have eyes for you, after all, and a saint may never lie with a sinner, lest they become one as well. 

Bonus: 

Checka Kingscholar - 

To Perfect, 

Hello! I am Checka Kingscholar. I am fiv years old. I like my unca. I like my dad and I love my mom. I love you! Goodbye! •ᴗ•

[allmoshnobrain]

You're a short girl, and sometimes that messes with your confidence. Your boyfriend doesn't seem to care at all, though.

✦ on this fic: simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader, fluff, reader is short and it makes her a bit insecure

✦ a/n: this is my first time writing for anything other than metallica/megadeth/venom which is what i usually write for but i've been daydreaming a lot about this man and needed to get this out of my system 😭 also it was a great way to warm up and start writing again after my break!! hope u guys enjoy it 💖

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

It takes him a while to pick up on your insecurity.

It's subtle, and honestly, he’s not exactly great with subtle. He fails, at first, to catch the way you pout, the way you frown whenever you see a hot actress who’s taller than you, or a long dress you think would look better on someone with a few more inches.

He finally catches on, though, one night when you’re cooking dinner. It’s kind of a slip up, really — a tiring day and your period cramps the worst they’ve been in the last few hours just making it easier for you to get upset over the smallest thing. So when you can’t reach one of the trays on the top shelf and have to ask him to grab it, he turns around to see you teary-eyed and upset, which is not how this usually goes.

“Love?” he asks, his brow furrowing when he sees your state “What’s wrong?” He glances at the glass tray in his hands. “Did I grab the wrong one?”

“What? No, no, it’s fine,” you mutter, his confused look quickly shifting into worry when he notices the tears in your eyes.

“Hey,” he quickly puts the tray down and gently grabs your chin. “Talk to me. What is it?”

He’s firm, straightforward but not harsh, which just makes you feel even more ridiculous for almost crying over something so dumb.

“I’m being silly,” you say, but he shakes his head. 

“Don’t say that,” he mutters. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

That last part sounds almost like a command, his voice all firm and serious — something that would probably annoy you if he didn’t sound so genuinely concerned. You sigh.

“I wish I was taller,” you whisper, hoping he wouldn’t hear it, but he does. Of course he does.

“You wish you were taller?” he repeats, now more confused than worried. “Why?”

“I just don’t want to feel useless, always needing your help,” you half-lie, because that’s not really it.  And of course, Simon knows — he always does. You can tell by the way he raises his eyebrow slightly at you, disarming you instantly. “I wish I was prettier,” you finally mutter.

“You are pretty,” he says slowly, like he’s still trying to figure out where all this is coming from. “You’re beautiful. And I like helping you.”

“But tall girls are… More beautiful,” you sniffle, and he snorts.

“Who said that?”

“I said,” you frown. “Like, every time I see a cute dress that’s too long, I just think I can’t wear it. It won’t look right on me. I always feel like I can only look cute, but sometimes I want to look, I don’t know, gorgeous. Tall girls just always seem to look gorgeous to me, and I...”

“Oh, shush,” Simon grumbles, sliding an arm around your waist and pulling you closer. He tilts your chin up gently so you’re looking at him. “You are gorgeous. And you’re beautiful, and you’re mine. And I like you small — easier to hold.”

You can’t help but laugh. It’s shaky, and you try to hold it back, wanting to stay in your little pity party a bit longer. I mean, seriously, what does he mean by "you’re gorgeous" when you feel the exact opposite?

"Easier to hold?" you say, trying to sound offended but failing as a giggle slips out.

"There she is," he hums, kissing the corner of your mouth, and that’s when you realize you’re smiling. "My girl. Don’t be upset, love. You don’t need to be taller to be pretty. And if you ever need to reach for something, well, that’s what I’m here for."

“You’re just saying that because you’re my boyfriend,” you tease. He lets out an exasperated sigh.

“I’m not.”

“You are!”

“Goddammit, woman. Will you quit trying to convince me you’re not beautiful? It’s not happening,” he frowns, then leans in, pressing a small, tender kiss to your lips. His arms wrapped around you are comfortable, warm and firm and feel like home.

It never fails to disarm you, how soft he can be. Out of the blue, always when you’re not really expecting it. Just when you think you’ve finally managed to annoy him or maybe this is the time he’s gonna get tired of you. He never fails to prove you wrong. 

He never fails to prove that he loves you, just the way you are.

[insert-this-fire]

Overpoweringly Sweet

Logan Howlett aka Wolverine x gn!nonspecified mutant! Reader

Summary: Somehow you contracted Hanahaki for a man you hardly ever spoken to. Cant end well can it?

W/C: ~9k Warnings: a little OOC, angst, graphic description of coughing up flowers with blood.

AO3 Mirror A/N: I never post actual fics on tumblr but I feel that it needs to be done here. So sorry if its kinda formatted weird? it will also be on AO3!. First x-men fic too so sorry if its a bit ooc. Not really based on any specific iteration of Wolverine. Also not edited like, at all. Also I take requests! :3

~~ :3 ~~

You know, having a crush on someone so unattainable is laughable at best. Having a crush on them and apparently somehow contracting Hanahaki is even worse. How does that even happen? You haven’t even spoken to the guy more than a few words. Too embarrassed to open your mouth to introduce yourself and you work together. Yet here you are, petals on the bathroom floor and a constricting feeling in your throat. Your head lying on the back of the stall door. Still heaving from the sudden onslaught of overly sickly floral-scented petals that spilled out.

Gardenias. Pure white and mocking. 

The smell of them made you nauseous. The sight of them even more so. After looking up what they meant. It just made things even worse.

Secret love. How fitting.

It’s a damn crush, and the world decided it was love. Love for a grumpy ass old man with hair that kinda made you think of a cat. Actually, he reminded you of a cat in general. One that you want to rest your face on and fall asleep. Bury your face in those pecs of his. Muscles may look hard, but they do have a bit of squish. By God, does he have muscles. You’ve caught him shirtless a few times. All by accident, of course. You weren’t a pervert. Anytime you think of it, your jaw clenches tight.

Ah, getting off-topic here. Back to the fact that apparently, hanahaki doesn’t care if you’ve ever talked to someone before.

The stall door was cool against your cheek when you turned your head, and it was less gross than hugging the toilet like you wanted to so you could flush the flowers down the drain. It was terrible. The petals surround you, and a single full bloom floats mockingly in the toilet.

You know how to cure it. The moment that the flower petals started to spill from your lips, you desperately looked for what it was. It wasn’t that hard to find, apparently some find it sickeningly romantic. Bet they never had to deal with the ache that was constant around your lungs. You found the cure for it as well. Should be easy to do, right? Tell the person how you feel and they return it, or get it surgically removed. The surgery should be the right choice. It’s the only choice. You’ve hardly spoken to the man who coveted your affection, but the thought of not feeling the tug of your heart when you see him was too much to bear. Which makes no sense! It’s a dumb crush.

God, you’re an idiot.

A deep breath fills your lungs slightly, and the pain wraps around your chest as you try to get a full breath. Your hands find purchase on the rim of the toilet, and you push yourself up. Now, on two shaky legs, you wipe your mouth. You need to clean up the petals before anyone comes in. It was still the middle of the day, and classes were still going. Thank God the coughing fit didn’t hit you till lunch, or you would have to explain to a classroom full of students. That would be embarrassing. Yeah sorry class, your teacher is in love with someone they can’t have, let’s continue with the lesson now! Embarrassing.

Your hands start to pick up the petals. Each one feels as if it was searing into your skin. One, two, five, ten, thirty. Thirty petals and one full bloom. You were screwed. You could go to Hank. See if he knew any other way around it, any way to fix the disgusting flowers that took root in your lungs. Maybe being a mutant changed how to cure the disease? That was just hopeful thinking, though.

After mulling over the choices for a few moments more, you finally unlock the stall door and walk over to the garbage, quickly discarding the petals that did not make it into the toilet.

Your feet then carry you out of the bathroom and, as luck would have it, right into the chest of the one person you did not want to face yet.

Logan.

You were right, though. The muscles on his chest were squishy. God you want to just motorboat him real fast. Would that be weird? Yeah it would be. As quickly as you ran into him, you tried to remove yourself from his personal space. You know the guy wasn’t too fond of touch. You think. You actually… don’t know. Words quickly spill from your mouth as you try to apologize. “Sorry, sorry. Didn’t see you.”

