#but it feels like everything has clicked into place

[eelliotss]

— Borrowed time, part 3

‼️Caleb x reader x Sylus. Reader not MC. University AU. Modern AU. Angst angst angst!

Everyone knows Caleb is in love with MC. Everyone. Including you. But that does not stop him from flirting with you, teasing you, keeping you close. And it definitely does not stop you from falling for him—even when you know you’re just a stand-in, a place holder.

“Had you paid a little more attention, you would’ve known I hated the thunder too.”

word count = 5.2k

i appreciate all likes, comments, reblogs, and asks. i may not reply to all of them, but i want you to know that i reread them over and over 🥺

The choir of rain showering down envelops your whole world. Holding yourself close, you hug yourself away from the constant roar of the thunders.

You did not notice the man watching— his gaze lingering on the drenched rag of a person curled up on the roadside.

Another roar tears through the sky, clawing at your chest, sending tremors down your spine. With each shallow breath, you silently pray for the nightmare to be over, to wake up under warm covers in the safety of your own room.

He probably saw the state you’re in—the haziness in your unfocused eyes and the way you blink, once, twice, sluggish and distant. A sigh leaves his lips as he kneels down to your level. With one gloved hand holding his helmet, the other lightly flicks your forehead.

The flick is light—too light for the weight crushing your chest, yet enough to tether you back to reality and bring some focus back into your gaze.

You slowly raise your gaze, meeting his crimson orbs. Unwavering. Sharp. Studying.

His lips twitch—not quite a smirk, not quite concern.

“You look like hell,” he states as he tilts his head, studying you like you’re an amusing puzzle.

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your lips tremble, but no words form.

Sylus exhales, slow and deliberate—not quite a sigh, but something close.

“Can you get up?”

Silence. Only the sound of the rain, the low hum of the storm, and the quiver of your breath fill the air.

He clicks his tongue, running a hand through his drenched silver locks before shaking off the excess water. Then, without a word, he drops his helmet onto your head, fingers swift and practiced as he secures the strap beneath you chin

The sudden weight startles you. But before you can react, you’re lifted.

A sharp gasp catches in your throat as his arms hook effortlessly around you, pulling you up from the cold ground and onto the sleek leather seat.

He swings his leg over the bike, boots steady against the pavement. The engine purrs beneath you, low and commanding.

“Hold tight.”

The words are simple. A command. A warning.

Your hands instinctively clutch his waist, gripping the fabric of his jacket. The sudden yank pushes you flush against him.

But through the turmoil of it all—through the howling wind, the biting cold, the chaos swallowing the whole world as you ride through the roads a little too fast—beneath your fingers, beneath the soaked fabric,

he’s warm.

The contrast is sharp. The world untamed, screaming, tearing everything apart. The situation rushes past you, too quick, too unreal.

Through it all, you—fractured, weightless, drowning— hold onto him— steady, unshaken—like he’s the only rope tying you to reality.

•

“What’s your room number?” he asks as the bike comes to a stop and the deep rumble of the engine fades.

By the time you’ve returned to the resort, the campfire is long gone—reduced to nothing but damp coals and the ghost of laughter lingering in the air.

People scattered, rushed towards shelter, their hurried footsteps splashed against puddles. The storm has chased everyone indoors.

Except for you and him.

You’re still clutching onto him, fingers curled around the fabric of his jacket. The lingering warmth of his body beneath your touch feels foreign.

“Well?” Sylus’s voice cuts through the silence.

You blink, realizing you haven’t answered.

Your lips part, allowing a light whisper to leave your lips.

“409.”

Without a word, he starts walking.

Perhaps it’s because you did not want to be left alone in the darkness of the night again, or perhaps it was because the sudden loss of warmth prompted your body to move on its own.

You trail behind him through the dimly lit halls, the faint hum of electricity buzzing through the silence. Water drips from your clothes, leaving a trail behind as you shiver against the cold air-conditioned corridor.

You steal a glance at him. Sylus walks ahead, hands shoved into his pockets, completely unfazed. As if he didn’t just find you curled up on the side of the road, as if you’re not drenched and shaking beside him.

The two of you stop in front of your door.

You fumble for the key card, fingers trembling slightly, though you’re not sure if it’s from the cold or from everything that’s happened tonight.

“Shh, don’t be scared.”

Soft coos seep through the door.

“I’m here, pipsqueak. I’m here.”

Soft giggles follow the gentle whispers.

“You’ve always stayed with me on days like these, holding me just like this whenever there were thunders.” Her voice is small and fragile—like something meant to be cherished, protected.

Your fingers hover the doorknob, frozen in place.

The storm rages on, harmonizing with the soft giggles on the other side of the door.

You stood there paralyzed, your mind too tired to register whatever it is that your heart is going through.

Sylus leans against the doorframe, watching you hesitate. Waiting.

“So? You gonna go in, or are we just standing here all night?” He finally asks, voice low and edged with amusement.

Your lack of response earns slow exhale from him.

Before you can fall any deeper, before you can drown in the ache clawing at your chest—he moves.

His hand wraps around your wrist, firm and unyielding.

You flinch, eyes finally snapping to him.

He doesn’t say anything—just turns, walking, dragging you with him.

Away from the door. Away from them.

“Sylus—“ Your voice is barely above a whisper, but he doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t loosen his grip.

And deep down, you were glad he didn’t.

You let the warmth of his hand anchor you, let the storm swallow everything else, and let the laughter behind the doorframe fade into nothing.

•

Sylus doesn’t stop walking until you’re deep inside the quiet halls of the resort, the sound of rain and thunder fading into the background.

His grip finally loosens as he stops in front of a door.

Without looking at you, he pulls out his key card and swipes it. The lock clicks open.

“Get in.” His voice is flat, low—an order, not a request.

You linger by the doorway, water pooling beneath your feet.

Sylus exhales sharply for the nth time that night, raking a hand through damp silver strands, sending droplets scattering to the floor. Then, without warning, he grabs a towel from the bed and throws it at you.

It smacks against your chest, snapping you out of your daze.

“Shower.”

You blink up at him. His crimson eyes don’t waver.

His jaw ticks. Another sigh, this one slower, controlled.

More is tossed at you.

A shirt. A pair of sweatpants. His clothes.

They land in your arms, warm, freshly laundered, carrying the faintest trace of him—clean, sharp, and something unplaceable.

Your fingers tighten around the fabric.

“You’re soaked. You’ll get sick.”

It’s not concern. It’s a fact. A simple statement.

When you still don’t move, he clicks his tongue, tone dipping into something dangerously close to impatience.

“Either you go shower, or I’ll throw you in there myself.”

That finally makes your feet move.

You clutch the clothes tighter against your chest and step past him, disappearing into the bathroom.

The door clicks shut behind you.

And only then do you finally exhale.

The warmth of the shower does little to soothe the tightness in your chest, but at the very least, it washes away the lingering cold from the rain, the exhaustion clinging to your skin like a second layer.

When you finally step out, damp hair sticking to your neck, Sylus is exactly where you left him—leaning against the dresser, one knee bent, a towel draped over his head. His silver hair peeks through, darkened by water, stray strands clinging to his forehead. He’s slow with his movements, lazy almost, dragging the towel through his hair before ruffling it out with one hand.

For the first time, you actually look at him. Not just a passing glance, not a flicker of acknowledgement,—but really look.

At the way the dim light carves shadows along his jawline—the cut of his jawline, the slight furrow in his brow, the way droplets trail down his collarbone before vanishing beneath the black tank clinging to his build—damp and unforgiving, outlining lean muscle and sharp edges.

There’s something effortlessly sharp about him, something dangerous in the way he simply carries his frame.

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as his gaze flickers up, sweeping over you. Unbothered. Knowing. Like he’s caught you staring.

“Like what you see?” his voice drips with lazy amusement.

You blink, heat creeping up your neck before you compose your features.

“What is there to like?”

His smirk deepens, crimson eyes flickering with something teasing.

“You really are a shortcake.” He smugs as his gaze roams your body. “Looks like my clothes are trying to swallow you whole.”

You glance down. The oversized shirt hangs loosely off your shoulders, the hem brushing against your knees. The sweatpants are cinched at the waist, tied hastily to keep them from slipping.

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “It’s not my fault you’re built like a damn tree.”

Sylus snorts, shaking his head as he runs the towel over his hair one last time before tossing it onto the chair. “Move.”

He brushes past you, the scent of clean linen and faint sandalwood trailing behind him. The door clicks shut a second later, leaving you alone in the room.

For a moment, you simply stand there, staring at the empty space he left behind.

Then, with a slow, heavy breath, you make your way to the bed. The mattress dips beneath your weight, soft and warm—a stark contrast to the cold pavement you were curled up on just hours ago.

You sink into it, pulling the blankets over yourself, letting your body finally rest.

But sleep never comes.

Even as exhaustion tugs at your limbs, your mind refuses to quiet.

The storm still lingers beyond the windows, faint rumbles reverberating through the walls. Every moment from tonight replays, over and over again—

The laughter at the campfire.

Caleb’s dismissive jokes.

Caleb’s warmth, his head rested on your lap as the sun sets.

His voice, gentle, whispered—“I’m here, pipsqueak. I’m here.”

And the way the line cut before you could even finish your cry for help.

Your grip on the blanket tightens.

It’s pathetic. How much this hurts. How much he still has a hold on you, even when you know better.

You force yourself to listen to the sound of the shower running in the bathroom, gripping into your own palm like doing so could lull you to sleep.

The blanket feels too heavy. The air, too thick.

You shift onto your side, curling in on yourself, trying to focus on something—anything—other than the ache sitting heavy in your chest.

The shower stops, and a moment later, the bathroom door opens.

Sylus steps out, towel draped around his neck, silver hair still damp, a few strands clinging to his skin. The scent of clean linen and something sharp, something distinctly him, fills the space.

He says nothing, nor does he acknowledge you.

Instead, he crosses the room in that effortless, unhurried way of his, tossing the towel onto a nearby chair before grabbing something from his bag.

You watch from the corner of your eye as he settles into the chair beside the bed, flipping the book open like he’s done this a thousand times before.

Like you’re not lying there, curled up in his clothes, drowning in the silence between you.

Like this is just another one of his quiet nights.

The pages turn, slow and steady, the faint rustle of paper weaving into the distant cries of thunder.

Still, the way the thunder rumbles through the sky, rolling and crackling so close, makes your body tense on instinct. You will your breathing to steady, to calm. But your hands won’t stop trembling.

It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid.

The sudden change from the steady rhythm of pages turning to the faint tap of his fingers against his phone screen causes your brows to furrow in curiosity. You crack an eye open just enough to see him searching something up. His expression remains as impassive as ever, his crimson gaze flicking across the screen, scanning whatever article he’s pulled up.

Then—without warning—he gets up, grabs your blanket, and yanks it off you.

“H-Hey—!” You barely have time to react before he moves, fast and measured, rolling you over onto the bedspread like you weigh nothing.

“What the hell are you—“

He ignores you. Ignores your flailing arms, ignores your indignant protests, and swiftly tugs the blanket around you, tucking you in so tight you can barely move.

You blink, completely stunned. You stare up at him, utterly dumbfounded, as he looks down at you with a face that is, somehow, completely unbothered.

“What the fuck is this?”

Sylus simply plops back down into his chair, cool as ever.

“It’s what they say helps cats with anxiety attacks.” He gestures vaguely towards his phone. “Something about mimicking the feeling of safety.”

Silence. You blink at him.

Once.

Twice.

His lips twitch—just slightly. “You’re welcome.”

You stare at him in disbelief.

“What kind of dumb—this isn’t even—“ You wiggle, struggling against the tight wrap of the blanket. “Sylus, let me out.”

“No.

“Sylus.”

“They say chin scratches can also help calm cats down,” he smirks. “Would you want that too, kitten?”

