#i get distracted and lose the plot entirely

[xremusx]

closed starter for @alekgray​​ location: all fours

The events of Lupercalia seemed so long ago now, but Remus could not forget it. As much as he had looked down upon the lycans back when he was a vampire, that was a long time ago now. It seemed like he had lived several different lives with many different faces. This one that he was currently inhabiting had been one stolen from a man that knew no better. He had been a witch that Remus took from and had no care for if he lived or died. The terror had a one track mind. He knew what he wanted and he made sure it was going to happen. At some point. It took too much time to really handle this whole Romulus thing and he wanted to get it done as quickly as possible now. What point did he have in waiting? There were others in the way that would make it difficult for him, but it seemed these lycans had a common goal. Not in killing his brother, but in making sure the Senate got put down quickly. Plus, he did like the idea of bloodshed. That seemed to be something only the lycans could provide to him right now. He certainly wasn’t getting an army from the drow.

His in to make his way to the alpha had been to mimic one of the many lycans that could make their way through the thick fog that blinded those that did not wield the proper tools to wander through it. Once he had gotten to the bar, he let go of the face for the one that he had been wearing for many years now. A drink was in his hand as he waited for an appearance from the one they called Alek. A volatile alpha. Remus was a bit of a fan of someone who would rip a heart out and eat it in front of a large crowd of people. He would never admit to such a thing though. His own ego was large enough for one room. He certainly didn’t need someone else’s blowing up as well. The terror was a bit selfish in that way. 

“Alek Gray, correct?” That was the name he had remembered being said and the face he remembered. “We have a lot to discuss.”

[mephisto-reporting]

Jealousy, Jealousy with Sylus

Plot: Reader becomes jealous of Sylus and MC's closeness, distancing herself and seeking comfort in another LI. Sylus notices her growing distance and takes action. Based on this request. Pairing: Sylus x Non MC reader Content Warning: Insecurities, injuries, mention of blood, jealousy, angst, hurt/comfort Note: Reader is not the MC of the game. I think I got quite carried away writing this because I am a sucker for angst.

The faint hum of the air condition echoed through the Onychinus base, its opulent, luxurious atmosphere doing little to distract from the knot twisting in your stomach. You stood across from Luke and Kieran, their crow masks tilted slightly as if to gauge your reaction.

"Boss isn't here today," Luke said casually, his hands tucked into his pockets. "He’s in Linkon, Boss man’s got other things to handle."

Kieran, his mask tilted slightly to the side, gave a confused grunt. "But I thought he was meeting with her...?"

Luke raised a brow, correcting him. "No, no, he was meeting with Miss Hunter."

Miss Hunter.

The words hit you like a sledgehammer, even though they shouldn’t have. You were a hunter too, an informant who had been feeding Sylus critical intel on the association’s movements for two years now. But she was different. Special.

Captain Jenna’s star pupil, with her rare Anhaunsen-class Resonance Evol, was someone Sylus had spent weeks trying to connect with, both literally and emotionally. You weren’t blind to the necessity of it; resonating with her was crucial for his goals, ones he hadn’t entirely shared with you but that you trusted him to pursue.

Trusted him. Loved him.

You forced a tight smile. "Thanks for the update. I'll let you two get back to it."

Luke and Kieran exchanged a glance, but you were already walking away, the echo of your boots swallowed by the hum of the base.

The ride back to Linkon was supposed to clear your mind. It didn’t.

The cool wind whipped against your face, but all it did was sting the tears pooling in your eyes. The road stretched endlessly ahead, yet the pressure in your chest only grew. Sylus hadn’t seen you in two months. Two months of unanswered calls and messages reduced to half-hearted responses when they came at all.

You understood why he was focused on her. She was crucial to his plans. She was everything you weren’t: poised, pretty, powerful, and, most importantly, someone he needed.

But understanding didn’t make it hurt any less.

The world blurred around you as your thoughts spiraled. You had always known your place in Sylus’ life. You were the informant, the quiet insider who helped him stay two steps ahead of the hunters. Somewhere along the way, though, you had fallen for him. For the man who wasn’t as cold and calculated as others believed. It had been two long years since you started working with Sylus. Two years filled with secrecy, lies, and hidden truths. But over those years, you'd found yourself tangled in emotions for him that you couldn’t shake. Sylus, with his cold authority, his dangerous smile, his complex nature… He was all you could think about. He wasn’t as dismissive as people thought. He had a way of looking at you when no one was watching—a fleeting softness that you cherished, even if you couldn’t be certain if it was real.

And now, it felt like you were losing him.

Your bike screeched to a halt near Meow’s Café. You hadn’t planned to stop, but the sight of the familiar storefront tugged at you. Perhaps a coffee and a moment to breathe would help.

The glass windows glinted under the midday sun, and your breath hitched as you looked inside.

Sylus was there. With her.

They sat at a small table, a deck of Kitty cards spread between them. He was leaning back, his smirk in full display as she laughed at something he said. It was the kind of laugh that reached her eyes, the kind of moment you had only ever dreamed of sharing with him.

You froze, your hands tightening on your helmet.

For a fleeting second, you wanted to march inside and demand answers. To ask him why he had time to play cards but couldn’t return your calls. To tell him how his absence had hollowed you out.

But you didn’t.

He looks so happy... you thought bitterly, swallowing the lump in your throat.

The truth gnawed at you. Every interaction, every ignored message, every unread notification on your phone—it was because of her. Because Sylus had more important things to do. She was the one who mattered now. She was the one who he had to resonate with, had to bond with, had to make fall for him.

And you? You were just a pawn, a tool—forgotten. And there you were. Alone. Watching through a window, the warmth of the cafe contrasting the cold, empty feeling in your stomach. He hadn’t even bothered to let you know he was back. He was with her. You couldn’t bear to watch any longer, but you couldn’t look away either. It felt like the world was spinning faster than you could catch up, and you were left stranded, dizzy, and abandoned.

Instead, you turned away, your chest tight and vision blurred. The world felt suffocating, the weight of your unspoken feelings dragging you down as you climbed back onto your bike.

It was for the best, right?

You couldn’t keep doing this. You couldn’t keep waiting for him, couldn’t keep fooling yourself that there was something real between you two. He was busy. He had her. And you.. well, you didn’t even know why you bothered anymore.

The ride back to your apartment was a blur of taillights and muffled engine noise. The city’s glow that usually brought you some sense of comfort felt glaring and alien tonight. By the time you made it inside, the suffocating silence of your small space was overwhelming.

For someone who prided herself on being strong and independent, you barely made it to your couch before the sobs overtook you. Hot, angry tears streamed down your face as you clutched a pillow to your chest, trying in vain to keep your cries muffled. It felt as though something within you had been ripped apart, leaving an aching, hollow void that throbbed with every thought of him.

You replayed the image of him at the café in your mind, over and over, as if some part of you wanted to punish yourself further. His smirk. Her laughter. The ease of their interaction. It contrasted so sharply with the heaviness that now weighed on your heart.

Every chime of your phone made you flinch, hope briefly sparking to life, only to be cruelly snuffed out when the screen lit up with messages from others—work updates, pointless notifications, or friends checking in. Nothing from him. Of course, there wouldn’t be.

You wiped at your face, your chest tightening as you scrolled through the last few conversations you’d had with Sylus. They were short, clipped responses. A "thanks" here, an "I’m busy" there. You’d convinced yourself for weeks that he wasn’t brushing you off, that his focus was just elsewhere. But deep down, you knew. You’d always known.

You weren’t as important to him as he was to you.

That realization settled over you like a heavy blanket, suffocating and final. And yet, you tried to convince yourself it was okay. He doesn’t owe me anything, you told yourself, though the thought only twisted the knife deeper. He’s free to choose who he spends his time with.

But it didn’t stop the tears.

The days that followed were a haze of exhaustion and numbness. You threw yourself into your work, spending long hours tracking and confronting wanderers. The physical exhaustion helped, even if just a little. At least when you were in the middle of a fight, the pain in your chest was drowned out by the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

Still, the nights were the worst. Alone in your apartment, the quiet crept in like a suffocating fog. You tried to distract yourself—reading, cleaning, even organizing old mission reports. Anything to keep your mind from drifting back to him. But it was impossible.

Each time you saw his name in your contacts, you hesitated. Your thumb hovered over the call button more times than you cared to admit, but the fear of hearing his indifferent voice stopped you every time. What would you even say? That you missed him? That you wanted to see him? That you’d fallen for him, even though you knew it would never be mutual?

No. You couldn’t do that to yourself.

You worked harder, pushed yourself further. Every wanderer you fought became a stand-in for your frustrations, your insecurities. You told yourself that if you could just stay busy enough, the ache would go away. But no matter how many missions you completed or how many late nights you spent staring at your phone, the weight in your chest never fully lifted.

By the end of the week, you were exhausted—physically and emotionally. But you were surviving. Barely. The bell above the door jingled softly as you pushed into the chocolatier’s shop, the rich scent of cocoa and vanilla wrapping around you like a warm embrace. The day had been grueling—hours of chasing leads, a narrow escape from a particularly aggressive wanderer, and not a single bite of food since morning. Your stomach growled in protest, a sharp reminder that you’d been running on fumes for too long.

Rows of meticulously crafted chocolates gleamed beneath the glass counter, their perfect swirls and shimmering finishes almost too beautiful to eat. Almost. You leaned forward slightly, scanning the display, your reflection ghosting over the pristine surface.

Dark chocolate truffles. Raspberry ganache. Caramel hazelnut clusters. The options were overwhelming, and your indecision felt heavier than it should’ve. Your chest still ached from the lingering emotions you’d been suppressing all week. The quiet joy of the shop felt alien, like stepping into a world you no longer belonged to.

Just pick something and go, you thought, your fingers tightening on the strap of your bag. But the choices seemed endless, each one whispering promises of sweetness you weren’t sure you deserved.

"If you’re struggling," a soft, measured voice spoke behind you, "the pistachio crème chocolate is an excellent choice."

Startled, you turned, your gaze falling on a man standing a few steps away. Tall and lean, he exuded an understated confidence that was both intimidating and captivating. Dark hair fell in against his forehead, and sharp hazel-green eyes, softened by gold flecks peered at you from behind thin-framed glasses. His white doctor’s coat was open, revealing a simple black shirt beneath, and he held a small paper bag in one hand.

You blinked, caught off guard by both his suggestion and his presence. "Oh, uh… thank you," you stammered, trying not to sound as flustered as you felt. "I’ll… I’ll try that."

The shopkeeper nodded and carefully packed your selection as you stole another glance at the stranger. There was an air of calm authority about him, a quiet assurance that made you feel oddly exposed, like he could see straight through you.

He waited patiently as the shopkeeper handed you your bag, but just as you were about to leave, his voice cut through the quiet again—this time, more direct. "Chocolates shouldn’t be your first meal of the day."

The statement was delivered without malice, his tone stoic and matter-of-fact, yet it hit like a stone to the chest. Your lips parted in shock, the question forming before you could stop it: How does he know? But before you could say anything, he was already moving toward the door. The bells jingled softly as it closed behind him, leaving you standing frozen in place. The stranger’s words lingered, intertwining with the rest of your messy emotions. Your fingers clenched the small bag of chocolates as you tried to process the brief encounter.

A soft gleam on the floor caught your attention, breaking your spiraling thoughts. A wallet, its sleek leather worn but well-kept, lay just inches from where the man had stood. You knelt and picked it up, your heart thudding as you opened it to check for identification.

The name embossed on his hospital ID was like a jolt: Dr. Zayne. Your eyes widened. Doctor Zayne? The name was familiar—a renowned surgeon whose skills and precision were legendary, often described as a miracle worker. You’d imagined someone older, more weathered, not… this.

For a moment, you stared at the ID, piecing together the puzzle of the composed, enigmatic man who had called you out so effortlessly. You tried the number listed on a card tucked into his wallet, but it rang unanswered, the sterile monotone only adding to your frustration.

"Of course, he wouldn’t answer," you muttered under your breath, chewing your lip as you debated your next move. The idea of keeping his wallet overnight felt wrong, and leaving it here in the shop seemed equally careless.

That left one option.

The hospital loomed ahead as you approached, its towering structure illuminated against the evening sky. Anxiety gnawed at your insides, twisting with every step you took through the sterile white halls. You weren’t sure why you felt so on edge—maybe it was the overwhelming sense of inadequacy that had been haunting you lately, or maybe it was the lingering impression of Zayne’s knowing gaze.

At the reception desk, you hesitated, gripping the wallet tightly as you cleared your throat. "Hi, um, I’m here to return something for Dr. Zayne. He… accidentally dropped this."

The receptionist barely looked up, taking the wallet with a polite but indifferent smile. "Dr. Zayne isn’t in right now. I’ll make sure he gets this when he’s back."

"Oh," You nodded, murmuring a quick thanks before retreating back toward the exit. You thought nothing of this interaction as you left. You did what you thought was right and left the hospital back towards your apartment.

The days blurred together in a haze of work and routine. You buried yourself in assignments from the Hunter’s Association, throwing yourself into dangerous missions with a single-minded intensity. Anything to keep your mind occupied.

Sylus messaged you once during that time, his tone professional as he asked for updates regarding a lead he was tracking. You’d responded quickly, sticking strictly to business. No pleasantries, no banter—just the information he needed. He didn’t press, didn’t call you out for your uncharacteristic coldness. Maybe he didn’t notice. Or maybe he did and chose not to say anything.

That night, you jogged through the dimly lit streets, your breath fogging in the cool air as you tried to exorcise the restless energy gnawing at you. The rhythmic slap of your sneakers against the pavement was grounding, steady. Jogging had always been your go-to, a way to clear your head and silence the endless stream of "what-ifs" and "if-onlys" that plagued your mind.

You shook your head, annoyed at yourself. There was no point in dwelling. Sylus wasn’t the kind of person to give you what you wanted, and even if he did, could you trust it? Could you trust him?

But no amount of movement could completely shake Sylus from your thoughts.

His voice, his presence—it clung to you, even now.

Why didn’t he ask how I’ve been? Why didn’t I?

The sound of skidding tires yanked you out of your spiraling thoughts.

“Look out!”

Before you could process the warning, a cyclist veered wildly toward you, their momentum too strong to stop. There wasn’t even time to brace yourself. The impact hit like a freight train, and suddenly, you were on the ground, tangled with the bike and its rider. Pain blossomed sharp and hot in your knees as the asphalt scraped them raw.

For a moment, you just lay there, stunned. The world tilted unsteadily, the city lights smearing together like a watercolor painting.

“Hey, you okay?” The cyclist’s voice snapped you back. They were scrambling off you, helmet slightly askew but otherwise unscathed. You shook your head to clear it, wincing as you sat up. You pushed yourself up, shaking the dizziness from your head, and checked on the cyclist who had crashed into you. They were already scrambling to their feet, looking slightly dazed but otherwise unharmed, their helmet and guards having done their job.

“I’m fine,” you managed, even as your knees throbbed in protest. “Are you?”

“Yeah, thanks to the gear,” they said, pulling off their helmet to inspect a small crack along its surface. “Guess it did its job.”

Relief washed over you. “Good. Let me just—”

“Wait.” A different voice cut in, firm but calm. You stood there, still trying to regain your bearings when a figure appeared beside you, moving with a grace that immediately caught your attention. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw who it was. Dr. Zayne. The same man who had crossed your path in the chocolatier's shop just days ago. His sharp eyes locked onto yours, and for a split second, everything else seemed to vanish. His expression shifted from mild surprise to something more concerned as he took in your state.

Without saying a word, he immediately began assessing you, his gaze narrowing at the blood now staining your knees. You winced, feeling the sting of the cuts that had begun to bloom with a fiery intensity, but you were determined not to show it. You were used to pain—used to the sharp discomfort that came with being a hunter. You didn’t need help. You could handle this on your own. You’d always been able to.

But Dr. Zayne wasn’t having any of it.

His voice, low and steady, broke through the haze of your thoughts. "You’re bleeding. Those need first aid," he said firmly, his frown deepening as he glanced at your scraped knees. "Sit. Wait here. I’ll be back in a minute."

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him you were fine, but the words caught in your throat. He wasn’t asking. His tone, though gentle, was authoritative—demanding in its own quiet way. There was something about the way he carried himself, that calm, unflinching presence, that made it impossible to argue.

"I’m fine, I am a hunter." you managed to say, your voice rougher than you intended. "I can handle it at home. Really." You tried to force a reassuring smile

“Is this a hunter thing?” he interrupted, one brow arching skeptically. “Are all of you this stubborn about basic care, or is it just you?”

The words should have been biting, but his tone was almost... patient. Like he was accustomed to dealing with difficult people.

You flushed, suddenly hyper-aware of the sting in your knees and the heat of his gaze. “I’m not being stubborn,” you muttered. “I just don’t want to bother anyone over something so small.”

“Small injuries have a way of turning into bigger problems,” he said, folding his arms. “And I’m not bothered. As a doctor, I’m asking you to wait here. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Without waiting for your protest, he turned and strode off, leaving you no room to argue.

You sat stiffly on the bench, gripping the edge as the minutes dragged on. The ache in your knees was nothing compared to the gnawing discomfort blooming in your chest. Anxiety clawed at you, whispering insidious doubts.

He’s wasting his time on you.He probably thinks you’re pathetic and weak.Why couldn’t you have just gotten up and left?

Your fingers curled into fists, the tension radiating through your body.

The sound of footsteps interrupted your spiraling thoughts, and Dr. Zayne was back, carrying a small first aid kit. He knelt in front of you without a word, his hands steady as he cleaned the cuts on your knees. The gentle pressure of his fingers as he worked felt almost surreal. His silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was just… calm. You found yourself drawn to it, to the quiet that seemed to settle around him.

"You’re lucky," he said, glancing up at you as he bandaged your knees. "That could’ve been a lot worse."

You nodded, the words caught in your throat. There were so many things you wanted to say, things you wanted to ask him, but you didn’t know where to start. So you remained silent, watching as he finished his work, his hands moving with the practiced precision of someone who had seen too many injuries to count.

When he was done, he straightened up and met your gaze. "You should be more careful," he said softly, his voice a little lighter than before, though there was still a note of concern underlying his words. "Next time, don’t run so late at night. You never know what could happen."

You forced a tight smile, the words feeling like they were coming from someone else. "I’ll keep that in mind," you said, your voice quieter now.

Dr. Zayne took a step back after finishing the bandages, his sharp gaze softening ever so slightly as he packed the first aid kit. You glanced at him, your mouth opening to thank him, but before you could get the words out, he said, almost in unison, “Thank you.”

Both of you froze, the simultaneous expressions of gratitude hanging awkwardly in the air. A surprised laugh slipped out of you, breaking the tension.

“You first,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. “I was just going to say thank you for… you know, helping with this.” You gestured vaguely toward your knees, the bandages clinging to your skin. “You didn’t have to.”

The moment stretched between you, awkward yet somehow comforting. Zayne gave a small, almost amused smile at the simultaneous gratitude, but his gaze softened when it landed on you, his concern still present.

"Thank you for returning my wallet," he said, his tone steady but with a hint of appreciation.

His words caught you off guard. “Oh, right! That. It wasn’t a big deal, really.” You fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve, avoiding his gaze. “I found it at the chocolatier shop. I figured it was better to bring it to the hospital than leave it lying around.”

He nodded thoughtfully, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “I appreciate it. Not many people would go out of their way like that.”

You tried not to let his kindness throw you off, but it wasn’t easy. There was something about Zayne that made you feel... small in a way you didn’t like to feel. He was kind, yes, but that kindness made you wonder if you were deserving of it. Why should you be the one he cared about?

But before you could dwell on that any further, his voice cut through your swirling thoughts.

"Have you eaten today?" His tone was light, but there was an edge of sincerity beneath it, one that made your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with hunger. It reminded you of that conversation in the shop, of how he had so effortlessly read through your tiredness.

The sheepish look that crossed your face must’ve been obvious, because Zayne sighed, the sound so deep that it almost felt like a reprimand. He pinched the bridge of his nose in a gesture that was both familiar and surprisingly endearing.

“You’ve got to take care of yourself,” he said, his voice almost too gentle for the weight of his words. “It’s not healthy to go without food, especially if you’re going to keep running around like you hunters do.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him it wasn’t a big deal, but Zayne didn’t give you the chance.

"There’s a diner close by. It’s the least I can do to thank you for returning my wallet."

You shook your head instinctively, trying to backpedal. "It’s really not necessary," you said, but Zayne wasn’t having any of it. His eyes were firm, and there was an undeniable warmth behind them that almost made you feel guilty for refusing.

"Yes, it is," he replied, his tone steady but with a hint of finality. "Now, come on.”

You hesitated for a moment, the unease building in your chest like a brick wall, but the thought of Zayne’s calm, commanding presence made it impossible to say no. So, with a quiet sigh, you relented.

"I’ll pay," you muttered as he led the way, the words almost reflexive. You always felt like you had to pay your way—like it was your responsibility to do so, especially with someone who had helped you, even in the smallest of ways. You were used to standing on your own two feet.

Zayne only gave you a side glance, his lips quirking up in the barest of smiles. "No, you won’t. It’s my thank you, remember?"

The diner wasn’t far from where you had been, a cozy, low-lit place with a soft hum of quiet conversations and the clink of silverware against plates. The familiar scent of warm food—steak, mashed potatoes, and the unmistakable aroma of fresh bread—immediately filled the air as you stepped inside. You followed Zayne to a small booth in the back, the vinyl seats creaking under your weight as you slid in.

You wanted to say something—thank you, maybe—but the words felt stuck, trapped somewhere in the pit of your stomach, along with everything else that had been piling up for weeks. Zayne didn’t seem to notice, his focus already turning to the menu as he gestured for you to pick something.

You wanted to ask him more, to understand him in the same way you understood the empty streets you ran through, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just end up looking foolish. So, instead, you stared at the menu in front of you, unable to focus on the choices, as your mind churned with questions that had no answers.

Zayne ordered for both of you, his voice low as he made his choices, and when he looked at you, you caught a flicker of something—perhaps curiosity, or was it concern? It was hard to tell.

"You should eat more regularly," he said again, as though the words were a reminder he had to repeat for his own peace of mind. You nodded, letting the silence fill the space between you for a moment.

The food arrived, warm and satisfying, and you took a bite, surprised at how hungry you were despite the earlier denials. Zayne watched you for a moment, his gaze softening as you ate, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet it. His concern, his care—it felt too much. You weren’t used to people worrying about you.

But as the meal went on, you found yourself starting to relax, the initial tension loosening from your shoulders. Zayne was easy to talk to, his calm, steady presence settling you in a way you hadn’t expected. By the end of the meal, you felt... lighter.

"Call me Zayne," he said when the check came, his voice quiet but sincere.

You blinked, a little caught off guard by the request. "Zayne?" you echoed, testing the name on your tongue.

"Yes," he replied with a small, patient smile. "It’s easier than 'Dr. Zayne,' don’t you think?"

You blinked, taken aback. “Are you sure? I mean, you’ve earned the title—”

“And I’ll still have it in the hospital,” he interrupted, amusement flickering in his eyes. “But here, it’s just Zayne.”

You nodded slowly, testing the name in your mind. It felt strange, almost too personal. But there was something grounding about it, too.

By the time dessert arrived, the knot of anxiety in your chest had loosened considerably. The warmth of the diner, the steady cadence of his voice, and the shared laughter over a poorly made joke had a way of pulling you out of your own head. For the first time in what felt like weeks, you weren’t obsessing over your failures or doubts.

As you finished your meal, Zayne pulled out his phone and slid it across the table. “Here,” he said simply. “Add your number. In case you ever need anything.”

You hesitated, the gesture feeling far more intimate than it probably was. But his expression was patient, expectant, and you found yourself entering your contact information before you could overthink it. When you handed the phone back, his lips twitched into a faint smile.

“Thanks again for returning my wallet,” he said, his tone lighter now. “And for the company.”

You felt your cheeks flush, but this time, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “It’s not a problem,” you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips.

As you stepped out of the diner and into the cool night air, a strange sense of calm settled over you. Zayne walked you to the corner where your paths would diverge, his presence steady and reassuring.

“Take care of yourself,” he said, his voice softer now, almost intimate.