Logan just makes some gruff-sounding noise and continues on his way. You could faintly see as he walked away scrunching of his nose. He was probably able to smell the faint floral scent that was clinging to you. It probably wasn’t pleasant. You didn’t like the scent, it probably was a lot stronger on his end.

As you stand in the hallway after the sudden bump into your crush, you place your hand on your chest to calm your beating heart, and you walk in the opposite direction to your classroom. It hurt that he didn’t even say anything back to your apology, but that seemed pretty in character. To you, at least. If you were on friendlier terms, maybe not, but you doubt he even knows your name.

The thought of the surgery resurfaces in your head. Maybe you should get it. Ignore the deep-seated pain in your heart at the thought of losing your feelings for him. However, the repercussions of a botched removal is another reason not to do so. It could remove the feeling of ever being in love again. Would that be so bad though?

You shake your head. You have a class you have to get back to… and a phone call to make.

The day continued on like normal after that. Classes, grading papers, discreetly removing petals from your mouth into the trashcan by your desk as you graded papers. A new norm for you. It did seem that a few students had noticed a slight change in you. In fact, one of them even got you a get well soon card. Sweet, but it left a bitter taste in your mouth.

If you don’t get better soon, you will probably end up another statistic for the disease. How many people were there that had it and perished as the roots wrapped around the lungs and slowly filled the valves on the heart. Too many, probably. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at that. That’s why you were now sitting in your now empty classroom, making a phone call. You had found a number to a doctor who specializes in the disease. You would get some advice and decide from there what you want to do.

The phone rings, once, twice….

“Hello, this is Dr. Forrest’s office. How may I help you?” How fitting a doctor who knows about Hanahaki has a nature-based last name.

You quickly introduce yourself and ask if you could speak to him or schedule an appointment. Apparently the only way to talk to him is with an appointment. The next one isn’t for a few months. You don’t even know if you’ll last that long. You’ve been keeping track. A full bloom appeared today. A singular full bloom, no steam. The petals were loose so it had to be in the early start of the mid stages. It was taking its time infecting you. It must be due to not seeing Logan all the time.

You do tend to avoid him when you can. The thought of seeing him always makes your cheeks burn. Man was just too hot. It made it seem like you were in love with just his looks! You weren’t. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be coughing up all these petals. You’re pretty sure it wasn’t just his looks. The flower has a meaning, after all.

Maybe if you avoid Logan, actually stop trying to see if you can see him across the halls. Stop looking for him during dining hours. Just try to ignore him. Though unless he was going to go on one of those sudden long vanishing acts. Well, you doubt that you actually will be able to avoid him enough to live till the next appointment. You really are screwed. Shit.

Running a hand over your face with a groan you lean back in the chair behind your desk. What should you do? The surgery now seemed to be out of the question. So now you either confess and die, or you just die. Which definitely was not the ideal thing to do. You were screwed. Hands down. Your name is on the death warrant the moment the receptionist said months. Maybe you should go to Hank. Dude was a certified genius right? He would know something.

A knock at your door made you jump. Quickly you lift your head and look over to the closed door to your classroom. Could be a student, another faculty member? Whoever it was either needed you or the room.

“Come on in.”

Silence followed and then the door opened up. Your gaze turns to the door, ready to answer whatever questions that are going to follow. Till you hear the tall tale sound of boots, heavy. The sound of jeans rubbing against legs. A jacket rustling slightly from movement. Jeez, why are you suddenly so aware of the sounds?

Your eyes hone in on the man you’ve been thinking about. Logan. Twice. TWICE in one day you’ve seen him up close. See him in your space. He never seeks you out. You never get to see him up close like this more than once or twice a week. It’s like you’re in a fanfiction and someone is pushing the two of you together.

That’s silly though, this was real life.

“Oh, Logan. How can I… help you?” Could you sound any more awkward? You want to bang your head on your desk. Especially with how he was just looking at you. Should you have called him Wolverine? Mr. Howlett?

“You need to let up on that perfume you’re wearing. Can smell it all over the hall.” His face gives away the fact he smells something he doesn’t like. 

Perfume?... Perfume… The flowers. Of course he could smell it. The floral scent has been clinging to you since the first petals slipped from between your lips.

“Oh, heh sorry. I’ll try to use less of it.” You just laugh a bit, still feeling a tad bit uncomfortable, the sudden tickle in your throat reminding you that you could not stop the smell from permeating your skin. That it will linger on you till you no longer have these flowers growing inside of your chest. “If I use too much again I’m sorry. Can’t really tell when I use too much or not.”

Blue eyes narrow at you, you can tell he doesn’t believe you. That he should call you out on it. “Thanks bub, it’s masking everything else.”

With that he left the room as quickly as he came, there was a slight pause and you can tell he glanced at the trash can by your desk. The trash can that had a few petals thrown in haphazardly. Thought to be hidden by the papers that you threw on top. You hope that is all he sees.

That was such an awkward interaction. You slam your head on the desk once more. God why are you such an idiot.

~~ :3c ~~

Time continues on like normal, but recently you catch Logan at the corner of your eye. Which is normal, you usually do seek him out. Yet now it’s like he is everywhere you go. Walking in the gardens, he’s out there smoking one of his cigars leaning on a tree or the wall of the mansion. You’d be eating and you’d see him a table or two away, his eyes on you. You can feel them boring into your skin. You’ll be walking in the hallways and see him turning a corner before you fully spot him. More often than not you find him outside of the bathroom you were just in after coughing up a storm. Just standing by the door like a guard dog. Always scrunching his nose when the door opens and the aroma of flowers follows you out.

He knew. He had to. He had to know something was wrong with you. There is no way he doesn’t. The man has been alive long enough that he probably knows the signs of what you have. The disease that is currently ruining your life. He has probably seen all sorts of people who have had Hanahaki. You won’t be the first, nor the last person he has seen inflicted with it either. It’s probably why he’s keeping an eye on you. He must have found out when he came to ask you to stop using so much perfume and yet you still smell that sickeningly floral smell on you.

Unless you’re just suddenly more aware of him than you were before. Which you shouldn’t be. You were already highly aware of him due to your damn dumb crush that’s killing you. Eyes are always lingering on him.

It’s probably because of the scent that’s following you around. It is probably sticking out more than your usual scent, which was. You don’t know. What do you normally smell like? Apparently, it’s something non-distinct since the new smell is pretty overpowering. If you can smell it, it must be strong.

You wish you knew what was going through the man’s head. You couldn’t really ask him. You aren’t close to him like that. Can’t ask the people he is close to either because you aren’t close to them. You kinda just, are here in the mansion teaching. You’re not a part of x-men, you aren’t too interested in fighting anyways. You earned your keep teaching. You are vaguely close to Hank though. Well, in recent events at least. You could ask him?

Yeah, no, you aren’t. You’re going to suffer through this. You can handle it. You don’t need to know what’s going on in his mind.

Which reminds you, you need to actually go talk to Hank. You’ve been putting it off, but the full blooms are startling. Every other coughing fit brings one full bloom. It has only been a week since the first bloom and with the sudden influx of Logan sightings, it is speeding up. You needed an out and fast. Before it kills you.

Thus here you are walking through the mansion to head down to his lab. Quickly avoiding anyone you see. The scent of flowers following you through the halls like a wraith. Leaving a trail of sweetness to waft into the air. Disgusting.

As you make your way into the lab you spot Hank, or Beast? Shit, you don’t even know which one he prefers to be called. You really should ask, huh. Anyway, you spot him.

When the blue-furred man spots you, he quickly greets you with your name: “It is good to see you this fine evening. What do I owe the pleasure? It is not often I see you down here.”

If you could, you would sigh deeply. The rattling of vines stops the motion before it begins. “Hi yeah uh. I got into a delicate situation and I don’t know who else to go to? The doctor I had called can’t really see me and I don’t know what else to do and you’re like… The smartest person I know so I’m hoping… you could help?” The words spill out quickly.

Hank raises an eyebrow and fixes the glasses perched on his face. The man was upside down for some odd reason, and he quickly flipped to land on the ground. With grace you don’t expect for someone his size. Then again, you’ve seen some weird ass mutations. He motions for you to sit down on one of the beds stationed in the lab. One used when needed for situations like this. Medical, scientific, not something you can throw a punch at and fix.