You open your mouth to retort, but another loud crack of thunder cuts through the room. Your breath hitches before you can stop it.

Silence engulfs the room once more.

He flips to another page in his book.

“Do you hate it that much?” his eyes never leaving the words in front of him. “The thunders.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, hating the way your hands still tremble against the blanket.

“No.”

Sylus hums, the sound low, almost skeptical. He flips another page.

“Convincing. Really.”

You would never admit it, but the tight wrap of blanket around you created a protective barrier between you and the world.

Or perhaps it is the steady rhythm of his breathing. The calm, unshaken presence beside you.

Your eyelids grow heavier.

The storm still lingers outside.

But here, in this quiet space, it’s bearable.

And before you realize it—the world turns dark.

•

Your eyes shoot open.

The room is steeped in deep blue, the quiet hum of dawn settling over the world. The storm has long passed, leaving behind only the faint scent of rain lingering in the air.

You instinctively look around, your pulse quickening as the memories of last night rush in like a relentless wave.

The chair beside the bed is empty. The book he was reading is gone.

He isn’t here.

A strange feeling settles in your chest—one you don’t have the energy to name.

You push yourself up, the oversized fabric of his clothes slipping loosely around your frame.

Right. You need to go.

Sliding off the bed, you grab your things, moving as quietly as possible. The last thing you need is anyone seeing you sneaking out of a room that isn’t yours.

The hallways are eerily silent, save for the distant rustle of the ocean breeze slipping through an open window. You slip into your own room unnoticed, the door clicking shut behind you.

MC is still asleep, curled beneath the blankets, her breathing slow and steady.

You exhale, body weighed down with exhaustion as you strip out of Sylus’s clothes, replacing them with your own. The fabric is warm, familiar.

Sliding your phone onto the charger, you finally crawl into bed, slipping under the covers beside MC.

She stirs slightly, shifting at the dip in the mattress, but doesn’t wake.

The silence stretches, the soft rhythm of her breathing lulling you into something close to peace.

You close your eyes.

•

You’re jolted awake by MC’s sudden exclaim.

“Oh my god, Yn!”

Your eyes snap open, the soft haze of sleep vanishing in an instant. MC is hovering over you, her phone clutched tightly in one hand, her brows furrowed in concern.

“Where the hell were you last night?!” she demands, voice a mix of worry and exasperation. “I called you like, a million times! I was this close to going out and looking for you—” She pauses, eyes narrowing slightly. “But, you know… how I am with thunders.”

You blink, mind sluggish, body too drained to react.

MC huffs, shoving her phone in your face. “Seriously, Yn. I was worried sick!”

You squint at the screen, barely making out the endless stream of missed calls and texts before you sigh, rubbing a hand down your face.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I—”

What are you even supposed to say?

That you got caught in the rain? That you collapsed on the side of the road? That Sylus found you?

That you spent the night in his room?

Your throat tightens.

MC sighs, finally pulling back. “I swear, you’re gonna give me a heart attack one day.” Her expression softens, the frustration fading into something quieter. “You okay?”

The concern in her voice makes your chest ache.

You force a small smile. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

MC watches you for a moment before nodding. “Alright. But don’t ever do that again, okay? If something’s wrong, you tell me.”

You nod, though you don’t say anything.

She plops back onto the bed, stretching her arms over her head. “Anyway, we have a long-ass day ahead of us. Let’s get moving before they start filming without us.”

You hum in agreement, pushing yourself up despite the weight still clinging to your limbs.

The moment your feet touch the floor, a faint dizziness creeps in, but you shake it off.

Today is going to be long. You just have to get through it.

MC chatters away as she gets ready, pulling out outfits and rummaging through her bag. She seems to have let go of last night’s worries, and for that, you’re grateful. You don’t have the energy to explain anything right now.

By the time you both leave the room, the sun has fully risen, painting the sky in warm golds and soft blues. The air is fresh, carrying the lingering scent of rain, but the storm from last night feels like a distant memory—like something only you remember.

When you arrive at the set, the atmosphere is already buzzing with energy. Crew members are setting up, actors are going over their lines, and the director is barking out instructions.

MC quickly joins the main cast, slipping into her role with ease, leaving you to find your own place among the side characters.

“Action!”

The day begins.

It’s hectic—far more chaotic than yesterday. Since most of the key scenes are scheduled to be filmed today, there’s barely a moment to breathe between takes.

You go through your role automatically, delivering lines, hitting your marks, going where you’re needed.

And yet, through the commotion, you can feel him.

“Action!”

You can see him in the crowd, practicing and discussing his lines.

You can see him placing his hand on MC’s head, telling her it’s okay she messed up her part.

“Action!”

Every now and then, between takes, you can see the way his eyes land on you, a certain look that you can’t quite place your finger on.

And every now and then, during any short break he can muster, you can see the way he tries to approach you.

But the simple thought of him makes you sick to your stomach.

“Yn—”

You slip away.

“Where were y—”

Someone calls you over before he can finish.

“Why didn’t you pick—”

Another take is called, forcing him back into position.

Every conversation dies before it can even begin, and you make no effort to change that.

You don’t want to face him yet.

You can’t.

“Action!”

Fortunately, the day is kind enough to be relentless, dragging you from scene to scene, making it easier to ignore the weight of his gaze, the questions lingering between you.

But as the hours pass, the sun burns hotter, the air grows heavier, and a dull ache creeps into your skull.

It’s subtle at first, just a faint throbbing behind your eyes.

“Action!”

Your limbs feel heavier, your head foggy, the world tilting ever so slightly.

You swallow, forcing yourself to focus.

It’s nothing. Just exhaustion. Just the heat. Just the fact that you spent last night soaking wet in the cold for hours.

“Action!”

You push through.

A hand reaches for yours.

“Hey—are you oka—“

“I’m fine, Caleb.” You snap, finally turning to face him, snatching your touch away from his.

You look over his shoulder to find MC waving for him.

“MC’s looking for you,” you state, turning away just as quickly.

“You don’t look—“

The set sweeps him away once more.

The heat is unbearable. It sticks to your skin, clings to your lungs, burrows into your skull with a relentless pulse. Every sound around you—voices, instructions, the scuffling of feet on set—blurs into a distant hum.

“Action!”

You should sit down. You should stop.

But you don’t.

You push through, following the motions, forcing your body to move despite the dull, throbbing ache radiating from your temple.

The sun beats down harder.

Your limbs feel heavy. Your vision swims.

Something is wrong.

“Act—“

A sudden shift—the ground tilts beneath you.

The world spirals. Your stomach churns—everything is slipping too fast.

And then—a firm grip catches your wrist.

Through the haze, crimson eyes lock onto yours, sharp and assessing.

You don’t understand how, don’t understand why— but subtly, nearly imperceptibly—the sharpness in his eyes narrows, just slightly.

His grip tightens.

“It’s not called a dance if there’s no one to catch you when you dip,” a teasing smirk crawls up his face.

You narrow your eyes, a frown following closely.

“Let me go,” you demand, pulling your hand from his. To your dismay, he does not budge.

Sylus hums, tilting his head slightly, his crimson eyes flickering with amusement.

“Let you go?” He scoffs lightly. “Sweetheart, you nearly face-planted in front of half the set. If it weren’t for me, you’d be eating sand right now.”

A flush of heat creeps up your neck—whether from frustration or fever, you don’t know.

“But it did look like you were throwing yourself into my arms just now…”

Your jaw tightens. “I wasn’t—“

“You were.” He grins, lazy and insufferable, before tapping his temple. “Don’t worry, I’ll be generous and let you blame it on heat exhaustion. But next time, try asking before you faint dramatically into my arms, yeah?”

A scoff pushes past your lips, hot and irritated. “I didn’t—“

He cuts you off again, eyes narrowing in mock thought. “Actually, should I be offended? You didn’t even call my name. Isn’t that what damsels in distress do?”

He shifts his grip to hook an arm securely around your waist, pulling you closer as your knees wobble.

You slap at his arm. “I can stand just fine.“

“Sure.” He drawls the word out, clearly not convinced. “If by ‘just fine’ you mean ‘barely upright and just one second away from proving me right.’”

Your glare sharpens, pushing his body away from you. However, your body betrays you as your knees struggle to find balance, causing you to lean just slightly into his hold.

Sylus smirks.

“You love proving me right, don’t you?”

You groan. “Just let me go, Sylus.”

Before he can answer, another presence looms in.

“Yn.“

The teasing weight of Sylus’s words vanishes in an instant.

You tense.

The air shifts—sharp, tight, suffocating.

Sylus’s smirk doesn’t falter, but the amusement in his eyes dims, replaced with something much more calculating.

“I’ll take it from here.”

Caleb takes a step forward, his expression unreadable—but his tone isn’t.

“Let go.”

A muscle in Sylus’s jaw twitches as his gaze sweeps over Caleb, the amusement curling at his lips deepening.

“That’s funny,” he muses, low and almost thoughtful.

Caleb’s eyes darken. “I said, let go.”

Sylus tilts his head slightly, gaze dipping back to you.

“Mm.” His voice drops lower, amusement flickering at the edges. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

The tension snaps tight between them—like a drawn blade, waiting to be swung.

You exhale sharply, yanking your wrist away from Sylus. Caleb’s presence itself is enough to push you off the edge, adding the tension between the two and your head splitting in half definitely does not help.

“I’m fine. I can walk. You two have scenes to film—go do that instead of hovering over me,” you mutter, your glare shifting between them.

Neither of them move.

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Seriously. I just need some rest. Go.”

Sylus studies you for a beat longer, then— with an infuriating smirk, he raises both his hands in a mock display of surrender.

“Whatever you say, kitten.”

He steps back, turning without another word. But, even if you’ve just known him for a few days, you’re well too accustomed to that glint in his eyes. He’s entertained—like he just witnessed something far more amusing than it should be.

You roll your eyes, turning to leave—only to find Caleb following closely behind.

You stop in your tracks.

“Caleb.”

“You’re sick,” he states simply, as if that explains everything.

You let out an exhausted sigh. “I just need a nap. The sun’s too hot. You have a job to do. Go.”

“I’ll take you to your room.”

You groan. “I don’t need you to—“

“Yn.”

Something in the way he says your name—low, quiet, edged with something almost like a puppy left alone—makes your breath hitch.

You swallow, annoyance and fatigue surfacing your expression.

“Fine. Do whatever you want.”

You start walking. Caleb falls into step beside you, silent. The set bustles behind you, voices and movement filling the space. But between you and Caleb, the silence is louder.

The walk back is slow. The ground beneath you feels unsteady, your legs sluggish with exhaustion. The day had been merciless—your body drained from the heat, the lingering weight of last night clawing at your bones.

“I didn’t,” you murmur.

“You almost did.”

You finally reach your door, the cool AC left running inside brushes away a part of your exhaustion.

The door clicks shut behind you. You turn to face him, arms crossed.

“Alright. You walked me back. You can go now.”

Caleb doesn’t move. Instead, he leans against the doorframe, hands shoved into his pockets. “Kicking me out already?” he says with his usual playful tone, a grin plastered on his face.

“Out.”

Caleb sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I just—why didn’t you say anything? You looked like you were about to collapse back there.” He slowly approaches you, placing one hand on your forehead and another on his. “You’re burning up.”

A deep frown crawls up your face, annoyance filling your senses. You swat his hand away, taking an unsteady step backwards.

“Get out, Caleb, I want to be alone.”

His eyes widen ever so slightly, taken aback by your response. A soft chuckle slips past his lips—one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Okay, okay, I’ll leave. Right after I tuck you in.”

You let out a sharp breath, exasperated, but too drained to argue. Caleb takes a step closer, reaching for the blanket, but you snatch it before he can.

“Caleb—“

“You didn’t answer my calls.” The shift is almost imperceptible. His voice is steady, but there is an edge to it—like he is holding something back. His jaw is tense, something unreadable flashing behind his violet eyes.