“You too,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

The diner’s warmth lingered even as you stepped into the cool night air. For the first time in what felt like weeks, your chest didn’t feel as tight, the oppressive weight that had been bearing down on you now lifting slightly. You still felt the ache of Sylus’ absence—a hollow, gnawing sensation that seemed to creep in whenever you let your guard down, but it wasn’t as suffocating as it had been. Instead, a new sensation fluttered in its place, tentative and fragile: excitement. It was strange to feel this way, to look forward to the possibility of a friendship formed under such unlikely circumstances. Zayne’s calm demeanor, his steady presence, had surprised you.

As you walked, the sound of fluttering wings caught your attention. Instinctively, your heart skipped, your mind jumping to Mephisto. You tilted your head to the dark sky, half-expecting to see the telltale silhouette of his familiar. But it was just a cluster of pigeons, their wings catching the faint glow of the streetlights as they soared away.

Right. Of course. It was unlikely that Sylus was watching you tonight.

You exhaled, a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and forced your thoughts away from him. Zayne had offered you a rare moment of normalcy, and you weren’t about to let your memories of Sylus overshadow that.

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The following weeks were a blur of activity, and before long, you found yourself stationed at an outpost on the outskirts of Linkon. A metaflux surge had disrupted the area, and the temporary makeshift hospital was bustling with injured workers, hunters, and even a few civilians caught in the chaos. The air was thick with tension, the metallic tang of metaflux faint but persistent, a reminder of the unseen dangers that lurked just beyond the safety of the encampment.

Zayne was assigned as the doctor for the outpost, and you often found yourself crossing paths with him. At first, your interactions were brief—a nod here, a shared glance there—but over time, you began to talk. It started with simple pleasantries, discussions about the metaflux readings or the influx of patients, but it wasn’t long before the conversations deepened.

You learned that Zayne had a dry sense of humor, his sharp wit often catching you off guard. He’d tease you about your stubbornness, and you’d retort with a quip about his overly serious nature. Despite his professionalism, there was a warmth to him, a quiet compassion that made him easy to trust. And though you’d never admit it, you found yourself looking forward to those moments of shared laughter, those fleeting glimpses of something lighter amidst the chaos.

But even as your friendship with Zayne grew, Sylus lingered at the edges of your thoughts, a shadow you couldn’t quite shake. The conversations you had with him were sparse and strictly work-related—updates from the Association, bits of intel you passed along to him. It felt transactional, a far cry from the intimacy you once shared. Yet, every time his name appeared on your screen, your heart still raced, betraying the fragile boundaries you’d tried to set.

One evening, a message from Sylus broke the monotony of your routine.

‘Come over tomorrow night, Darling. I have an exquisite wine I’d like you to try—procured it during a recent deal.’

The invitation was simple, almost casual. For a moment, you imagined it—the rich scent of wine filling the air, his sharp yet alluring gaze fixed on you as he poured you a glass. But reality quickly crept in, dragging you back to the present. You couldn’t go. You couldn’t risk it. Not when your heart was still so fragile, still aching in ways you didn’t want to admit.

You stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as your mind raced. The truth was, you wanted to see him. But you knew better. You had to keep your distance—for your own sake, if nothing else.

‘I’m tired..'

You typed, the words feeling hollow as they formed.

'Busy day tomorrow. Maybe another time.’

You hesitated before hitting send, the weight of the message pressing down on you. When his reply came, it was as simple as his invitation.

‘Okay.’

The finality of it hit you like a brick, and for a moment, you felt like your breath had been stolen away. He didn’t push. He didn’t argue. That empty “okay” hung in the air, leaving you with the quiet realization that, once again, you had lost yourself in the haze of someone else’s world.

You tried not to read too much into it, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he had already moved on. That he didn’t care enough to fight for your attention. Instead, it felt like you were just a passing thought, like an aftertaste that wasn’t worth savoring.

Miss Hunter. The words echoed in your mind. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the tears to stay behind your eyelids, but they pressed hard, a sting that never seemed to fully fade. You rubbed your forehead, trying to push away the thoughts. But even as you did, you couldn’t escape the suffocating feeling in your chest—the one that always came when you were reminded of how little you meant to him. You felt foolish, but you couldn’t help it. It was like you were always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to come back, to pull you back into his orbit with that practiced charm, that voice that made you feel wanted, if only for a little while.

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

The dinner with Zayne had been a welcome reprieve. It had been two weeks since you last saw him, the demands of work pulling both of you in different directions. But tonight, seated across from him in a small, cozy bistro, you found solace in the familiar rhythm of your conversations. The mellow lights softened the sharp angles of his face as he recounted a mishap earlier in the week involving a particularly irritable patient.

His dry humor, paired with the subtle lift of his brow, drew a laugh from you—a genuine, light sound that felt foreign after the weight of recent days. For a while, the world outside blurred away. You weren’t Miss Hunter; you weren’t anything other than a person sharing a meal with a friend.

As the meal wound down, Zayne looked at you over the rim of his glass, his expression calm. “You’re doing better than when we first met.” he remarked softly.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Am I?”

He nodded. His calm demeanor always had a way of grounding you, and tonight was no exception.

The meal wrapped up with the two of you trading small updates and light banter. You paid for your half of the meal, Zayne insisting it wasn’t necessary, but you’d insisted back. There was a sense of normalcy here, something you weren’t willing to let go of easily. When you parted ways outside the diner, the night air was cool and quiet. Zayne’s warm farewell echoed softly in your ears as you waved goodbye and headed back toward your apartment.

As you walked, you felt lighter somehow. The stress of the past few weeks hadn’t vanished, but Zayne’s steady presence had reminded you of something important—moments of peace still existed, even in the chaos.

The faint scent of lavender greeted you as you unlocked your apartment door, a hint of the candle you’d left burning earlier. The lights were off, and the air felt too still—unnaturally so. Your heart skipped, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. A lump formed in your throat, panic curling its fingers around your chest.

You flicked the light switch, and the sudden brightness flooded the room, revealing the figure sitting on your couch. Sylus.

You froze. Your body stiffened, caught between fight or flight.

Your yelp of surprise filled the space, your pulse racing as you clutched the doorframe for support. “What—Sylus? What are you doing here?”

He was sitting on your couch, one arm draped casually along the backrest, his other hand resting on his knee. The dim light of the room softened the sharp edges of his face, but his expression was anything but gentle. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, tracked your every movement as if he were dissecting you with just a glance.

“How—what are you doing here?” you stammered, your voice shaky as your pulse raced.

Sylus didn’t respond right away. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his gaze dragging over you slowly, deliberately. His silence was louder than any words he could have spoken, and it made your skin prickle.

“Darling,” he finally murmured, his voice low and smooth, laced with something you couldn’t quite name. “You look… exhausted.”

You blinked, still standing frozen by the door. His tone was soft, almost tender, but it was the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers tapped against his knee, that betrayed his underlying tension.

“Y-yeah,” you stammered, your voice wavering as you took a cautious step forward. “It’s been a long day. What are you doing here?”

Sylus leaned back, the leather of the couch creaking faintly under his weight. “A long day,” he echoed, his lips curving into a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yet you had time for dinner.”

“I…” you faltered, scrambling for a response. “It was just…”

“Just dinner,” he interrupted smoothly, his tone unreadable. “With… someone else.”

The air felt thick, charged with a tension that made your skin prickle. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words stuck in your throat. His eyes narrowed slightly, his expression still calm but his body language telling a different story. The way his fingers drummed against his knee, the slight clench of his jaw, the flicker of something dark in his gaze.

Your heart pounded, your thoughts racing. Why was he here? What did he want? And why did his presence—his very existence in your space—make your chest ache in that familiar, suffocating way?

“I didn’t think…” You stopped yourself, your voice trembling. “You didn’t say you’d be coming by. You can’t just—”

“Can’t just what?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft as he rose from the couch, his movements fluid and deliberate. “Show up to see what’s wrong?”

Your breath hitched as he closed the distance between you, his height and presence suddenly overwhelming. “Nothing’s wrong…”you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Is that so?” he murmured, tilting his head slightly, his eyes boring into yours. “Because from where I’m standing, it seems like you’ve been avoiding me, Darling.”

The accusation hung in the air, sharp and unyielding.

“I’ve been busy…” you said weakly, your voice lacking conviction.

“Busy,” he repeated, his gaze flicking over you again, this time with something close to disdain. “Too busy for me, but not too busy for… him.”

Your hands fidgeted at your sides, your breath coming in shallow bursts. You wanted to move, to put distance between you, but your legs felt rooted to the spot. “I didn’t think dinner with a friend would..”

“Friend?” he interrupted, the single word slicing through your sentence. His lips curved into something that might have been a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Your heart pounded painfully against your ribs, the anxiety swirling in your chest mixing with something else—something raw and painful that you didn’t want to name. The memories of your last exchange with Sylus came flooding back—the curt messages, the unspoken finality of his “okay.” You had tried to convince yourself that it didn’t matter, that you didn’t need his validation. But standing here now, under the weight of his gaze, you felt every crack in the fragile walls you had built to keep him out.

“I don’t understand what you want from me,” you said finally, the words trembling as they left your lips.

His eyes softened slightly, but the tension in his posture didn’t ease. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something, something important, but the moment passed as quickly as it came. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a gesture so gentle it felt almost foreign.

“Don’t make me feel like I’m a stranger to you.” he said quietly, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability that made your chest ache.

Don’t make me feel like I’m a stranger to you. The words echoed in your mind, repeating, twisting, until all you could hear was the raw edge of betrayal laced in his tone.

You let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and bitter, a little too loud in the quiet of your apartment. Your chest tightened, and for a moment, you felt the space around you grow smaller. You couldn’t breathe—couldn’t think. All you could feel was the heat of anger building inside of you, raw and unrefined.

“That’s rich,” you scoffed, finally managing to find your voice. “That’s really rich, coming from you of all people.”

Sylus blinked, a subtle flash of surprise crossing his face, but it quickly masked over. His lips tightened, his brow furrowed ever so slightly, but it wasn’t enough. You had to push, you couldn’t hold back now. The words were tumbling out before you could even stop them. Your breath hitched, a strangled sob lodged somewhere in the back of your throat, but you refused to let it spill. You wouldn’t let him see you break—not like this, not in front of him. You knew the truth. He knew the truth. It hurt, yes, but you weren’t the one to blame.

“You've been treating me like a stranger for months,” you continued, your voice trembling with anger you hadn't fully realized was there. “Barely responding to my messages, not answering my calls, and when I do see you, it’s like you can’t be bothered. You don’t even see me.” You felt the weight of every unreturned message, every unanswered call, every promise left in limbo. “I’ve had to hear from Luke and Kieran that you’re in Linkon. But you couldn’t even make time to see me.”

You felt the ache deep in your chest, that familiar, suffocating knot forming. He didn’t deserve your pain. Not anymore. You wouldn’t let him have that. Not this time.

You took a shaky breath, suddenly feeling raw, exposed. “You don’t have to feel obligated to check on me, Sylus,” you said, your words clipped and cutting through the thick silence between you. “You don’t have to feel pity for me. I know where I stand. I know my place in your life.”

His expression, that unreadable mask, cracked for the briefest of moments. His lips parted, his gaze flicking to your face, then back down to the floor. His jaw clenched. But his eyes… They weren’t the same as they’d been earlier. The hardness was gone, replaced by something far more dangerous, something even more intimate. The storm was gathering, but it wasn’t just in the air—no, it was inside him too.

“You know where you stand?” His voice was quieter now, but there was an edge to it, a slight tightness you hadn’t noticed before. He took a step forward, his body closing the space between you, like a wave of raw energy crashing toward you. His proximity only made your pulse race faster, but you couldn’t back down. Not now.

“I’m just an informant, right?” you bit out, every word feeling like it sliced through the night air, cutting through the tension like a blade. “You don’t have to pretend you care, Sylus. So don’t stand there with that look on your face like I’m some important thing you need to check on.”

The air between you grew heavy, thick with unsaid words and stifled tension. Every inch of your body was telling you to get away, to shut down, to stop this before it tore you apart. But your feet felt heavy, stuck in place. Sylus’s presence was like gravity, pulling you toward him.

"You think that's all you are?" he murmured, his voice dangerously low, like the calm before the thunder. The way he said it made your heart stutter in your chest. It was both a question and an accusation or a challenge.

But there was something else in his voice. Something you couldn’t quite place. His eyes were intense, too intense, and they searched yours like he was looking for the answer. The truth.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he continued, his words clipped, as though they were difficult for him to say. “But I couldn’t....couldn’t make sense of it. Of you.”

It was the first time that he seemed genuinely vulnerable, and it left you breathless and confused. You had always wondered if there was more beneath his cold exterior. You had always told yourself that he cared. But you had never dared to confront him.

His hand was close enough now to reach out, his fingers barely brushing the edge of your wrist. The air between you was still thick with everything unsaid, everything unhealed. And yet, despite the words that had been thrown between you, there was something undeniably magnetic in the tension. The ache in your chest, the rawness, the feelings of betrayal—they didn’t wash away just because you said them out loud.

God, you hated him for this.

But part of you yearned for him. That part that still felt tethered to him, despite the distance.

Sylus’s fingers hovered over your wrist, his touch like fire against your skin. For a moment, the storm between you calmed, leaving only the faintest echo of it behind. The weight of his gaze, the force of his presence—it seemed to drown out the rest of the world.

He said nothing for a moment, his lips parting as though he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. His eyes darkened further, not with anger now, but with something you couldn’t quite define.

You took a breath, your body suddenly feeling too small beneath his gaze. The storm was still inside. You had to move away. Your heart pounded as if it were trying to escape your chest, desperate to flee from whatever was stirring inside you. You couldn't—no, you wouldn’t—let yourself get caught up in whatever this feeling was. You were not some fool, ready to throw everything away for the temporary pull of his presence. You knew better than that. You had to.

Every instinct screamed at you to retreat, to put some distance between you and the mess of emotions bubbling under your skin. His sharp gaze was enough to make your knees tremble, and it took everything in you not to look back, not to let him see the quiet devastation that flickered inside you.

“You need to leave… Sylus.” You whispered. You staggered back a few steps, your breathing shallow, desperate. Your feet felt like lead, yet you forced yourself to walk away. You turned your back to him, willing your legs to move, hoping to escape before you got sucked into whatever dark vortex of feelings he was drawing you into.

He didn’t move. Instead, you heard the familiar click of his boots against the floor as he took a single, deliberate step forward. “Why?” His voice, low and curious, sent a shiver down your spine. It was almost too intimate, as if he were searching for a piece of you, trying to understand what you couldn’t explain.

You didn’t want to look at him. Didn’t want to see the quiet confusion on his face—the faint flicker of disappointment that stung like salt in an open wound. You couldn’t let him see your weakness, couldn’t let him know how badly it hurt to be around him, how badly it hurt not to be around him.

“Is it so you can run back to your precious ‘friend’?” The words dripped with something unspoken, something that made your stomach twist.

You couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Not when his voice—that voice, the one that threaded through the air like silk—was digging into your mind like this. The word echoed in your ears, almost mocking you, and you felt something fragile snap inside you. The weight of the years you’d spent keeping distance, of guarding your heart against him, against whatever he made you feel, started to unravel. But you couldn’t let it.

You took another step away from him. One more step, you told yourself. Just one more. You didn’t need this.

Dark tendrils wrapped around you as you move, pulling you back. He was using his evol to pull you back. You didn’t need him pulling you in again. But then it came. That touch. He pulled you to him, forceful yet intimate, and your breath caught in your throat. You were too close. Too close to the edge of losing yourself, of falling into his presence.

His hands...no, his fingers—snaked around your waist before you even knew what was happening. You gasped, body going stiff in surprise, but his grip tightened, pulling you back into him. You tried to keep moving, tried to pull away, but it was useless. His hold was ironclad, his presence consuming. His grip tightened slightly, but there was an almost comforting pressure there, a subtle reminder that despite the dispute between you, there was something undeniable between the two of you.

“Why are you running?” His voice was a whisper against your ear, the words smooth like silk, but there was something jagged beneath them—something urgent, raw.

You struggled to hold yourself together, but the more you fought it, the more it pulled—this unbearable need to lean into him, to give in to the chaos that his proximity stirred in you. You knew you shouldn’t, but everything in you wanted to. You felt the ache of wanting something you couldn't have, the sting of the distance you had put between you and the thing that was somehow both poison and relief.

His hands tightened slightly, his thumb brushing over your ribs in a movement that sent a jolt through your entire system. The words you wanted to say, the reasons you needed to get away from him, all felt so small and pointless now. How could you possibly explain this? This tension, this pull? How could you say that being near him felt like the most excruciating thing in the world, but also the only thing that made you feel alive?

“You’re not just an informant to me,” he breathed, his words slipping under your skin, curling into the tight spaces of your chest. “I didn’t realize I was hurting you this much. That you’d want to distance yourself from me...” His tone softened at the end, but it only made everything worse. The tenderness in his voice—his tenderness—was like a dagger in your side, making the blood in your veins freeze. You wanted to say something, anything, but all you could hear was the deafening rush of your own heartbeat. You tried to stay composed, but the words were caught in your throat, and your body was still pressed so tightly against his, your breath shallow, your pulse thudding painfully against your ribs.

Why was this so hard? Why couldn’t you just say it—say that you couldn’t let him get close again? That you couldn’t survive another wound, another aching, empty feeling in your chest because of him? But the way his hands tightened, the warmth of his body against yours, made everything you were feeling a little too real.

You could feel his heartbeat against your back, the rhythm in sync with your own, and the pull of him was growing stronger. You could feel your anxiety bubbling up, the gnawing fear at the pit of your stomach. Was this just him toying with you? Was he trying to pull you into his world of darkness and manipulation? Or did he really care?

Your head was spinning. The emotions warred within you—anger, confusion, guilt, and something else. Something that made your heart race faster and your thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind.

“Let me go,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the storm that raged around you.

But you didn’t pull away. You didn’t push him off.

Sylus' grip on you tightened, his arm like a steel band around your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. His chest rises and falls against your back as his breath brushes against your ear, warm and heavy. It’s as if he’s afraid, like if he lets go for even a second, he’ll lose you forever. You can feel the tension radiating from him, but also something softer, something desperate.

“No, Darling,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with emotion, his tone possessive, as though the very idea of you slipping away shatters him. “You’re not going anywhere and neither am I.”

"You’re going to stay," He pulls you even closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he speaks again, quieter this time, but laced with something raw and vulnerable. "...and you’re going to listen to me. I won’t let you walk away from this."

You can hear the flicker of something beneath his words—regret. And then, his lips ghost over the sensitive skin of your neck, lingering just a little longer than necessary. He slowly spins you around, to face him. His voice softens, almost apologetic. “I know I was a dick. I know I didn’t respond to you, and I’m sorry for that. I didn’t know how to handle it… handle us. It confused me, and instead of facing it, I pushed you away.” His breath catches slightly, and you feel his chest tighten against your back.

His hand moves to cup your cheek, tilting your face slightly toward him, his thumb brushing over your skin as though it’s a promise, an apology. The weight of his gaze is intense, but there’s also something tender there, something that wants to pull you back in, closer. “I know you’re still hurting, darling. I see it. And I... I’ll spend a lifetime making up for it, because that’s what I want. A lifetime. With you. Not as some informant or some... thing, but as my beloved. You. By my side. Always.”

He pauses, letting his words hang in the air between you. His voice drops, the quiet sorrow of his confession sending a twinge of guilt through you. "I don’t have the right to ask this of you, I know," Sylus continues, his voice thick with emotion. "But seeing you push me away… It’s harder than I ever thought it would be. Harder than I want to admit." He presses his forehead lightly against your temple, his breath shaky. "I’ve never needed someone the way I need you, and I didn’t know how to tell you that. But I do. I need you."

You can feel him tense slightly, the shift in his demeanor telling you that his thoughts have turned darker. His voice lowers, the jealousy evident in the way he speaks, though it’s wrapped in a softness that almost makes it harder to bear.

"And Dr. Zayne... I can’t stand the thought of him being so close to you," Sylus adds, his voice low and thick with a possessiveness that unsettles you in its intensity. "It kills me, you know? Watching him with you, hearing you laugh like that with him, as if I don’t even exist." His arm tightens again, almost painfully, as if he needs to remind you, remind both of you, where you truly belong. "I know I have no claim on you... but... I can't help but feel like there’s a part of you that wants him in a way that... I can't compete with." His voice hardens, jealousy dripping from every word. "It eats at me, knowing he has a part of you that I’m fighting for."

"Sylus..." Your voice cracked slightly as you repeated his name, your breath hitching, caught in the tension between you. His name felt heavy on your tongue, like it was both a question and an answer. You had never said it so quietly, so vulnerably. The memories of earlier came rushing back—him with her, that delicate smile he gave her, the way she leaned into him just a little too comfortably. It had burned in your chest, the jealousy creeping in with a venomous ache.

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, too fast to gather, too painful to hide. "I felt the same... when I saw you with her," you confessed, swallowing thickly. "I felt so... so useless, Sylus. When I saw you with her, it felt like... like she was everything you needed. Better than me. And that... it broke me, Sylus. I felt like I wasn’t enough, like I wasn’t... worth it.”

The words stung, bitter and unrelenting, but the weight of them was finally lifted as you let them spill out. You felt exposed, naked in your insecurity, but somehow, it was all you could do to stand there and wait for him to respond. You could feel the weight of it, of how small you’d felt in that moment, how unworthy you had become in your own eyes. The self-doubt gnawed at your insides, each thought of her with him twisting like a knife in your gut.

Sylus’s expression softened, his features melting into a tender sadness, as though he were seeing you for the first time, truly seeing you. His hand reached out slowly, almost hesitantly, as if afraid to shatter the fragile space between you. His touch was a gentle comfort, his fingers brushing against your cheek, his voice a low whisper, "Darling, you're none of that... none of it, I swear."

You shook your head, feeling the tears threatening, but you couldn’t let them fall, not yet. His words were kind, but the ache in your chest was still there, an unhealed wound.

He continued, his voice steady but thick with something deeper. "I didn’t know you felt that way... about her, in the same way I feel about Zayne." His gaze met yours, and for the first time tonight, it wasn’t uncertain. It was so gentle, so soft, tender. "But you need to know, you're it for me, Darling…" he murmured, his fingers curling around yours, grounding you in the quiet storm of your emotions. "Yes, I want help from her, but..." He paused, as if weighing his words carefully, "...I need you more." His words were a balm to the wounds that had festered within you, but the tenderness in his eyes was what finally reached you. His hand slid down to your shoulder, his thumb grazing the skin there. His warmth surrounded you, and you let yourself sink into the comfort of his words. The jealousy, the insecurity that had burned so fiercely in you when you saw him with her, melted in the face of the tenderness he was offering now.

You swallowed, trying to steady yourself as your heart raced, the intensity of the moment almost overwhelming. “Zayne… Zayne’s just a friend,” you said, your voice fragile but firm, “someone who helped me... helped me see past the stuff in my head. After everything, I just... needed someone to remind me that I’m not broken.”

Sylus's eyes softened even more, the depth of his gaze sending shivers down your spine. He nodded slowly, his expression filled with understanding. The tension between you didn’t disappear entirely, but it was now laced with something more tender. More real.

“You’re not broken, Darling.” he repeated, and there was a quiet strength in his voice, something that made you believe him more than you ever had before. “You’re everything I’ve ever needed... and more.”

"I... I’m sorry," you whispered, a lump in your throat as you looked up at him. "I never wanted to make you feel like I didn’t care. I just... I was afraid you’d choose her over me."

Sylus’s fingers brushed against the nape of your neck, pulling you closer, his forehead pressing gently against yours. "You never have to apologize for that, Darling." he murmured, his voice warm, his breath mingling with yours. “It was my fault and I accept that.”

The room was quiet, save for the soft sound of your breathing, as Sylus stood before you, his face drawn with intensity. The flickering light from the lamp cast soft shadows across his features, but his gaze... his gaze was sharp, focused entirely on you.

"I love you, Darling" he said, his words lingering in the air as though they were the first time he had allowed himself to say them out loud. "I’m in love with you," he confessed, his voice steady despite the raw emotion that tinged it. "I’ve been in love with you for a while now, and I’ve tried to deny it. Tried to hide it from you and myself, but I can’t anymore. I won’t. I love you, and I need you to know that."