After sitting down on the bed, you start to explain. Words flowing like a waterfall. He is the first person you have gone into detail about your condition. How the petals slip from your lips like a poison, the tightening of your chest with each breath. The fear of losing yourself to unrequited love and dying because of it. You do not mention who it is directed at nor the fact you thought it was a crush and did not deserve to have evolved into such a disease.

The room fell silent after your reveal, a silence that stretched on longer than you would have liked. God, you hope he has an idea about how to help you out of this mess.

“From my knowledge there are only two cures. I assume you already know.” A pause as you answer with a curt nod. “I do not believe there are any other alternatives other than what has been proven to work. I assume that you are here to find out if there are any or that you require the surgery.”

“I can’t tell them… I really had hoped that you would know. I don’t.” You sigh and run a hand through your hair, messing it up slightly. It was already a mess from earlier, but you know how hands are in hair. “It’s not an option to tell them.”

“I see. It will take some time, but I will see if I can learn the correct procedure so that there will be minimal to no complications.” Hank pats you on the shoulder and motions for you to head out. He had some things to do and research to go over. Escorting you out of his lab so Hank may do what is necessary. He didn’t give a timeline, but you trust that he can do it before your time is up.

You really hope that he can do this.

After leaving the lab, you had to pass some of the other faculty. Or X-men? Yeah, it seems they are setting off on a mission of some sort. You pass Cyclops, Storm, Jean and. Yeah, that is exactly who you don’t want to see right now. Logan. Seems he is going with them. To, wherever they have to go. You give them all a small nod in acknowledgment as you pass them. Each one provides you a small smile or nods back.

Logan though? He pauses when you pass him. His face contorted into something you weren’t too sure of. He probably caught another whiff of the flowers on you. Great. The others give him a look and he just grunts at them. Somehow they understand and continue on their way. Leaving you with Logan.

A hand grabs your bicep, fingers wrapping around the muscle. Your gaze drops to the hand, in another life you were sure it would be rough with use, but it was surprisingly soft. The grip was not, natural strength hidden behind the hold. A promise that you would not be able to pull away without exerting yourself.

“You’re smellin’ worse. Thought I told you to let up.” A gruff voice, oh how you want to roll in that voice. That was a weird thought, you should probably stop thinking of that like a weirdo. God are you a weirdo?

An awkward laugh bubbles up from your chest. You can feel your own muscles tense under his hold and gaze. Damn he’s never looked at you like this before. A slight glare, crinckled nose, and a slight snarl on his lips. You must be really weird because damn was that kind of a hot look. Which somehow in turn makes your chest tighten and the tickle of a cough is trying to break free. You swallow hard to bite it back. Yet you can feel the petals moving through your throat. 

“Sorry sorry, I guess I overdid it?” You pull your eyes away from his. Unable to continue to look at his face. Be it from your weird thoughts, the tickle in your throat or your inability to keep eye contact with someone. “I swear I’m not doing it on purpose.”

“You’re hiding that you're sick.” The grip on your arm tightens. Not in a painful manner no, but a reminder that you cannot run away from this conversation. Which is odd right? Why does Logan care? You two hardly know each other. Sure you apparently love the man, but you’re still sure he doesn’t even know your name. You’ve seen him care for others in the mansion, a good friend in an odd way. A father figure and mentor to some of the students. Also in a weird way. You’re sure he’d brush off that idea and say he isn’t. He is.

Wait, he just said you’re sick… “I’m not sick?” 

Logan's eyes narrow as he stares at you. Do you look sick? Sure you’ve gotten a little pale and eating has gotten a little hard so you haven’t been eating as much as you usually do. Does being sick have a smell to it? Fuck that is weird. Well, some animals could tell when others are sick before physical symptoms show. Maybe that's how he knew. No, that wouldn’t make sense because you aren’t really sick. You just have a big fat crush that's killing you. 

You can tell Logan doesn’t believe you. “Just fix it. Can’t stand the smell on you.” His hand lets go and he stalks down the hallway to where the others had walked off to. Your eyes linger on his form as he walks away. The ghost of a feeling on your arm where his hand had wrapped around it. The slight warmth seeping into your skin slowly vanishes. God you’re fucked. 

~~ >:3 ~~

And fucked you are. It’s been at least two months since you told Hank about the hanahaki. Hank is taking his sweet ass time researching the procedure, the doctor you called has called back finally and mentioned that his next opening for a consultation was still months away. Which you decide to say fuck that guy, you trust Hank can do it. The doctor probably won’t even work on a mutant. Logan is still always at the corner of your eye. A scowl or sneer on his face anytime he looks at you. Not to mention the flowers! They’re getting worse.

Full blooms, multiple at a time. Their petals no longer loose around the center. Now they are tightly packed, fully bloomed and speckled with blood as they escape through your throat. Occasionally there would be a flower that had not bloomed yet. Still wrapped tightly, not fully formed. You weren’t sure what that meant, but you’re sure it wasn’t good. At least they were not roses. You feel bad for those who dealt with that. Thorns were something you were happy that was not in the mix of your own flower hell.

The flowers aren’t fully developed yet. Stems have not fallen with them. Yet you are unsure if you would survive long enough to see the end stages of hanahaki. Your body is getting weaker and weaker each day. Your own mutation even fighting against you. You can hardly call on it now. Once you had wished to be a normal person, but that has been years ago. Now you feel like you are losing a part of yourself. These damn flowers truly are killing you. Both physically and emotionally. 

You had to leave class more often. The coughs that tore through your chest made it unbearable to speak long enough to teach an entire class to its completion. Students start to worry, other faculty seem to notice the sudden change as you have to start asking for people to cover your class for you as you rush to the restroom to hug the porcelain throne to exude the flowers of love. Each time more and more petals fall from your lips, tears stain your cheeks more often due to the pain and energy it takes to clear them out from your throat. 

It has gotten to the point where you had to ask someone to cover your class in full, or cancel it. You don’t want to cancel your classes, but at the rate you are going it will be the only thing you can do. Today is probably the last full class you can handle, you feel like shit. Your throat itches, your stomach aches from the lack of food. Your head hurts because of the lack of sleep from the coughing. Yeah, you might have to take a break from it all. What surprises you is that Logan is waiting outside of your classroom.

Ok it’s not that surprising. You’ve been catching him outside your classroom since he came back. It is like he is suddenly more aware of you. He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his eyes on you. You would be excited usually, your crush suddenly paying attention to you! How great is that? Yet lately it just makes things feel so much worse. Especially with that sneer on his face. You know he knows something is up, he made it clear two months ago. Though he hasn’t brought it up again. Yet he is always there. Like a shadow. 

Which is honestly a bit uncomfortable. You aren’t used to this amount of attention. 

“You don’t have to stand out here you know?” Papers you needed to grade were in your arms. You may need to take a break, but you should at least grade these papers before someone takes the class over. Your last bit of work. 

Logan just stares at you. The slight glare, the wrinkled nose, the arms crossing making those muscles bulge out of his shirt. You had to quickly drag your eyes away from his arms so you aren’t caught staring. You don’t meet his eyes though. It was too intense. 

“You’re getting worse.” Way to point out the obvious Logan.

“Good observation.” A short pause follows after. Silence falls for a few moments. “I uh, it’s why I’m takin a break. Sick leave? Uh… Yeah…” You really don’t know how to talk to him. The tickle in your throat is back again. Too soon, you just hacked up half your lung just moments before. You really don’t want to cough in front of him. You thought he might already know what it is, but he still thinks the smell on you is perfume. So no way do you want him to know the truth. 

Logan stares at you a few moments longer, a slight grunt. His head motioned for you to follow him. That’s how you read it at least as he starts to walk down the corridor and only pauses to look at you. Looks like you’re following him. This can’t end well can it? 

The two of you walk silently through the corridors. Your arms are still full of papers, but it seems the two of you are heading out into the garden. Probably for the best, the crisp air outside will dull the floral scent. Hopefully at least. Even if it lingers on your skin and it has gotten to the point others have even started to point it out. The halls were mostly empty though at this time. Most students are already off doing their own thing, you can vaguely hear a laughter from down the hall as the two of you finally make your way outside.

Into the garden, the cool air bites at your exposed arms. You should have worn a jacket. Too late for that now it seems. The trees are already turning orange, autumn making its way across the land. Oranges, reds and browns. If you weren’t full of anxiety you would be enjoying the sights. Especially as Logan brings you over to a small bench by the man-made pond. A bit away from everyone, but still close enough to the mansion you can dash inside if needed. 