Your breath catches for half a second and you grip on the blanket tightens, but you school your expression. “My phone was dead.”

“Where were you last night?” His voice is still too calm. Too measured.

You exhale, pinching the bridge of your nose, exhaustion pressing into your skull. “Caleb—“

“Do you know how long I spent looking for you?” his tone is lighter than it should be, laced with something almost amused—but his eyes, his stance, the slight clench of jaw betray him. “I ran through the rain like a desperate idiot, calling for your name like a lunatic, only for you to act like I don’t exist the next day?”

His voice isn’t desperate. It’s frustrated.

You don’t know what to say to that. Instead, you let out a dry laugh, shaking your head.

“Yeah? That worried? Sure, Caleb. Sure,” you pause. “Do you expect me to be grateful?” sarcasm drips from your words.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” his eyes narrow.

“No? Then what are you saying?” You cross your arms, a bitter laugh slipping past your lips. “Because I remember calling you. I remember my hands shaking so bad I almost dropped my phone. I remember hearing your voice and thinking, ‘finally.’” Your throat tightens. “And then I remember you cutting the line.”

Caleb stares at you, his expression unreadable.

“I was in the middle of god knows where, drenched like a drowning dog, kneeled down on the road next to some fucking dumpster,” you continue, voice shaking despite yourself. “But it wasn’t a great time. You were busy.” A humorless laugh leaves your quivering lips.

His jaws ticks.

“You know how MC is with thunders,” he says, voice quieter now. Almost defensive. “But as soon as she fell asleep— I didn’t think—“

“Exactly.” Your words are barely above a whisper. “You didn’t think. Had you paid a little more attention, you would’ve known I hated the thunder too.”

Something in his face shifts. His breath catches. For the first time since you met him, he looks like he miscalculated.

The silence is thick, suffocating. His gaze lock onto yours, searching—for what you weren’t sure.

Finally, he exhales through his nose, looking away. His hand grips the doorknob, knuckles paling slightly.

His voice is quieter when he speaks again. “I didn’t know.”

A bitter smile tugs at your lips. “Yeah. You didn’t.”

He remains there for a second longer, a shadow of something you can’t quite place flickering behind his eyes. You inhale sharply, steadying yourself, pressing a hand against your temple as a dull ache throbs inside your head.

“I’m very—very—tired,” you continue, voice barely above a breath. “So just… let me rest, Caleb.”

His jaws tightens. He shifts his weight, like he wants to say something—like there’s something sitting heavy on his tongue—but in the end, he exhales through his nose, slow and steady,

His voice, when he finally speaks, is quiet. Strained.

“…Get some rest, then.”

His fingers twitch at his sides. He slowly place his hand on your head, ruffling it softly—the way that has always brought butterflies to your stomach. His violet eyes flicker, scanning you—your unsteady stance, the way you press against your temple, the exhaustion settling deep in your features. Something flashes behind his gaze. But just as quickly, it’s gone.

He takes a step back. Then another.

He tilts his head slightly, studying you one last time—not with amusement, not with his usual lazy charm or playfulness, but with something much quieter. Much heavier.

“Try not to sleep through dinner, shortcake.” His usual grin flickers at the edges, forced, strained, before turning his heel.

Click.

[mattyriddlesbitch]

Hi! Happy holidays! I have a fic idea I’d like to request. one where Mattheo is winning reader over because he likes her, but despite never letting his feelings known, Theo has been in love with her since second year 🥺 angsty but still with a happy ending perhaps? thank you love! <3

Me or Him

Mattheo Riddle x Reader, Theodore Nott x Reader

Warnings: Kinda angsty, mentions of drinking and reader being drunk, gender neutral

If someone had told you in your first year that two of your best friends both had feelings for you, you’d have laughed. They were friends, some of your closest friends, nothing more. Right? They were hot, you couldn’t exactly deny that. And they were funny and nice and maybe if you weren’t so close, you might’ve had a crush on them, because you 100% did not have one now. You definitely didn’t notice them growing into their bodies and getting muscles from quidditch. You, for sure, never noticed the way they seemed a bit more touchy with you either and how your body reacted. Totally didn’t notice any of that.

And now, you were at one of the infamous Slytherin parties, just sipping on a drink somewhere among the crowd.

“Ah, there you are. Been looking for you.” A pair of hands grabbed your hips from behind as the voice spoke near your ear just loud enough to hear above the music. “I thought you were hiding from me.”

“Seems like I didn’t hide well enough if you found me.” You said, turning your head enough to look at Mattheo.

“I can always find you. I can feel the beauty and sweetness radiating off of you before I can even see you.” He said with that stupid smile he always wore around you.

You roll your eyes but smile at his words. “That’s a bit cheesy, isn’t it?”

“You liked it though, didn’t you? It works, huh?” He said, moving his arms to wrap around your waist. “Come dance with me.” He said as he started leading you over to where everyone else was dancing.

“You’re not even gonna ask nicely?”

“Please, dance with me, (Y/N).” He turned you around to face him now, still leading you as you walked backwards.

“I even got a ‘please’. How cute.” You smiled back at him.

“I’m not hearing a ‘no’.”

“Because I didn’t say ‘no’.”

“So, that’s a ‘yes’.”

“I suppose.”

“You’re a little brat, you know that?” Mattheo said with a small chuckle.

And while all that was happening, Theo was watching this whole interaction not too far away. He couldn’t hear what you two were saying, but he saw the way Mattheo was touching you and the smile on your face and how you let him lead you to dance. Not even mentioning watching you two dance, how your bodies were touching. Merlin, Theo was sick.

He’s had feelings for you since…as long as he could remember. Maybe since he met you. You two just clicked and you were so nice to him and you were so cute. And those feelings only grew over the years. At this point, he could confidently say he was in love with you. The way you spoke, the way you carried yourself, your personality, your jokes and teasing, just you. He loved it all. He was just too scared to say anything. How could he tell the person he’s loved for years that he has feelings and possibly be rejected. He’d rather be by your side as friends than possibly never have you in his life. But that sentiment was quickly dying at every touch and flirt that Mattheo shared with you. 

Why did his best friend have to like you too? He’s heard Mattheo talk about you, talking about how good you looked, how cute you were when you spoke about something you liked, how he enjoyed teasing you. And it took everything in Theo not to hit Mattheo in the face. Because, how would that be fair when Theo never expressed even liking you in the first place?

But now, you were as stunning as always, dancing with his best friend instead of him and he wished it was him. He longed for you to look at him like that, to make you smile like that. He had to fight every urge to go over there and push Mattheo off of you. It wouldn’t be right. You looked happy and that was his best friend.

He just watched as you two danced and laughed for a while before you excused yourself. Theo took notice of how drunk you were as you nearly stumbled as you walked away. He quickly came over to you, wrapping an arm around you to steady you.

“Easy there.” He said, helping you walk.

“Theo! I was wondering where you were.” You said, giving him a bright smile that he adored.

“I’ve been around.” He said, giving you a smile in return. “You’re very drunk, sweetheart.”

“No.” You said, dragging out the word. “I’m fine.”

“Maybe we should get you back to your dorm.” His smile never dropped, he found you adorable like this, but he was also concerned you were gonna get yourself hurt.

“Will you stay with me?” You asked, leaning your head on him.

“Of course.”

“Yay! Maybe we could have a sleepover.” You said cheerfully.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” He laughed, guiding you towards your dorm.

You rambled to him about anything as he walked you both to your dorm, little ‘mhm’s and ‘yeah’s leaving his mouth to let you know he’s listening. He got you in your dorm and sat you down on your bed, kneeling down to help you get your shoes off when you suddenly brought Mattheo up.

“And then Mattheo and I danced and it was a lot of fun.” You spoke so happily, not even knowing how annoyed Theo was with Mattheo.

“Yeah, sure sounds like it.” He huffed, pulling one of your shoes off and setting it aside.

“What? Why do you sound annoyed now?” You asked, looking down at him with a small frown.

“I’m not. I’m fine. You had fun with Mattheo, why would that make me mad?” He asked, but was clearly annoyed. Even in your drunken state, you could tell.

“I don’t know. You just sound mad.”

“Well, I’m not.” He said a lot louder than intended as he got the other shoe off and placed it with the other one.

“Theo…”

“It’s fine. I’m-You had a great time with one of our friends. My best friend. It’s fine.”

“Yeah,we just danced and-”

“Do you like him?”

“What?”

“Do you like Mattheo, (Y/N)?” He asked, finally standing up and looking at you.

“I don’t understand, why are you-”

“Please, just answer me.”

“I don’t know.” You said, annoyed with his attitude.

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t know. Okay? He’s sweet and nice and flirty but I haven’t exactly thought about him in that way.”

“You haven’t?”

“It’s just fun. I don’t know what to tell you.”

“The truth.”

“That is the truth!”

“You can just tell me if you like him.”

“I don’t!”

“Right.” He rolled his eyes.

“Why do you care so much?”

“Because I love you!” He blurted out. And now it was out in the open. He couldn’t take it back. He couldn’t try to correct himself. He sighed heavily as he ran a hand through his hair, turning his head to avoid looking at you as the silence filled the room. It was a good 10 seconds of silence, but it felt like an hour to Theo, not knowing your response.

“You do?” You asked quietly.

“Yeah.” It was all he could manage to say in his embarrassment.

“How long?”

He swallowed, still looking away from you. “A while.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Your voice was still so quiet and soft.

Theo scoffed, finally looking at you. “Why would I when you and Mattheo were all over each other?”

“Because I’d pick you over him any day.”

That sentence made him speechless and he just stared at you in disbelief.

“I like you. If I’m not making myself clear enough.” You spoke up when he didn’t reply after a moment.

“But Mattheo-”

“Is not you.”

He swallowed again, this was a little overwhelming for him. “Do you wanna go on a date tomorrow?” He finally got out in a rush and it made you giggle.

“Only if you don’t give me that same attitude from a few minutes ago.”

Now it was his turn to chuckle. “That’s a fair condition.”

Taglist:

@jeannie-beannie @mixvchelle @helendeath @evaslytherpuff @leandre2006

@yours-truly-5 @hpnsfwaddict @mayamonroem @brittney-121

@dracoslovergirl @littlemadamred @acornacreacure @opheliamalfoy236

@delulugirl2000 @akira1246 @queenshu @prettypinkprincess15

@jolly4holly @st0n3dbarbi3 @kurumbukaari @whydoireadanymore @sweet-afternoon

@ilovehpb0ys @satosugu4-ever @mattiesgirl @ur-local-wizard

@alwayslatetothefandoms @satosugu4-ever @whydoireadanymore @dustie-faerie

@shaquilles-0atmeal @gillyweeds @pluto-9456

@hereticdance @cindyss @saint-marvel

@simpforromance @yours-truly-5 @kenjikishimotoswifey @fallingblackveils @simpforromance

@strxwberri-s @nickirae @esmerai-artemis @blu3b3rrymuff1ns @yootvi

@roseofsharron438 @abeoavita @rafesba @ter-luer

[heliosunny]

Lucky Egg Anaxa? Unless someone has already requested it

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Anaxa x Reader

The Lucky Egg Dispenser was tucked in the corner of a bustling shopping district, wedged between a neon-lit café and a magic supply store that specialized in beginner-friendly spell kits. You had walked past it dozens of times, always amused by the ridiculous concept—spend a few credits, get a mystery egg, and see what hatches. Most people treated it as a harmless novelty, something fun for kids and collectors.

But today, for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, you stopped in front of it. Before you knew it, you had inserted the required amount and turned the crank.

With a soft chime, an egg rolled into the collection tray. The display screen above flickered with a message:

Congratulations! Your egg will hatch in 3 days. Take good care of it!

Three days? Most of these eggs were just decorative trinkets with tiny charms inside. This one… felt different.