The breath you hadn’t realized you were holding caught in your throat. Everything in you froze, then splintered. The confession, so pure, so vulnerable, hit you with a force you hadn’t been prepared for. You stood there, unable to move, a mix of surprise and relief flooding your chest.

He loves you. Sylus. The one you had longed for, yearned, and hoped for in silence. Your heart stuttered in your chest, the world around you growing impossibly still.

"I…" you whispered, voice trembling, and you had to stop, had to steady yourself before the words could spill from your lips. "I’ve love you too," you said, your voice barely more than a breath, but it carried all the weight of everything you had kept inside. "I’ve loved you, and I never told you because I was afraid. Afraid that I was asking too much. Afraid of the rejection. Afraid that I wasn’t enough."

Sylus’s expression softened, his lips curling into a frown as he stepped forward, closing the space between you. His hands reached for you, but not in the way you had feared or expected. They were gentle, his touch a plea for understanding. "Oh, darling," he whispered, shaking his head slowly. "I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you ever felt like you needed to hide it from me."

He reached up, brushing his thumb along your cheek, and you flinched slightly, your emotions suddenly overwhelming you, raw and untamed. "We’re both idiots," he continued, his voice almost tender with the weight of the admission. "We’ve been skirting around each other, afraid of saying the one thing we both needed to say."

Your laugh came out soft, almost fragile, the tension in your chest breaking for the first time since Sylus had walked into your home. It was a quiet sound, but it was the first time you’d laughed all night, the first time you’d allowed yourself to feel something other than fear or uncertainty in the past few weeks with him involved. But that laugh didn’t last long. As soon as it came, the tears followed, the ones you had been holding back for so long, finally slipping free. The dam you had built up crumbled, and before you could stop them, hot tears streamed down your face. before you could even reach up to brush them away, his hand was there, steady and warm against your cheek.

"Don’t," you whispered, your voice thick with the ache you could no longer hide. "Please, don’t look at me like this. I’m—"

"Stop," Sylus interrupted softly, his hand holding yours gently, his gaze unwavering. "Don’t hide from me. I want to see all of you… everything you’ve been hiding. I know you think I don’t see it, but I do." His eyes locked onto yours with such intensity that you couldn’t look away. "I see it when you think I’m not watching. I see the way you pull back, the way you hide the parts of you that you think I can’t handle. But I am looking. I’ve always been looking. And I don’t want you to hide anymore. Not from me. And I’m here and I want all of you."

His words were a medicine to the parts of you that had been bruised, the parts that had feared being exposed, vulnerable. But in his eyes, there was only love. No judgment. No pity. Just... love. And it was enough. It was more than enough.

The tears that had slipped down your face slowed, but they didn’t stop. You didn’t try to wipe them away this time, allowing yourself to be seen for the first time in ages. The sobs that followed were soft but trembled with relief, with something finally breaking open inside of you.

Sylus’s arms were around you in an instant, pulling you close, holding you in the kind of embrace that made you feel as though you could finally breathe, as though the weight of everything you had been carrying could finally be set down.

"I’m sorry," you whispered, almost broken. "I’ve been so scared, Sylus. Scared of this, of being cast away... of losing you."

"You’ll never lose me, Darling." he murmured, his voice firm and unwavering as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

You tilted your head back slightly, your face still damp with the remnants of the tears that had fallen, and through your wet lashes, you searched his face. Sylus held you close, his arms wrapped around you in a way that made you feel safe, even as the doubts lingered in your heart. You wanted to believe him, but the fear, the uncertainty, was still there, buried deep beneath the surface.

He must have seen it in your eyes, the way you still hesitated, the uncertainty you couldn't quite shake. Sylus made a half-frustrated sound in the back of his throat, his hands tightening around you for a split second, before they slid up to cradle your face. His thumb brushed against your cheek again, a tender, pleading touch, before he leaned in, his lips finding yours in a sudden, urgent kiss.

The kiss was unlike any other. It wasn’t slow, it wasn’t soft. It was intense, filled with desperation, as though he needed you to understand just how deeply he felt for you, just how much you meant to him. His hands cupped your face, holding you as if you were the only thing that mattered in that moment, as if the world had stopped turning just for you. His lips pressed against yours with a kind of fire, but it wasn’t angry, no. It was passionate, desperate in its own way, like he wanted you to feel how important you were to him, how much you had been wanted, loved.

Your hands trembled as they reached up, gripping the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer, wanting to bridge the distance between you, as though the kiss itself could erase every lingering doubt in your heart. Your breath hitched when you felt his pulse quicken under your touch, his heartbeat matching the frantic pace of your own. Each breath you took seemed to echo in the stillness of the room, mingling with the heat of his kiss, our lips moving together with a quiet urgency, the world beyond the two of you fading into a distant blur. You felt everything—every brush of his fingers, every subtle shift of his body against yours, the way his chest rose and fell beneath your palms, how his breath felt against your lips as if he couldn’t get close enough to you.

Your chests rose and fell together, the world spinning around you. You could feel the heat of him, the urgency that still lingered in his touch, the way he kept you close, almost as if he were afraid to let go.

Breathing became an afterthought, both of you gasping for air when the kiss broke, but neither of you pulled far enough away to lose the connection. Sylus’s forehead rested against yours, his breath hot against your lips as he whispered, voice still heavy with emotion. “Every day, from henceforth, I will work to make sure you never feel the need to doubt yourself. Not in my life. Not with me." His words, slow and deliberate, sank deep into your heart like a promise he would keep.

The intensity of the moment hung between you both, the room still, save for the soft sound of your breathing as you both slowly came back to reality. But in his eyes, you saw nothing but certainty—certainty that you were enough. That you always had been.

His hand found yours again, fingers weaving with yours, and he gave it a gentle squeeze, as if the simple touch was a quiet reassurance.

"You are everything to me," he murmured, his voice steady now, grounding you as much as his embrace. "And I’ll make sure you never forget that.”

Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, absorbing his words, his warmth, his certainty. In his arms, you could feel the truth of his promise, somewhere deep inside, the doubts began to fade.

For the first time in a long time, you believed him. And when he kissed you again, this time softer, it was like the beginning of something new.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

[thelov3lybookworm]

Flicker Out

Summary: Azriel's chest becomes hollow, and the place where once love bloomed, only emptiness remained.

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 1950

Warnings: angst, angst, death (but she comes back) az in agony, a lil bit of me being poetic ofc 🤭 did i mention angst? oh and more angst and angst

A/n: based on this request by an anon. i adore this request and it was litterally one of my fav ones to write. i just couldnt stop writing once i started tbh 🥹

(@potatoplace this is the fic i mentioned hehehe 🤭😏)

anyways, enjoyyy🥹🤭

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

There was almost nothing that could distract Azriel when he was locked in battle. He could not afford to let his mind stray from plotting the next defence, the next manoeuvre, the next attack. It was almost similar to a dance, except he did not know the song and hated his partner, and he also had to be mindful of anyone who might attack him while he was focused on this waltz between life and death.

The soldier whose sword had come within an inch of Azriel’s throat- only the second one since the battle began, unsurprisingly- sneered at Azriel, his teeth stained red and almost half of his face slashed by a vicious stab wound.

Azriel almost pitied the male. Almost. And only because he knew a thing or two about having untreatable scars after escaping the clutches of death.

Still, Azriel heaved his whole body weight against his sword forcing the soldier to yield a step. Azriel’s eyes moved quickly, searching for places the soldier might have left open for him to attack, and gleefully, Azriel noted that his ribs were open. His armour seemed to have chipped off in a corner, and seemed a size entirely too big.

That’s stupid, but good for me.

Azriel moved his blade away from his opponents, swiftly bringing it down to the side of his ribs. The blade had almost touched the male’s unarmoured body when Azriel faltered.

Too empty.

Void.

How?

Azriel breathed in, his eyes losing their focus before a sharp sting brought his attention to the dagger that now seemed to have befriended the skin and bones of his thigh. He looked up, feeling the blood drain from the wound on his thigh- though the concern was in the back of his mind- and his heart. The place where constant love from his mate flowed, a gaping wound had appeared. That hurt more than any fatal wound to his body could.

How?

Azriel did not see nor hear anything around him, his consciousness too busy scrambling to figure out why he could no longer feel her. But it was the warrior instincts in him that his peers had drilled into him, making him instinctively raise his sword, eyes slowly moving to meet the spooked gaze of his enemy, and within the moment, those same eyes stared up at the open, vast sky, unseeing and unfeeling.

But Azriel was already bolting towards where he had felt the last pump of love coming from, and nothing and no one, even the mother, could have stopped him from cutting through the soldiers trying to get in his way as smoothly and viciously as a hot knife cut through butter.

Y/n. Please.

Azriel’s chest heaved, tiny needles stinging his sides and the muscles in his thigh protesting, but still, he ran. Ran towards his love, the one he doubted but refused to admit was…

Gone.

Azriel spread his wings, despite knowing it would just drain his energy faster. He could not walk through his shadows either. They were tired too. Running took too much out of him, and flying would take him to her faster, even if it hurt his muscles and wounded wings.

Please. Just please stay.

From the height his wings took him to, he looked around, and then leaned forward, gliding through the air and riding the breeze that took him closer to where his mate was.

The first thing he saw was a small crowd of his family members. Mainly, Rhys, Feyre and Cassian. The second thing he saw as he touched the ground was the cauldron.

And then…

Y/n.

She lay motionless on the ground, staring up at the sky.

And in that moment, Azriel didn’t care that Rhys stood over his sister’s body, crying. Azriel did not care that his family members who did not know of his relationship with Y/n stared at him wide eyed as he pushed them away from her.

He simply dropped to his knees, his thigh protesting. But he gently grabbed Y/n’s cold hand, his own scarred ones shaking and covered in blood. He let loose a ragged breath, eyes filling up with water as he stared into the empty gaze of his beloved.

He screamed.

A loud, wordless scream ripped from his chest, the sheer pain and longing and regret echoing through the battlefield, even worlds not his own. His heart no longer beat in that familiar, unnoticeable rhythm people come to ignore most of the time, instead beating like a wardrum.

Hollow and empty, but still too loud for him to not hear.

Where once love bloomed, only sadness and pain remained, and Azriel continued screaming.

When he could no longer scream, he weeped.

He let his forehead rest on his mate’s chest, and he wept. Deep, sorrowful sobs ripping from his throats. They were as deep and powerful and soft as his love for his mate.

And when he couldn’t weep, he whimpered. Sorry, quiet whimpers resembling the silence and lack of warmth in his body and the bond that had once tied the bridge between two souls. The sounds escaping him were low, almost silent, but they were just as loud and impactful as his silent love for Y/n when they could not afford to love freely and loudly.

Azriel’s shadows had regained enough of their power to brush against his ears, his hair and shoulder like Y/n’s hands had once touched him, gentle and soothing and calming.

But there was no calming now, for the storm rising from the shattered pieces of his heart would no longer let him live in peace.

The only peace for him now was death and burial with his beloved.

"Az." The unmistakable shakiness in Rhysand’s voice made Azriel raise his head and meet the sorrowful eyes on his friend.

Azriel said nothing, only letting his eyes wander and take in the crowd that had only grown bigger since he had arrived. The high lords, all seven of them, stared down at him, some with tears in their eyes, like Rhysand, Helion and Tarquin. Some with empathy and pity, like Thesan and Kallias. And then some with quiet sadness and understanding, like Tamlin and Beron.

Under other circumstances, Azriel would have wondered why Beron looked like he knew and had been through what Azriel was experiencing, but in the moment as he tightened his grip around his mate’s hand and curled closer to her cooling body, he could not care less.

"Az," Rhys repeated. "What are you doing?"

But Rhys looked like he already knew what Azriel was doing. So Azriel said nothing, just let his forehead go back to resting on her shoulder.

Muffled words surrounded Azriel, but he heard none of them as he focused on somehow reaching his mate. There must be some way, some sort of… connection to bring her back. Maybe her lingering soul.

Something, anything.

Moments later, Azriel felt a familiar hand grip his shoulder. Despite his lack of will to look at the person, he lifted his head slightly to meet Cassian’s gaze.

"Move back, they’re trying to bring her back."

Azriel stared at Cassian, the words looping in his head for a moment before he could truly process them, then he nodded and scooted back. It was almost unrealistic, but still, Azriel was a drowning male and the hope a wood plank that he latched on without thought.

Azriel watched as Rhysand stepped forward and lifted his hand, staring at it for a moment, tears rolling down his cheeks before he turned his hand, a drop of moonlight dropping straight onto Y/n’s chest.

All the high lords took turns repeating the action one after another, and Azriel watched numbly, still on his knees on the ground, refusing to lose hope but at the same time forcing himself to not hope.

At last, Tamlin stepped away from Y/n’s body, and Azriel leaned forward, his eyes wide as he waited for that feeling to take root in his chest again, the one he had cherished for the past ten years.

But nothing happened for a long moment, and the flame of hope that had begun warming his insides began to flicker out.

"Rhys." Azriel mumbled, his voice cracking. "What happened? Why is she not…"

"Oh Az." Cassian whispered, wrapping an arm around Azriel’s shoulder from the back.

Azriel just stared at her. "Why?"

Long moments passed, and then…

There.

Life.

Just life, pure and untainted, began glowing at the end of the bond, and Azriel laughed.

He laughed, tears pouring from his eyes.

"Az?"

It took Azriel a while to form the two words he uttered, the smile on his face making it impossible to speak.

"She’s back."

Azriel felt Rhysand’s gaze on him, but after Y/n’s eyes slid closed, his gaze was ripped away.

Then Y/n opened her eyes again, blinking twice before her eyes found Azriel’s, unprompted and instinctive.

"Hey." She whispered, and Azriel laughed again. He leaped forward and tackled her into a hug, his hands shaking worse than they had before.

"Hey." He whispered in her ear, and she giggled, patting his back before she stopped suddenly.

"Az… Rhys."

Azriel pulled away, glancing up. He did not care about what Rhys might do to him anymore, considering he had very nearly lost his mate without even having the chance to scream and proclaim his love for her from the tops of Velaris’s mountains like he had sworn to her he would one day. Rhys’s wrath was the least of his worries.

Everyone who was not a part of the inner circle had departed while Azriel had been busy breathing in the fact that Y/n was alive, that she was here. Rhysand stood with his arms folded against his chest, in that protective stance every brother had when it came to their sisters.

But there was that slight tilt to the corner of his lips, a happiness in his stern eyes.

Azriel could not tell if it was because of Y/n being alive or something else.

"Uh…" Y/n mumbled, sitting up. "Hey, Rhys."

He sighed, rubbing his brows as Azriel helped Y/n stand. He quietly stepped forward and gathered his little sister in his arms, holding her close to his heart as Azriel watched, his chest feeling full again.

Though a certain hollowness lingered, and Azriel almost knew it would follow him around like the ghost of his past.

Rhysand pulled away, holding the back of Y/n’s head.

"I don’t know what you two have been up to, and frankly, I don’t think I even want to know, but I will not interfere. When you’re ready, I want to know everything." He glanced at Azriel, the single glance telling Azriel he would have been ten feet under ground by now if his sister was not watching.

Azriel dipped his head, gaze moving back to Y/n. She smiled at him, reaching out to take his hands.

Rhys turned to Feyre, taking her hand too. "Freshen up, rest. Then we’ll talk."

Cassian was already gone, left to find Nesta by the time Rhys winnowed Feyre away. Azriel turned fully to Y/n then.

"Don’t you dare do that again."

She giggled, grabbing his collar and pulling him down. She pecked his cheek, then turned her head to rest it against his chest as he lifted his arms in a practised motion to hold her close.

"Will try."

He pinched her waist, making her squeal. He savoured the simplicity of the moment before pecking the crown of her head.

"I love you, Y/n."

The bond flickered.

And stayed.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Permanent Taglist: @berryzxx @sarawritestories @milswrites @throneofsmut

@daycourtofficial @sweetorangeblossom @secret-third-thing

@serenescureforboredom @cassie6392 @harrystylesfan2686

Acotar Taglist: @bubybubsters @eos-princess @nightless @harrystylesfan2686

@cassie6392 @kennedy-brooke @tele86 @miluiel1

@hnyclover @minnieoo @sidrapotter @piceous21

@mybestfriendmademe @saltedcoffeescotch @lady-of-tearshed @starsinyourseyes

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @byyalady

@lilah-asteria @girlswithimagination @garden-of-runar @girlswithimagination

@sunnyspycat @artists-ally @milswrites @kingdomofstarrynights

@berryzxx @buttermilktea11 @loving-and-dreaming @yucanbmylxdy

@mellowmusings

Azriel Taglist: @darthdumbasss @foreverrandomwritings @azrielsmate3 @celestialend

@stqrgirlies-blog @tele86 @bakananya @xyzmeh

@st4r-girl-official @caraaaaugh @nacho-nat @allllium

@fandomarchiveilyd @nickishadow139 @angel-graces-world-of-chaos

@okaytrashpanda

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 3

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a (now skeptical!) player. That’s it, that’s the plot. A/N: I’ve already outlined the entire thing–now it’s just a matter of writing it, so don’t worry! Even if some chapters take me longer to update, I’m gonna finish this one way or another. Promise. *fingers crossed* Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, reader thinks she’s losing her marbles because of a certain someone

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6

“Alright—okay, don’t be stupid,” You chant to yourself as you pace restlessly from the kitchen area of your studio, to the coffee table where you’ve set your phone lying facedown. “Just open the damn thing.” 

You’ve just arrived back at the condo a little past seven PM after a, frankly, productive–if not slightly distracted–day of running errands. You’re home, and you haven’t even got to unpacking the two paper bags (and a box) worth of groceries that were all but thrown carelessly on the kitchen counter, and already, you’re back to stressing over all the weird shit that's been happening to you.

Throughout the afternoon, you tried your hardest to resist the urge to check your phone, especially whenever you see the screen light up–whether it was in your hand or stashed away in your half-zipped fanny pack.

It’s at the most random times too, but always when you act on your unfortunate tendency to monologue your thoughts out loud. 

Sure, it could just be some random push app notifications. Text messages from the few people that hit you up on the weekends–invitations to hang out, maybe. A few newsletters you forgot to unsubscribe from, if you’re unlucky. 

But you think the timing’s far too deliberate to be purely coincidental. 

“Do I get a dozen eggs or just half? What do I even need a dozen for?” (Phone vibrates)

“Oh, hey, Indomie’s on sale if you buy in bulk. How much for a box?” (Screen flashes. Twice.)

“Who the hell is holding up the line, damn–oh, it’s an old lady. Better hurry the fuck up, grandma.” (Screen flashes) “...Sorry! I didn’t mean that.” 

“Ughhh… my tummy hurty…” (Phone vibrates) “What—” 

“Everything’s perfectly normal. Just your average, sunny Saturday! You are an independent, capable adult… who’s fucking losing it.” (Screen flashes–after a minute interval) 

Of course, you have an inkling as to what’s–or who’s–blowing your phone up; in fact, he’s never left your mind since this morning.

So presently, you’re in the middle of having a small existential crisis over what that means, for you and your sanity. No big deal. 

You puff out your cheeks for a couple of seconds before letting out a deep breath. Don’t be a pussy. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation to all of this. You’re–you’re not crazy. 

Landing heavily down in front of the low table, you finally grab your phone, hand shaking with the teensiest amount of trepidation. Not giving yourself any more time to think and second-guess, you flip it over, switching it back to Ring mode as you swipe up to see—

—a barrage of notifications; one popping up after another. 

Some of them are what you’ve expected: plain, old push notifications from banking apps, others from varying socials. There’s one from your mom. A reminder to email her the flight tickets you still haven’t gotten around to booking yet. 

And. Six banner notifications from the game. From… from–him. It’s something you’ve already braced yourself for. It doesn’t prepare you, however, for what they actually said. 

A knot grows in your chest, spreading rapidly like slithering twine as your mind tries, and somewhat fails, to make sense of what your eyes are seeing. 

Grab a dozen, sweetie. It won’t add much to the total cost, and you need that protein every morning. Cereal’s not gonna cut it. 

You really ought to lessen your sodium intake, kitten. (and) Do NOT get the box. Stop. 

Haha. A feisty one, aren’t you? 

Mmm, poor baby.

I– we can talk about this later when you get home.

Each notification contains a completely unique dialogue you’ve never seen before. A play-by-play commentary specifically in response to you— to your personal remarks from earlier, spoken out loud— that there is absolutely no way anyone could still pass this off as simply being system-generated. 

A faint ringing echoes in your ears as you slowly draw back, putting some distance between the onslaught of text and… you. You can’t seem to tear your gaze away from the screen, though. Even if the back of your head bumps against the seat edge of the sofa behind you from how far you’ve already leaned back. 

Blinking in stunned silence, the only thing you could croak out is a strained “what the fuuuck.” 

... Ping!

Still mustering the courage to face me? Don’t keep me in suspense, darling. 

The sudden message jolts you back to reality. You suck in a deep breath.

… Despite everything, you can’t help but find his nonchalant response to your gradual spiral into hysterics–because he knows–a little amusing. Also rude. But mostly funny. 

(It’s also probably just your brain’s last-ditch effort to find some semblance of control, but whatever.)

At this point, you know that you’re merely delaying the inevitable. Swallowing, you press on one of Sylus’ messages and it immediately boots up the game. 

Instead of soothing your nerves like it usually does, the orchestral background music from the loading screen puts you more on edge; your anxiety builds up to a crescendo, harmonious to the heralding of what you know will undoubtedly change the trajectory of your life. 

Dramatic, but true. 

48%... 82%... 98%...

There’s a hollow drop in your stomach when the screen–finally–reveals the familiar sight of the café. The golden ambient light enters your field of vision for a split second before your eyes flit reflexively to the man standing in the middle of the screen, whose presence commandeered your full attention.

He’s wearing his motorcycle jacket–the black one with the red and white thorn(?) accents, paired along the pair of leather pants with the iconic double zipper. Aside from the black zircon studs, he’s not wearing anything out of the ordinary. Nothing is looking out of the ordinary, actually. 

Holding your breath, you wait for the other shoe to drop. 

“Are you waiting for me to say hello? Then–” Sylus muses with an amused lilt to his voice, sauntering closer to flick “your” forehead. There’s a beat before he continues: “That’s my way of saying hello.” 

… Huh? 

That’s—this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. You… you don’t know what you were expecting, but this wasn’t it.

The man in front of you doesn’t look any different from how he usually does; the way that his… character animation (Should you call it that? It doesn’t seem right, given the circumstance, but you don’t know how best to describe anything anymore) flows is so–-so infuriatingly… normal. As if it’s just like any other day that you’ve logged in the game. 

Where did the sentience go? Why is he reciting lines he’s programmed to say? None of it adds up.

Your mouth tries to form words, but nothing comes out. With wide eyes, you helplessly gape at him. Speechless. For a moment, you feel like you’ve actually gone mad. 

A small “what’s happening?” slips past your lips. Your eyes dart across his face, trying to analyze every microexpression, any hint of sentience on him–in his eyes, in his movements. 

You find none. 

Mechanically, you exit the game.

“What the actual fuck?” You whisper-shout at nothing in particular, and maybe to the biggest cause of your current disconcertion; one who you thought… Who you were sure was—

-

-

Fuck it. It’s time to put your detective skills to work.

[kimmie2me]

Dynamite and His Player 2

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Twitch Gamer!Bakugou x AFAB!Reader

.....

Bakugou glances over at the camera, brows furrowed as he adjusts his headset. "Alright, you extras, get ready to shut the hell up," he growls, his voice laced with annoyance. "She’s real. I’ve got her right here, and she’s playing with me tonight."

You laugh off-screen, causing his chat to explode with reactions. Up until now, they didn't believe a word Bakugou said when he claimed he had a girlfriend. After all, this is the guy known for his explosive reactions when things go slightly wrong. He grumbles, trying to keep his cool, but the slight blush on his cheeks gives him away.

The game loads up, some horror-puzzle co-op that requires a ton of coordination. But while Bakugou’s all business—focused on solving puzzles and surviving—you have other ideas. You’re busy teasing him, wandering off to explore the map, or purposely messing up just to get a rise out of him.