You take a seat first. The papers sit beside you. Logan stands in front of you. Arms crossed and eyes narrowed. He isn’t sitting. Why isn’t he sitting?

“So uh…” Your voice comes out first, awkward and a bit unsure. The tickle in your throat grows again as you fight it back.

“It’s not perfume on you is it?” Logan’s gaze never leaves yours, but you can’t help but look away. Too uncomfortable with the eyes boring into you. You never once used perfume, though you did use that as an excuse didn’t you?

Silence followed after. Your eyes looking at the ground as you kick your legs back and forth. Unable to voice the truth. Logan is still looking at you, jaw clenching most likely. You don’t have to look at him to know.

His voice finally cuts through the silence. Apparently he was sick of you beating around the bush and not answering him. Your name on his lips startling you slightly. You honestly thought he didn’t know your name, but it seems you were wrong. “What's makin you so sick that it’s leaving you to look like that and smell like that.”

You should tell him. Tell him. TELL HIM. 

… 

You’ll tell him without actually telling him. You don’t think you’d survive telling him the full truth. You’re a pretty good liar most of the time. He might be able to pick through the lie but he’s not that perceptive right? 

“I uh… It’s.” You feel like you’re stumbling over your words, your throat constricting. “I have.”

You couldn’t finish your sentence. Your muscles tensing as a cough tears through you. Violently. Your body lurching forward as your hand shoots up to cover your lips as the cough pulls out petals and blossoms alike. Your hand can’t catch all the petals as they spill to the ground. Your eyes clenching shut as tears prickle the corners due to how painful it was. The other hand not covering your mouth grabs at your chest. As if you could claw the roots out through your skin. It burns. 

It burns, it burns, it burns. 

It won’t stop. You can’t stop hacking up the petals. Each cough brings out a sob with it as well. It has never been this bad. The scent of gardenias explodes. It burns your nose. You hate the smell of it. If you survive you’ll never be able to handle this scent again. Your body retching forward as you double over. Body crumpling in on itself as you try desperately to get some air into your already filled lungs. You would think having plants living in your lungs would give you more oxygen. If only it didn’t wrap tightly around your lungs and neighboring organs. Leaving little space for what you truly needed.

You almost forget Logan is there with you. An unexpected presence sits beside you. Warmth seeping into your side. He doesn’t set a comforting hand on your back. Doesn’t say any words. But him sitting beside you is enough comfort. You don’t think you could handle physical touch anyways. Your body would probably jerk harder at it. Hanahaki really was a killing disease wasn’t it. It was going to kill you before even getting to the final stage. You can’t do this.

Slowly the coughing fit lessens. The petals and blooms spilling from your mouth as if it was all you breathed came to a stop. Your body still hunched over, tears filling your eyes as you finally, finally stopped coughing up the damned flowers. You were still shaking, trying to catch the lost breath.

“You’re ok sweetheart. Just try and breathe.” Something large, heavy, warm rests on your upper back. Small soothing circles. He called you sweetheart, that was strange. You don’t expect comfort. You don’t think Logan expected to comfort you like this either. It was an awkward movement, but comforting. You wanted to lean into it, lean into him. You weren’t going to though. Pain was radiating through your chest and you weren’t sure you would be able to sit up straight without coughing again. Fear that any movement will bring on another coughing fit settled inside of you like a vice. You can still feel the slight tickle in your raw throat. 

You taste blood.

It takes a few tries, gasping tries, before air finally was able to fill your lungs enough that you could breathe properly. Or well, as well as you can with roots wrapping around your insides. You pull out a few petals that were still stuck in your mouth and let them fall to the ground as you slowly sit up. Still slightly hunched over but no longer practically hugging your legs. You wipe your mouth on the back of your hand, blood from your lips smearing across your skin. Eyes on the ground where the mess you made mocks you. There's so much, white and red. White flowers that you would have thought beautiful covered in splotches of your own blood. Tainting the gardenias, tainting the meaning of secret love. Disgusting. You’re disgusting. 

Your eyes linger on the ground as you finally speak. Voice raspy and strained. “Sorry.” 

“Nothin to be sorry about, nasty thing you got. Seen it a few times.” Logan’s voice is gruff, yet there is a touch of something tender in there. Unexpected. You don’t like it. He shouldn’t be treating you like this. He doesn’t know you, he doesn’t know that you’re like this because of him, because of your dumb crush on him that the world decided was good enough to practically kill you.  

Ok that’s not true. You know under his rough and tough demeanor and the huge, insensitive ass he could be. He’s caring and trustworthy. Loyal as fuck and self-sacrificing. It’s what had drawn you in in the first place. The soft look he’d give to people he cared about when no one was looking. The way he treats the younger mutants. It was heartwarming. Your admiration for him turned from simply looking up to him to wanting him to look at you that way.

Silence falls between the two of you again as you continue to try to take in oxygen. The taste of iron and earth is still on your tongue. The sound of fellow mutants distantly chatting and the occasional bird cuts through the silence. You don’t want to talk, you don’t want to tell him who your affliction derives from. You doubt he would ask, but he might. You’ll need to think of an excuse. A lie. Anything to keep him from finding out it is him. He’d reject you. You know this already. You’ve seen him look at others. He doesn’t look at you like that. You just learned he knew your name too! The two of you hardly spoke before. This is the most attention you have ever gotten from him. He doesn’t love you the way the disease needs him to. 

“Who's the asshole?” His words cut through the silence again. Surprising you once more. This definitely is the most words he has ever spoken to you.

“Doesn’t matter… He doesn’t feel the same.” Your throat continued to feel raw. It hurt to speak, but you needed to answer. You couldn’t stay quiet when he asked. Your gaze moves from the ground to glance at him from the side. You try not to meet his eyes but you can see a look on his face that had never been directed towards you. In any other situation you would be happy, ecstatic. Right now though, it makes your stomach tie up in uncomfortable knots. 

A slight hint of anger crosses Logan’s face and his hand just rests on your back, no longer rubbing those soothing circles. You know he wants to know. The look he has on him makes you think he sees you as someone under his protection, it’s nice. Even if it is not really what you want at the moment.

“So you’re willing to die for him.” There was a short pause between his words. His tone is soft, you don’t like it. “Seen most with it die that way. Shouldn’t have to die like that.”

You decide not to reply to the fact that you were willing to die for these feelings. Why? Because you still don’t want to believe it is true. Even with the flowers clearly showing signs the crush was love. Infatuation. You hate this. “Dr. Mccoy is going to perform the surgery for me. Should be any day now.”

You at least hope it will be any day now. You spoke to him a couple days ago and he seemed a bit all over the place so you couldn’t ask him if he was ready yet. You know he hadn’t forgotten, you saw the books laying on one of the tables next to some tools, but time was ticking and it was ticking fast. You know it and now… Now Logan knows it too. You’re on limited time. 

“I… can’t tell him. He doesn’t feel the same, he can’t. I’ll die if I tell him. I have to do the surgery. I’d rather chance not feeling love again than to confess and die. I…” Your hands curl into themselves as you look back down at the flowers. The tightening in your chest squeezes harder. You don’t need to explain yourself, but you feel like you have to. This way you can come to terms with it. Speaking it out loud makes it all too real. “I trust Dr.Mccoy. He won’t fail. He… he can’t.”

“Lotta trust in the guy.” Logan leans back on the bench, his hand lingering on your back removes itself as he crosses his arms. You feel the itch in your throat again, it’s too soon for more petals. You at least hope so. Logan then continues, “Remember watching someone choke on their own blood cause of that shit. Don’t want to see you on that end sweetheart.”

Logan called you sweetheart, again. It made butterflies fly around your stomach, churning with the anxiety already there. It was not the most comfortable of feelings. You weren’t expecting it this time either. It was nice. Would be nicer in better circumstances though. “Thanks Logan, but I’ll survive this. I have to…”

“Still think you should tell me who this asshole is. Could talk to him.” You hear the familiar snikt sound, a clear sign he extended his claws. A glance over was all you needed to confirm he did, the light gleaming off the metal. 

“God no! Sure actions speak louder than words for him, but it wont help.” Because he’d be threatening himself. You couldn’t help but let a pathetic laugh bubble up. Pain radiating through your chest and throat as you do so. At least you can still find some humor in this. Logan’s claws go right back under his skin and between his knuckles at your words. Though you can tell he still seemed interested in using violence against who is causing this for you. God, you wish you could tell him.