Tucking the egg carefully into your bag, you exhaled.

Three days.

The egg sat on your bedside table, warm and pulsing like a second heartbeat in the quiet of your apartment. It had been two days since you got it from that stupid Lucky Egg Dispenser.

At first, you thought it was just some novelty, something that would crack open to reveal a mechanical pet or a glowing stone. But this thing… it felt alive. You caught yourself staring at it more often than you’d like to admit, your fingers hovering just above the shell, feeling the faint warmth it gave off.

What was going to hatch from this?

"Guess I'll find out tomorrow."

The next morning, something was different.

The egg had grown warmer. The glow had intensified, flickering like a candle on the verge of going out. You reached out, fingertips brushing against the shell. The moment you touched it, a sharp crack split the air.

You jerked your hand back.

Another crack. Then another. The shell was breaking apart, jagged lines spiderwebbing across its smooth surface. You barely had time to react before the egg burst open with a sudden flash of light.

And then, he was there.

Slumped on your bed, half-covered in shattered shell fragments, was— a person. Or, at least, someone who looked like a person.

His hair was damp, strands clinging to his face as he slowly pushed himself up. His single eye locked onto you, intense and piercing, while the other was covered by a dark, ornate eyepatch.

"You’re mine now."

"...What?"

"You picked my egg. You waited for me. That makes you mine. Obviously. The name is Anaxagoras by the way."

You opened your mouth to argue—but his gaze pinned you in place.

"Tch. You look surprised." His tone was blunt, unimpressed. "What, did you think you were getting a pet? Some tiny, harmless thing?"

You had no words. None at all.

"Doesn’t matter." He stretched, rolling his shoulders as if testing his own body. Then he turned to you again.

"You’ll take care of me, won’t you?"

There was no hesitation in his voice. No doubt. Just the unshakable confidence of someone who had already decided the answer.

You said nothing.

Just stood there, staring at the strange man who had just hatched from an egg on your bed like this was normal.

Nope.

Not dealing with this.

Slowly, carefully, you took a step back. He tilted his head, unimpressed.

"Running away?"

You didn’t answer. Just kept backing up until you reached the door to your room. Your fingers found the handle, twisted it, and I slipped out, shutting it behind you. The lock clicked into place.

You stood there for a second, listening.

Silence.

Maybe… maybe he’d disappear if you left him alone. Maybe this was just some weird, elaborate illusion. A trick of the mind. You’d go outside, take a walk, come back, and your bed would be empty. The egg would be gone. Everything would be normal again.

With that thought, you grabbed your coat, shoved your hands into the pockets, and left the apartment.

The city was the same as always. The hum of magic-powered trams, neon signs flickering in the afternoon haze, people moving through the streets. You walked like nothing was wrong, like today was just another normal day.

Stopped by a café. Got a drink.

Browsed a bookstore, ran your fingers along the spines of titles you weren’t planning to buy.

Took the long way home.

You didn’t check your phone. You didn’t think about the locked door. You didn’t think about the man who definitely wasn’t real still sitting in your room.

At least, you didn’t think about it until—

"Why do you look so surprised?"

There he was.

Standing right in front of you.

Same hair, same eye, same outfit he had hatched in. Like he had walked right out of your apartment and followed you the entire way.

"I’ve been following you" he said, tone completely matter-of-fact.

"Wha—"

"You didn’t notice?" He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "That’s pathetic. If you can’t even sense when you’re being followed, you’re clearly incapable of protecting yourself."

"Well?" He crossed his arms. "Aren’t you going to say anything? Or are you just going to keep pretending I don’t exist?"

Your brain was still trying to catch up.

He was real. He was standing in front of you, completely unfazed, like it was the most natural thing in the world to hatch from an egg and then casually stalk you through the city.

Before you could react, a gun materialized out of thin air, appearing in his grip. No incantations, no dramatic movements—just instant manifestation.

BANG

You flinched hard. The sharp crack of the gunshot echoed through the street, causing a few distant heads to turn. But before panic could set in, you noticed what he had aimed at.

A fly.

Or at least, what used to be a fly. Now it was nothing more than a tiny burnt mark on the pavement.

Anaxa exhaled, looking mildly annoyed as he lowered the gun. "Sorry. It was annoying."

You just stared at him.

Then at the gun in his hand.

Then back at him.

"You—" Your voice came out strangled. "You just shot a fly."

"Yeah. I did." He blinked at you, as if waiting for you to say something less obvious.

You ran a hand down your face, trying to process. "You shot a fly."

"And?" His eye flicked toward you, utterly unimpressed. "You should be thanking me. That thing was buzzing near your ear for at least five minutes. It was bothering me."

You inhaled sharply. "You shot a fly."

"You’ve said that three times now. Are you broken?" He narrowed his eye slightly, scanning you with what almost looked like genuine concern. "Did your brain short-circuit? That’s unfortunate. I just got you, and you’re already defective."

You just gaped at him.

He sighed, shifting the gun between his fingers before it disappeared—vanishing just as easily as it had appeared. "Anyway. Let’s go."

That snapped you out of it. "Go where?"

"Home." He gave you a look like you were the weird one for asking. "Obviously."

You took a step back. "I don’t even know you!"

"That’s not true. You know my name. I’m Anaxagoras. You’re mine." He tilted his head. "And you’re not very smart if you think I’m letting you wander around alone when you clearly can’t defend yourself."

You blinked rapidly. "I—"

"Case in point," he continued smoothly, as if you hadn’t even tried to argue. "You didn’t notice me following you for half the day. You flinch too easily. And you look so unguarded it’s almost laughable. What if someone else had found you before I did? You’d be dead by now."

You exhaled sharply, gripping your temples. Your brain was fried. Completely and utterly fried.

There was a man—a man who hatched from an egg—standing in front of you, casually materializing and firing a gun like it was nothing. And now he was acting like you were some helpless child who couldn’t be trusted to walk outside alone.

This was too much.

You needed a reset. Something normal. Something grounding.

Food.

Maybe if you sat down and ate something, your brain would start working properly again.

You grabbed Anaxa by the wrist before he could start walking. He tensed slightly at the contact, glancing down at your hand, then back up at you. "What?"

"We’re eating first" you said, already dragging him toward the nearest restaurant.

"Eating?" His brows furrowed slightly, but he didn’t resist. "We can eat at home."

"I am not going home with you yet. We are going to sit down somewhere, I’m going to eat something warm, and you are going to—" You glanced at him, realizing you had no idea if he even needed food. "—do whatever you want, I don’t care."

Anaxa made a soft tch sound, clearly unimpressed, but let you pull him along anyway. "Fine. But if this is some attempt to delay the inevitable, it won’t work."

You ignored him, spotting a small ramen shop on the corner and steering him inside. The place was cozy, filled with the rich, savory scent of broth and fresh noodles. You picked a table and sat down, finally letting go of his wrist.

Anaxa sat across from you, looking around briefly before his eye settled back on you. "You look less stupid now."

You sighed, rubbing your face. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You were about two seconds away from mentally shutting down," he stated bluntly. "Now you look like you can at least function."

You scowled but couldn’t even argue. He wasn’t wrong.

The waiter came by, and you ordered your food. Anaxa didn’t order anything, just resting his chin on his hand as he watched you with that same unreadable expression.

You drummed your fingers on the table. "You’re really not gonna eat anything?"

"I don’t need it," he said simply. Then, after a pause, "But if you tell me to, I will."

You frowned. "That’s… weird."

"No, it’s not."

"You just said you don’t need to eat."

"I don’t." He tilted his head slightly. "But if you want me to eat, I will."

You stared at him. "That’s even weirder."

He shrugged, unimpressed.

The food arrived, and you dug in, hoping the warmth of the broth would help ground you. Anaxa, true to his word, didn’t touch anything. He just sat there, watching you, like he was analyzing every move you made.

It was unnerving.

"Can you not stare at me like that?"

"No."

"...Why?"

"Because I want to."

You groaned, shoving another bite of noodles into your mouth. This was going to be a long meal.

You sighed, slurping up the last of your noodles, and set your chopsticks down. The warmth of the broth helped, but it didn’t magically fix the fact that there was still a man who hatched from an egg sitting across from you, staring like you were the most fascinating thing in the world.

Anaxa hadn’t moved once. Hadn’t blinked much, either. He just sat there, elbow on the table, chin resting on his hand, eye locked onto you.

It was weird. Unnerving. You needed a distraction.

Dessert.

You got into another place, ordered something sweet, hoping the sugar rush would give you enough energy to deal with whatever the hell this situation was. When it arrived—warm, fluffy pastries drizzled with syrup—you picked one up and took a bite, savoring the taste.

And then you looked at Anaxa.

Still watching.

You sighed through your nose. “You’re really not gonna eat anything?”

"I told you. I don’t need it."

You narrowed your eyes, then, on impulse, grabbed a piece of pastry and held it up to his mouth. “Then just chew it. For my sake.”

He blinked, seeming vaguely surprised. “You’re feeding me now?”

“You’re the one acting like a guard dog,” you muttered. “Might as well feed you.”

For a second, you thought he was going to refuse. But then, without breaking eye contact, he leaned forward and took a bite straight from your fingers.

…That was weirdly intimate.

But before you could dwell on it, Anaxa started chewing.

And kept chewing.

His mouth was still full, but you pushed another piece at him, and he took it without hesitation. Then another. And another.

It was ridiculous.

His usually sharp, composed expression was ruined by how much food he had stuffed into his mouth. He was chewing mechanically, like he wasn’t even used to the act, but he didn’t stop you from feeding him.

By the time you were down to the last piece, his cheek was slightly puffed out from everything he had crammed in there.

You tried to hold back a snort. “You look stupid right now.”

Anaxa just gave you a blank look, still chewing.

Then he swallowed everything in one go, setting his elbows on the table. "Are you satisfied now?"

You shook your head, unable to hide the grin tugging at your lips. “That was the funniest thing I’ve seen all day.”

"I fail to see how that was funny."

“You chewed for a full minute straight.”

"And?"

You just laughed, shaking your head as you finished the last bite for yourself.

At least now he wasn’t just staring.

You leaned back in your chair, feeling a little more grounded now that you’d had a full meal. Maybe warm food did help. At least, you could think a little clearer now.

Anaxa, meanwhile, had finally stopped chewing and was watching you with that same expression.

You exhaled, finally letting reality sink in. This wasn’t a dream. He wasn’t an illusion. This wasn’t something that would disappear if you ignored it long enough.

You did hatch something from that egg.

And now he was here.

And judging by how he had been acting all day—stalking you, critiquing your survival skills, eating just because you told him to—there was something deeper at play.

“So. What are you?”

Anaxa raised a brow. “That’s a stupid question.”

“No, really. What are you? I get that you came from the egg, but what does that mean? What does that make me?”

At that, he tilted his head slightly, watching you like he was reevaluating something. Then, without a word, he lifted his hand.

A faint glow flickered between his fingers, and something materialized— A thread. No, not just a thread, something more like a bond. It shimmered in the dim lighting of the restaurant, thin but undeniably real. It stretched between his hand… and you.

“So” you muttered, “the egg really did choose me.”

"Obviously." He flicked the thread lightly, watching how it pulsed in response. "The moment you turned that crank, it was decided. You’re my master. This bond is proof of that."

“Master?”

"That’s what I said."

You stared at the glowing thread, then back at him. “So… what can you do?”

Anaxa blinked, caught off guard by how fast you got to the point. “You’re not even going to question it?”

“Would it change anything?”

He considered that for a moment. Then smirked. "No. It wouldn’t."

“Exactly.” you muttered. “So? What can you do?”

His smirk widened slightly, amused by your directness. He let the thread fade and leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table.

"Many things."

“Like?”

"Fight. Kill. Protect. Track. Destroy. I can eliminate threats before they even think of harming you. I can ensure no one so much as looks at you the wrong way. I can wipe out anything that stands in your path."