"Can you just—dammit! Will you STOP wandering off?" Bakugou snaps as he watches your character take another detour. "We’re supposed to be working together!"

You grin at the screen, purposely moving your character in circles. "Aw, come on, Suki~ We’re just having fun, right?"

His jaw clenches, and he mutters something under his breath about "not having fun if you keep screwing around." But his viewers are eating it up, laughing at his frustration and flooding the chat with comments like "She's brave for messing with him, LMAO😭😭" and "Bros .4 seconds away from exploding his monitor for the 10 millionth time🪦"

Eventually, he just huffs, slouching in his chair and mumbling, "Fine. Do whatever the hell you want. I’ll just wait here." His expression says he's beyond annoyed, but the hint of a smile peeking through his scowl gives away that maybe, just maybe, he's actually having a little fun too.

Grumpy Twitch Gamer Bakugou Headcanons

...

— Every time he messes up, he narrows his eyes at the camera with that “are you stupid?” glare. Chat spams "IT’S NOT OUR FAULT!” and "WHY R U LOOKING AT US LIKE WE DID THAT??" but he just huffs, “If you idiots weren’t DISTRACTING me…”

— Bakugou’s streaming style is brutally honest—constantly throwing out curses like it’s second nature. If he dies in-game, his go-to is, “How the hell am I supposed to win with this garbage game?!” and he never blames himself, ever.

— He has zero chill. Every so often, he’ll pound the desk so hard that the camera shakes, and one time he punched his mic so fiercely that it cut out, leaving chat in hysterics as he tries to fix it, muttering about “this piece of crap gear.”

— After every gaming session, he gives a review of the game he’s playing—most of which devolve into full-on rants about terrible controls, stupid enemies, and “whoever the hell designed these levels.” At this point, it's an entire essay by the time he's done.

— There are moments when he hits the mute button just to scream or cuss off-mic. Chat sees him red-faced and mouthing words, knowing he’s losing it, which makes them spam laugh emotes to annoy him further.

— Sometimes, when things get really bad, he just simply says "Okay." and goes quiet, leaning in close to the screen with this intense focus. Chat knows that if he’s silent, it’s only because he’s plotting to obliterate whatever got him killed.

— It’s become a running joke with his followers—every time he streams, they place bets on which piece of his equipment he’ll break. He’s replaced his keyboard three times already and had to upgrade his camera stand because he broke the last one during a particularly heated rage quit.

— When he finally beats a level, he acts like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “See? Wasn’t even hard, you just have to not be a dumbass.” Cue the smug smirk.

— Occasionally, in his absolute rage, he’ll end the stream immediately after a loss. One second he’s there, screaming at the game, and then—stream offline.

— Despite all the rage, he’s actually insanely good at gaming. When he goes on a winning streak, chat blows up with admiration, but he barely acknowledges it. “’Course I won—who the hell do you think I am?”

— He has zero patience for backseat gamers. “Oh, you think you could do better? Why don’t you go start your own damn channel, then!” The mods know by now to instantly time out anyone who even hints at suggesting how he should play, and the ban count is astronomical by the end of each stream.

— Occasionally, Bakugou gets so into the game that he goes almost silent, and chat jokes it’s an ASMR session because all they can hear is his intense breathing and muttered curses. “Oi, STOP saying it’s ASMR, it’s not ASMR, you freaks!”

— Loading screens are his worst enemy. Every single time, he glares directly into the camera, arms crossed and seething, ranting about the “stupid long loading times” and how he could’ve “beat the damn game twice by now.” and how "a whole child could've been born by now." Chat watches in suspense because they know the rage is simmering, just waiting to explode.

— If he’s playing a console game, the controller does not have a safe future. He’s thrown it across the room, slammed it on his knee or desk, and even threatened it like, “You’re next, you little piece of shit, keep messing up on me.” He’s gone through so many controllers that his sponsor had to send him extras.

— When he loses in a PvP game, he has 1,001 excuses. “Lag. Dumb luck. Exploiter. The devs nerfed my character, obviously.” If chat calls him out, he just scoffs, “You think that was my fault? Keep dreaming.” And the mods instantly clear out any “L” spam from chat because he’s already dangerously close to slamming his keyboard.

— His channel has special emotes for when he loses his temper—explosion icons, angry Bakugou faces, and even one of his own “ARE YOU FUCKIN’ KIDDING ME?!” face. Chat spams these whenever he starts heating up, which only fuels his fire.

— His viewers love to try and provoke him. Someone will innocently say, “Hey Dynamight, I think you missed something back there,” and he’ll instantly pause, glare at the screen, and say, “I DIDN’T MISS ANYTHING, DUMBASS, WE'RE MOVING ON.” It’s like a game within the game for his followers. (He goes back to check right after.)

— “Easy mode?” he scoffs at the suggestion. “I’d rather throw myself into a fire than play on easy mode.” Even if he’s dying over and over, he’ll never, ever change the difficulty. Chat has tried for months to get him to switch, but he’s stubbornly loyal to “the only real mode” (aka Hard Mode, Nightmare mode or above).

— If he actually wins a match, he’s unbearable. He’ll sit there, grinning and basking in his victory, smirking at the camera with a smug, “And that, extras, is why I’m better than every single one of you.” Cue chat sarcastically clapping.

— He once had a bet with his mods that he’d try to do a stream without cursing or raging. He lasted five minutes before he exploded, screaming, “THIS GAME IS FUCKING RIGGED!” after an unexpected jump-scare. The mods were dying, and he banned half of them out of spite (they were unbanned five minutes later, but still).

— Every time he’s about to start a new game, he’s got this exaggerated, dramatic intro: “ALRIGHT, EXTRAS, prepare yourselves ‘cause we’re about to dominate the shit outta this game. And if I see anyone backseat gaming, you’re banned. Don’t even THINK about telling me what to do.”

— Every now and then, when he dies for the tenth time in a row, he just deadpans to the camera, “I swear to God, I’m deleting my channel after this.” Chat knows he’s bluffing, but they still spam crying emojis like “NOOO PLEASE DON’T” just to mess with him.

— Every so often, when he’s focused on a tough level, he’ll mutter something like, “Okay, maybe you’re not so bad, chat. Don’t tell anyone I said that,” and the comments absolutely blow up with hearts and “WE LOVE YOU, DYNAMIGHT.” He immediately goes red and yells, “Didn’t mean it, idiots!” but it’s too late.

— Once, he rage-quit a game so hard that his entire setup fell silent. He’d punched the desk, and the screen went black. Chat watched in shock as the stream just… cut off. The clip went viral, with an entire 30-minute compilation titled “Every time Dynamight destroyed his setup” He came back the next day, reacted to it, and you already know he gave the video a thumbs down and left a long hate comment.

— His mods convinced him to play a “relaxing, casual game” that was secretly full of jump scares. The first time it happened, he almost flipped his entire desk. He immediately banned half of his mods and told the rest they were “on thin ice.” Chat still laughs about it every time he plays a “cute” game.

[ericscroptop]

Needy

✧ pairing: bf! eric x gf! reader

✦ genre: smut

✧ warnings: 18+ (minors DNI), smut, p!rn with slight plot, bratty and dramatic reader just a tad, reader is insanely needy that it’s like, “okay, damn, we get it!” — but that’s the entire point, teasing, kissing, making out, fondling, grinding, one spank, marking, unprotected sex, sideways sex, creampie, dirty talk, cursing, pet names, fluff, fluffy aftercare

✦ word count: 6.5k words

✧ synopsis: it’s ‘missing eric hours’ and you can’t help but be a smidge of a brat about it until he finally gives you the attention you need.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

A huff passes out of you for what seems like the millionth time today.

Anything and everything you could possibly watch on TV seems uninteresting. You sit up from your bed and stare at nothing in particular, drowning out the television noise with your sulking thoughts at the fact that it’s getting late and your boyfriend still isn’t in the room with you.

While he was actually under the same roof as you, he was working in his at-home office room, swamped by various tasks and extra work he had to bear suddenly.

He’d been in his office practically all day and night. You know that duty calls, but you can’t help that you want to spend pretty much all of your time with him. These days, he’s been a busy man. You’re both lucky that he was able to work from home today, but it was still painful and no different since he’s locked away to focus properly.

You’re becoming restless. All day you’ve tried to occupy yourself with several activities, but they all got monotonous quickly. It also felt isolating knowing you and Eric were under the same roof, but couldn’t spend proper time together. It was torturous.

Planting your feet on the ground, you stand up out of bed. The clock was getting close to midnight and your boyfriend was still locked in that damn office.

You stride towards his office, going with determination to persuade him to call it a night and come join you in your comfortable shared-bedroom.

He had advised you to leave him be and he’d call for you or text if he needed something so he could fully immerse himself without distractions, but you couldn’t help your antsy-ness.

He needed to take care of himself properly and rest. And you needed a reminder of how good it felt to have Eric curled up beside you, relaxed in his arms.

Without knocking on the door, you invite yourself in with no hesitation. Eric is already peering up at you from his desk once the door’s fully opened. You greet him with a sense of longing behind your eyes, while he offers you a weary grin.

“Babe, it’s getting late.” you’re the first one to speak, moving yourself over to his figure slumped on the chair.

“I know, honey. But I have just a couple more pages left and then i’ll be done.” he lets out a heavy sigh, exhausted eyes trained on his computer.

You bring a hand to his soft hair and run your fingers through it, then carefully brush along his fringe before pressing a chaste kiss over his temple.

The sight of his eyes fluttering shut for a second from his side profile, and hearing the short hum paired with a faint giggle as you kiss him has your heart burning. God, you missed him.

You retract with a sweet smile and move your hands over his shoulders, deciding to give them a massage as well.

He exhales while you kneaded along his hard, tight muscles, closing his eyes for a second time and starting to lose himself in the feeling of you reducing and relieving any present tension.

The sensation of your hands alleviating his stress and your familiar touch making him immediately unwind is almost enough for him to say ‘fuck it’ and call it a night.

Though, he flashes his eyes open and straightens his posture, forcing you to drop your hands down as he scoots his chair an inch or two closer towards his desk.

“Go ‘head and lay in bed, princess. Don’t wait up on me.” his eyes are once again stuck to his computer, his calloused fingers going back to making work with the keyboard like they have been all day.

The taste of accomplishment is too close to give up now. He’d finish up the last bit of work and then finally get to reward himself with a well-deserved sleep, fueled by your warmth and presence.

While you admired his strong work ethic and commitment, it did sometimes stand in the way of your selfish desires and from him getting proper rest.

All you wanted is for your boyfriend to be laid alongside you. Your eyes followed his own at his screen, noticing the time in the corner displaying that it’s technically a new day now. Seeing it makes you shift your weight to your right leg, arms crossing over your chest and head slightly tilted.

“Eric!” you whined, pouting tiredly.

“Y/n!” he mimicked your tone, incessantly typing away.

“You’ve been trapped in this room all day! Surely your body and mind need a break. You shouldn’t be working this late.” you continued to nag him.

“It’s my job, baby. The deadline for this is tomorrow afternoon. Lemme finish this and I’ll have the whole day free tomorrow.” he says without sparing you a glance.

You were agitated. You didn’t know how much you valued quality time until you met Eric. He was your person. It killed you seeing him so busy and hardly having time to even sit down and have a meal with you. Now that it was night, you’d think that he would actually clock off and come running to you. Boy, were you wrong.

“I need you, baby. Come lie down with me.” you tell him desperately, hoping he folds for the neediness laced in your voice.

“And so does my boss— to finish this work up. I’m sorry. Please go lay down, hm?” he responds, turning to meet your form with a dog-tired look written all over his face.

It’s only a few seconds before he faces his computer again, continuing to click away.

His expression is serious and focused, albeit tired. While your persistence is tempting, it’s even more enticing having the entire day free tomorrow if he finishes this last task.

He’s not budging, leaving you to mope to the max. You release a deep sigh, adding extra emphasis to the sound to express how irritated you are.

“You know, I’d get this done a lot faster if you’d just leave me to work in peace.” he mutters, but audible enough for you to obviously catch it. There’s a tinge of impatience within his words, wishing you’d just let it go. It’s too late to be fussing around. He’s aware that he’s been distant, but he’s so close to freedom. If only you’d just let him get it done.

His words make your brows furrow and feel a sting in your heart. All you wanted is for him to take a break after working nonstop and remember that he has a life outside of work. Your behavior was probably annoying, but was it bad that you just wanted your boyfriend to unwind and be with you? Even if it was for a couple minutes?

Without any more communication, you stomp out of the room like a bratty child. Eric’s gaze follows your figure as you leave the room, eyes closing shut with an upset sigh once he hears you shut the door. You don’t slam it, but he knows how pissed you are at him.

He feels bad that he just kicked you out and rejected you. Oh, how he wishes tonight could’ve been a movie night filled with cuddles and kisses. But he knows that you know he can’t slack off his job. The sooner he gets this done, the sooner he’ll get to be attached to you by the hip.

You just had to unfortunately wait a little longer.

Storming back into your room, you’re filled with defeat. There’s really nothing you can do, and you just have to accept the fact that work consumes a decent chunk of his time sometimes. You have to suck it up.

Maybe you will listen to your boyfriend and go to bed. You’re bummed out that the day has gone to waste. Without a doubt if the roles were reversed, he would’ve dragged you to bed hours ago. You just miss your man!

Since you already completed your bed time routine a while ago, all you have to do is turn off the TV, lights, and sink into bed.

Though, as you grab your remote that was hidden in between folds of your blanket, you turn to the television and are faced with a very romantic scene between a couple. It has you pause in turning it off, jealousy beginning to itch your brain.

Damn it, Eric. That could’ve been us tonight.

Seeing that moment ends up sparking an idea in you. Instead of turning the TV off, you only turn down the volume, then place the remote on the nightstand. Afterwards, you shimmy out of your comfy loungewear bottoms, leaving you in some underwear that isn’t anything special.

You decide to discard of that as well, moving over to one of you drawers to hunt for some new underwear, a specific pair in mind that is Eric’s absolute favorite.

Within seconds, you find it. It’s a pair of cheeky, lacey baby pink panties with a small bow in the front. It was one of your most beloved as well. You loved how pretty the style and color was. Even if it was just fabric, who doesn’t love a good pair of underwear?

Eric has expressed to you at least twice how the visual of you wearing this special pair makes him swoon. The delicacy of the detailing and softness of the shade of pink flatters your sensual areas. It teased him so much. Especially with how it exposed your ass cheeks the perfect amount. Just the sight of you prancing or laying around in those lacey pink panties had him captivated and folded immediately like a lawn chair.

Which is why you’re wearing them to bed tonight, and only that.

You figured that if work has kept all his attention today, you could tease him by going to bed simply wearing that piece of fabric that drives him insane. It’s silly and petty behavior, and you know that him having a demanding job can’t be helped, but he needs a reminder in what he’s missing out on.

You remove your shirt and toss it to the side, leaving your torso bare. You crawl into your respective side of the bed, lying on your stomach, side of face down against your pillow. The lights from the TV and lamp remain on, you not bothering in shutting them off so Eric has a crystal clear view when he finally decides to go to bed.

You also don’t cover yourself with the sheets or blanket, leaving your almost-bare body exposed to the air.

Now all that’s left is to wait.

About an hour later, Eric finally feels freedom from closing all the open tabs on his computer. After a long day, he successfully accomplished what he needed to get done before the deadline.

He cracks his neck and knuckles while staring at his screensaver, a candid of you and him that was taken by a close friend.

He takes a deep breath and lets his shoulders fall, feeling drained and upset that work rips him away from you. He’s finished now but at what cost? Under the same roof but his attention was caught elsewhere, leaving you to feel lonely.

He’d be sure to compensate for his lack of company lately once you two wake up. Emotionally, physically— whatever you need, he’ll devote the day to properly taking care of you.

He shuts off his computer and rises from his chair, getting that long-needed stretch he’s been yearning for after being seated uncomfortably for what seemed like an eternity.

Right after, he immediately leaves the room without looking back. A yawn escapes out of him as he shuffles to the bedroom, ready to drop his fatigued form next to you.

Since it’s not that far of a walk to the room, he can tell from a couple feet away that you’ve left the light on. He wonders if you’re still up.

When he steps into the bedroom, the burnout he bears is momentarily forgotten. Your body is relaxed over the bed, his breath stuck in his throat when he sees the unexpected sight of your bare back on display. His gaze trails down and is practically bewitched when he sees your ass cheeks out, lower half of your region only covered by thin panties— of which, make his eyes widen once it registers that it’s that pair of panties.

His features stretch to an amused expression, wowed in seeing that his girl went to bed in exclusively those dainty-but-dangerous baby pink panties.

You normally were swallowed in his clothing or something comfortable of your own when you went to bed, so this was definitely telling. The lights were left on and you didn’t bother covering yourself with the sheets or blanket, indicating to him that this was intentional.

There’s his little minx, so desperate for attention and doing this to rile him up. And it’s definitely working without fail.

He takes caution in his steps as he approaches the bed, seeing that your body rises and falls, fallen into slumber.

Though when the bed dips from his added weight on it, and he fumbles to add a blanket over you, you stir. You’ve awoken slightly disoriented, eyes still glued shut but mind and body conscious.

“Shhhh, it’s okay. I’m here now. Go back to sleep, honey.” Eric whispers, his body now spooned behind you. A hand of his reaches over the top of your head, brushing along your hair to soothe you.

Hearing his voice and being aware of his presence has you whimpering softly, beginning to pathetically grind back into his crotch, your way of showing that you needed his attention.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he coos, already knowing that you simply missed him.

You don’t verbally answer him. Your tired eyes are still closed as you turn over towards him. You push your body into his own, melting and snuggling into him, making his arms immediately wrap around your back to hold and accept you.

Your face sinks comfortably into his chest, his chin now resting over the top of your head.

“Sorry for taking so long. I missed you so much.” his arms swaddle you and he brings a kiss into your hair, then rubs his nose along it, inhaling your cozy scent.

You can’t believe it took so long for you to be wrapped within his embrace. The nice warmth his body provides to your entire being is better than any blanket to ever exist.

The atmosphere carries a sense of private intimacy from your almost-naked body held securely within your boyfriend’s hold during this late hour in bed. It was domestic moments like these that had your heart pounding in hearty love and affection for Eric.

You swooned over how his touches were so gentle, out of fondness and adoration for you.

But his touches were duplexing. He had another side of him that was filled with carnal desire. He couldn’t help in wanting to worship your body naughtily, feeling the way your body would weaken and lose control while he touched you lasciviously.

You possessed that same duality as well. Attraction to one another manifests itself in many ways, and sex was an intimate one that displayed how strong that attraction for one another was, as well as how bonded you two were.

Your bare breasts press up against Eric’s clothed torso while he cuddled you. It’s impossible to ignore the feeling of your soft mounds move against his chest, even more so when you’re practically squeezing your chest into him.

A hand snakes down to one of your ass cheeks, remembering that you wore those panties that please him beyond words. The palm of his hand rubs along the part of your rear that is exposed to the air.

The feeling of his rough hand caressing your bottom and his fingers beginning to trace the outline of your undies is sensual. It prompts you to throw a leg over his hip, trying to intertwine with him, allergic to space when it comes to him.

Your clothed core seeks for his manhood. The close proximity with your man, the feeling of your body covered merely in frilly panties against him, and his small touches are all driving you haywire.

You’re not even the slightest embarrassed when you start to buck your hips into his, desperately wanting him to get the hint.

Eric has been growing hard since he saw how you looked on the bed. His pretty princess in pink panties, waiting for him. Teasing him with that lingerie and even now, being so touchy and clingy.

Although both of you could be ready to doze off, the sexual appetite between the two of you was growing. You wanted Eric to hold you, kiss you, and fuck you.

He wasn’t expecting to do this tonight, but he has now become equally as horny. Always without fail when it comes to you.

It was time to settle this.

“Look at me.” he utters.

His request is heard but you refuse to move your face hidden in his chest. Your sexual movements continue, wanting to push his buttons just a little to make things a bit more interesting and get him heated.

The hand that was circling your bottom lifted abruptly to spank you with force, making you gasp and jolt at the impact.

“Hey— behave.” his voice stern.

Your core shivers from the act, turned on by his dominant behavior.

“Stop being a brat and tell me what you want.” he grabs a handful of your fleshy ass, pawing roughly at the skin.

This act you’re putting up is driving blood straight to his cock, but your lack of words and taunting is running his patience thin. Much like how you were peeved from his lack of attention up until now.

You lift your head up and meet Eric’s dark gaze. Tiredness is drifting away while lust prevails. His hand continues to roam over your rear, teasingly inching his fingers down slowly in between your legs.

Your lips part, arms hooked around his neck as you looked at him with heavy lidded eyes.

“I need you… to fuck me, please.” you beg sweetly through batting lashes.

Eric licks his lips at your words, his fingers starting to rub you through your clothed cunt. His moves continue to engorge your pussy with blood, senses heightened and filled with heat everywhere.

The fabric is slightly damp, your sex already producing fluid out of excitement.

“My needy girl missed me, hm?” he teases and removes his hand from between your legs.

He makes you sigh out in frustration at loss of contact, making him smirk as he pulls you up his body closer, bringing your face mere centimeters away from his.

“Nothing’s keeping me from you anymore. I’m all yours.” his breath brushes your lips before his own chase yours, capturing them eagerly.

Both of your eyes flutter closed. You didn’t hesitate even for a second to kiss him back with the same level of yearn.

Your hands redirect to cradle either side of his face, held as steady as possible to keep him in place, tender gesture showing your devotion for him. He reciprocates that same need for closeness by keeping his left hand on the small of your back, while his right tousled through your hair. The stir of excitement that rushes past both of your veins when kissing is thrilling and addicting, clinging on to each other due to naturally wanting one another closer than close.

The feeling of his slightly chapped lips due to his bad habit of biting on them while working has you smiling into the kiss. The smile that stretches your mouth allows Eric to slip his tongue past, brushing and sucking with fervor and wetness along your own.

The warmth, moistness, and sliminess of it all has you hungry for more. You softly moan from the amorous kiss, causing Eric to playfully nibble on your bottom lip in response to his favorite noise.

He then rolls you onto your back swiftly, now hovering over you.

His face dips down straight for your neck, sharp nose tickling you before he starts dotting tender kisses along the sensitive area.

He worships your hotspot, circling through sucking, softly biting, blowing his hot air over you, and licking the skin.

The physical affection raises the hairs on your skin, and the nerves that run behind your ear down your neck being stimulated have your body shivering.

All while the other side of your neck is held tightly by his hand, trailing his lips lower to your collarbone, then to your shoulder, and then to your breasts.

When he gets to your mounds, he can’t resist in pausing his kisses to cover them with his hands, playing with the fleshy skin and warming them up in his hold.

The squeezing and toying he does to you has your pussy boiling with ardor. You stare dumbly at him, open-mouthed as you watch the frisky glint in his eyes. Eric is infatuated with how soft and squishy they were, his two plushy pillows.

His fingers roll over your nipples, rotating the erect buds. Your breathing increases and heart rate picks up, turned on from the way he shows sultry attention to every inch of you.

A grin plasters across Eric’s face in hearing your breathless sounds, savoring the way you lie under him in all your glory, touching and teasing you carnally.

His craving for your breasts in his mouth has him dropping his face down to lick a bold stripe up your cleavage, leaving you to gasp at the sensation of his wet muscle navigating through.

Like a shot, he aggressively marks his precious territory, relentlessly devouring your mounds with his mouth, deeply enough to where he’d be sure his marks littered your chest for days.

You absolutely lose it when he traces an areola with his tongue, then, encloses his lips around your nipple and sucks with determination, practically making out with your boob.

It has you arching your back, yelping and crying out as zaps of pleasure from Eric send arousal to pool down inside your panties.

“You like when I suck your tits? Yeah?” he chuckles while locking eyes with you, switching momentarily to give your other breast some love.

It’s impossible to not squirm under his touch, but he keeps you pinned down with his body, so you’re just left breathless and submitting to him spoiling you in utter bliss.

Eric groans into your chest, avidly grinding down, making you suddenly aware of your boyfriend’s hard-on firmly pressing into your thigh.

“Shit, babe— wanna feel you.” you manage to breathe out. Your core is aching to feel his cock inside you.