The two of you fall into another silence. Your own thoughts are swirling through your head and you’re sure Logan is also dealing with his own thoughts. Your disease is now out there. What truly ales you has been revealed without you actually saying the words. You wished you could have said the words, said what it was, told him your feelings. Though things never work out that way do they. 

You aren’t sure how this was going to end.

Logan looks at you the same time you gaze at him. Your eyes meet his blue ones. You would wax poetic about his eyes, but that seems pretty cliche. Everyone always does when talking about blue eyes, how they look like the ocean, or the sky. Logan’s reminds you of steel, the silvery blue that almost matches the adamantium claws you see on occasion. There is something in those eyes though, something you can’t read. Something behind that wall everyone knows he puts up. You want to dig deeper, fall into those eyes to avoid all your problems. Be free of the pain you can’t escape. The two of you seem to just stare at each other far longer than it felt. 

“Tell me when you get the surgery. I want to be there.” 

“...Okay.”

And just like that, the two of you break eye contact and fall into a silence. A silence only broken by the occasional cough from you and the sounds of nature and other mutants about. You wish you could have experienced this sooner. Before your world decided to crash down on you. You’ll just have to enjoy the time with him like this while you can. Before the feelings you have for him are forever torn away. Leaving only a hollow space in your chest for the fellow mutant. 

You’re not ready. 

~~ :3 !! ~~

Hank Mccoy finally let you know he was ready to do the surgery a few days after your chat with Logan. You weren’t ready for it. You didn’t want to lose these feelings, you didn’t want the complications that may follow, but fuck you don’t want to die either. You will die if you don’t do this surgery. You can’t… You have to do this. 

Which is why you are outside of the room Logan usually occupies when he is in the mansion. You've been standing outside of his room for what felt like hours now. You knew he probably could hear your heartbeat, but he isn’t coming out. He asked to be there when you got the surgery. He wanted to support you for some reason. You could just go, leave and get the surgery without telling him. Your anxiety welling up along with the urge to throw up. Your hand is already raised before you could stop yourself and you knock three times.

Silence follows after. The sound of shuffling and the door opens. Logan standing there in one of those slutty little white tank tops and jeans. A classic look that was all too hot in your opinion. Your mouth feels dry as he looks at you.

“I’m getting it now.” You rub your arm, unable to look him in the eyes. You do look at his face though. Just long enough to see shock cross his face for a few seconds, which quickly vanished back behind his usual look. Logan steps out of his room and shuts the door, head tilting to the side a bit as he waits for you to start walking to Hank’s lab. 

The two of you walk silently through the halls. It was late in the afternoon. You could have gotten it earlier in the day but your body was so exhausted from the coughing fit you had that night that you couldn’t bring yourself to get out of bed. In fact you’re still in your pajamas mostly. Sweatpants and a t-shirt. Comfy. You’re going into surgery, you deserve not to dress up for it. Logan doesn’t comment on it either so it’s fine. You’re fine. 

Everything is fine.

The two of you enter the lab quietly. No one else seems to be here but Hank. After all, one else knew. People knew you were sick of course, but you kept a tight lip on what exactly was inflicting you.

Hank greets you with your name. A look of surprise as his eyes drop onto Logan. Quickly he glanced back at you and you just shrugged your shoulders slightly. Letting Hank know the situation. How Logan knew what was wrong with you and wanted to be here with you. Moral support from the emotionally constipated x-men. Well, mostly constipated. 

After going over the procedures and what needed to be done you step behind the curtains, changing into one of those flimsy hospital gowns. The cool air nipping at your skin as you bite your bottom lip. You were scared. You didn’t want this. You couldn’t do this. You can’t do this! You don’t want to lose your feelings for Logan. He just now is starting to show you attention. It’s not fair! You shouldn’t have to deal with this! You can’t, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t. 

“Are you okay?” Hank's voice cuts through your spiral. Eyes watering and your chest heaving. Ohm you were crying. No, you were sobbing again. Your hands are shaking at your side. You glance at the curtain that hid you from the other two. You know they heard you crying, heard you falling apart. How embarrassing. Your hand grips at the gown, bunching it up at your chest as you take a shaky breath. Lungs barely able to hold a full inhale. 

“Yeah… Yeah sorry. I’m ok. I’m ready.” You step out from behind the curtain. Clear concern was on the blue mutant's face. You can’t read the others. You don’t like this. You silently pad over to the table, bed, whatever it is, that is set up for you. Another strained breathe and you sit on the surface. A glance at the two of them and you lay back. You’re surprised the professor wasn’t here to help out. Maybe he wasn’t needed. Hank could handle this on his own. You can handle this. Logan was here, you didn’t want him here, but it was a strange comfort knowing the man you loved was here to support you. Even if said surgery would remove all feelings for him. How poetic. 

You stare at the ceiling, unsure of what to do as Hank moves around you. Logan who had been leaning on the wall walks over and takes your hand in his. Holding it as if you would shatter at the softest of touches. You hate it. 

“Offer still stands darlin’. Can make the guy love you back.” Although the words would work well in a teasing tone. There was a hint of seriousness behind it. Like he didn’t want you to go under. To have the gardenias removed from your chest. Your hand squeezes his weakly. You knew you didn’t have much time left. You had to do this or confess. Only one of those was an actual option.

Hank returns and holds up the mask. You lift your head up as he slides it over your mouth and nose. It’s too late. You can feel the tears threatening to fall again. You’re scared. Your grip on Logan’s hand tightens as Hank moves around you, making sure you’re hooked up correctly. Your vision starts to blur slightly. You try to inhale the gas as deeply as you could, it hurt. Your lungs didn’t want to fill, you think you can feel the roots wiggling deeper through your lungs and closer to your heart. Your eyes are on Logan, fear clearly radiating off of you. Your own eyes showing the anxiety inside of you. Logan just stands strong next to you. Like a silent guard. 

As the world starts to blacken around you, the corners of the room vanishing slowly. You couldn’t help yourself. You were getting the surgery. You can say the words now. It won’t matter. Your head was already floating and consciousness was fading. Eyes focusing on Logan, like a tunnel. All you could see was him as the world around you slowly vanished into nothingness.   Three words slipped out of you without much thought.

“I love you.” 

The world shifts and the world goes dark. 

The quiet beeping echos. A steady rhythm that matches the slight pounding in your head. Your eyes slowly open, only to quickly shut again. The lights were a bit too bright and everything was… Numb. Your mouth feels dry and you physically can’t feel anything. Did the surgery go wrong? Why can’t you feel anything? A groan bubbles up from your throat as you force your eyes to open. That’s when you feel it.

You can feel every muscle, every fiber of the blanket covering you. The heaviness in your chest is gone. You take a breath. You can… You can take a breath. Your lungs are fully filled with oxygen. Chest rising higher than it has in months. You can breathe. Your eyes open again, the bright fluorescent lights above you illuminate the room. You tilt your head away from looking up at the ceiling. Eyes moving around the room. Gaze falling on the little monitor you’re hooked up to. The beeping was your heartbeat. Ok. That looked good. 

Your head turns the other direction as you take in another sweet deep breath. Eyes landing on Logan. He was still here, sitting beside your bed, head lolled to the side clearly asleep. Your chest tightens in the familiar feeling you have been dealing with for months. That can’t be right. You shouldn’t still be feeling this longing. You shouldn’t still be feeling the warmth that spreads through you over the fact that he had stayed. You shouldn’t be feeling the soft tug on your heart as you look at him or the soft smile pulling on your lips.

This was wrong. Something was wrong. You raise the arm that wasn’t hooked up to all the devices and set it on your chest. There was pain there, raw and uncomfortable, but there was no bump on your chest to show there was a bandage, no pain pulling at your skin. The pain you felt was all under your skin. This isn’t right, something is wrong. Your chest felt clear but you have no evidence that you underwent the surgery. You force yourself to sit up. Pain shoots down your spine. You groaned in pain and a hand was suddenly pressing down on your shoulder. Forcing you back onto the bed. Logan had gotten up.