“That’s a lot of violence.”

"Is that a problem?"

"I don’t need a walking weapon."

"That’s unfortunate. Because that’s what you got."

You exhaled, looking at him for a long moment. "Alright, then. If you’re mine, then I should be able to make requests, right?"

"That depends on what you ask."

“Good,” you said, finishing the last sip of your drink. Then you locked eyes with him. “Because I think we need to set some ground rules first.”

Anaxa blinked again. Then huffed out something that almost sounded like a laugh. "Fine. This should be interesting."

A few days had passed since Anaxa hatched, and while you were slowly getting used to having him around, he was still ridiculously overbearing.

You’d barely gone anywhere alone—if you so much as turned a corner without telling him, he was suddenly there, watching, waiting, making sure you weren’t about to get yourself killed. It was suffocating.

But also kind of funny.

Because for all his sharp instincts and deadpan remarks, Anaxa wasn’t exactly used to regular human behavior. And that gave you an idea.

A prank.

Something harmless. Something just to see how he’d react.

So as you walked side by side down the street, you subtly reached for the ice-cold bottle of water in your bag, already planning to flick some at him. Just a little—nothing crazy.

"Don’t think about it."

You froze.

Anaxa hadn’t even looked at you. He was still facing forward.

Your grip on the bottle tightened. “What.”

"You heard me."

You frowned. “Did you just—read my mind or something?”

Anaxa finally glanced at you, looking unimpressed. "No. I simply predicted your next move."

“…Excuse me?”

"Your expression changed three seconds ago, which means you had a new thought. Your hand moved slightly, signaling intent. And given your recent behavior, it's likely something irritating." He sighed. "I’ve already accounted for every possible action you might take in the next five minutes. Trying to surprise me is a waste of time."

You gawked at him. “That is insane.”

"No, that is intelligence." He smirked slightly, just enough to be infuriating. "You should try it sometime."

Your jaw dropped.

Oh, it’s on.

You weren’t sure how, but you were going to catch him off guard one day. Even if it took years.

You had tried. So many times.

You planned. You strategized. You executed.

And yet, every single prank attempt on Anaxa had ended in humiliating failure.

The moment you so much as thought about messing with him, he knew. It was like he had a built-in prank radar, and no amount of creativity or misdirection could fool him. He would predict everything.

You threw a pillow at him? He caught it without looking. You put salt in his tea? He smelled it instantly. You tried to trip him? You ended up tripping instead.

At this point, you had no choice but to admit defeat. For now.

So you gave up on pranking him and focused on something else: a dungeon run.

It was a routine thing. You ran dungeons occasionally to rack up points, earn some cash, and hone your skills. Anaxa had been glued to your side since hatching, but this time, you left him at home.

Not because you were scared of bringing him—he was probably the best bodyguard in existence—but because you needed to do something on your own.

You headed out with your usual party, braving the stormy weather as you entered the dungeon. It was a decent run—some challenging fights, some good loot. Nothing too crazy.

But what you didn’t account for was how long it would take.

By the time you and your party emerged, the rain had gotten worse. Heavy drops soaked through your clothes, chilling you to the bone. And, of course, you had forgotten your umbrella.

So you huddled under one of your party member’s umbrellas, standing very close to stay dry. Maybe even a little too close. You laughed at something they said, nudging them playfully, completely unaware of anything unusual—

"You're awfully comfortable with them."

You nearly jumped out of your skin.

Turning sharply, you found Anaxa standing just a few feet away, completely unfazed by the downpour. His hair was slightly damp, but his expression was the same as always.

In his hand was your umbrella.

“...Why are you here?”

"You forgot this." He held up the umbrella, his voice calm. But then his gaze flickered toward your party, who was still standing close. "And I was curious."

Your party members exchanged glances, sensing the tension in the air. One of them awkwardly cleared their throat. “Uh… is this a friend of yours?”

Anaxa didn’t answer. He just watched you, waiting.

For what, you weren’t sure. But the storm wasn’t just in the sky anymore. It was standing right in front of you.

You let out a quiet sigh, feeling the weight of Anaxa’s gaze on you even as you turned back to your party.

“Guess I’ll head home. See you guys later” you said, waving them off.

Your party exchanged looks but didn’t question it. “Yeah, see you. Don’t let your friend glare us to death on the way out.”

You shot them a dry look but didn’t bother defending Anaxa. Mostly because… yeah. He was definitely glaring.

Without another word, you took the umbrella from his hand, popped it open, and started walking. He followed silently, his footsteps perfectly in sync with yours.

The walk home was… tense.

Not that he said anything. If anything, his silence was worse. Normally, Anaxa was either making sharp remarks, throwing blunt observations at you, or predicting your next move like some smug, all-knowing entity.

But right now?

Nothing.

By the time you got home, his hair was damp, strands clinging to his face from the rain. You frowned, tossing your wet jacket aside before turning to him. “Sit.”

Anaxa raised a brow. "What."

You crossed your arms. “Your hair’s wet. I’m blow-drying it.”

He blinked once. Then, for whatever reason, exhaled through his nose like he found that amusing. But he did as you said, sitting down without complaint.

You grabbed the hairdryer, plugged it in, and stood behind him, fingers threading lightly through his hair as you began drying it.

Still, he said nothing.

You huffed, ruffling his hair as you worked. “Alright, what’s your deal?”

"What deal."

“You’ve been quiet this whole time.”

"No, I haven't."

“Yes, you have.” You fluffed his bangs to dry them faster. “You’re usually the one lecturing me about every little thing I do. But now? Silence.”

Anaxa remained still, letting you dry his hair.

You sighed. “Look, if this is about the dungeon thing, I was just doing my job. That’s all.”

"I know."

…That was it?

You frowned, turning the dryer off and running your fingers through his now-fluffy hair. He still hadn’t moved.

But something about the way he sat there—the way he let you do this without a single complaint—felt off.

Like a storm had passed, but the tension still lingered in the air.

Even after everything—the rain, the silence, the weird tension—you and Anaxa somehow ended up bickering before bed.

It started with something stupid. You didn’t even remember what exactly, but it spiraled into another one of your usual back-and-forths.

"You should be more aware of your surroundings."

“I was literally fine.”

"You were unaware of my presence."

“Because I wasn’t expecting you to stalk me in the rain like some horror movie villain.”

"A lack of expectations leads to vulnerability."

You groaned, flopping onto your bed. “Yeah, yeah, whatever, Anaxa.”

His eye twitched. “Anaxagoras.”

“Anaxa.”

"Anaxagoras."

“Anaxa.”

"Anaxagoras."

“Anaxa.”

"Anaxa—"

Silence.

You blinked.

Anaxa blinked.

You stared at him. His expression remained eerily neutral, but you could see the moment he realized his mistake. His jaw tightened just slightly, and he looked like he was mentally rebooting.

Slowly, painfully, his eye closed in resignation.

“…Fine.” His voice was low, grudging. “But only you may call me that.”

You grinned in triumph, stretching out on the bed. “Good.”

He exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms as he stood near the doorway. His usual sharp gaze flickered toward you, but this time, he didn’t say anything else.

Not even when your breathing slowed.

Not even when sleep pulled you under.

You fell asleep easily, comfortably.

Anaxa, on the other hand, remained wide awake.

His eye lingered on your peaceful form, watching, thinking. Even as the room settled into silence, he made no move to rest.

Instead, he simply stood there, keeping watch—like he always would.

You woke up feeling well-rested—until you turned your head and saw the towering pile of books stacked haphazardly around your room.

What. The. Hell.

You groggily sat up, rubbing your eyes, only to see more books. They were scattered across the floor, some open, some closed, some stacked so high they threatened to topple over. The smell of ink and old paper filled the air.

And right in the middle of this chaotic mess, Anaxa sat calmly on the floor, flipping through yet another book.

You stared at him in horror. “What… is all this?”

Without looking up, he turned a page. “Books.”

You inhaled sharply. “I can see that, Anaxa.”

"Then why did you ask."

You groaned, pushing aside a book that had somehow made its way onto your bed. “Where the hell did you get all these? We don’t own this many books.”

"I retrieved them."

“…From where?”

He finally looked up, "From various sources."

That was not an answer.

Your headache worsened as you stared at the sheer number of books surrounding you. Titles about history, science, politics, philosophy, technology—some about this world, others about subjects that made your brain hurt just looking at them.

Wait.

Your stomach dropped. “Don’t tell me you—”

"I read them all."

Your jaw dropped. “In one night?”

"Yes." He closed the book he was holding and grabbed another from the pile. "Most of them were inefficiently written, but I extracted the necessary information."

You pressed your palms against your temples. “That’s not normal.”

"Neither am I."

You groaned, glancing around at the literary apocalypse that had consumed your home. “Please tell me you at least plan on returning them.”

"No."

“ANAXA—”

You inhaled deeply, staring at the absolute disaster of books flooding your home. You couldn’t live like this.

So, naturally, you went for the most drastic measure possible.

“I’ll burn them.”

Anaxa, still flipping through a book, barely spared you a glance. “No, you won’t.”

You grabbed the nearest book and held it up threateningly. “Watch me.”

That got his attention.

Before you could even think about setting it on fire, Anaxa moved.

One second, you were holding the book. The next, it was gone—snatched from your hands so fast you barely even registered it. He tossed it back onto the pile like nothing happened, his gaze sharp.

"Do not." His voice was firm, not angry, but absolute. "You lack the authority to destroy knowledge."

“I lack the patience to live in a damn library.” You glared at him. “Clean this up, or I swear—”

Knock. Knock.

Both of you froze.

The air in the room shifted instantly. The argument forgotten, tension replaced it. You exchanged a look with Anaxa. He was already on alert, his body subtly shifting into a more defensive stance.

You exhaled, stepping toward the door. “It’s probably nothing—”

"Wait."

But you had already turned the knob.

The door creaked open, revealing a figure standing just outside—a man draped in a dark cloak, his face shadowed. Something about him felt wrong.

Before you could even greet him, his hand moved.

BANG.

A gunshot rang through the air.

The man jerked back, staggering. He didn’t fall—just hissed, clutching his side before his eyes flicked toward Anaxa.

Anaxa, who had already drawn a gun, his aim perfectly steady, his expression cold.

The man clicked his tongue and, without another word, ran.

You barely processed what just happened before Anaxa stepped forward, his eye narrowing as he watched the figure disappear into the streets.

"Tch. Coward." He lowered his gun but didn’t put it away.

You swallowed hard, adrenaline still rushing through you. “…What the hell was that?”

"An attempted murder."

Your heart was still pounding, but something caught your eye—a small object glinting on the ground.

You bent down, picking it up. A badge.

The design was strange—an unfamiliar symbol etched into the metal, a twisting shape that made your head hurt if you stared at it too long.

“…Anaxa” you called, turning it in your hand.

He glanced down, eyeing the badge. Then, recognition flickered across his face.

"I’ve seen this before."

You blinked. “Where?”

"One of the books." He turned away, stepping over the scattered mess of texts he had dragged into your home. "This symbol belongs to a cult. A rather peculiar one."

A cult? That explained why that guy felt so… wrong.

You frowned. “What kind of cult?”

Anaxa picked up a book, flipping through the pages until he landed on the one he wanted. He held it up, showing you a faded illustration of the same symbol. “They believe in the revival of an ancient being. One that is expected to bring the world to a ‘new state.’”

“Define ‘new state.’”

"Destruction. Rebirth. The usual nonsense." He snapped the book shut. "They offer human sacrifices to fuel their goal. An inefficient and foolish method."

You exhaled sharply, gripping the badge. “Why would they come after me?”

“They weren’t after you.”

“…Then who?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he glanced at the badge again, then at the scattered books around him.

"They may have sensed something about me."

That alone was unsettling. If he was their target, then what exactly did they know?