He throbs at your breathy utterance. He feels your fingers tug slightly at his hair, displaying your great need for him to give you more.

He abandons your bullied chest glistening in his saliva for now, proceeding to drag kisses down along your stomach, until his mouth reached your panties.

Even if it’s beyond obvious what you want, he still takes the time to peer up at you with a questioning look, to which you give him a nod, signaling that he could remove them.

He brings a gentle kiss to your tummy before hooking his fingers over your underwear, tugging them down your legs and off at last.

The pair is bunched up in his hand, and he raises it up, gaining your attention to look up at him. He pushes the panties to his face, nuzzling his nose into the fabric before he leaves a hot kiss over the wettish undies.

Your whimpers fill the room in response, legs squeezed together. So horny, sexed up for Eric.

He tosses his favorite panties away somewhere, focusing on your-now-naked body presented to him like a platter. Your slick pussy is revealed to him once he pushes your knees apart, making him whistle pridefully.

“So fucking pretty, princess. All for me?” he sighs in admiration.

His thick hand is kept placed on one of your knees to keep you open while he lathers his fingers in your arousal with the other hand, leaving your breathing to be shaky, core burning hot.

He doesn’t think twice in popping those coated fingers inside his mouth, giving you a show of him shamelessly sucking your slick off.

“Eric…” you cried, desperate fuzzy feeling consuming your senses.

He snickers at your eagerness and longing, pulling his fingers out with a pucker sound.

“Gonna fill you up real good, sweet baby.” he rasps, finally pulling his shirt off to start off his own undressing.

He rids himself free from the remainder of his clothing, now leaving you both naked. You’re salivating in viewing his delineated abs and slender waist, as well as the hard, girthy cock that makes your soul smile and face blush a rosy color.

Eric smirks as he maneuvers towards the free spot next to you. You’re on the edge of the bed, on your particular side. Tonight, it’s calling to him that he fuck you side-by-side.

So he adjusts himself and you accordingly.

You don’t question his movements, licking your lips at his bare body moving next to yours. His figure brushes your side, lifting your leg to be angled, raised over his thigh.

An arm of his snakes under your curved leg, hand directing toward his shaft, gripping over it to stroke his cock and spread the clear fluid that’s glimmering out from his tip.

A low moan flows out of him due to the gratifying stimulation of his hand as he preps himself to enter you. But he knows it doesn’t beat the friction and heavenly satisfaction from your beautiful pussy that he’s about to get.

“Ready, babe?” he traces the head of his cock around the edges of your outside, causing you to shake at the sudden contact. Fuck, you needed him.

“Yes, please.” you choked, leaving him to tongue his cheek as he inserts the tip, groans and gasps mixed with cursing filling the room in unison.

A fiery flurry shoots up your spine when his tip slides past your wet folds, pussy welcoming that familiar hard, yet smooth pressure.

One of your hands clutched the sheets while the other gripped at your own thigh out of feeling his length push inside you.

“There we go. Shit… nice and tight for me. Easy, baby.” he coos, hissing at your walls squeezing around his length and encouraging you to relax.

Your walls stretch to accommodate to his size, being invited in and encompassed nicely.

A hand of his reaches for your tummy protectively, patting your stomach out of praise and soothing nature.

“Always take me so well. Such a good girl.” he sighs. The sensation of your hole stuffed and full of him has you both heaven-sent.

That warm stretch of your walls engulfing his cock is like pure luxury. After a long day of working, this is exactly what he needed to unwind. He missed this so much. His sweet baby, and her precious pussy that hugs his cock eagerly. Seems like you both missed every part of each other.

His hand still rests on your tummy, arm snaked around from under your leg that remains bent and raised in the air.

He tightly holds onto your abdomen as he starts humping into you slowly to start off. You mewl at the awaited feeling of his manhood moving inside you. Your blood is pumping and all you can think about is the pleasurable pressure and how gorged you are now from Eric’s cock.

He boosts up the pace. His thrusting builds friction, making your pussy gradually hotter.

The sounds of skin slapping and pornographic moans springing from your voice fill the room. You can’t help it, it’s like he’s scratching an intense itch of yours, mind-numbingly pleasing and electric.

“Ahh— yes, Eric!” you breathily cry, features creasing as he fucks you with devotion.

Your velvety walls caressing and brushing his cock while you moan and whine aloud bewitches him. You’re making it so easy for him to wanna pop fast, but he doesn’t want to bust quick. He wants to savor this moment. He isn’t in a rush at all, wanting to take his time in relishing this heated moment.

He allows his thrusts to let up to divert his attention for a minute. He swiftly withdraws his arm from under your angled leg and redirects it to the other side, gravitating to pull your jaw towards his face, him even raising up a bit to meet you closer so your lips could connect.

“Fuck, Eric. Mhmmm.” he swallows your sounds greedily, allowing you to moan into his mouth.

Your lips lock together, passionately moving together ravenously. He nips at your bottom lip in every other searing kiss, growling as the plump appendage slips through his teeth.

A hand of yours travels to reach for his abdomen while you kiss, smoothing over his muscles and defined lines. You admire the firmness of his abs, as well as the way his muscles flexed at your touch. Eric has a beautiful body, and so you loved grazing your hands over any and every part of him whenever you could.

He absolutely goes feral when you openly show affection towards his body. Holding him, touching him, feeling him— your touches of all sorts remind him that he’s real. It makes him feel so alive. You cherish him in many ways, and when you do so physically, it makes him inflate with love and confidence.

His cock throbs out of making out with you while your pussy swallowed his manhood. He’s vocal about what you’re doing to him, letting out a few guttural moans of his own.

Aching to move as he wishes inside you, he draws back from your lips, redirecting his arm back under your angled leg, making contact with his bicep.

His hand goes back to its position on your stomach from earlier, continuing to rock your bodies back and forth.

Your sweaty bodies move together repeatedly. It’s so sexy, leaving you two submerged in lust.

He keeps a steady pace, and every so often, you’d squeeze around him during his out-strokes, making him groan in rapture.

To acknowledge the effect you’re having on him, he inches his hand upwards to grip over your breast. His thrusts don’t falter as he starts groping your entire mound, holding onto it while he continuously fucks into you.

“That’s it, baby. Pussy swallowing me so fuckin’ good.” he praises.

You’re nonstop whimpering, breath blown away with every plunge into you.

Eric watches in zeal the way the flesh of your breasts and thighs bounce and jiggle, your body shaking fiercely.

Those mouthwatering noises of yours don’t cease and only grow louder. Every movement means another cry in pleasure out of you. Your mouth is dumbly stuck ajar from getting fucked stupid.

Each sound and action of yours activates his brain chemicals, leaving his senses enhanced due to the intoxicating sexual arousal.

He believes he’s going to give into the full kind-of pressure that’s present. Muscles in the lower parts of his torso are stretching. Sexual goosebumps that have built up creep across the back of his neck, shooting down his spine. Every part of his genitals are tingly, hot, and heavy.

His ragged breaths draw you to turn your head to some degree to look at him. His teeth and jaw are clenching, bulging veins run down along his arms, one of them still gripping your breast, too consumed in the ticking and tension within the base of his cock that’s eating him.

It’s crystal clear that your boyfriend’s about to cum. He’s rapidly driving his length into you, showing your pussy no mercy.

It’s a steamy thrill watching Eric crazed from chasing his release. He looks so hot all desperate, persistently humping into you, panting and tensed-up.

You sneak your fingers towards your swollen cit to amplify your pleasure into overdrive, wanting to cum alongside him.

The relief you get from attending to your puffy clit has you trembling, eyes fluttering from your fucked-out daze. Rubbing your sensitive bundle of nerves is like sparks exploding uncontrollably. Your brain is mush, not being able to breathe regularly alongside your boyfriend as you continuously cry out.

You start to feel his cock twitch. It thickens and swells for a mere few seconds, and that signals that you’re about to be milked.

His mouth hangs open as he tenses up, bloated, hot cock finally busting burning semen.

He lets out broken moans of relief, whining out your name as he’s jerking into you and pulsating every half second or so, shooting hot wads of cum with every pulse.

His spasms trigger your own orgasm, exploding with your own fluid. Your inner muscles clench hard, legs flex, pulse elevates, back arches, and toes curl. Your eyes are glossy, vision blurred, and you’re mumbling repeatedly breathless whines from finally reaching that peak.

“Oh my god, Eric!” your voice cracked.

He’s huffing and puffing trying to catch his own breath, now overly sensitive with his cock still burrowed inside your soaked, baked pussy.

“I’m right here, princess. Shit— I got you.” he rasps.

He’s gentle but immediately pulls out of you after you each crash, making you two groan at the sensation of his length pull out of you, everything so sensitive.

You feel limp, body and mind numb. That sex with your lover was fulfilling, but it’s left you exhausted. Same goes for Eric.

Your eyes are shut as you roll over to him, much like earlier, and he helps adjust you to lay on top of his body.

Each of your bodies is covered in sweat, still hot all over, and your pussy is leaking with both of your fluids running down— even now getting on Eric, but who cares? Cuddles are very much necessary after sex.

He holds onto you tightly, rubbing your back as you lay your head on his naked chest. No words are exchanged momentarily as you’re listening to each other’s heartbeats and breathing, attempting to calm down.

You could practically nod off comfortably even with your sticky body resting over his own, until he speaks up.

“I’m so sorry for neglecting you, honey. Everything I do is for you. Gonna make it up to you.” he says softly.

Your heart softens upon hearing his words, prompting you to raise your head up slightly, peering up towards him, who’s already looking down at you.

A hand of yours reaches up to nest in the nape of his neck, entangling your fingers with the hair that resides there.

“Hey, I know. Don’t apologize. I should be the one apologizing for being such a brat.” you scoff at yourself for your whiny and clingy actions, even if you did end up gaining his attention like you desired. And you’d lowkey do it again.

“You’re such a driven, hard worker and I admire the hell out of that. I’m so proud of you. I just missed you, and I get worried when my handsome boy works too hard.” you continued, tone sincere and affectionate.

His lips curl upwards as he chuckles softly, his pupils shyly darting away from you as you compliment and gush over him. You just pout your lips cutely at him to tease him before pressing a kiss over his perspiring chest.

“Plus, you already made it up to me.” you smirked, then bursted into small giggles, throwing your head back in laughter as your cheeks flushed.

Fuck, you’re so damn cute. How is it possible that his heart grow any fonder for you still? It’s like the angels sing when he hears your voice, his body glowing when around you. Every stress or concern of his fades away when he’s with you.

Your giggles make him grin like a fool, stupidly in love with everything you do. He lifts his head up to lean into your face, signaling that he wants to meet your lips.

You pucker you lips slightly to give him a light kiss. One, two, three times before you’re both satisfied and content for now.

“I love you so much, sweet baby.” his eyes twinkle with endearment. His hands still hold onto you and run over your spine, fingertips dancing over your bare skin.

Those words mean so much to you, over and over again. No matter how many times he tells you. Every time, it makes you melt.

“I love you too, ‘ric.” warmth filled your cheeks and heart as you inched up to nose into his neck. Your head burrows into the crook of it, making yourself at home. There’s no where else you’d rather be.

For only a minute, you two cuddled in comfortable silence before Eric spoke up again.

“Y/n?”

“Hm?”

“Can you scratch my back?”

At his request, you elevate yourself to look at him once again. Smiling, you grab hold of his chin and can’t resist in leaving a feathery kiss on his cheek. “Of course, babe.”

His eyes light up like an excited puppy, beaming at the thought of one of his favorite activities— you kindly dragging your nails over one of his hard-to-reach spots.

You two immediately switch places. He settles himself over you, flopping his head to rest on its side, getting comfortable. His hair tickles your neck while his facial features rest upon your shoulder.

When settled, you finally bring a hand to start stroking his back. You start off with shifting your hand into a claw and make overlapping circles around his back, just the way he likes.

Eric’s body feels instantly lighter and your touches bring him so much relief. He groans in pleasure once you get in the groove of it, your light scratches and rubs stimulating millions of nerve endings.

“Happy?” you teased as he wasn’t shy in vocally expressing how your scratching was doing wonders for his back.

“Feels so good.” he mumbles, feeling soothed and safe under your touches. At this rate, he could be lulled to sleep.

You hum in response, continuing your ministrations contentedly. You must admit, you loved pampering your boyfriend. He always treated you like a princess, so it only made sense that you give him equal attention and care.

Though, you know that he could fall asleep any minute now knowing that your scratches are apparently too relaxing that it drifts him off with ease— especially after working nonstop today, and then fucking you right after.

You two are still naked and have yet to go clean up. You’d hate to ruin this dear moment, but you guys have got to clean yourselves up and use the bathroom.

“Hey, we should probably go clean off, babe.” you voice, hoping he hasn’t fallen asleep yet.

“Just a few more minutes.” he sighs into your shoulder, voice groggily, indicating that he’s ready to pass out.

You let out a groan straight away.

“I’ll even carry you… please?” he begs, rubbing his cheek and nose cutely against your shoulder.

You just shut your eyes as you still continue to scratch him, trying not to roll your eyes, knowing that there’s a possibility that he’ll fall asleep in minutes.

But he needed this moment. I guess a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt.

“Okay.” you weakly huff out, giving in. “Just a few more minutes.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

[hyukakisses]

-scream!

pairings: huening kai x fem reader

plot: heavily inspired by the film scream (the first one), random ghostface huening kai headcanons

warnings: gore, cursing, mentions of death, sweet sub reader x emo mentally ill top huening kai, smut!!, characters are in college

you sigh boringly as an hour passes by since your boyfriend huening kai last texted you, and you were growing impatient. you were so clingy

you felt your heart drop to your stomach and your agitated mood has shifted into a panic as you notice a tall shadowy figure standing outside your bedroom window

you slowly get up from the comfort of your pink bedsheets and approach the unknown person with a tremble, immediately whining when you make eye contact with huening kai as you open your curtains

“hyuka! don’t fucking scare me like that!” you lift up your window seeing your boyfriend smile up at you followed by a baby girl like giggle

“im sorry! i just couldn’t help myself! i wanted to surprise you!”

you huff, “and you couldn’t have done that in a less scary way?”

huening kai smiles at your scared face climbing in your room pull you in a warm embracing. your body relaxing into his as you sigh loudly. “im sorry baby i really didn’t mean to scare you” the emo boy towers over you and you melt at his sincere apology

“you know when i was at home i was watching the exorcist and it had me thinking of you” the manic boy leaps onto your bed changing the subject rather quickly

you sit on your bed beside the taller male with a frustrated blush, “you’re such a dork when it comes to your scary movies”

hyuka wasn’t easy to get angry, he was always so gentle and polite with you and everybody else around him. so when there was a crazed serial killer running around town you didn’t even think your sweet boyfriend could be responsible for it.

you were huening kai’s first relationship, the boy didn’t know how to take things slow and causal; not that you minded though because you were the same way.

huening kai who would kill anyone for you— if it was someone who just accidentally bumped into you around school or someone who he thought liked you when really they were just asking for a pencil.

in bed though, hyuka was merciless. his big strong arms caging you in between him so tightly you feared you’d pop as you cry out in sensitivity

“p-please no more im sensitive” your hands brace flatly on huening kai’s shoulder blades as you struggle to take his entire length in your weeping pussy, this action making your boyfriend hiss in pleasure

you’d let out a string of needy gasps as you felt your boyfriend jackhammering his cock so close to your pussy. feeling his globes lightly slap against your clit making huening kai coo at the feeling

“hear that?” huening kai whispers shushing you grinning down at you when all you could hear were squelching sounds ):

hyuka who would comfort you each time you were scared, making sure he distracted you to take your mind off the ghostface situation

huening kai wouldn’t let you find out about him being the serial killer you feared, afraid he’d lose you ):

and your boyfriend can’t have that! he’d rather die than have you find out about that. often lying about where he would be, saying it was for university or something

huening kai would also always be down for a horror movie marathon, falling in love with you even more when you’d cry in his chest over a jumpscare <3

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

You seem like an incredibly well read person, plus someone with a lot of insight into intimacy because of your work. So, in light of your romance book reviews, which are an absolute highlight on your patreon, do you have any insight into what is needed/suggested for a good romance novel?

g o d this is so fucking hard and also really fun to chew on. I want to preface this by saying this is ENTIRELY subjective and based completely on what I *PERSONALLY* find that I enjoy in a romance. this isn't, like, an objective guide on how to write a romance that doesn't suck. that doesn't exist because people like different things, and I'm speaking from one perspective.

also I should say that my preferred flavor of romance novel is solidly contemporary. I haven't read many historicals, certainly not enough to opine well on them, I don't do those mafia dark romances or whatever the fuck, and I've barely dabbled at all in any kind of fantasy romance, whether they're full high fantasy or witchy urban fantasy stories. (although I'm about to do one of the latter next month, you can vote for a book on my patreon rn!)

having gotten all of those caveats out of the way, here's some shit I like and dislike:

there are exceptions to this but broadly, I prefer a POV for everyone involved in the relationship. to me a romance where we're only seeing events from the POV of one member of the relationship automatically makes it seem like one person matters more in a dynamic where everyone should be of equal importance. also, god, if the plot's really going to hinge on not knowing what's going on in one partner's head suggests that miscommunication is going to be a pretty critical part of the plot, and I hate that shit. TALK TO EACH OTHER. I'LL KILL YOU.

on that note, there needs to be an actual compelling reason why the characters can't be together, okay? the #1 driving tension of every romance is "why the fuck can't they be together yet" and you BETTER have a good answer. whether it's interpersonal or external forces, if there's a very easy solution to what's keeping them apart then your characters look dumb and I'm bored. one of the most frustrating romances I've ever read involved two characters who were mutually attracted to each from the JUMP, who refused to act on it because they were coworkers (neither of them in any position of authority of the other, nothing unprofessional or inappropriate about it) and they were "only" living in the same state for A YEAR. A FULL YEAR !!! shut up. get a grip and kiss each other.

now, having said that: whatever your bullshit reason is for these two characters to be interacting with each other, you need to COMMIT to that shit so hard that I, the reader, will feel silly for even questioning the logic. the worst offender I've ever seen on this front is D'Vaughn and Kris Plan a Wedding, which pulls its protagonists together via a reality TV competition and then just... promptly loses any interest in really dealing with the actual realities of being filmed 24/7? it's insanely distracting how little the book engages with its central hook, and was a huge point deduction for me. whereas you have, like, The Bride Test, a book with a premise that skirts dangerously close to a little bit of human trafficking but embraces the whole premise so wholeheartedly that you completely forget about the potentially horrific elements in there. who cares that Esme was bribed here with the promise of a green card if she seduces a man she's never met? there's whimsy happening! we've moved on! it's literally fine and she's in no danger except the danger of a BROKEN HEART.

this one is going to seem SO obvious but like. I need them to be actually like each other. I'm not saying they can't be mutually bitchy while they grow to like each other or anything, they don't have to always be NICE to each other, but there are so many M/F romances where the dude is just flat out fucking MEAN and condescending to the girl until he decides he wants to fuck her. and sometimes even after that! stop it! after a certain point I don't want her to fuck him I want her to run him over a car!!!! there's suuuuch a line between "guy I butt heads and exchange banter with but could fuck if we just got to know each other" and "man who hates me and is for real fucking bullying me."

"kisses only," "doors closed," whatever term they use for a romance novel without any sex scenes on page, I don't like it. listen: I know that they're not everybody's cup of tea, and I FULLY recognize that a lot of romance novel sex scenes are unfathomably cringe. and yet, I need them. partly because they're funny, but also because if this book wants me to be invested in the developing relationship between two adults who are supposed to be WILDLY sexually attracted to each other, then I want to see the damn sex. no matter how many bad similes or unfortunate adjectives it entails. and if you're not going to show me the sex, don't you dare have the characters gushing about how great it is. I'll be the judge of that, thank you very much. (I'm looking at you, Sorry, Bro.)

related: there's this thing that I call "Horny Wolf Syndrome," which is derived from this tweet:

initially I used it to refer to when previously sweet-tempered male romance protags inexplicably started talking like horny wovles during sex scenes - "LET ME SEE YOUR PRETTY CUNT ON MY COCK" and the like - but now I more generally use it to refer to scenarios in which characters of any gender completely dispense with their established personality while they fuck in order to fulfill a more broadly appealing, one-size-fits-all sexual fantasy. I hate that shit; if your characters act like completely unrecognizable people during sex, you didn't write very strong characters. one of my favorite things about writing sex scenes is that it's so SO interesting to see how their the characters' personal quirks translate into a setting that's very different from most other contexts, and it's deeply disappointing when authors take the easy route in favor of some pornhub dialogue.

one of the things that actually won my most recent read, Raiders of the Lost Heart, a HUGE amount of points with me was how frank the female lead was about initiating sex for the first time. it was completely in character for her and felt really different than any other book I've read, and honestly? it was a breath of fresh air.

[ironunderstands]

2.1 was so good holy shit (spoilers, obviously)

GOD THEY ATE AND IM SPECIFICALLY GONNA TALK ABOUT HOW WELL THEY WROTE RATIO IN THIS BECAUSE IM FOAMING AT THE GODDAMN MOUTH IT CHANGES HOW YOU VIEW EVERYTHING BUT IN A GOOD WAY.

so, let’s start from the beginning in 2.0 I want to walk you through my experience of it

ratio mean to aventurine, everyone gets mad. I feel weird about it, pre-2.1 I come to the conclusion that he got used as a plot device in that scene, since being racist contradicts his core motivations and the dialogue is awkward and has no real reason behind it, I chalk it up to bad writing but ultimately forgive it because 2.1 seems centered around Aventurine so they need setup for that

2.1 drops, my bsf plays the update throughout the night and we are losing our shit. He gets to the part where Ratio “betrays” Aventurine. I fucking lose it, I try to reconcile this with my preconceived notions of ratio, they don’t match up at all, his behavior that whole time doesn’t in the slightest. I am confused, I wonder if I have been wrong about him this whole time, if his whole speech on the Space Station and his character quests were some kind of fluke. I mean it could be in character? Knowledge of how a stellaron works could save millions if not billions of lives, invaluable information which Ratio would have trouble turning down because of its value. It still feels deeply wrong, Ratio isnt a backstabber, and he wouldn’t so easily bargain with Sunday over information he has no confirmation of (and could likely obtain in some other way).

The story continues, me and Haseeb (aforementioned best friend) are still pissed, I’m losing it because my favorite character just did something so unforgivable and out of character and I feel like a complete and utter idiot for interpreting a character to be a good person when they so clearly weren’t. Well, I (luckily) was so so so so so so so wrong about that, as it was all a setup, a plan devised by Aventurine to distract Sunday and forward their goals. I’ve never been happier, and suddenly every weird behavior, every “this doesn’t make sense” goes from “bad writing” to perhaps one of my favorite retroactive twists in fiction.

Ratio belittling Aventurine for his background doesn’t make any sense, I mean we literally saw the guy give a whole ass speech about how he believes all people deserve access to knowledge and that everyone is capable of being creative and having intellect, but that they just have to try for it, and if they are incapable of it, he DOCTOR Ratio is there to lend a helping hand. To cure the galaxy of stupidity, something which he views as not the lack of knowledge but rather the misuse and misinterpretation of it, how he depises the Genius Society because they mostly do not try and use their intellect from the betterment of other, and actively guide/encourage other scientists (and in Hertas case the researchers at the space station) to view knowledge as some sort of prize or commodity rather than tool. This notion is what causes Screwellum to acknowledge that Ratio is more like a medical doctor than a scholar. And this notion is something Sunday Isn’t Aware Of.