“Logan?” Your voice was scratchy. It felt just like the times you coughed up all those flowers when he found out. “What… What’s going on? Why do I…” 

“Yeah it’s me. Lay back down. Can’t have you moving around too much yet.” Logan’s hand was still on your shoulder, a gentle pressure making you lay back down onto the bed. Your eyebrows furrowing in confusion at the look he is giving you. You can’t read him. “Don’t talk too much either. Hank said you got to heal.”

Yet you’re pretty sure you didn’t get the surgery though! You should be dead. You… You told Logan how you felt. How you still feel. Yet the urge to cough is gone. Your chest feeling lighter than it has since before the disease took its hold on your life. That has to mean something. Something happened when you went under. What happened? Why won’t he tell you? Why is he looking at you like that? 

Logan’s hand finally pulled away from your shoulder. He just stares down at you as you stare at him. Silence falls between you two. His hand then slowly moves again. Your eyes darting down to the hand. Slowly his hand goes to push some hair out of your face. The same look he has been giving you for the past few months crosses his face. You still don’t know what it means, but it is making your stomach flip. 

“Glad you didn’t die for a guy like me. World be a lot darker without you in it.” His hand gently cups your cheek, his thumb gently rubbing your cheek. His hand was soft and warm. The touch a bit too tender for someone like him.

Wait. Wait wait wait. He heard you. He heard what you said before going under. You didn’t go through the surgery yet your chest feels lighter than it should. That could only mean one thing. Your eyes go wide in surprise and your lips part as you go to speak. Pain still itching at your throat.

“You heard me…” Of course he heard you! He was right next to you holding your hand. He has enhanced senses. He heard you confess. He heard you say you loved him. You’re still alive, you still feel for him and you confessed! That has to mean. Your face suddenly lights up. Heat pooling both on your cheeks and in your stomach. There is only one explanation. There is only one way you were able to live and still feel this way. Logan loved you back. That doesn’t make sense though! Before you started smelling like flowers the two of you never spoke to one another. Yet he…

He loved you back.

“Yeah, I did. Could have told me sooner to save you the pain. Told ya I’d make sure the guy felt the same.” His hand leaves your face. He turns to grab the chair he had been sitting in before and pulls it over. The chair legs screeching across the floor making you flinch at the noise. Once the chair was next to you he sat down and took your hand in his again. Once more treating you like glass. Though you appreciate it, you feel like glass right now. 

Logan lifts your hand up to his face, blue eyes staring straight into your own as his lips find your knuckles. Leaving a soft kiss. You were already blushing before, but you swear you feel like you’re on fire. His lips brushing against your knuckles as he speaks once more. You really aren’t used to hearing him speak so much. “Looks like we got a lot to talk about sweetheart.”

You just silently nod, unable to break your gaze from his. Your hand is lowered, your heart beating out of your chest. You are sure he can hear it. You lick your lips, unable to speak a word out of fear you’ll embarrass yourself further. Logan just chuckles slightly, a deep reverberating one. 

“Guess I should say it, not really good with the emotions shit, but I love you too.”

A few blinks and then a small laugh comes out of you. A wince follows after, but the biggest grin spreads on your face. All it took was you almost dying to finally hear those three little words. You’ll never look at gardenias the same again, nor will you be able to stand the sickly sweet smell of a strong floral scent. That doesn’t matter to you though. You obtained something you thought was unattainable. The love of the man you were in love with. The secret love no longer hidden. 

You can now understand the look Logan was giving you. It was the same you had been giving him. You both were in love with each other but were unsure how to go about it. All it took was the flowers that no longer were growing inside of you. 

You finally say the words, more confident than when you went under. “I love you.” 

“Love you too sweetheart.” 

[woso-dreamzzz]

Read II

England Lionesses x Child!Reader

Mary Earps x Child!Reader

Summary: There's a reason you don't have sugar

You hold reading lessons every day at camp because you want the rest of the England team to not be knuckleheads anymore and to prove Mikey from school wrong.

It's not easy to learn how to read so you know you need to come back to make sure everyone has been keeping up with their learning because that's what Mummy and Daddy do to you.

They started teaching you how to read very early so you were fairly advanced when you went to school.

You think Mikey's just jealous because you're a good reader and he's a bad one but, still, you want to make sure to prove him wrong.

Mary always says the best revenge is proving haters wrong. You don't know if Mikey's a hater but you'll assume he is because better safe than sorry.

You've done a good job at teaching everyone though because Maya, Millie T and Tooney all give you some sherbet sweets. They make your mouth go a little tingly when you try them but you like that feeling so the three of them keep feeding you more.

They're responsible for you while Mary's getting the last bit of treatment before you all get on the coach to go to the stadium. Usually, someone else is responsible for you but you did a quick reading lesson for Maya and Millie with Tooney as your assistant so they're supervising you before the journey.

You decide that you really like the sherbet straws they give you and Maya dares you to see how many you can finish before you have to go.

You don't count but it's definitely a lot.

Enough for you to feel super hyped when you're finally reunited with Mary. She's picked out a set of four seats with a table and she's already got your rucksack full of books open for you to pick from.

You're very advanced in your reading for such a young kid but even you struggle a little bit. Now that you've taught Mary to read, she can read very well from the books that are a bit too complicated for you right now so she's in charge of reading them to you as you drive to the pitch.

"Er..." You say as you look at the selection," That one."

"Alright," Mary says, cracking open the book and clearing her throat. She gets about halfway through before she notices how wiggly you're being. "Hey, rugrat, do you need the toilet?"

You frown. "No. Keep reading, Mary."

"Are you sure? I can take you."

"No, Mary. My book, please."

"Alright." Mary keeps reading but she's acutely aware of the way you keep wiggling in your seat.

You seem to think you're fine though. Or, at least, you don't think you need the toilet which is Mary's main worry.

"Okay," She says finally," Go and find someone to hang out with. I need to talk to Tooney."

You seem all too happy to scamper off, practically throwing yourself at Beth across the aisle.

"Tooney!" Mary snaps, interrupting the conversation she and Alessia are having.

"Jesus, Mary! You scared me there!"

"What did you give my sister?" Mary demands," She's never been like this before."

"Like what?"

"Like that!"

Mary points over to where you've decided it's a funny idea to crowd surf over the girls at the front, who are bouncing you a bit as they pass you off to the girls sitting behind them.

"She doesn't do that! She's also not wiggly on the bus! What did you give her?"

Tooney winces. "I gave her nothing!"

Mary narrows her eyes. "What did you let Millie and Maya give her?"

Tooney's eyes dart to them quickly before she clears her throat. "I've got the right to remain silent! Anything I say or do can be used against me in a court of-"

Mary's already moved off before Tooney can finish and she crosses the coach to confront the other two. "I'm not interested in excuses. Tell me what you've given my sister."

Her gaze is clearly intimidating because Maya and Millie fold instantly and Mary's on her way back to her seat, easily plucking you from someone's arms to set you back down next to her.

It seems most of the sugar rush has disappeared now but then another problem makes itself known.

The bus goes over a series of bumps and you make a little aborted movement forward.

Mary recognises the action and whips out a plastic bag. "Here, rugrat," She says," Let it out. Let it all out."

She rubs your back as you throw up. It takes a lot longer than usual to hurl up your guts and Mary narrows her eyes over the top of her seat to look at Millie and Maya.

This is all their fault, Mary knows it.

It's because of all of the sugar you've consumed that you've thrown up so bad and, as she ties the bag shut, Mary briefly contemplates throwing it at Millie and Maya.

"Juice, please," You say and Mary hands it to you," Sorry, Mary."

"It's okay," She says," It's not your fault. Do you want to continue your book?"

You nod, leaning against your sister, energy drained. "Yes, please."

[schoenpepper]

Despite Everything (It's Still You)

Intro: When he looks at you, he sees everything he could have been.

Warnings: bad grammar, awful writing, not proofread, kinda angsty, more platonic im pretty sure cus its not specified if ur lovers, might be ooc idk and idc, everytime i write idia i feel 10 years older because i cringe at my own internet slang

A/N: Done! Last request is finished, hope you like it worm anon. On my end, this is super rushed and it's not like, my fave ever so ehhhh.

Masterlist

Riddle thought he’d found a comrade in you. Out of everyone in Twisted Wonderland, he’d thought you would be the one to understand him.

He sees it in your posture, always straight and never slouching. You’re good with academics, a diligent student. Like Riddle, you’d gone through life with the iron fist of a well-meaning parent, so surely, you understand him, right? You agree with him. You believe that rules are important to be upheld lest society fall into chaos. It’s such a refreshing feeling to find a person who, like him, thinks that structure and stability are core values of a proper community.