----

Tracking them down wasn’t difficult.

Anaxa was efficient. Between the books he devoured and his own unsettling ability to predict outcomes, it didn’t take long to find their gathering spot.

A massive, ancient tree stood before you, its gnarled roots twisting through the earth like veins. The air was thick here, charged with something unseen.

“This is the place” you murmured, gripping your weapon.

"Naturally." Anaxa stood beside you, his stance casual, but you knew better. He was ready.

Shadows flickered beneath the tree’s canopy. The distant sound of hushed voices reached your ears.

“So. What’s the plan?”

He smirked slightly, rolling his shoulders.

"We do what we must."

And with that, you both stepped forward, disappearing into the darkness.

Anaxa moved like a force of nature.

One moment, the cultists were gathered in their eerie chants, their cloaks blending with the shadows beneath the great tree. The next, gunfire rang out, and bodies crumpled before they even realized what hit them.

"Pathetic." Anaxa’s voice was cold as he reloaded effortlessly, stepping over a fallen figure without a second thought. "They waste their lives on delusions."

You weren’t paying much attention to his massacre—you had your own job to do.

Slipping through the chaos, you avoided direct combat, focusing instead on the scattered documents and maps tucked away in makeshift altars. The more you could find about their leader, the faster you could end this.

Because in the end, that was the goal.

Not revenge. Not heroics.

Just peace.

You weren’t interested in whatever twisted faith these people had. And neither was Anaxa. He wasn’t fighting out of righteousness or hatred—just cold efficiency. Every bullet he fired, every movement he made was meant to erase the problem.

Because problems like these?

They got in the way of your life. His life. Your shared, quiet, normal life.

You rifled through some notes, eyes scanning messy handwriting about their leader’s whereabouts. Not far. Just deeper into the forest, a hidden ruin beneath the roots of this very tree.

You turned back to Anaxa just as the last cultist standing let out a strangled gurgle, collapsing to the ground.

“Find what you needed?” he asked, as if he hadn’t just slaughtered half a cult.

You nodded, holding up the documents. “Yeah. Their leader’s underground.”

"Then let's be done with it."

The underground ruin was exactly what you expected—dark, damp, and crawling with the last remnants of this cult.

You and Anaxa moved fast, cutting through whatever was left of their resistance. It wasn’t much. The ones left behind weren’t fighters—they were zealots, clinging to their faith even as they died screaming.

Eventually, you found him. The leader.

A gaunt, hollow-eyed man draped in ornate robes, standing before an altar, his expression eerily calm despite the carnage surrounding him.

"You are too late," he murmured, his voice carrying through the chamber. "The cycle will begin anew. The great one—"

BANG.

Anaxa shot him in the leg without hesitation.

The man let out a choked scream, collapsing onto one knee. His breath turned ragged, but his eerie smile didn’t falter.

"You cannot stop what has already been set in motion," he rasped. "Sacrifices have been made. The gate—"

Anaxa was in front of him in an instant.

You barely saw him move. One moment, he was standing beside you; the next, he had grabbed the man by the front of his robes, yanking him up with ease.

“I am not interested in your nonsense” Anaxa said, voice eerily calm. "You have wasted my time"

Before the cult leader could respond, Anaxa's hand—no, his fingers—sank into the man’s chest as if the flesh and bone were nothing. A sickening crack echoed through the chamber as Anaxa pulled his arm back, widening the gap in the man’s torso as though he were tearing paper apart.

You watched as the cultist’s chest cavity split open, ribs snapping under Anaxa’s grip. A hollow, gaping wound remained where his heart should’ve been.

The man let out a wet gasp, eyes wide with shock, before his body twitched and fell slack.

Anaxa let go. The corpse hit the ground with a dull thud, utterly ruined.

You exhaled, rolling your shoulders. “Well. That’s one way to do it.”

Anaxa shook the blood from his hands, not even sparing the body another glance. "I took the most efficient route."

Of course he did.

You stepped past the corpse, glancing at the ruined altar. Whatever ritual they had planned—whatever insane goal they were working toward—died with that man.

Anaxa turned to you, wiping the last of the blood from his fingers.

"Shall we go home?"

By the time you got home, exhaustion was hitting you hard.

Your legs ached, your head pounded, and all you wanted was to collapse into bed and not exist for a few hours.

But then—

You opened the door.

And there they were.

The mountains of books Anaxa had hoarded still sat in your home like a damn dragon’s treasure pile.

You stared at the disaster before you, something inside you snapping.

“Nope,” you said, voice flat. “I’m done. I’m burning them.”

"No, you’re not."

“I am.”

"You are not."

“I am, Anaxa. I swear to every god and force in this world, I am setting fire to this damn mess—”

Before you could even think about moving toward your lighter, Anaxa appeared in front of you in an instant, his hands gripping your wrists, effectively stopping you in place.

You struggled, glaring up at him. “Let me go.”

"No."

“Anaxa.”

"You lack the capability to properly organize this knowledge. It is better under my possession."

“Oh my god, I don’t want to organize it, I want it gone—”

Anaxa leaned in closer, his face inches from yours. “You are being irrational.”

Your breath hitched, and suddenly, you were very aware of how close he was.

His grip on your wrists was firm, his fingers pressing against your skin—but not painfully.

“You hoarded like, a hundred books in one night. I think that’s way more irrational than me wanting to burn them.”

"Incorrect. My actions were logical. Yours are emotional."

“Oh, shut up.”

You yanked one of your hands free and jabbed his cheek with your finger.

For a moment, the two of you just stood there. You glaring, him staring. His hand was still wrapped around your other wrist, but he wasn’t holding it too tightly anymore.

"You are amusing when you are frustrated."

You groaned, dropping your head against his shoulder in defeat. “I hate you.”

"No, you don't."

Damn it. You really didn’t.

----

After all the chaos at the dungeon, and the strange cult, you figured your friends deserved something for always having your back.

So, you decided to cook for them.

The problem? You weren’t exactly a master chef.

But thanks to someone’s obsessive hoarding, you had plenty of resources to learn from.

Anaxa had finally cleaned up the disaster he’d created—mostly because you forced him to by threatening to burn everything again. You even bought shelves so he could actually store his ridiculous book collection instead of letting it take over your floor.

And now, one of those books—a cooking guide—was in your hands.

You flipped through it, scanning the recipes. “Alright,” you muttered. “Let’s do this.”

Anaxa, lounging nearby, raised a brow. “You are attempting to expand your culinary skills?”

“I’m testing out different dishes for my friends” you said, already gathering ingredients. “Since they always help me out.”

"Logical. It is good to maintain positive social relations with allies."

You shot him a look. “You could just say it’s a nice thing to do, you know.”

He smirked but said nothing.

What started as a simple plan quickly spiraled into something bigger.

Every day, you tried a different dish, experimenting with flavors and techniques. Some turned out amazing. Others… well, let’s just say there were a few disasters along the way.

And Anaxa?

He was your official taste tester.

At first, you weren’t sure if he’d even care about food. But surprisingly, he gave some of the most detailed feedback you’d ever heard.

"Too much salt. The texture is acceptable, but the flavor balance is slightly off."

"This one is adequate. Not outstanding, but not offensive to the palate."

"Interesting. The layering of flavors in this dish is commendable. You are improving."

And sometimes—when you made something really good—

He would go completely silent after taking a bite. Then, after a long pause, he would just say, "More."

It was almost funny seeing someone as composed as him get that into food.

After a week of testing, you finally decided on the perfect dish.

A warm, comforting meal—one that was simple yet flavorful, something that would make your friends feel appreciated.

You set the final plate down in front of Anaxa, watching as he took a bite.

A pause. Then, he gave a slow nod. “This is the best one.”

You smiled. “Yeah. I think so too.”

----

Peace never lasted long in your life.

Not because you were reckless. Not because you sought out trouble.

But because trouble always found you.

And now, with Anaxa by your side, that fact had only intensified.

The cult wasn’t the last problem you faced. Far from it. Strange anomalies began surfacing—events that defied logic, creatures that shouldn’t exist, distortions in reality itself.

At first, you thought they were just isolated incidents. Freak occurrences. But after the third time you and Anaxa had to deal with something that shouldn’t be possible, you realized this wasn’t a coincidence.

Maybe that was the reason he was sent to you in the first place.

"You attract chaos" Anaxa had commented once, standing over the remains of a creature that had melted into nothingness after you defeated it.

You scoffed. “I attract chaos? What about you?”

"I am the solution to chaos."

That was debatable.

But as time passed, and the two of you continued dealing with these anomalies, you started to notice something unsettling.

If Anaxa had ended up with someone else—someone dangerous—

What would have happened?

Would he still be this person in front of you? Cold, blunt, but genuine? Or would he have been twisted into something else?

You weren’t naïve. You knew people would kill for power like his. The thought of him in the hands of someone truly evil made your stomach turn.

But he wasn’t with them. He was with you.

And despite the chaos, despite the exhaustion, despite the endless stream of bizarre encounters—

You didn’t hate this life.

You glanced at Anaxa, who was casually flipping through a book, as if the two of you hadn’t just fought some reality-warping entity an hour ago.

Yeah.

This life wasn’t so bad.

[writeriguess]

hiii may I request katsuki x reader where he has to go to a work trip overseas and reader stays home, where she finds out she’s pregnant (or it could be the other way around, we stan prohero reader) 🥹 ofc when he comes back she has the news prepared, please tooth rooting fluff 🫶🫶

Future Little Explosive

Katsuki Bakugo had been gone for just over a week on an overseas work trip, and it was already driving you insane. He called every night, making sure you were eating properly, locking up before bed, and not overworking yourself. He was as gruff as ever, muttering complaints about jet lag and how annoying his colleagues were, but you could hear the longing behind every word. He missed you. And there was something you hadn’t told him yet—something that made every call feel heavier with a secret.

You were pregnant.

The realization had hit you two days after he left, when your body felt off in a way that couldn’t be ignored. The nausea, the exhaustion, the unusual cravings—it all clicked together. A few tests later, and there it was: two solid pink lines staring right back at you. You had spent the following days in a mix of shock, excitement, and pure anticipation, thinking of how to tell Katsuki the life-changing news. You could already imagine his reaction—equal parts disbelief and sheer pride.

You had started picking at your meals more, wondering if you should change your diet already. You found yourself resting your hands over your stomach absentmindedly, marveling at the fact that a tiny life was growing inside you. The thought made you emotional at odd moments, and you cursed your hormones when you teared up over something as simple as dropping a spoon. More than anything, though, you wished Katsuki was home to experience this with you.

By the time he was due to return home, you had everything planned. You wanted it to be perfect—something that would catch him off guard in the best way possible. You decorated the living room subtly, nothing too flashy because you knew your husband would immediately be suspicious if he walked into something too extravagant. Instead, you placed a small, neatly wrapped box on the kitchen counter with a onesie inside that read: Future Little Explosive.

When the front door finally swung open, you practically ran to him, throwing your arms around his neck as he grunted in surprise, his strong arms instantly securing you against him. He smelled like the airport and faintly of smoke, but to you, it was the most comforting scent in the world.

“Missed me that much, huh?” His voice was low, teasing, but there was a tenderness behind it that only you ever got to hear.

“You have no idea,” you murmured, breathing in his scent. It had been too long without him.

He kissed your forehead before stepping back, scanning you up and down with narrowed eyes. “You look different.”

Your heart jumped, but you played it cool. “Long week.”

As he dropped his bags by the door and toed off his boots, you grabbed his hand, tugging him toward the kitchen. “C’mere, I got you something.”

He raised an eyebrow but followed without protest, his sharp crimson eyes flicking to the small box on the counter. “What’s this?”

“Open it and see.”

With a skeptical huff, he tugged at the ribbon and lifted the lid. His brows furrowed at first as he pulled out the tiny onesie, turning it over in his hands. The room was silent for a moment, and you watched as realization dawned on his face.