Sunday doesn’t know who Ratio really is, he may have heard of his various exploits, but Ratio has a reputation for arrogance, bluntness and insensitivity, something which Ratio plays up to the nines. The 2.0 scene with Aventurine goes from seemingly massively OOC for Ratio to him actively playing up his negative reputation to play into Sundays perceptions of the pair for their plan. Ratio->

a) makes it seem like Aventurine fucked up and he’s mad at him for losing the cornerstones, something which Sunday would see and go “hmm they don’t like each other

b) this “oh I can drive a wedge between them” notion gets worse (although in their case better) when Ratio brings up Aventurine’s (not entirely accurate) background. Sunday now thinks he has leverage over Aventurine and even more of a chance of getting Ratio to betray him. Ratio also makes it seem like he just learned this information by stating he “did his homework” and this supposed unfamiliarity with one another would give Sunday more confidence to try and drive a wedge between them

c) this makes it seem like the IPC are unaware of the Families constant surveillance, as it looks like they are having an important conversation in a private room, which would make Sunday think they are unaware of his eyes and ears everywhere

Now let me qualify this notion with more evidence because you could still try and argue that the deal Ratio and Aventurine struck was post 2.0 argument

Topaz (my glorious Queen). At the end of the 1.4 (or was it 1.5?) Belabog quest she has a conversation with Aventurine in which he requests for her help in Penacony, and we do not get a confirmation on if she said yes or not. Until 2.1, in which the the Topaz (and Jade) stone in in Aventurines possession, meaning she took him up on that offer prior to 2.0 because how else would he bring multiple cornerstones there, which we know there are many because Ratio says he lost the cornerstones, not just his own. Topaz would not give this item up easily or on a whim in between 2.0 and 2.1, meaning she would have to be let in on his plan prior, meaning the plan was formed prior. Since Ratio was also assigned to this mission keeping him in the dark would make negative sense and actively undermine their collaboration, something which he brings up in their fake argument

2. The Final Victory Lightcone. I originally thought this scene to be after their argument for complicated reasons, the most important of which being the minor snippet of conversation we see between Ratio and Aventurine during the first time we meet Acheron. Aventurine mentions 3 chips, Ratio doubts him, and the lightcone description starts with Aventurine questioning his doubt and firing three shots, a perfect correlation that made me place the order of events in that way. However, we get to see the snippet of conversation between Aventurine and Ratio in game, right before they meet Sunday, not prior to the lightcone events. However, they are still clearly connected for aforementioned reasons, just in a different manner, let me explain. Now we know the three chips reference not bullets but the three cornerstones, and Ratio openly expresses his doubt because the family is always watching (something which I will get into) and because a part of him does doubt this plan will go well. However, Aventurine prior reminds him of the events of the lightcone with the three chips. My interpretation is that Aventurine took that gamble in the lightcone to convince Ratio to go along with his crazy plan since if he can win a game of Russian Roulette with an unwavering smile on his face he an insane gamble means nothing to him (ratio doesn’t buy it because it’s ratio but the sheer audacity or you could say the “charming audacity” makes him go along with it). In my opinion this scene only makes sense pre-penacony, due to the timeline of events, which is why I believe it the reason for the events in it has to be Aventurine trying to convince Ratio to join in.

3) The family is always watching. During the 2.1 story quest it gets brought up several times in many different ways that it seems like the family has eyes on everything and everyone. Sunday’s fuckass bird is everywhere, and the man himself (minus being a goddamn biblically accurate angel) is covered in eye shaped shit and possesses close ties with the Harmony, which lends itself well to a character that knows things considering the Aeon itself is a conglomeration of many different perspectives. He fucking perception checks Aventurine, when the crew goes to look for info on firefly they learn the dream pools monitor people’s vitals and everything, even producing a dialogue option where the trailblazer states they feel like their every move is being watched. Topaz gets stalked by bloodhound members upon arrival, I could go on. TLDR Sunday knows almost everything that’s going on in Penacony, this is what leads him to believe the traitor is within the family, and his access to knowledge is something the IPC 100% knows about. I mean they have been presumably attempting to try and get it back for a while, and they would reasonably extensively try and learn everything about it. The Family notoriously hates negotiating with them so the IPC either learning and/or coming to the conclusion that the Family is watching their every move isn’t a ridiculous notion. If this conversation was genuine, if Ratio truly wanted to discuss this matter with Aventurine, why would he do it in a likely wiretapped, not very soundproof room where any passerby could hear Ratio loudly exclaim that Aventurine lost the very important cornerstones and that he is also one of the most despised groups in the galaxy because that would really do numbers for both their reputations. If you think about it, this not being staged is an incredibly stupid blunder on Ratio’s end (minus the deliberate OOCness) because of all the places Ratio could set up a very important meeting he does it in one of the worst places ever.

4) The dialogue in the scene. It’s awkward, it’s so awkward and the whole “also my family died I didn’t get an education” seemed so tacked on the first time I watched it. Knowing now, it seemed so tacked on because it was, Aventurine had to shove the info in there somewhere and their incredible conversational skills decided that was the best part in there. Ratio fucking leaving before Aventurine is even done talking goes from a “huh weird” to a “wow he is really playing up this arrogant scholar role”. And if Ratio is playing the arrogant scholar, Aventurine is playing the dumb, helpless, blonde to a T. Losing the cornerstones and acting nonchalant about it, letting Ratio insult him so callously and letting the insults slide, talking absolute nonsense at the end about random things that don’t matter, sadly lamenting into the distance that he’s alone again. Bro is playing it up and I live for it. They also and play up these personas in their little adventure prior to meeting Sunday, Aventurine asks stupid questions like wondering about the species of the bird that make up the statues and talking about how he wants to play in the sandpit and even insulting Sunday a bit, behavior that would make Sunday think him unprepared and unserious rather than cold and calculating. If Aventurine does that well, Ratio plays up his arrogant, uncaring scholar persona to the nines. He insults any and every decision or thing Aventurine does, loudly sighing of how happy he is to finally have some peace and quiet when Aventurine leaves his sight for 0.00008 milleseconds, pointing out his sarcasm, beefing with a random Pepeshi bodyguard no reason, pointing out his sarcasm, just the exaggerated way he talks in general, and suggesting he admit Aventurine into the Genius Society (even Ratio wouldn’t stoop so low as to suggest Aventurine was worthy of that).

Moreover, this is really, really tragic because I do think there are several moments of genuine banter and fun the two share “Ratio, you’re huge!” was not added to the script to enhance the plot guys. And obviously Aventurine knows most of Ratios behavior is acting, however he has such severe trust issues, and Ratio is so damn straightforward and blunt that he worries the man was serious about some of it which just breaks my heart. Soft Ratio please add it give me one conversation, the note at the end of 2.1 doesn’t count it’s too short.

Ultimately, knowing what I know now I can’t help but view the 2.0 conversation with Aventurine as being anything but staged, it simply makes no sense otherwise, and it happily obsolescent Ratio of his sins. This was a bit incoherent I honestly just wanted to rant (if you couldn’t tell haha) but I hope you enjoyed it regardless. I need sincere Ratio more then I need oxygen and I’m not afraid to say it.

[lilacxquartz]

Please, Don’t Go | One Shot

Fem!Reader x Yandere Shoko Ieiri

ABOUT: Shoko has lost almost everyone close to her, so when you turn up half dead in the medical bay, she decides that she wants to keep you forever. Once she fixes you up, of course.

TAGS/THEMES: Mild yandere, she’s very protective. Oral sex, everything is consensual. Basically porn/smut with a little plot. Slight warning for light violence, but it was to set up the scene. Fem!Reader x fem!character.

WORD COUNT: 3k

“This is fucked up,” you said as you leaned against the rails, huffing out a puff of smoke—your eyes bitterly staring off into the distance.

“Right,” Shoko agreed, lighting up her own stick as she joined you. Her arm brushed against your shoulder, offering idle comfort as you both surrendered your gaze of the fiery red sky.

At least you were getting one last sunset out of tonight, before you’d have to assist on the mission. You didn’t want to go, you weren’t strong at all. But you were called in to fulfil your duty and you had zero rights to refuse.

“Think I got a chance at all?” you sighed, throwing the cigarette to the ground and rubbing it into the concrete with your shoe.

“I want to say you do,” she sighed, her demeanour stiffening just a little, she was tense and it showed, despite being neutral in the way she carried herself—her uncertainty was finally slipping through the cracks, “but who really knows.”

“Encouraging,” your response was sarcastic and you smiled, but you swallowed down dread as you did so. Your eyes watered just a little as you felt dizzied from the prospect.

Fighting a special grade cursed spirit? You didn’t stand a chance at all. Your presence to the scene was likely just fodder; a distraction to keep it at bay for a split second as those who could hold their ground on the battlefield scrambled to form a plan to contain it.

You felt sickness rise within you next, some type of festering nausea that swelled within your core. Your head hurt as you struggled to retain focus.

You really didn’t want to go.

You wanted to live.

“If you’re able to, try to survive at least a little,” Shoko spoke up after a painful moment of silence.

“Hm?” you hummed, suddenly grounding yourself.

“I can put you back together, I think, if you manage to keep your critical areas in tact,” she said, her voice ripe with care, “I’d really hate to lose another friend again. It’s just so… lonely.”

“I mean, I’ll try?” you half scoffed, half laughed. You didn’t want to die for certain, you’d do your best to be one of the lucky few who would only meet at the verge of death and not at their final end.

“Good,” she said in a somewhat scolding tone. “You’d better.”

***

By the time you got to the scene, everything was more or less in shambles.

You managed to make it through the waves of the dead, leading a trail as to where you had to go like a matted pile of flesh, blood and bone. You sighed as you knew that you were likely the next in line to be paved into that ill-fated road, your body shuddering as you approached a presence that you could even bear to witness.

It saw you from the very moment you entered the scene, a mile or two away. You could feel its invading eyes linger and seep into your soul as the stare pierced you, as if warning you to not take a step closer lest your life would end.

You dared approach it anyway, understanding your duty to fulfil as a sorcerer. Even if you were to topple and succumb immediately, then that had to be done—your life was only mere, slight in comparison to the others that you’d have to save in the surrounding area.

You thought back to Shoko’s request.

To your promise.

You’ll try to drag this one out, to buy the minds plotting for victory some time, but you’d also try to not meet your immediate end if you could help it. You didn’t want to leave her entirely and utterly alone, because whether or not she saw you as what you saw her back as, it felt all simply too cruel to condemn her to such a twisted fate.

The special grade taunted you from the moment you faced it, its eyes eluding contempt mocking you as it locked its sight onto your body. It was objectifying almost, his mouth—drooling, salivating at the sight; you felt hunted, like a deer walking into the belly of the beast rather than towards the forested horizon that promised safe escape.

Its voice deep and trembling, echoing within your body’s core as his words shook you, you could feel it vibrate against your throat as your skin prickled with goosebumps, enveloping your very being.

What happened next was quick—brief, sudden and swiftly done, you weren’t even properly conscious to bear witness to the horrors done unto you within the limited amount of time that you had. All you could understand was that you were standing at one point, then smeared against the asphalt the next.

Your body burned and it ached, bones stuck in unnatural places, bending as though to just barely snap, kept in by pure miracle alone. Your eyes felt dry, as if sand filled your waterline, to even blink, feeling as though you’d crumble.

It was a waiting game to bleed out, to wait for death to come and claim you. Your eyes darkened, your body numbed.

Your attempt didn’t even make a dent, but it wasn’t in vain.

You did your part, now it was up to everyone else.

***

You awoke some time later in a bed, so warm and plush and comforting—was this a hallucination? Perhaps your mind was allowing you to live out your final moments in a dream, how nice of it to do so, if it was truly that.

You felt everything you could, the smell of clean laundry and the sensation of cool air wisp against your raw skin, enveloping it with comfort. You laid against soft linen, hearing the gentle hum of someone familiar in the background, the smell of tea drifting to your senses as the comfort continued to build.

You pinched yourself to ensure this was real and much to your surprise, it indeed seemed to be. Every feeling was correct and your body was put back together, but how—and why were you back so soon? Were you really back so soon?

Your eyes drifted around the room again, scrolling from side to side as you tried to figure out where you were. You weren’t a corpse rotting outside against the pavement, but you weren’t quite back at the campus either.

This felt personal. From the scent of incense burning by the window, velvet smoke drifting into your nostrils as the wind carried the scent inside. Your body was intact, fingers clenching and brushing at the warm bedding that your body laid upon.

Through the door entered a familiar face; her eyes so worn and tired, dusty hues of exhaustion settling on her face. Shoko’s complexion wrinkled a little, the extensive work she put through to keep you in one piece likely taking a huge hit out of her very being.

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t wake up after a while,” she sighed, her hip dipping against the frame of the door. Her fingers latched onto the handle.

Just how long has she spent doing this?

“How long was I out for?” you croaked, your own voice surprising you. You sounded so stiff, so tense. Your words barely made it out of your throat.

“A week, almost,” she said, walking inside of the room and scanning your body on the bed. The way that she did so seemed expertly crafted, as if studying her own handiwork with fixing you back together.

Her eyes seemed dark though, there was something beyond that caring gaze, something not exactly sinister but not quite good either. It was all surely subtle though as she soon corrected her stance, relaxing her posture as she sat along the edge of the bed.

Her hand trailed over to you as you initially thought it was out of affection, only for her to tighten something that looped around your arms instead. Your eyes snapped to the confines she placed around you, realising that your ankles were bound too.

How did you not notice this?

You supposed that you were out of it when waking up. Your mind still wasn’t in a correct place.

“Hey…” you softly said, your mind finally catching up now that you didn’t feel so groggy.

“Don’t struggle,” she hushed you, her fingertips now dancing against your lips as though to silence you, “please, don’t struggle for me.”

“This your idea of being funny, then?” you asked, trying to keep things light in case that this was all some strange joke.

“It’s my idea of keeping you safe, be grateful,” she sighed, her body leaning in over yours as though to find comfort in your frame, you groaned just a little as you didn’t quite feel entirely healthy just yet.

“You’re serious?” you frowned in response instead, feeling her painful comfort as she refused to budge. You tugged along at the confines, finding that they were oddly strict and your body felt a little too weak to protest properly.

“Everyone just keeps dying. Do you know just how close you were to following them?” Shoko simply asked, sitting back up once again. She wasn’t joking as much as usual, her words carrying extra weight as she stared you down with those tired eyes.

“But you’ve fixed me, so I won’t go anywhere-“

“Correct, you’re not going anywhere, but I’ve also done something stupid. Something I maybe shouldn’t have,” she said as her expression tightened, a look of pure regret.

“And what’s that?”

“You’re categorised as killed in action, I put the paperwork through to confirm it. You won’t be returning.”

“You did what?” your tone shifted to something confused, you didn’t understand where this was going any longer.

Your mind reversed just a few seconds back—you focused on something small she just told you, it stuck out so painfully sore in the slew of words she otherwise fed you:

(You’re not going anywhere.)

You were supposedly marked off to be dead.

Her face and the way she looked so stiff told you that she was being serious, but even then, you refused to register it as such, maybe this was all elaborate. It wouldn’t be unlike her to be so deadpan and scarily authentic just for her to tell you that it was a joke all along—you begged for her to tell you it was one after all.

But the punchline never came.

“I don’t want you to go out there again and get killed,” she defended, immediately jumping on the backpedal.

“So you told them I died so that I wouldn’t go back?” your voice raised a little.

“You were dead on the table when they sent an assistant, or close to it. Then I just… patched you up on my own terms once they were gone. Everyone’s too busy for a proper funeral anyway.”

“Shoko…” you sighed, your head falling back flat against the pillow. Your eyes glued to the ceiling above you as you processed her insanity.

“You’re not leaving me,” her tone darkened, her voice carrying something spiteful almost—you’ve never heard her speak this way, “you won’t be like them, you won’t die and leave me here all alone—but look, I’ll keep you safe.”

“And what about when I inevitably walk out of here alive?” you sighed.

“You won’t,” she hushed you. “You’ll be alive, I mean, obviously… but, you won’t be leaving.”

“So, your plan is to keep me inside forever then or what?”

“If I have to,” she seemed to conclude that this was it anyway, based on how she promptly sat up and got up to walk back out of the door.

“Shoko…” you persisted, still feeling weak from the battle, your body aching for recovery. Thankful that she brought you back, but otherwise wary of what she kept promising you.

“I’m bringing you something to help you recover, but only once, so be good for me and actually eat up,” she said, demanded almost. Her command was laced with utter care, her will begging for you to comply and live for her sake, if barely your own.

She came back after that moment, her hands cradling a tray as she slid it over to you in silence as you struggled to sit up to take it on. On it was a cup of steaming tea and some okayu to help you recover.

You weren’t all that fond of rice porridge, but you did suppose that you were her patient and you needed to eat something simple, something healing.

You ate it as you were told, your body yearning to recover as you did so. The warmth of everything settling in your stomach, keeping you warm and comforted and satiated to boot.

Her weary eyes watched you as you ate, as though relaxing at the sight of you replenishing your health. She held against your side of the bed, her eyes slowly closing as you finished up your meal—suddenly fluttering open when her ears met with silence, the sign of you completing your meal.

“Thank you,” you said, unsure what to say.

She didn’t respond, yawning as she carried the dishes out. You could hear her back meet the surface of the door, the dishes clanging against the tray as she settled against the floor, as though grounding herself right outside the room.

This wasn’t like her… to struggle at the sight of you. There wasn’t a single unserious thing about her going on for once and it was brutally striking to see.

Maybe you did need a break though.

Maybe you could give in for just a little bit.

Perhaps she would even heal too.

(But she wouldn’t. She refused to.)

***

It took about another month of soft exchanges between you and her gently protesting for your freedom. She’d let you use her shower—bathroom. She’d let you breathe fresh air on her balcony, to hold your hand when you’d stumble just a little, whatever damage that special grade did seemed to be permanent.

Something not even her reverse cursed technique could fix.

“You’re almost better,” she would say, monitoring your progress through it all, logging every single thing she possibly could to hurry up your recover, “but you’re still staying with me.”

“You’re never letting me go?” you would then ask, warming up to it just a little. You almost wanted her to promise you it, your mind surrendering to her will.

Her responses would be similarly rooted along the same vein, it would be either a never or some other long and distant time before she could let you out of her sight, always returning you to your confines when she had to go somewhere.

The aftermath of the fight left you permanently weakened, or at least that’s a state you assumed you took on after it—your mind lingered at the possibility that this was done on purpose, but that idea bordered on insanity so you let it go.

(Unless?)

You’d sleep with tight restrictions, the concept of freedom beyond the packed little flat a slowly fading pipe dream. She would often be back with takeaway or some booze, ready to share something familiar and comforting with you as you would slowly get better and better.

You’d watch movies with her on the sofa, be with her as she filled out even more paperwork for both of your slowly dying out allies, you’d sit there in painful silence as if to reminisce about the company that was no longer existent.

But as you got better, all your good health did was sicken her—you quickly understood it as obsession, a burning innate desire to keep your life ongoing and close.

Today was a day that Shoko finally allowed you a gentle freedom, the confines finally releasing from your slumber as she now felt confident with your loyalty.

“You’re staying for me, aren’t you?” she purred, her hands tracing lines against your wrist, leaving behind affectionate shivers.

“I suppose...” you finally warmed up.

“If you leave me like that again though, I’d just get you back in that little state.”

The threat was muffled as she had promised you such a thing in a hushed whisper. Just loud enough for it to register with you, but quiet enough for it to slip by you had you not been paying attention.

Your hunch was slowly being proven correct, even if she didn’t admit it directly to you. Your weakened state was likely a fabrication, an attempt of deception and dependency.

But you somehow didn’t mind.

The idea grew on you and you were tired of just barely surviving each and every single time. Whether it was cowardice to think in such a way or not, you didn’t quite care anymore.

“I won’t leave,” you promised her and slowly, her calmer and more carefree side seemed to show once more.

“Yeah?” her tired voice asked.

“Of course not.”

“You’d better not.”

The silence that brewed beyond that point was almost loud, somehow. Your breathing meshed with her own as her tired eyes found comfort in your own—your state relaxed her, a piece of company that wouldn’t succumb to the unforgiving lifestyle you’d both found yourselves entangled in.

“So, let me take care of you,” Shoko said after a while, her voice suddenly relaxed once again, just like how she used to be before work got the better of her, “let me make you mine.”

You didn’t reject her this time, unlike the first time that you did so many years ago. You felt some sort of dependency linger, wanting for her to care for you and to give into her emotional demand.

After seeing near death so clearly, you wanted for her to promise you life again and again.

As such, you found your body feeling heavy as it relaxed, your heart rate fluttering as she crept closer, her soft hands pressing their palms and sweeping over your face, cupping your cheeks as her lips slowly moved towards your own.

She then connected the kiss, leaving an aftertaste of bitter coffee as she continued to press herself down, your tongue reacting to her own as it entered your mouth, pushing it from side to side as you exchanged a kiss.

Slowly, her hands brushed down your body, to your shoulders, neck and chest; her feel was intricate as the touch leftover lingered on areas you had a positive reaction on—nothing was forced, you wanted this, you wanted her back. Especially right now.

For her to comfort you, to soothe you.

Her lips trailed down as her hands explored your body, planting a path of kisses down your neck and past the middle point of your chest. Slowly, her hands slid down to your hips, her mouth following in pursuit as she made it past your stomach, down to your hip line and then just beyond.

“You’ll let me take care of you forever,” she said, not even asked. It was a demand.

You nodded as your breath shuddered, her eyes locking with your own as she received unspoken confirmation that it was okay for her to continue.

In her pursuit, she drew the fabric of your shorts off and slid your underwear off until you were completely bare. Her eyes scrolled around your sex, taking in the sight of you delicately and then drifted back towards your face, just as if to give you a heads up in advance—that this was going to happen, that she would make you feel good if she could help it.

Silence followed as yet another inaudible agreement was forged; her fingers parted your folds as her face pressed inwards, the feeling of her tongue immediately seeking out and meeting with your clit. The muscle flicked and circled the nub as you felt your thighs tighten, repeating only motions that drove out reactions. Slowly but surely, she got both a taste of you—and what you liked.

Your back arched in the bed as the pleasuring sensation began to build, feeling a rising wave of bliss that tingled within your stomach and finalised at a breaking point—your breathing shallow, your voice emitting higher pitched gasps caught on and off in the back of your throat.

Your hips rolled against her tongue with rising pressure, her hands holding against the sides of your thighs as she continued to feverishly suck on your clit—alternating between that and teasing the now swollen bud, sending you over the edge if she could help it.

The bedsheets tore as your nails clawed against them, ripping fabric in the heat of the moment—your body slowly beginning to tremble beyond a controllable limit.

You continued to rock on her tongue, grinding on pure instinct alone as the rising sensation now begged for violent release; you couldn’t hold yourself in any longer as your hands sought comfort as she offered you her own, interlocking your fingers into place as you squeezed—almost, almost—!

Shoko was nearly out of breath too as she brought you over your limit, your insides coiling as your peak neared its end, it was sudden and intense as the pressure reached its threshold and finally, your body succumbed to a final release.

Your breathing stifled, sharp breaths cutting through your lungs as the waves finally rolled through. Your inner legs tingled as your body finally gave permission for an end to manifest, toes curling and your grip relaxing, your mind blanking into bliss.

It was over—yet you felt it all linger after, your breath slowly coming back to you as you let the pleasure ride out a final time.

Her fingers trailed towards your warmth to play with you after, although gently as sheer delight formed in her eyes as she felt just how wet you were and just for her. She swirled two fingers inside as she finally pulled back and laid her head just outside your thighs.

It didn’t take her long to climb on top of you after, using your body as a source of comfort, making her bed right on your frame.

“You’re mine forever,” she whispered as she tightened her hold around you, her tired voice letting out one final yawn, concluding her intentions, “I’m never letting you go.”

It was then that you didn’t mind all of a sudden.

You wanted to stay, after all.

With her. For her.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

tell me, certified killer mutual, what your pet peeves are in killer ships and what you like in them/how to make them good……

you are my something new encyclopedia at this point and as a kross/krepic lover i must ask what i need to keep in mind to make things balanced and good…. because killer is grossly ignored in ships involving him!!!

oftentimes he is treated like something used to forward the plot or focus on other characters and often do not focus on him (with the exception of colorkiller) like they should. i don’t try to do that exactly but you know a lot bout him and id really appreciate and enjoy tips on writing him in a relationship in a way that’s tasteful and good for his character :3

Oh i haven’t really thought all the pet peeves through, besides the idea that I want it be earned and I want Killer to be his own complex individual. So I’ll just want take this opportunity to rant about some thoughts I’ve had about Killer and relationships in general, mostly in Stage 2 as that is often the Stage people will meet him in. This isn’t meant to be a definitive be all of “you have to do this” or anything, just thoughts.

First thing would probably be that Killer doesn’t choose partners based strictly on attraction or feelings, not in Stage 2.