But you don’t. You don’t understand. No one does. His consciousness is flickering between ink and reality. He’s slipping into the grasp of the phantom and he feels himself slowly being consumed. He’s being devoured. Right before the overblot, even you had stood against him. Why? Riddle wasn’t wrong, he was never wrong—the rules aren’t wrong. Because if they are, then what did he lose his entire childhood for? So you must be the one at fault. This is your mistake. You just don’t understand. You tell him that the rules and the competence and the structure matter less than people. You try to convince him that there’s a better way of living. Is there?

Riddle doesn’t know why. He’d thought you were a comrade because he saw his own experiences in yours, but he’d never been so wrong. While he was still caught up in the chains of his mother’s words, you’d already broken free from the cage. You help him to reclaim the shards of childish wonder he’d never been allowed to have. You help him learn how to breathe, how to relax. Little by little, you bring him onto your path.

He doesn’t understand you anymore.

Leona doesn’t have any opinions about you. You never really talked to him at first, and he can respect that; you don’t go out of your way for bothersome, meaningless things.

Every time he sees you, you’re sleeping or slacking off. Whatever, it’s not like he can judge you for it. You also have a real competitive streak for spelldrive, and your wit’s not half bad, especially when compared to the muscle heads in his dorm. Clever and snarky, talented and strong. He can respect you. Maybe just barely, and he’ll never admit it, but he sees a part of himself in you. So, a sort-of equal. He’s still better than you though.

The taste of sand lingers on his tongue as it swirls in the air through the storm. There’s a part of himself he can no longer control. It makes him wrap his fingers around Ruggie’s throat and Leona… He doesn’t want this. But he can’t stop. He can still recognize you on the edge of his vision. Weren’t you just like him? At birth, everything good was handed right over to your older sibling, leaving nothing but scraps for you. You found it unfair too, didn’t you? So why are you standing against him? This is his chance to be someone worth more than his birthright. Why…are you not agreeing with him?

Leona tried to stay away from you. But call it his instinct or whatever; he can’t seem to avoid you at all. The second prince of Sunset Savanna is awestruck by your words. You tell him that birth doesn’t determine everything. You tell him that you’d learned from your own past. That you can still make something of yourself without that which was given. You sure are chatty now, but who is he to stop you?

You’re not his equal. You’d long since left him in the dust.

Azul sees you as an opportunity. He likes you, really, because you know how to do business and you find a way to compromise that doesn’t step on either person’s lines.

It’s not difficult for him to find out about your past, and to be honest, he’s greatly delighted to find out about all that you have in common. Did you feel the way he did when he was isolated and bullied? Did you feel his pain? You were an outcast too, weren’t you? But wow, look at you (and him) now! It’s rare he sees someone as diligent as himself, as cunning and as smart. Resourceful and oh so benevolent, you’d fit right into Octavinelle!

He’d steered himself long ago; he would never be weak again. He had long, long since forgotten humiliation and defeat. But he’s here again. This time, defeat was brought by your hands. Azul had thought you were allies. Business partners, at least. Why betray him like this? Don’t you get it? He’s powerful now! Why try to stop him? Why did you succeed? He’s left in the aftermath of heartache and debris. He doesn’t know why he did the things he did, but he’s sure that he was so close to being all-powerful. Perfect. A being so beautiful and flawless and strong… You took that chance away from him.

Azul wants you out of his life—your presence now is only a reminder of everything he could have been, and everything he failed to be. Unlike him, you’ve already moved on. You’ve learned to forgive your tormentors, and most importantly, you’ve learned to forgive yourself. You tell him that it was never his fault, but that revenge was never meant to be the answer.

He finds that he had nothing in common with you, after all.

Jamil is perceptive. Next to the one who’s attracting the attention of the whole room with a bright smile and sunny disposition, he finds a kindred spirit in you.

You seem responsible enough, and like a mirror, he sees you taking care of that person the way he does with Kalim. It’s easy to pierce through your act because he knows how to do it too. Seemingly not too smart, not too dumb, not too strong, not too weak. You’re good at pretending to be average. Like Jamil, you’ve lived a life of servitude. Are you tired of forced humility? Of feeling like your life isn’t worth anything when compared to the one you serve?

He’s tired too. He’s so, so tired. Why was freedom unreachable to Jamil right from the moment he was conceived? Was he unworthy of a life unbound by shackles? You’re looking at him like he’s a stranger. Jamil looks at you like you’re a mirror. A mirror that’s shattered, and damaged, and every piece is covered with ink and regret. You know what he’s been through, so why are you in his way? You should be an accomplice. Do you not yearn to be your own person? The phantom is whispering promises he knows it won’t keep. But nothing is more tempting than just…one day of happiness. Of his own happiness.

Jamil is inevitably drawn to you. You live so brightly; you see your master as a friend. You tell him he doesn’t need to do the same. That the only thing he needs to do is find a way that works for him. And you’re asking about things he hadn’t thought of before. An employment contract? The legal status of slavery in the Scalding Sands? Wait, you’re serving that person out of your own volition in exchange for salary and other related benefits?

In you, he sees a light at the end of the tunnel.

Vil approves of you. Like looking in a mirror almost, he sees beauty and a passionate drive to remain beautiful in every single way.

You’re a person with a consistent goal and a persistent drive to do better and be better; a hard worker with tenacity like that of the Queen herself. You are no potato. You are a diamond that has found a way to shine uniquely, and like him, you are already a master at your chosen profession. And yet, he sees the trophies and the medals are all silver and never gold. It is frustrating, but Vil knows that you as well know what it’s like to always be second best.

He’d worked so hard. He’d tried his very best. Professional music and choreography, styling and costumes. He’d set up a multi-week boot camp for his team members in order to whip them into shape. It’s all swept away by that person. Again. And again. And again and again and again and— No. No more. He will take matters into his own hands. But you stand in front of him with a familiar determination, only this time, you’re determined to stop him. Rook had betrayed him and now, you do too. Is he not worthy of a victory? Not even once? The blot is so, so ugly. But if it means he’ll get to wipe out everything that’s opposed to him, he’ll take that blot and use it to his own advantage. Like the queen who’d disguised herself as an ugly witch in order to take down the princess; everything can be sacrificed for the sake of ultimate beauty. If you’re not with him, you must be against him.

Vil apologizes sincerely for his faults. He knows he was wrong, even if it hurts his pride to admit it. But you accept him so easily, so readily, he can’t believe you’re acting like he’d never even hurt you. You forgive him. You help him accept his losses and continue to strive. Because you’d been in his position before, but you’d grown to be happy and appreciate the wins in life instead.

You are no mirror image of him. You are better.

Idia’s never been this happy before; through his screen is someone who just gets him. You’re good at games, and an introvert too? Score!

It’s not like, ever, that someone who vibes with his genius just comes strolling through his life, so Magicord bears witness to long, late night chats about anything and everything. You’ve got some real fucked up childhood trauma too, big mood tbh. It’s easy to spill his guts out over the internet, because even then, you still don’t really know him. You like the games and animes that he likes, and he’s so glad that for once, there’s a person out there who’s lived through the same villain-arc that he has.

He can’t rebuild the world if so many noobs are trying to stop him. Why? What’s so wrong with wishing for a world that can fit him and Ortho right in? Why is that too much for him to ask for? Why are you, the person he thought was his cool moots, acting up too? Don’t you like Ortho? Bro…no…you’re not actually doing a protagonist monologue rn, are you? Seriously? You think you can defeat him and his phantom through the power of friendship? Lolz, you’re so lame. If the world was a fairytale, he wouldn’t have been born with this dumb curse. If the world was a fairytale, he would never have been trapped in STYX with no way out. If the world was a fairytale, Ortho would still be alive. But it’s not. So he’ll remake it to be the story he’d always dreamt it to be.

Idia thinks you’re 110% cringe, like actually barf-inducing. But you did kinda save him or whatevs, so he can put up with you. Like, begrudgingly yk. You’re just such a weirdo. He really thought you were just like him, but no. You’ve had therapy. That’s like, actually wild. You try to counsel him too, talking about feelings and whatnot, and how to move past grief so that it no longer consumes you from the inside out.

So it turns out you didn’t have a villain arc like Idia did. You’re the main hero.