His grip on the fabric tightened slightly, eyes flicking up to meet yours, wide and searching. “Wait… are you serious?”

You nodded, tears already pricking at your eyes. “Yeah, Katsuki. We’re having a baby.”

For a second, he just stared, his jaw clenching like he was trying to keep his emotions in check. His fingers trembled slightly around the fabric, his breath shaky. And then, with no warning, he surged forward, crashing his lips against yours in a kiss that was all passion, relief, and overwhelming love.

“Holy shit,” he breathed against your lips, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against yours. “You’re serious?”

You let out a watery laugh, nodding. “Dead serious.”

A rare, unguarded smile broke across his face, something so raw and full of emotion that it made your heart swell. His hands, which had always been rough and calloused from years of hero work, were gentle as they moved to rest on your stomach. His touch was hesitant at first, like he couldn’t believe it was real. Then, he pressed his palm fully against you, his warmth seeping through your clothes.

“We’re gonna have a little brat running around, huh?” His voice was softer now, almost in awe.

You placed your hands over his. “Yeah, we are.”

He exhaled sharply, then let out a low chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. “Shit, I’m gonna be a dad.”

“Yeah, you are.”

For once, he seemed lost for words. His usual cocky attitude had melted away into something far more vulnerable, and it made you love him even more. He pulled you in again, holding you like he never wanted to let go. And in that moment, you knew—this was the beginning of something incredible.

[oddcatharsis]

cw: mdni, erotic va!gaz, voice kink, 380 words

thinking about reader who listens to erotic audios. even has a nice rotation of voice actors they listen to often. one of those happens to be kyle "gaz" garrick

erotic va!kyle, who's built himself a small little community. a group of people who wait for a new audio every week

his audios are what you would expect hearing his voice. gentle, talks you through it, aftercare, the works. the perfect boyfriend experience

but every once in a blue moon, he releases something rough. bordering on mean sometimes, and that is what you're always especially excited for

one way or the other, reader and kyle meet. be it the bar, cafe, street. they end up in the same place and hit it off. well enough to exchange numbers and plan a proper date

reader always thinks that kyle has an attractive voice, but between that and the fucking great sex she gets from him, she doesnt really listen to audios anymore

when she asks what he does for work on the first date, he keeps it pretty vague

says that he's a voice actor (true), that he hasn't been in anything big but he's been in a few video games (also true)

he just fails to tell her that he also does erotic audios

erotic va!kyle, who doesn't bring it up until he's pretty sure things are getting serious

drops it on you one night he's at your place, a casual "probably should tell you this.."

and he'll act like its no big deal. that he's not nervous as hell, practically prepared himself for you to break off the precarious relationship the two of you built

instead, there's a moment of silence as you process everything. you're pulling out your phone, mumbling a "holy shit..." under your breath

you show him your phone, his account pulled up. his brain just. stops working for a moment

he isn't really sure if he should be flattered or embarrassed that you recognized him that quickly (he settles on a mix of the two)

long story short, when he leaves for a few weeks to visit friends and family back home, you're not really thinking about feeling pent up until he comes back home

he's only a few clicks away, after all

[blairxbear]

Hit with a Villain’s Sex Quirk & They NEED You NOW!

UA Part 1 / UA Part 2 / Pro Heroes / Villains

(All readers are aged up, UA students are now Pro Heroes)

They’re desperate, aching, and the only thing that can ease their suffering… is YOU

Featuring Aged Up: Katsuki Bakugo, Tamaki Amajiki, Hitoshi Shinso, Eijiro Kirishima, Mezo Shoji, Fumikage Tokoyami, Rikido Sato, Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu

Katsuki Bakugo

The second the quirk hits, he stiffens, his breathing ragged.

Heat floods his body, his skin burning, muscles tense as his fingers twitch.

At first, he tries to fight it. He grits his teeth, growling, his body shaking with need.

“The fck kinda quirk is this?!”*

When he sees you, though? His restraint shatters.

Storms toward you, eyes dark, pupils blown wide.

“Y/N… I need you. NOW.”

Doesn’t even give you a chance to tease him—his hands are on you immediately.

So desperate, so rough, so possessive.

“I don’t care what’s going on. I’m not waiting. I need you—NOW.”

Tamaki Amajiki

Poor baby is MORTIFIED.

Instantly flushes bright red, his body trembling as he fights the intense heat flooding his veins.

His entire body feels like it’s on fire, his mind foggy, his skin overly sensitive.

Covers his face with his hands, breathing heavily.

“N-No, this… I-I c-can’t…”

The moment you touch him, even just placing a gentle hand on his arm?

He shudders, whimpering, his breath hitching as his body reacts.

Tries to hold back, tries to be respectful, but he’s losing control fast.

“P-Please… Y/N… I—I need you… I can’t t-take it…”

Completely desperate, clinging to you, burying his face against your neck.

Hitoshi Shinso

Staggers when the quirk hits, immediately groaning as heat pools low in his stomach.

Tries to act cool about it, but his body betrays him.

His hands grip whatever is closest, his breathing getting heavier as his pupils dilate.

“Sht… this is bad…”*

When he sees you, his control completely shatters.

“Y/N… I need you. Right now.”

He doesn’t care where you are—he’s dragging you somewhere private immediately.

Voice is lower, raspier, completely wrecked with need.

“Please, don’t make me beg.”

Eijiro Kirishima

Gasps when the quirk hits, stumbling slightly as his body reacts.

His hands clench into fists, his breathing ragged.

At first, he tries to shake it off, grinning nervously.

“Ha… ha… wow, uh… I think something’s wrong…”

Then it gets worse. The ache deepens, and suddenly, nothing else matters except YOU.

Finds you as fast as he can, panting, his hands shaking as he grips your shoulders.

“Babe… I don’t think I can—”

His usual restraint is GONE. He’s all needy, desperate, primal desire.

“Please, I need you. NOW.”

Mezo Shoji

The second the quirk hits, he stiffens, all six arms trembling as he gasps sharply.

His entire body feels like it’s burning from the inside out.

His self-control is legendary, but even HE is struggling.

His hands grip the nearest surface, fingers digging in as he fights to stay upright.

“I… I don’t know how much longer I can…”

When he sees you, everything clicks.

His instincts scream for you, his restraint slipping as his entire body begs for relief.

Slowly approaches, his voice strained and breathless.

“Y/N… I need you.”

Fumikage Tokoyami

Dark Shadow immediately panics.

“Uh, boss? You okay? You’re looking kinda… HOT.”

His whole body is tense, shuddering with need as he struggles to stay composed.

His usual calm demeanor? Completely shattered.

Grips onto the nearest surface, his breathing heavy and controlled.

“This… this is unbearable…”

When he sees you, his control is gone.

Dark Shadow snickers. “Ohhh, I see what’s happening. You need your mate, huh?”

You barely get a word in before he’s pulling you close, his voice low and urgent.

“Help me, Y/N. I need you.”

Rikido Sato

Groans immediately, his entire body stiffening as the quirk washes over him.

His hands clench into fists, his breath coming out in short, shaky gasps.

He’s used to handling intense physical strain, but THIS? This is a whole different challenge.

His body feels heavy, hot, aching for you.

When he finally finds you, he grips your waist tightly, his forehead resting against yours.

“I— I don’t know how much longer I can hold on…”

Completely desperate, pressing himself against you.

“I need you, babe. Right now.”

Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu

Grunts when the quirk hits, shaking his head as heat floods his body.

His entire body aches with need, and he groans loudly.

“O-Okay… this is… wow, this is bad.”

Tries to act tough, but he’s struggling.

His steel skin is practically radiating heat, his fingers twitching at his sides.

The moment he sees you? He sprints to you, grabbing your wrist with a desperate grip.

“Babe— I NEED you. Now. Please.”

His usual competitive nature is gone—he’s completely at your mercy.

[lucidl0ser]

Soooooo.. this might be a lil too dark. But anyways, can I get Taiju, Draken, Sanzu, Izana and the Haitanis with a reader that’s used to lots of yelling. Like, grew up with parents who argued and yelled a lot. Often sleeping at friend’s houses bc she didn’t want to go home. So she very often starts to argue over small things, and thinks even the smallest things are gonna be an argument bc she was raised that way.

I love a little bit of angst at times♡ I hope you enjoy! Sorry I couldn't do all the characters, my attention span has been bad

*********************Taiju, Draken, and Sanzu with traumatized! Reader

*********************

Taiju

○ Taiju is very used to the yelling and arguing from being a gang leader and everything that he did to his siblings. Tho after Hakkai stood up to him, he went to therapy and learned all the yelling was not healthy.

○ He set himself straight and met you. But further into the relationship, he started to notice your behavior. At any simple miscommunication or issue, you'd blow up and start an argument. It's almost like you're trying to assert yourself as right and strong.

○ He knew he had to make some changes when after an argument over the dishes, you chose to go stay at a friend's. He needs to fix these unresolved issues with you fast.

○ Now when an argument starts, instead of yelling back or trying to argue, he takes a deep breath and reminds you he's not the enemy. He isn't going to yell at you for forgetting to take the chicken out of the freezer. It'll take some time, but he wants to help you heal. This is a safe place, he would never hurt you

Draken

○ Draken isn't gonna put up with your arguments. He's not gonna scream and yell at you, if you're not gonna discuss the issue at hand like adults, he's gonna give you space

○ Even if he has to leave his own place so you have somewhere to stay for the night, he'll go crash at Mikey's or something til you can get in a clear head space to talk normally

○ He knows how you were raised and he hates it. He hates arguments and tries to avoid them as much as possible. He's also a gentleman. He'd never yell at a woman or even think about showing himself as superior. That's just dumb

○ He knows it isn't the nicest thing, but he's gotta break your bad habits one way or another

Sanzu

○ Sanzu is a very different case. Man is traumatized as well with the yelling and arguments. He argued with Takeomi just about every day before leaving, so you two don't blend very well

○ He definitely takes the arguments personally, feeling attacked the moment you raise your voice. He definitely doesn't understand at first, thinking you're just attacking him instead of realizing your trauma, so he yells back

○ But the moment you leave to stay with one of your friends, it all clicks. And he makes some big changes

○ Next argument, he just stays silent until you're finished or realize he hasn't said a word. Afterward, he'd just ask simple questions like what you two should have for dinner or if you're gonna watch a movie that night. It's not the best, but it at least distracts you for a bit til he can find you two a good therapist

*********************

[coffeecat1983]

@bberetd @dreamyluigi

Okay so this is different from my other SPM works, in this, L is aware of Luigi and everything going on with the bros. Heavily inspired by Stephen King's Dreamcatcher, a novel and movie I hold dear to my heart.

Caution for suggestive themes and dialog.

   It was with a low grumble that Mr. L finally stopped his work on Brobot, opting to take a break from the intense work. Seeing that he was alone, he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.    He knew this body wasn't his, the original owner was trapped with him, tucked neatly away behind a mental wall that he couldn't escape from. Focusing, L dove into his, their, mind. Sauntering amid the library stacks of memories he couldn't help but smirk when he heard the soft whimpering. Turning the corner he grinned at the figure that was curled up and quietly weeping behind the glowing barrier.      "Pathetic." he sneered. Ignoring his counterpart, L began to wander and look over the various books that served as memories. He would have picked some up, tore them apart, but touching certain ones had given him a nasty shock so he held back on his mood for destruction.    Leaving the stacks he turned his attention to an area that was bathed in red light.      "Now what could this be?"    The area was a small alcove with a mahogany chest tucked back against the wall, the red light casting an alluring glow. Setting foot in the light, L gasped as an intense feeling swept over him, making him break out into a sweat. He grabbed the wall as his head spun. Letting out a shuddering sigh, he savored the feeling that he recognized as intense lust. Regaining control of himself, he licked his lips as he eyed his new prize.      "Well now, it seems my host has a few naughty secrets." he purred, kneeling before the chest and cracking it open. Reaching in, his eyes glinted as he pulled out what was inside.