If there’s a benefit in being in a romantic relationship with someone and there doesn’t seem to be an alternative to gaining that outcome—such as access to someone’s soul, for example, and he’s really interested in their soul for a particular reason—he’d probably be willing to engage in a romantic relationship if that seems to be the only way to get what he needs and fulfill his goals.

He’s not romantically or sexually interested in this person, going through the motions of a relationship without much emotional investment in this case. It may be different if he gets involved in a relationship out of an impulsive curiosity or drive for something new, out of a sense of boredom or a distraction.

If the partner isn’t pursuing this relationship first, they may start feeling used or that there’s some other motive going on here; perhaps even a sense of being preyed on (not like that, ya know, and likely not with malicious or cruel intent, even if the partner doesn’t realize that.)

Killer views relationships as a form of power dynamics: “control or be controlled.”

He could enter a relationship to avoid being controlled by someone he perceives as a threat or authority. Becoming docile or compliant could be a survival strategy, especially if he believes the person has influence over him (like the Player, Nightmare, or another powerful figure). Fawn response is likely.

Conversely, he might pursue a relationship with someone weaker or more dependent, feeling safer when he holds the perceived upper hand. (Less likely, as he’d probably prefer to avoid relationships entirely if there’s no need or reason to be in one that he can see.)

(Safer as in he genuinely fears what’ll happen to him if he loses this control, what they’ll do to him and his mind. He’s not hiding behind power or control for power and controls sake, but because he believes that’s the only way to maintain even a sliver of freedom or agency—and he’d be pretty ruthless to maintain this, given how he treats Swap.

Examples such as pushing him to try and “feel again” or triggering Stage 1 in jarring, upsetting, and traumatic ways.)

He’s drawn into a relationship for tangible or strategic benefits (e.g., protection, access to resources, fulfilling a mission, and not consciously, validation and acknowledgment—even if through the means of masochism or sadism directed at him or towards him.)

Emotional connections are not a motivating factor unless he becomes attached, and even then, his apathy often masks deeper feelings.

Though he is emotionally detached, Killer might engage in relationships to fill a void, especially if the other person makes him feel “seen” or real.

The Player’s influence looms large in Killer’s life. He would act in a way that aligns with what he believes the Player wants, which could include romantic relationships.

If he sees the Player as controlling his choices or wanting him to do something, he may either accept this control passively or react with aggression if he feels threatened.

His actions in relationships could often be influenced by what he believes the Player would approve of.

His programming under could make him believe he should be in relationships if ordered to or if it aligns with the mission or goals. He may also mirror what others expect or desire, using charm to manipulate or deflect.

(Such in Bad Sanses AUs, utilizing attachments and emotions to perform his duties as Nightmare’s Right Hand and keep subordinates loyal and attached, therefore less likely to leave, therefore less likely for Killer to be punished or deemed useless.)

When in relationships where he’s not attached to his partner(s), he would maintain his extroverted, silly facade, using humor and charm to deflect scrutiny. Any signs of vulnerability would be carefully masked.

These relationships would serve a purpose. He would observe and exploit the other person’s weaknesses or desires to gain control or minimize threats.

Killer would remain emotionally distant, treating the relationship as a transaction or game to maintain his apathy and avoid deeper connections.

If the other person has power over him (or he believes they do), he might appear docile or submissive, following their lead to avoid punishment or conflict outwardly while subtly trying to regain small moments of control or even just express resentment through passive aggression.

If he is attached, it would confuse Killer, as it clashes with his belief in the futility of emotional connections. He might deny or suppress feelings, fearing they make him vulnerable and will be used to further control him and use him.

While he may not admit it, attachment could manifest in small, unconscious gestures, such as taking care of the person’s needs, (similar to how he cares for stray cats) and acts of service (often rather extreme).

He’d likely find it extremely hard to accept care from others, because it causes such confusion and distress and conflicts with what he’s used to, and will make him feel unsafe —likely causing him to dissociate and derealize, unable to accept what’s happening as real or trust that it is, even if it feels good and comes to crave it.

Especially if this affection feels forced onto him, if he believes he can’t reject it or struggles to even realize that he doesn’t want it—which would likely subconsciously turn him off from asking for or seeking out affection from his partner(s), even if he passively accepts when they give him it to him or when they ask it from him. Like a cat, he wants affection on his own terms—even if he doesn’t realize he’s allowed to have terms or wants.

He feels threatened when approached first — either likely to throw his weight around through LV like a puffed up hissy cat like he did to Swap, or passively accept and resign himself to it if he feels like he can’t resist or that it’d be pointless to.

If the relationship becomes a rare source of validation or comfort, he would become possessive, or fear losing control, though he would mask these feelings with cynicism or humor.

Killer would likely push the other person away to avoid being controlled or hurt, especially if he feels the relationship challenges his emotional detachment or survival instincts. For him, emotions often do and (often were) dangerous and life threatening. This is how he’s been taught to view them.

Killer would likely approach relationships with a fatalistic mindset, believing they are ultimately meaningless and doomed. He might justify his involvement by thinking, “It’s just something to do.”

He is hyper-aware of power dynamics. If he feels controlled, he may resent the relationship but comply out of fear or habit. If he feels in control, he may feel safer but detached.

Emotional intimacy terrifies him, as it threatens the protective barrier of his apathy—and his in cases like with Color, his apathy and disconnect works against him when he struggles to connect emotionally even when he wants to, unable to tell if anything he felt or thought in Stage 1 was real or not. Any genuine feelings would provoke confusion, shame, or fear of exploitation or abuse, losing control, and dissociation.

Killer’s detachment from his identity as Sans makes him feel unworthy or incapable of genuine connection, reinforcing his apathy and cynicism.

When controlled or viewing it this way, Killer may become submissive or compliant, viewing the relationship as inevitable and something incapable of saying no or resisting against. He would use his facade to avoid punishment or suspicion while quietly assessing how to regain control.

When in control or viewing it that way, he would behave more confidently and playfully, seeing the relationship as a source of entertainment or advantage. However, his detachment would prevent him from fully engaging emotionally.

I’d say he needs to be needed—especially if there’s a perceived power dynamic regardless of attachment or not, as to him his usefulness dictates his right to continue existence and he can’t conceive being wanted for anything besides what he and his body can do and is able to handle.

If he thinks he needs someone for some reason, or in a case similar to Color—needs and wants someone—he’d adapt to whatever they seem to need or want from him.

In cases like Nightmare it’d be to the extent of what avoids inconvenience or being discarded and replaced because he thinks he needs Nightmare, in others where he needs something somethings from someone like their soul (as opposed to needing them) it’ll be until he can gain access to that soul.

In cases like Color (where Color is viewed as stronger than him), where there’s nothing Color seems to want from him and nothing Color seems to want to use him for and yet Color has put all this time and effort into him

anyhow and he thinks he needs (but also wants) Color—he gives Color reasons to keep him around.

if Color wants nothing more than a friend from him, then he’ll be the best friend he could ever have. And Color would never want anyone else.

He just has to figure out what the Hell being a friend means to Color..

He’s unlikely to agonize over things like “what if having these types of feelings ruin this type of relationship? Or what if doing or saying this makes it awkward?” the way he might in Stage 1.

This is where his possessiveness and terrortital (and honestly borderline obsessiveness with Color, even if he tries to hide it) tendencies come in.

He’s Color’s best friend because that’s what Color seems to want from him. Not because he cares about the concept of friendship on its own. To him, Color is his. He needs him, and wants him—although that last one may take the back seat a lot in comparison to what Color wants. He’ll be whatever makes Color keep him around.

With others he may view as friends—which he likely wouldn’t seek out himself without a functional purpose such curiosity, need, or convenience and would likely question the motives of anyone trying to approach him claiming to want to be friends—he’d keep a distance if they haven’t become something like what he with Color, wouldn’t expect much emotional depth and would likely have a general disinterest towards others if there’s nothing new about them enough to catch his attention.

He’d avoid emotional demands and would likely be highly uncomfortable with neediness from others or even resentful, even if he doesn’t express it outwardly—especially if he feels they’re trying to control him with their emotions and expectations, often leaving him feeling trapped in the relationship and with that the fear of basically being enslaved and subjugated.

He may crave validation and attention, but only in ways that don’t require him to open up or feel vulnerable—especially with those he doesn’t trust, feel safe with, or connected to.

He may classify those close to him as something like this; those he needs, those who serve a purpose in keeping him grounded or engaged, or those whose absence would leave a significant hole.

Basically, if anyone attempts to do anything like what Swap did (when’s he’s still under Nightmare, as opposed to another ending such as when he’s with Color)—regardless of their intentions—it’s likely to end very badly for them.

As in Killer would sooner beat them half to death to make them leave him alone and give up than allow anyone to have control over him again, or be forced to “feel again” or deal with the fear and pain of being forced into Stage 1 and all the memories and emotions associated with it. Of being weak.

And if they keep sticking around after he’s made it clear he doesn’t want them around him, shoving themselves into his life, he’d clearly take it as free reign to have some “fun” with them and assert control if they really want to be in his life and “help him” and “be his friend” so damn much. And he’d blame them for their own pain, as it’s “not his fault they are weak.”

I think Killer would need someone who can offer emotional stability and security. Given his detachment and fear of vulnerability, he craves someone who provides a sense of calm and reassurance. This person would need to be able to ground him, helping him feel less emotionally adrift and detached from reality.

Killer’s fear of abandonment and emotional numbness make him cling to consistency. He would need someone who is reliably present, offering him a sense of continuity and comfort. A partner who is emotionally available and can consistently demonstrate that they’re there for him would be highly valued, even if Killer doesn’t openly show it.

Killer’s trauma and emotional turmoil often lead him to believe that he’s fundamentally broken and unworthy. A partner who can accept him as he is, without pressuring him to change or revealing too much, would be essential. Killer needs someone who won’t push him to be someone else but will accept his detached, cynical persona and understand the deeper pain and reasons behind it.

He needs someone who understands that his behavior (detachment, cynicism, possessiveness, etc.) is rooted in his experiences and struggles and how he’s adapted to survive, not just a lack of care or an attempt to be “edgy” or manipulative.

This someone would need to refrain from judging his emotional barriers and instead offer gentle encouragement and space for Killer to process his feelings at his own pace.

Stage 2’s obsession with control extends to relationships. Killer might not necessarily want to dominate, but he would want to feel that he has some level of control over his emotional environment. He would need someone who respects his space and boundaries, but one who also allows him to feel like he’s not being controlled or manipulated.

However, the right person could earn his trust and have some control over the dynamics of the relationship, which would give Killer a sense of emotional and physical safety.

While Killer would need emotional connection, he might also need space to retain his autonomy. The ideal partner would understand this balance, not forcing Killer to open up more than he’s comfortable but still offering subtle guidance and understanding when necessary.

Killer’s apathy and emotional walls make him unlikely to ask for or express a need for affection in conventional ways. However, he would likely still need affection—though on his own terms.

Small, quiet acts of care (like a touch on the shoulder (with the understanding that he’s allowed to say no and have that respected), an offer of support, or even nonverbal understanding) would mean a lot to him, even if he doesn’t always know how to express that need.

Killer’s lack of self-worth makes him seek validation from others, but this is indirect. He needs someone who can show him that he’s worthy of care and connection, especially without forcing him to explicitly ask for it.

Through actions and small gestures, Killer’s partner(s) would help him feel that he matters, even if he struggles to believe it.

Given his tendency to suppress emotions and struggle to believe he even has them, Killer needs someone who gives him space to be emotionally closed off when necessary.

He needs someone who respects his boundaries, doesn’t force him to share his deepest thoughts, and understands that his need for space isn’t a rejection, but part of his emotional defense mechanism.

Killer needs someone who is patient with his slow emotional progress. His emotional walls are hard to break down, and he may not be able to communicate his feelings directly. A partner who respects his process and doesn’t rush him to be more vulnerable or open would be essential in helping him grow at his own pace.

Loyalty is a critical component for Killer. His emotional instability and fear of abandonment might cause him to fixate on people who are unwavering in their loyalty to him.

He needs someone who proves their loyalty through actions, remaining steadfast even when Killer’s detachment or emotional shutdown makes it hard for him to show affection in return.

Killer needs a partner who earns his trust over time, not rushing or demanding it but allowing him to grow comfortable with them. Trust for Killer would be hard-won and easily lost, and once it’s earned, he would cling to it, even if he doesn’t always express it.

Trust is one of the few things Killer would place high value on in a relationship, as it provides him with a sense of stability and safety.

Stage 2’s need for control manifests in wanting to maintain some level of power in the relationship, but he also needs to be guided gently by someone who understands his psychological needs.

While Killer may feel the need to hold control over situations, he also is secretly drawn to someone who has a subtle ability to influence him without overwhelming him.

His sadism and masochism. His history of being controlled by others might make him both crave and fear these dynamics in a relationship. He might feel drawn to a partner who subtly indulges or challenges these tendencies in ways that help him feel emotionally alive, but this would be something he might only recognize subconsciously.

Killer needs to feel seen or recognized as a person, not just an instrument to use or a threat or something not to be trusted.

His deep-seated fear of being overlooked or forgotten could make him crave someone who acknowledges his struggles, his desires, and his worth, even if he doesn’t explicitly ask for it. Being validated by a partner would be deeply important to Killer, even though he may hide this need under layers of indifference.

I could talk more about this, especially how his relationship with his body could effect his relationships in general, but I’ll leave it there for now as I have no clue if this is helpful at all 💀.

[ollypopwrites]

Our Sweet Remedy

Gale x Fem!Tav [AFAB, she/her]

Rating: Explicit [18+ MDNI]

Word count: 2.8k

Request: 69 or DP with Gale by anon!

Warnings: Smut (oral [f and m receiving, face fucking, cum swallowing], Gale’s projection double participates [PiV], double penetration, fingering), dirty talk, Dom!Gale (and he is condescending lmao, but no degradation), after care, safe and consensual check ins. Changing POV (Tav then Gale).

Notes: there is so little plot here I don’t know what to say. No beta reader, only Ao can judge me. Also idk if it’s mirror image Gale uses for his projection? Sorry if that that is not lore accurate.

My Ao3

Tav felt she may have to sit down and chat with Gale about his inability to just lay back and receive every once in a while.

It was post-exam season, and her overachieving fiance, had just spent many days cooped up in the study grading and reading final assignments. But it was finally over and they were celebrating the completion of his first full term as a professor at Blackstaff. A night out so neither of them had to cook and a bottle of wine to end the evening.

With Gale wrapped up in his work, it had been up to Tav to arrange everything. Her plans for the night had so far gone exactly as they ought to, they made it to their reservation for dinner, the walk to and from the tower had been exactly on time and when they got through the door he was amenable to being ordered upstairs.

This was where the plan went awry. She had meant to get on her knees, and give him some well-deserved admiration. Gale, however, after what felt like weeks of being drowned in work and only seeing glimpses of his betrothed was feeling clingy and needy.

Instead of having his cock in her mouth from her knees, she was draped alongside him on the bed. His hands roamed over her sides, taking in each curve, grabbing onto flesh when she did something he particularly liked. The groans and murmured praises spurred her on, happy to be able to please him and offer him some reprieve.

His fingers trailed her thighs, nudging them apart. She allowed it, for the moment, a pleased yet shocked squeal leaving her when he ran through the seam of her, dipping his fingers inside of her when he found her wet.

She pulled off him to lift her head, and remind him she was doing something for him for once when she caught him bringing his fingers into his mouth. Rendered momentarily speechless, body pulsing with a renewed need, Tav licked her lips.

“Humor me?” He asked.

“This — hey!” She felt him grabbing her thighs, attempting to pull her onto his body. “Gale, tonight is supposed to be about you.”

“Believe me, my love,” he said, not giving up his intent so Tav had to acquiesce, “this is for me.”

Another pulse of excitement coursed through her. Not meaning to be outdone, Tav at least acknowledged that this gave her better access to his cock. Her body now settled over his, with her thighs bracketing his sides as he leaned against the headboard with her presented for him as he grabbed at her ass. She worked him into her mouth with renewed vigor, not letting up even when he began his usual maddening work on her with his tongue.

For a while she was too lost to the sensation of him groaning above her to truly acknowledge how worked up she was getting. When she took him further into her mouth, as far as she could, he sucked hard on her clit with a moan and she felt her entire body go rigid.

There was something incredibly enticing about feeling so much pleasure while he was buried in her throat. She pulled up for air and not one to be outdone, Gale went in more fervently.

She was quickly rising to her climax, and she was losing focus. Pumping him in her hand with his head in her mouth, she kept being distracted by the sensations.

“You’re distracting me,” she whined.

No response, just more incessant working of her that made her want to give up entirely on the task at hand and languish in his talents.

Her own hands wrapped around his hips, to grab at his ass and pull him further into her mouth so he would get the message. He hesitated, gently thrust and when she moaned he allowed himself shallow jerky movements. A half-formed groan escaped him and his grip grew tighter on her thighs.

Tav’s mind went blissfully blank, truly degenerate moans came out around the slight muffle of him thrusting in and out of her mouth and then something snapped.

It was hard to tell if Gale gave the hard thrust into her throat or if she pushed herself down onto him, but it hardly mattered. Mouth full of him, her toes curled, her legs shook and her hips had to be held firmly to keep from jolting and moving from the sensation of his mouth.

After it passed she took him out of her mouth to laugh, a bit delirious at what had just happened.

“Alright, my love?”

He sounded strained, and she could see why. His cock was rigid, pulsing slightly and she knew he was close. She hummed an affirmative and without distraction went back to work on rewarding her wizard for a successful first term not thinking much more of the turn of events.

Gale couldn’t forget it.

Perhaps it was that he had not considered how much time he was buried in work and now being able to reemerge he found himself constantly thinking about Tav’s reaction the other night. They went from enjoying each other's company as often as possible to intermittently due to his new work schedule to not at all during the exam season.

But regardless of it being a matter of being pent up or not. He was catching himself thinking about her reaction in the middle of benign conversations, eyes drifting to her mouth and wondering just what her expression had been when she came with his cock in her throat.

Blindly feeling it had been near enough to throw him over the edge. He had to see it.

They had discussed trying things with his ability to conjure a mostly tangible mirror image before. The idea had come to him after the topic of Halsin wanting to be an add on to their partnership while on the road had come up. It had been born of insecurity, a need to be more in order to keep her by his side , but after his concerns were put to rest the idea remained.

It remained on a loop, actually. The idea of filling her so completely that all she could feel was him.

When she climbed in his lap in the study a couple days later, as eager to make up for their time apart as he was, he decided he had to see if he could bring the fantasy to life.

Tav gasped when she felt the somewhat cool touch of the mirror image’s hand on her back. She looked over her shoulder, and the projection smiled at her. Naked and ready already, but not making any other move to touch Tav.

“Hello there,” she said and then turned back to Gale. “We finally giving this a go?”

“Only if you want to,” he said, cupping her face. “Say the word and he will be gone.”

Tav kissed him, and then bit her lip with a cheeky smile. “How do you two want me?”

Gale felt a blazing trail of excitement crawl up his spine, blood rushing. “Naked. On your hand and knees.” He added a gentlemanly, “please,” for good measure.

“Yes, saer,” she teased and crawled out of his lap to strip herself of her clothes and do as she was asked.

For a while he just watched as she took in the sensations of the spectral presence lavishing her in attention. There was a thrill in being able to see his hands grab at the flesh of her ass, to see himself squeeze her thighs and generally admire her body from his seat on the settee. A unique pleasure in watching but still knowing it was all him that made her whine impatiently, and when he allowed the projection to finally touch her she eased into it.

“How does it feel, my love?”

The projection slid fingers through her folds, not quite giving her clit the attention it needed.

“Ever the scholar,” she mused and then moaned as a spectral finger circled her entrance. “Feels good, a bit like the mage hand, honestly.”

Gale hummed.

“Off,” she half demanded tugging down at the hem of his shirt.

“Always so impatient,” he chuckled, removing his shirt anyway.

“And you’re always a tease,” she shot back. One of her hands came up to tug at his waistband this time. “These next.”

“Demanding, as well,” he replied, yet he moved to acquiesce. He sat down in front of her, still on the settee while his mirror image continued to rub and tease, purposely not touching where she truly wanted him to. His hand came to her cheek, “I’d very much like to preoccupy your mouth with something besides bossing me around. How do you tell me to stop?”

“Two taps,” she demonstrated on his thigh for good measure.

There was a challenge in her eyes, one that spurred him on. The urge to take very deep despite his constant reign on himself. Perhaps a hold over from his time dealing with the orb, but if there was one thing Tav was good at it was tempting him.

He pushed his thumb into her mouth, and she sucked on it before opening her mouth to make a show of running her tongue along the pad of his finger.

“The other night,” he said, eyebrows furrowing in sharp focus at the point where his finger met her tongue, “you took me so deeply when you came. Did you like it?”

She hummed an affirmative, her mouth coming off his hand to say, “I loved it.” Her hand reached for the base of his cock, bringing it towards her mouth.

He moved his hand into her hair, gripping tight enough to keep her head from moving any further. Behind her his double stopped immediately. A frozen moment of disbelief crossed over her face.

“Ask me.”

She breathed a half laugh, but the way she licked her lips betrayed her interest in his demand.

“May I have your cock in my mouth?”

“Ask me, nicely.”

A shudder overtook her. “Please, Gale, can I have your cock in my mouth?”

“You may,” he replied with a smile, hand coming out of her hair to allow her to move.

The first lick was teasing, but with every attention she paid to him the projection behind her rewarded her anew. Gale took the time to sit back and enjoy, her clever mouth working him at her own leisure and each soft noise of pleasure while she did made his jaw clench.

When the presence behind her slipped two fingers inside of her, he felt her stiffen and her mouth froze on him. She tried to get back to her task but each stroke of the fingers inside of her seemed to draw her away until she was just sitting there moaning with his cock in her mouth.

“That’s it,” Gale muttered. “Hold me in your mouth, my love, can you do that?”

A gentle nod was her reply and the projection behind her went to work. Gale’s breathing picked up, self-control hanging on by a fraying thread as he simply watched. Pre-cum dribbled out of him and the resulting squeal she gave before running her tongue over the tip of him had him questioning why he was waiting.

Tav’s first orgasm approached, and he watched with fond understanding of exactly how it would go. The rush of sudden impatience as her hips thrust back onto the fingers inside of her, the little noises she would make and the crinkled brow of focus as she let herself hone in on the rising sensation. Beautiful as usual.

“Gale,” she breathed, “I’m going to —“

“Ask.”

Her eyes shot open, meeting his, a new sort of awe struck intrigue perhaps at the commanding tone. “Please,” she said, tongue laving over the tip of him, “please let me come.”

“Open for me,” he said, hand coming back into her hair. When she did as he asked he gently guided her back onto him, “hold me here. Keep me right here while you fall apart.”

The projection was unrelenting, and Gale could hardly keep his hips steady with each little whine that came from Tav’s lips. Enraptured by the view, he was lost when her jaw went a bit slack, tongue pressed against the head of his cock in a last attempt to pleasure him as she tipped over the edge.

The final thread of self-control frayed; the projection of himself quickly readjusted so that the same time Gale thrust into her mouth its cock was also sinking into her heat.

Tav squealed in surprise around both intrusions, and Gale grit his teeth to stave off further thrusting in order to give her the chance to tap out. His lovely Tav simply looked up at him, corners of her lips turned up in a challenging smile even with her mouth full.

The desire to make her as mindless as he felt overtook and in unison both cocks began to thrust. Praise was all he could find himself to speak.

“Yes, my love, yes,” he whispered, “look at you, full of me.” He sucked in a sharp breath when she whined, the sensation causing a sweet vibration. “So beautiful, so good,” he breathed, “with such an eager mouth — and a dripping cunt for me.”

Her eyes blinked, slightly watery with a sharper thrust that he felt gag her slightly. But yet unwaveringly full of awe, full of admiration and devotion. Proof she was loving every second of this as much as him.

The projection pressed over her back, arm coming around to touch her clit in reward. A slightly manic sound left her, desperate and shocked. He knew she was probably still sensitive, he barely gave her time to recover from the last orgasm before he began the double ended onslaught of sensation. Her walls had probably still been fluttering around the slightly spectral intrusion of his double’s cock.