Malleus finds you absolutely delightful. To see another who can speak to him without fear or nervousness is a marvelous thing that he cherishes.

You are no fae or long-lived species, but he finds you fascinating. You are intelligent and wise beyond your years. You are powerful in your own right. You are familiar, in every sense of the word. Even your experiences seem to be shared. You’d been orphaned too, and experienced loss and grieved. You’d mourned for far too many loved ones who have left before you. Do you see the present as he does? Do you embrace the past as he does?

The world is a sad, sad place. He would like to change it. Into one with happy ever afters, into one where there is no hunger and no poverty. There will be no suffering. In his hands, he will mold the world into one that is kinder to its people. There will be no death and separation. He’s had far too many of those, enough to last his long lifetime. He’s not wrong. So why…why do you stand against him, weapon pointed towards him? The only thing he wishes for is permanence. Do you not see the vision? There is so much sadness in the world, why do you choose to wake from your beautiful slumber and face it head on? No matter. He will help you, even if you deny him.

Malleus is more than happy to take your hand when it is outstretched towards himself. You teach him so many things he hadn’t realized before, like how to cherish the present and treasure each memory more than attempting to find a solution to make them everlasting. He had believed wholly that he was right; that the answer to death was a long period of dreams in which everyone lives in a happy ending. He had believed you to be similar to himself—he is wrong about many, many things.

You’ve always looked to a brighter future than he could even imagine.

[alisonwritesimagines]

If Bruce and Batmom Divorced ~Bruce Wayne Imagine~

Summary: The final straw was Bruce officially cheating on you.

Author’s Note: I saw a TikTok about a comic of Catwoman having Bruce’s daughter and I thought of the angst between Batmom and Bruce.

This is not canon to the Batmom Universe

Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings: Mentions of divorce, angst, cheating

Do not repost this anywhere!

You were a smart person after living with Bruce Wayne who is also Batman. You learned his tricks and gadgets while being his wife. So when you left without word the day after finding out Selina was pregnant with Bruce’s child, everyone grew into a panic.

“It’s like she just disappeared,” Tim said in disbelief.

“Now I know how she felt when I left the mansion,” Dick says.

“Where could she have gone?” Jason asked.

“Alfred, are you sure she didn’t say anything to you before she left?” Cassandra asked him with a sad and desperate look.

“If you think, she would disappear without telling me, you’re wrong. I do know where she is however, she asked me not to say anything. She only gave it to me for emergencies.”

“Then tell us, Alfred! We won’t tell Bruce,” Stephanie begged.

“I’m afraid I cannot do such thing. Not until she calls me and tells me that she is ready.”

Selina had showed up to your doorstep one afternoon and told you the news of her being pregnant with Bruce's child. You spend the first hour in shock before gathering your stuff that you had packed and left without saying goodbye.

It broke everyone when you left. Even Bruce.

Bruce would rather kill Joker and all the villains if it meant keeping you with him. He would murder every single person with bad in them if it meant he could have you with him. But what he did that finally broke you would never change your mind.

Then came the day when you finally showed up. But with a surprise.

"Mom?" Dick asked in shock.

"Hi honey," you smiled softly. Dick engulfed you into a quick hug before looking at you.

"Are you okay? How are you?" Dick asked.

"I'm okay. I'm doing well," you tell him. "Is Bruce home?"

"Yeah. He's home."

"I need to talk to him," you tell him.

"Yeah. Okay."

You followed Dick inside the manor and found Bruce sitting at the dining room table with Alfred and Damien.

"Ummi!" Damien said the moment he saw you.

He rushed over and hugged you tightly before realizing your condition.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's okay sweetie."

"It's good to see you Ms. Y/n," Alfred said, giving you a hug as well.

"I need to talk to Bruce really quickly. Alone," you tell everyone.

Everyone rushed out of the room so you two could be alone.

"Y/n-"

"I don't want to hear you talk Bruce. I am here to have you sign these," you say as you took out the divorce papers from your purse; "And I am here to let the kids know that I am okay."

"Y/n, can we talk about this? Is the baby mine?" Bruce asked referring to your pregnant bump.

"It's yours. But I don't need you for them. I am going to raise this child alone and we do not need you. You are having a child with Selina so if you want to be a father, go be that child's father because you have no right to be in my life anymore," you tell him.

"I put up with so much with you. And I am done. I am exhausted and being away from you for the past four months made me feel so free and relaxed. I have a good home now and it's in a good city and good neighborhood. I just want you to sign these papers, and let me go."

"I don't want to let you go. I don't want to lose you," Bruce said, looking up at you with tears in his eyes.

"Bruce. You lost me when you went to Selina after you told me you wouldn't go back to her," you tell him, tearing up as well.

"At least let me give you alimony so you don't have to work anymore. If I am going to lose you, at least let me do something good for you one last time," Bruce begged.

"Fine. But I don't want contact with you. I'll talk to the kids gladly and they are more than welcome to visit me or live with me but I am done with you Bruce. Until our child asks about you and wants to see you, then I will tell them about you and that they can visit you with the other kids as supervision. But for now, I don't want anything to do with you," you tell him.

"Y/n-"

"You can mail the paperwork to my lawyer," you tell Bruce before walking out. You found Damien and Dick standing by the door after you opened it. You gave them a hug and a kiss on the cheek before walking out. You looked over at Alfred and gave him a small nod.

Alfred walked over to the two boys and handed Dick a piece of paper.

"If you kids want to visit her," Alfred tells them before walking off.

Damien rushed out after you. He wrapped his arms around you, stopping your tracks.

“Don’t leave me Ummi. Please.”

“I’m sorry Damien. Alfred gave my address to you kids so if you want to visit me, you can. But I need to go right now,” you tell your son. Damien nodded before letting you go. You kissed his head once more before getting into your car and driving off.

----

Bruce never interacted with you again after that day. He knew where you lived due to following the kids over to visit you. But he never went down to talk to you. He knew that you were stubborn and that you were holding your ground on not wanting to see him again. He just wished that he could take everything back to have you back in his arms.

The years went on and the kids began to grow up and move out of the house. That was until he got a knock on the door one day.

A girl who looked too much like you stood in front of him as she stared up at him. She couldn’t be older than ten.

"Are you Bruce Wayne?" She asked him.

"Yes I am."

"Hi! I'm Ella. I'm your daughter," she introduced.

"Ella," Bruce sighed in awe. He kneeled down to her height so he can look at her better. "Where's your mother?"

"She doesn't know I'm here. Which reminds me. I need to call her to tell her that I'm okay and that I'm sorry for running away to find you," Ella tells him.

"She will definitely have a heart attack. Come on," Bruce said, holding her hand.

He watched as Ella talked on the phone with you before she looked up at him.

"Mama wants to talk to you," she said, handing the phone over to him.

"Hi, Y/n."

"Is she okay? Is my baby okay?" You asked.

"She's okay. I got her."

"I don't know how on Earth she managed to get to you! I know I said I never wanted to see you again but please bring her back home. We can talk about her seeing you every weekend or something," you tell Bruce.

"Of course."

"I know you know where I live. Just come over with her please. Now," you say.

"I will."

Bruce took Ella back home where you waited for them.

"You young lady are grounded!" You sternly tell your daughter.

"But mom-"

"No buts. Go to your room!" You ordered her. Ella hugged her father before running to her room.

"Y/n-"

"Thank you for bringing her home safely. I can drop her off every weekend if you're not busy for her to see you," you tell Bruce.

"If you think that's best for her."

"She’s been asking to meet you,” you tell him. Bruce stayed silent for a moment.

“How are you?”

“Fine. How are you and Selina? Have you two been raising your child together nicely?” You asked him.

“We aren’t together. She put the child up for adoption,” Bruce explains.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“And I’m sorry for everything. Are you happy?” Bruce asked you.

“I’ve been better.”

“You know, I never stopped thinking about you.”

You stared at him for a moment.

“I’ll drop her off next weekend after she’s grounded. You can have her for the weekend as well as Father’s Day. I’ll have my lawyer draft up a new custody agreement,” you tell Bruce.

“You could always come with her,” Bruce said.

“No. Like I said years ago Bruce. I’m done with you. I can forgive you. But you also proved to me that you will never love me as much as I loved you,” you tell him.

“I’m sorry Y/n. For everything,” Bruce said before walking out of your home.