   Luigi sniffled and wiped at his eyes as footsteps were heard nearby. "P-Please, let me out!" he begged the figure in black.    L clicked his tongue as he leaned against the barrier. "No can do, wimp. This place is mine now. But more importantly, you've been hiding something, haven't you?" He grinned wickedly as he held something up. Fanning out the photos, he held them out like a dealer with a pack of cards.      "Sweet little Weege, so quiet, so innocent." he teased. "What would your dear friends and family think if they saw these?" He tossed a few and they slipped past the barrier, landing in front of Luigi. The other's eyes went wide as he saw them. His most intimate fantasies were now on the floor at his feet.    Holding Daisy, sliding her dress from her shoulders as he placed heated kisses on her neck.    The desire to sneak away, take her into the shadows and giving her endless pleasure...      "You naughty thing!" L scolded, holding up another set. He looked them over, grinning to himself. "A princess and a prince?" He began to flip them into the barrier, one by one.    Peasley whispering to him, drawing him away from the others and off to his private chambers.    Lost in his lover's arms as the two shared more than a few drinks, the stars the only ones watching as they made love under the night sky.    There was another snicker as L flipped though more of the photos. "Oh if your brother could see these. You have one very filthy mind for such a pathetic worm. I mean, really, your disgusting hero of a brother isn't that greedy, he only wants Peach." he tossed the photos down and Luigi scrambled to gather them all.      "G-Get out." Mr. L raised an eyebrow. "What was that?"    Luigi let out a sob. "GET OUT!" he screamed, doubling over as he clutched the photos to his chest. "Just... get away from me." his tears pattered on the ground as he cried. Mr. L scowled and turned away. He'd had his fun, now it was time to return to work.    He'd take down that meddlesome hero, then he'd find a way to purge that pest and claim his place in this body. He swore he would.

END By "CC"

heheheheheheh…. C1 with Weegee and E1 with Mr. Loser 👉🏾👈🏾

oh i can't turn down a boma request... hm. okay. so what's going on here exactly you might be asking

i don't know. maybe we should leave them alone .

[iamdispleased]

i have been trying figure out who ted spankoffski reminds me of since the day tgwdlm came out and i finally got it

joe from sewage from parks & rec

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

oh i just felt my stomach drop. no...

[babyboywilson]

clinical rotations…. officially finished! I did it yall! 15 months of rotations and today I finally finished my last day as a student doctor! graduation is just 20 days away and I’ll earn my degree in veterinary medicine! also crossing fingers next week I get my NAVLE results and hopefully (begging and pleading and praying) to pass and earn my license too!

it’s been the craziest, busiest, intense, exhausting, yet surreal experience ever! but I did it and I learned so much! now to enjoy the next 3 weeks of relaxation now that I’ve officially completed my clinical year of being a veterinarian extern!

[ikigaisvt]

do you sometimes just

[v-iv-rusty]

I hate having to rearrange my desktop it feels like someone's sticking a spatula in my brain and stirring it around

[depresseddepot]

to avoid thinking about my cat's surgery I've been painting and I am so fucking bad at mixing colors lmao

[hanasnx]

“ SHE JUST WENT TO HEAVEN AND BACK ” — clark kent.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ WARNINGS: fem reader ノ established relationship ノ sexual content: riding dick ノ playing dumb for a boy ノ some light humping ノ reader has kinda long hair ノ size difference.

you’re so desperate for clueless CLARK KENT’s attention that you play dumb and get him to mansplain his video game to you while you sit in his lap. he’s been busy lately and to get him to take the hint you wear one of your shortest skirts, invite yourself into the best seat in the house, and ask, “what’s this?” gesturing to his lit tv screen.

he explains it all, some boring lore he’s really into and the controls and the tricky part he’s stuck on right now.. and you resist the urge to roll your eyes at him. his pretty girl is sitting in his lap and he’s not even paying it any mind. but clark is paying it mind. he’s rambling bcos he’s nervous, and if you’d turn your head you’d see the pink dusting his cheeks. he can feel your bare thighs through his denim, and your floral shampoo fills his nose… he trails off mid sentence when he focuses too hard on the growing interest in his pants.

“i wanna play.” you say when you’ve had enough of his aimless babble, and without thinking it through, clark places the controller snugly in your palms, while his larger hands overlay yours.

“alright, so this button…” his thumb atop yours presses down in a click, and you see the avatar swipe air with his sword because of it. “is your attack move… and this—“ you’re not paying any attention to what he’s teaching you. instead, your brain conjures up evil memories of everything you’ve been missing. your eyes wander to the corner of his bed he’s sitting on, and you wish he’d fold you over on it like before. wrestle you down and pin you so he could flip your little skirt up and get to work. you’re tuning out his words while he’s playing the game over your hands which dampen with sweat, suddenly hot and bothered at the thought of him fucking you in this position… if only he were brave enough to unbuckle his pants.

your lips press together, your heart rate quickens, and clark’s ears perk up. thump thump… thump thump… thump thump…

he inhales sharply, right as the sting of what it feels like to be filled by him shoots up your core like lightning. you jump in place a little at the cruel trick your mind is playing on you, and the friction of your ass bumping against his halfie makes it twitch as it chubs up. the avatar’s HP lowers little by little as its enemies overwhelm it, but neither of you move.

“why didn’t you say anything?” clark’s breathless words come out husky and sultry as he chuffs them out of his teeth, lifting you up and down by your hips like you’re nothing more than a weight at the gym. your hands lay atop his, twisting your face as that cock buries itself right where you needed it, bullying that spongy spot in you sore from neglect. “i’ve been thinking about you, too…” he fills the silence, paired with the wet sounds of an eager pussy swallowing him up. he yanks you back, and you land on his chest still clothed, your hair bunches up on his shoulder while his lips find your ear. your hips now married with his, he rolls yours, screwing his dick into you like he’s rediscovering all your nooks n crannies.

one arm rounds you to secure you against him in a warm embrace, seeking out your clit between your spread legs, toying with it like taffy and it makes you whine.

“you didn’t have to act like you cared about my game,” he’s taunting you, right in your ear, ending it with a gentle nip of his teeth to your shell. the point of his canine sends a shock through you, and your legs straighten involuntarily. he keeps you where he wants you with overpowering strength, you can’t raise yourself when he’s got you in a vice. his thumb and index feel cruel against your bud, as if chastising you for trying to trick him.

“well, it worked, didn’t it?” you exhale, leisurely squirming against him desperate for some movement. there’s pride in your voice.

“this skirt worked.” he corrects. the skirt now bunched up around your waist about the same time he’d pushed his denim out of the way so he could free his cock and give you a new seat. “could hear your heartbeat, you were so obvious… c’mere.” he grants your wish for more, pushing you forward so he could gather your arms behind you. bent, your feet barely toe the ground while he uses your wrists to leverage you, tugging you back while he bounces you up with the force of his hips.

[flwrkid14]

Love and Obsession: The Tim Drake Way

part 2

Everyone in the Batfamily knows Tim Drake has… issues with boundaries. They’ve spent years trying to teach him what’s appropriate and what’s—well—deeply unsettling and completely invasive. To be fair, he’s learned. Mostly. He doesn’t stalk his family anymore (much), and he no longer pulls up files on every single person they talk to (okay, maybe just sometimes). But it’s progress.

But then Tim starts dating Danny Fenton. And, oh boy, a few screws come loose.

It starts small, as always. Just little things. Tim’s a detective, after all—background checks are second nature. Danny’s living in Gotham, and Gotham isn’t safe. So, really, what’s the harm in knowing a little more about Danny’s friends? And his professors? And maybe also his classmates? It’s just standard protocol. Okay?

“Tim, you’ve run a full dossier on my entire biology class?” Danny asks one day, laughing as he flips through a file on the coffee table. Tim shrugs. “What if one of them is dangerous?” “Pretty sure the most dangerous thing in that class is the midterm.”

Danny doesn’t think much of it. He’s a little flattered, even. Tim’s protective. It’s sweet.

But Tim’s mind doesn’t stop there. Danny’s too handsome. Too charming. What if someone tries to hurt him? What if someone tries to take him away? It’s not obsessive—it’s just concern. So, a tracker on Danny’s phone? Necessary. Cameras in his apartment? Standard. Monitoring his sleeping patterns and hangout spots? Logical.

Tim tells himself it’s love. And maybe a little insecurity.

“You have a tracker on his phone?” Dick asks, trying not to sound alarmed. Tim nods, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Of course. What if something happens to him?” “And the cameras?” “Safety.” “The background checks on his professors?” “Gotham U isn’t exactly known for its stellar staff, Dick.”

It doesn’t stop there. Tim knows everything. Danny’s eating habits, his favorite places to go when he’s stressed, his childhood allergies. Tim’s mapped out Danny’s entire life. He knows about Danny’s ghost powers too—of course he does. He’s Tim Drake. The moment he realized Danny was Phantom, it just… clicked.

Danny being half-ghost? That’s just one more reason to worry. Tim’s up late at night, watching for any signs of ectoplasmic interference. He tracks the energy spikes. He monitors Danny’s fights.

He doesn’t think Danny knows. He’s terrified of what will happen if he finds out.

But then he does.

One evening, Danny walks into Tim’s apartment and casually drops a folder on the table. Tim’s heart stops.

“What’s this?” Danny asks, raising an eyebrow. Tim swallows hard. “I… it’s just…” “You’ve been tracking me?” Danny opens the file, glancing through pages of surveillance reports, background checks, even analysis of his ectoplasmic energy. Tim feels like his world is about to shatter.

“I… I can explain,” Tim says, his voice tight. “I’m just… worried about you. You’re in danger all the time, and I—” Danny walks over, cupping Tim’s face in his hands. Tim braces for the worst.

But Danny just smiles. “Can I put a tracker on you too?”

Tim blinks. “What?” Danny kisses his cheek. “If you’re watching my back, it’s only fair I watch yours. I need to make sure you’re safe too.”

Tim stares at him, speechless. Danny doesn’t look scared. Or angry. He looks… fond. Like Tim’s obsessive tendencies aren’t a problem at all.

“I’ve never had someone care about me this much,” Danny says softly. “I trust you with my life, Tim. This? This just proves how serious you are.”

Tim thinks he’s just fallen deeper in love.

-------------------

The Batfamily? They’re worried.

Jason corners Tim in the cave. “Okay, so let me get this straight. You’ve got cameras in his apartment. You’ve mapped out his entire life. You’ve got a tracker on him and a heartbeat monitor. And he’s… fine with it?” Tim nods, a dreamy smile on his face. “Yeah. He even wants to put a tracker on me.” “That’s not… healthy, Tim,” Dick says carefully. “That’s—” “It’s mutual,” Tim interrupts. “We’re protecting each other.”

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. “Tim, this isn’t how relationships are supposed to work.” Tim shrugs. “It’s how ours works.”

Damian watches the whole thing with narrowed eyes. “This is deeply unsettling,” he mutters.

They try to talk to Danny. Intervention style. They invite him over, sit him down, and gently (or not so gently) try to explain that Tim’s behavior isn’t normal.

Danny just laughs. “You guys do know I’m half-ghost, right?” “That doesn’t mean—” Dick starts. “I spent my entire life being hunted by ghost hunters. I’ve had worse invasions of privacy.” Danny smiles. “Tim cares. He keeps me safe. That’s all I need.”

The bats don't quite know what to say.

-------------------

Tim and Danny, two slightly unhinged souls who think mutual surveillance is the ultimate act of love.

The bats? They’re just trying to keep up.

(“At least they’re happy?” Barbara offers weakly. Bruce sighs. “For now.”)

Gotham’s version of love was never going to be normal. But this? This is a whole new level.