He swallowed hard. He almost wanted to take himself out of her mouth to hear her describe the feeling, but it would be too great a loss he decided. The unending string of muffled moans were enough of an indication for him.

At a particularly harsh thrust from his double he was knocked from her mouth, her head lolling and eyes closing. She was losing her focus.

“Keep my cock in your mouth, Tav,” he commanded, the projection ceasing all movement. Hips and hands stilling mid movement.

“Trying,” she whimpered. “Feels too good —“

Gale tightened the grip in her hair, guiding her back to where he wanted her, his hips thrusting steadily with a groan. “I’ve got you,” he muttered, “stay there.”

The projection started its onslaught again, with renewed gasps and choked off whimpers from Tav starting anew. He was steadily approaching the precipice, but unwilling to venture over until he saw for himself what it looked like to have her truly debauched.

The visage of him behind her was unrelenting, and he could see her beginning to reach that peak. Her eyes gave away the desperation she felt, and when he finally gave her permission he watched first her body begin to slouch unable to keep herself up as her knees slid further apart and her hips twitch.

Tav’s eyes went blissfully blank before they rolled back slightly, his thrusts into her mouth a bit easier as her jaw went slack.

“That's it, Tav,” he breathed. “Gods, you’re perfection.”

Without being able to look away he felt the control finally slip away. His hips thrust up in harsh long strokes that made her gag as he felt himself seize up with the release. It was met with sucking as Tav eased him through it.

Behind her the projection had faded with his lack of concentration. He took a few moments to admire her, lips swollen, glistening with saliva and breathing heavy.

“Come here,” he pulled her up off of the floor, and settled her on his lap. He kissed her sweaty forehead, her cheek and then finally her lips. “Alright?”

She nodded her head.

“I need to hear you say it, Tav.”

“I’m fine,” she assured him. “Let’s stay like this, though, a little longer.”

His hands rubbed over her back, lips pressed to the crown of her head as they caught their breath. The glow of satiation still thrummed through his veins as he focused on the feel of her in his arms. Gratitude bloomed in his chest at her ability to make him feel safe enough to explore his desire to take for once, for trusting him.

“You’re filthy, Gale,” she giggled after a while, still looking a bit dazed.

“You’re one to talk,” he challenged.

“It wasn’t a complaint,” she assured him, letting herself nestle her face into the crook of his neck. “We are definitely doing that again.”

Thank you for reading 💜

[eddiexmunsonlover]

One Step Away From You (Chapter 15)

BSF!Eddie Munson x PlusSize!GF!Reader

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Chapter Summary: You and Eddie forge a new favorite after-school activity, and important mail arrives. WC: 2.7K Warnings: MDNI 18+ ONLY. This chapter is pretty much entirely smut, with a tiny bit of plot progression at the end. Oral (fem receiving). Unprotected piv. Creampie. Explicit language. Series taglist: @siriusmaraudeers @amandahobblepot @eddie-is-a-god @littlexdeaths We are officially three quarters of the way through this series, 15 chapters down and 5 more to go!

Wednesday, April 9th, 1986

Needy hands grab onto your waist from behind, rubbing and squeezing your sides as he kisses along your shoulder. His mouth, hair, and nose tickling your neck.

“Eddieeeee” you giggle. “Stop it, you’re distracting me!”

The key in your hand misses the lock on the front door once again.

“I can’t help it. You’re too beautiful, baby.” He mumbles, lips attaching to your sensitive skin. 

You have to bite back the moan hanging in your throat from the sensation. With a deep breath and all the willpower you can muster, you finally get the key in and unlock the front door with a relieved sigh. 

Stepping into the trailer with Eddie hanging onto you, only to push you back against it once it’s closed. His plump lips capture yours in a hungry kiss as your hands automatically tangle in his wild locks. Moaning into his mouth when his hands squeeze your ass, pulling your hips flush against his to feel he’s already hard.

“What has gotten into you?” you ask breathlessly, pulling your lips from his. He begins walking backwards toward your room, pulling you in step with him.

“You’ve been driving me crazy all day, sweetheart.” He mutters with his face buried in your neck, passing the threshold into your room. “Wearing these jeans that are so tight…” His hand slides over the curve of your ass and between your cheeks to cup your pussy from behind, pulling a whimper from you that sets a smirk on his face.

“And this shirt…” A finger drags along the deep v neckline, pulling down at the middle to fully reveal your cleavage that he peppers with soft kisses. “Did you wear it just to tease me?”

Biting your bottom lip does little to stifle the smile pulling at the corners of your mouth.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” you answer, quickly losing yourself in the feeling of his hands and mouth all over you.

“Sure you don’t.”

In a split second he’s spinning you around, pushing you back to land on the bed with him falling on top of you. His lips crashing back onto yours as your hands desperately grip each other, eagerly shedding your clothes. A practice you’ve perfected over the last couple of weeks, establishing your new favorite after-school activity with your boyfriend in the confines of your bedroom. Having the trailer all to yourselves after school until your mom comes home, leaving Uncle Wayne to sleep and get ready for work in peace.

Left in only your underwear, Eddie’s mouth slowly trails from your lips, to your neck, and across your breasts. Your soft moans mixing with his groans as he sucks the skin around your nipples, leaving hickeys in his wake. It’s the next best thing until your piercings are healed, he claims, and you can’t help but agree. Fingers tangling in his hair, your head thrown back in pleasure. Butterflies fill your stomach as his lips move there, leaving soft kisses along every inch. Always giving extra attention to your more sensitive areas.

“So beautiful” he mumbles against your belly as his fingers slide under the band of your panties and slowly pulls them down. He leans back, biting his bottom lip and releasing a guttural groan as he looks you over, spread bare for him.

“Fuck, baby. I’ve been waiting to taste you all day.” 

You whimper, pussy clenching around nothing at his words, at the sight of him kissing his way down from your ankle to your core. 

His tongue flat, dives between your folds to lick a slow, long stripe from your entrance up to your clit. Moaning as he finally gets to taste you.

He takes his time with you at first, getting you worked up. Moving from flicking his tongue against your clit to lapping up your juices, letting his tongue go as deep as it can inside you.

“Eddieeeee” you whine as you grow impatient, needing more, craving more.

He chuckles, looking up to meet your eyes.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. Gonna take good care of you.”

He moves back to your clit, adding more pressure to his licks and every swirl of his tongue. Giving you just what you want, throwing your head back with a deep moan at the feeling of a finger breaching your entrance.

“Oh, baby. Feel so good” you moan out breathlessly, the sound going straight to his throbbing cock. He groans at your praise, sending vibrations through your core that only makes more moans slip from your mouth.

Your hands grip the comforter beneath you as he adds another finger to stretch you out, making your back arch and your juices coat his digits.

His eyes roll back feeling you writhe beneath him, the scandalous moans his mouth and fingers pull from you. Nothing turns him on more than getting you off, and he knows just what you need to have you coming undone for him.

As his fingers stroke your walls his lips wrap around your clit, forming a seal as he sucks on your sensitive bud. 

Your stomach tightens and your thighs begin to tremble, tugging on his hair from the overwhelming sensation.

“Oh my god, Eddie! Fuck, please don’t stop!” you beg, feeling yourself speeding to your end faster than anticipated. He doesn’t dare part his lips from your clit to tell you, you can already see it in his eyes. Begging for you to cum for him.

His mouth sucking on your clit alone is enough to make you see stars, but his fingers rubbing against your g spot at the same time and the added vibration from his moans that shoot right through your clit has you tumbling over the edge. 

You shout out his name as you cum on his fingers, your thighs gripping his head as your whole body tightens, riding out the wave crashing over you.

You’re at his mercy though and while his movements slow, his mouth is still sucking on you while his fingers massage your walls. Your bud has only grown more sensitive with the orgasm, his mouth adding far too much stimulation.

“Fuck, Eddie. Too sensitive.” you whine as you catch your breath, tugging at his hair to unlatch his lips from your clit.

They instead trail up your body to meet yours in a deep kiss, tasting your juices on his tongue as it licks yours. His throbbing cock presses against your belly and in a second you’re over your high, desperately needing to feel him inside you.

Your bodies flip till Eddie’s on his back beneath you as you straddle him, making him moan at the prospective position. While he loves to be in control most of the time, he loses his mind everytime you ride him.

Big, warm hands immediately grip your thighs, rubbing them up and down while you line him up with your entrance.

Moaning in unison as you sink onto his cock, his hands grip onto your hips as yours slide up the warm skin of his chest.

Despite fucking like rabbits in the weeks since your first time together, his cock still feels just as good every single time. Every single time he slowly slides into you, stretching you out inch by inch and knocking the air from your lungs when he’s fully sheathed inside.

You whimper at the feeling, feeling so full of him. 

Your hips instinctually move to grind back and forth. Soon you fall into a rhythm and reach for his hands, moving them up your body to grope your breasts as you grind on his cock. Your airy moans mix with his sighs and grunts to fill your room. 

The back and forth movement of your hips provides the perfect position for friction against your clit and his shaft to rub along your g-spot. Your movements begin to quicken, chasing after the sensation. You’re riding him so hard the bed begins to shift and squeak underneath your bodies.

“Shit. That’s it, baby. Use my cock” he coaxes, making you whine and speed up your movements even more. One hand is holding yourself up on his pec while the other grips his neck. The sight of him beneath you, disheveled and moaning only adds to the pleasure filling your body.

“Feel so good, Eddie. So full” You babble near incoherently, already cockdrunk for him.

“That’s my girl” he breathes out before groaning loudly when your pussy squeezes around him tightly in response, his fingers digging into the plush skin padding your hips.

You move from your knees to your feet into a squat as you begin to bounce on his cock. 

“Oh my god.” he groans, throwing his head back at the new position, your walls now gripping him even tighter. “I love the way you ride my cock, baby”

Your own head falls back with a moan at his words. He grips your thighs, watching his thick cock disappear inside you as you ride him. His eyes trail up your body, the jiggle of your soft belly and tits with each bounce, your blissed out expression with your mouth hanging open.

“You’re so fucking sexy baby” he mutters through heavy breaths, hands exploring and gripping every inch of you he can. Losing himself in you, the control you have over him, bringing him closer and closer to his high with each bounce, each slap of your ass against his balls.

Teeth dig into his bottom lip, willing himself to hold off on blowing his load too soon but the sight before him and the feeling of your walls wrapping tighter around him is becoming too much.

You feel yourself getting closer to your second orgasm with each stroke of his cock against your sensitive spot and the sight of him beginning to come undone beneath you, because of you.

“You gonna cum for me, baby?” 

His eyes squeeze shut before he nods.

“Fuck, not gonna last much longer”

“Cum with me” you whine. “Want you to fill me up, Eds. Need it.”

“Jesus Christ” He groans through gritted teeth, moaning out as his body begins to tense up. 

Your body mimics his with your movements faltering. Pussy choking his cock as your second orgasm crashes over you. Gripping onto each other's warm, slick bodies, moaning each other’s names as he holds your hips down to keep him deep inside, warmth filling you up.

You fall back onto your knees and rest your head on his heaving chest while his arms wrap around you.

You lay in each other's embrace for the next hour, soft giggles and skunky haze filling your room. Until the hour nears when your mom will arrive home, pushing you two to depart from your bed and search for your clothes scattered among the floor. 

Eddie hums as you look around, finding your shirt peeking out from under the bed.

“The bigger the cushion, the sweeter the pushin’

That’s what I saiddd”

You pull out a dresser drawer, grabbing pajama shorts to wear for the evening.

“My baby fits me like a flesh tuxedo,

I love to sink her with my pink torpedo”

Pulling your shorts on, your eyebrow quirks as you slowly turn toward your boyfriend whose bare back is toward you. He’s now dressed in his jeans, but still aimlessly looking around for his shirt.

“Big bottom, big bottom

Talk about bum cakes, my girl’s got em.”

He snatches his band tee off the floor.

“Big bottom drive me out of my mind

How could I leave this behind?”

He sings dramatically before turning to face you. Eyeing him with a smirk, your hip popped out to the side with your arms crossed.

“Are you really singing the Fat Bottomed Girls parody song from Spinal Tap?” you ask incredulously, while very amused.

He giggles, smiling widely with pink cheeks as he walks over to you, hands coming to grip your waist.

“What? Just seems so fitting for my honey bunny.” he beams at you, pecking your cheek before one hand slips from your waist to come down hard on your ass with a smack. You jump with a squeak, landing a returning smack on his chest before he can get away, scurrying out of your room and down the hall.

With dinner cooking in the oven, you and Eddie lounge on the couch. His arm resting behind your head as you watch reruns on tv.

Soon, you hear the sound of an engine and rocks crunching under tires in the driveway. The front door opens and your mom greets you both with a smile.

“Oh, Eddie! Good to see you.” 

“You too, Mrs. Y/L/N.” He returns with a smile before you both bring your attention back to the tv as your mom moves about the trailer.

“Dinner smells good, sweetie” She remarks from the kitchen behind you. “Oh! You have some mail here too.”

You turn to see her lay a short stack of envelopes on the dining room table before venturing down the hall to her room.

As you eye the mail from your spot on the couch, a sinking feeling hits your stomach. You already know what they are, you’ve been waiting on them since you first sent off your applications a few short months ago.

White papers holding the fate of your future.

A deep breath of air fills your lungs before quietly parting from Eddie’s side on the couch, taking cautious steps toward the envelopes on the table.

Greeted by confirmation of your suspicions as you look at the sender on each of them.

Indiana University.

Ohio State University.

Virginia Tech.

With a shaky breath, you open each one. Eyes carefully reading over every word. 

While reading the letter from Virginia, as soon as you see ‘regretfully’ you shove it away and move on to the next one. Rejection sucks, but you didn’t really want to go there anyway.

Your stomach feels a little lighter when you read you’ve been accepted into Ohio State. It seemed nice enough during your visit.

Now, it’s down to Indiana University. You bite the bullet and quickly rip open the envelope, unfolding the paper to see their decision.

You’ve been accepted.

Your eyes close with a sigh, attempting to will your anxiety away with finally knowing your options, more so that you have options.

The ringing of the timer on the stove catches you off guard, but provides a timely distraction as you return the papers to their respective envelopes and go to check on dinner.

Despite your hopes that knowing your options would be a relief, the anxiety sitting in your stomach lingers as you’re now faced with the weight of a decision.

You only manage a few bites of dinner as Eddie and your mom chat around you, making small talk about school, Uncle Wayne, and gossip around town. 

You can’t be biased in your choice. Wherever will provide you the best education should be the top priority, your mother has reminded you enough.

You weigh the pros and cons of each option, thinking over your experiences visiting both campuses.

Still, your thoughts drift to Eddie and your friends. What will become of your relationships depending on your decision, maybe even regardless of your decision?

As the hour turns later into the night, dinner leftovers are packed away, dirty dishes cleaned and drying on the rack, Eddie parts from your front door with a kiss, and you wish your mother goodnight before returning to your room.

No distractions or people around you, you’re left to focus solely on the prospect of your future.

You rack your brain with every possibility, every outcome, every advantage and disadvantage.

Despite trying to be as unbiased as you can, throughout every thought only one option is truly valid to you.

Only one place you’d want to go.

The only school that calls out to your heart and offers the least chances of potential heartbreak.

You’d only fooled yourself into entertaining the idea you hadn’t already decided before now.

[satorugojjo]

I don’t think there’s a single book BookTok has promoted in the last couple years that’s turned out to be an actually good “you cannot miss this read” which now makes me and so many others I know avoid it as a whole.

A lot of BookTok books seem to be specific for very young or very new readers who haven’t cut their teeth on fanfic or haven’t been reading from a young age. The writing style is either a really profound Instagram metaphorical caption kinda overwrought and over flowery language, or it’s trying so hard to be edgy and sardonic and ends up being completely tell and almost zero show. This Is How You Lose The Time War is a PERFECT example of this - where the flowery and poetic language actually takes AWAY from a scene and distracts you from it rather than adding anything to it in the moment, and for those who do like poetic fiction this will be up their alley but if you don’t and you pick it up because of badly marketed hype when you normally wouldn’t, it’s gonna turn you off reading in general!

There’s nothing wrong with starter fiction to help get readers engaged and then find their way into actually good books, but my gripe is that it’s never ever marketed as that and as if it it’s just generically good fiction. Nothing Colleen Hoover has ever written is objectively good - the writing style is mediocre and she romanticises taboo topics which will seem spicy to the average population who doesn’t READ. And yet she takes up every bookshelf which I promise you will end up turning many readers who ARENT on booktok away from reading altogether.

YA is another genre that has declined a lot in recent years because it’s full of marketers trying to fit all the buzzword tropes into their books and getting young readers to buy it because it’s “enemies to lovers pirate cyberpunk found family” or whatever - and it feels more like focus group fiction rather than actual writing. I LOVE YA but nothing that’s been released post 2020 has had any depth, plot, character development or any style to it.

A great example is Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yarros - i tried reading 2 chapters as a sample and it was shocking to see how illogical, overdramatic, overedgy and exceptionally “this happened then this then this then that” it was. There was absolutely zero nuance and it felt so “I’m telling you all this but I’m not gonna prove any of it”. And yet it’s rated either 5 stars or 1 star. I’m sure it’s a great starter middle grade/teen book but it is definitely not deserving to be on the same pedestal as other YA books like Hunger Games or Six of Crows. I used to think that perhaps I’ve just outgrown YA but considering I can pick up YA from 2018 that I haven’t read before with no problems, it’s so specific to BOOKTOK YA.

It’s getting to the point that if I see a book that’s being overpromoted on tiktok, I’m more likely to believe the bad reviews because there hasn’t been a SINGLE book where I’ve disagreed with them, and then go find a different book in the same genre that hasn’t been on booktok - it’s getting hilarious actually that the books that are actually incredible get zero screen time and traction on booktok because they aren’t just cheap easy airport reads. Once again - nothing wrong with an easy airport CH book or YA book, but we aren’t going around parading a Lee Child book as peak literature no matter how enjoyable they are.

I don’t even have a conclusion to this entire rant - I’m sick of books like Babel getting steamrolled because it was “too sad or too hard” in favour of the latest SJM book, and getting even more sick of the decline of media literacy due to books getting easier and more spoonfeedy. When they aren’t? They mistake flowery metaphors for complexity and depth.

[mintyluneee]

TW!! A BIT SPOILER FOR TOKYO DEBUNKER!!!

I have some thoughts right now and I want to spill it right now, I just noticed in Haru's beginning dialogue. If I may not be wrong he's saying that he's unable/can't save his own hometown, which leads me into one question- Is haru making a deal with a demon to save his parents/people? I mean come on!! He literally has a superspeed now because of it, but also it causes him to have a weak body :(

Also yes, I do believe in one theory that he lost his right arm (he has a prosthetic arm I assume), I have 2 theories of how he lost his arm,

1. Probably he lost it while trying to save his parents/people. Maybe something really bad happened and it makes him have a critical injury.

2. If you look closely at his dialogues- he mentioned that peekaboo bites his arm/hand whenever he tries to feed him/her (in the beginning). Also dude did you see peekaboo's mouth?? Those teeth are dangerous enough to rip your entire arm-

Not to mention he's pretty very reckless when it comes to missions and regular stuff in the dorm, he's a risk taker- maybe he got some kind of accident while on a mission that may cause him to lose his arm too.

I want to mention one more time of how he's being reckless on jabberwock's chapter where he tries to distract the anomalies and he ends up getting hurt (again).

Now I have to wait for his backstory to be revealed (although I'll have to wait for a very long time), it may be a plot twist lol because I may be wrong, I may be right. LET US SEE FOLKS.

That's what I want to say lol, I'm sorry if my grammar is pretty bad. English is not my first language- so pardon me :3 (also thank you for reading this until the end lol, luv you).

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XXXVI. “whiplash”

parts: previous / next

plot: sobering up brings a host of emotion to the surface. your next interaction with Bruce takes things a step further.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, anxiety, panic

words: 7.2k

a/n: hiii !! been a little longer between this and the last chapter, started my final year of grad school and have had to adjust to a lotttt more work! but i got this done and i'm exciiited to keep writing <3 this will not be the new norm! grad school will not take away my fic time !! i refuse !! anyway, the characters took me places in this chapter I wasn’t anticipating 🤭

The night had been lengthy. As daybreak hit, and the ceiling had gone blurry from staring at it so thoroughly, the high-res image of him fuzzed into nothing more than an outline. The shadow of him followed you to the counter, where you ordered the first thing you noticed on the menu, plugged in your card, and waited for your latte in vain.

A girl who couldn’t be more than seventeen walked around the counter with an apologetic smile. “So sorry, but we’re out of oat milk.” She had bright brown eyes that turned down at the corners, and a lopsided grin. You continued to tread water, forcing back memories of your cursed adolescence that had led you here. You nodded at her first suggestion, slinking closer to the wall as you reset your waiting. You wanted to grab her by the shoulders, tell her to get out, to leave. That the city would swallow her up, smother her dreams, break her.

You wished you’d listened when your parents had done that to you.

Wood paneling brought warmth to the small dining area. A speaker nestled between some spider plants wafted lofi music from the far corner. A few friends clustered together with laptops and cheap spiral notebooks on the spindly tables and chairs. Your mind wandered around itself like an echoey ballroom, poking and prodding at each thing out of place. Why had you ever come to Gotham?

Your phone buzzed, but the cinch in your stomach knotted your fingers from grabbing it. It was a hot stove, burning a hole in the pocket of your hoodie so much you could almost smell it smoldering. Prioritizing your attention to the steady tempo of the heartbeat in your ears was the only reason you were still standing.

It buzzed again. Then again, giving you no choice but to stare the horse in the mouth. Mar was responding to the barrage of texts you’d sent her last night to distract; two-player games, memes, entirely too specific questions because you’d hoped she’d free you from the night’s torment. At some point, you’d deliriously tried to telepathically text Walter, so desperate for anything other than the frames of Bruce and you that slammed against your eyelids like hail.

Your thumb slipped and moved you back to your messages menu. The pull you felt toward his name was all too similar to slowing past a car crash, straining your neck against all better judgment to look away. You clicked on it, feeling like you’d fallen back into bed, the sheets coarse against your skin.

You’d taken a shower the second he left, stopping for nothing save locking the door. The water was ice cold, an attempt to shock away the play acting itself out behind every blink. Every movement of your arm across your body felt like a bullet, or a hot knife slicing through the top layers of skin. You fought through body wash like it was his hands gliding over you, wincing as they passed over the gigantic scarlet bruise assaulting your thigh.

You’d been convinced you were losing your mind, and swore not to take weed ever again.

After toweling off, tears stinging your eyes over the endless suffering of that shower, you wanted nothing more than to slip into a state of nonexistence. No thoughts, no hopes, no fears, no consequences. But the phone stared at you, and you stared back, knowing you had to text him.

The barista came out and handed you your coffee, and you startled to the point she apologized again, eyes squinting slightly. You muttered a thank you, and slipped out into the street.

Leaving the café had you feeling like a thief. Like someone was out to get you, breathing down your neck whispering I found you out. I know your secret. Walking past pedestrians felt like they could see right through you. Like you were stripped naked walking through downtown, pining for an alleyway you could slip into for a moment of reprieve.

The main intersection downtown had a notoriously ‘sticky’ walk light—sometimes it would go off too often, creating a horrific hazard for people too trusting, or it would only buzz rarely, leaving you stranded between you and your destination for far too long. After the third light cycle with no signal, you were forced to suffer an indefinite wait, the phone a heavy brick in your hand.

Almondmilk foam caressed your lips as you diverted your attention to the texture and spices in the latte. Still bitterly hot, you relished its sting, fingers tapping anxiously on the inflexible plastic back of your phone case. Burn me. Scald me. You slammed a gulp of it, and for a moment the desire to stare at your screen faded to gray. After a few seconds soothing your tongue against the roof of your mouth, you squinted your eyes open to see if the walk signal was lit. No such luck.

When you thought about rushing into traffic, you made yourself take a deep breath. You needed to get a grip, and tried talking yourself down. So what? You’d been high, had an unprecedented dream, and the thoughts had lingered. The situation didn’t need to be stickier than that. As exposure, you looked through the messages from the night before, the first few of which you’d tossed and turned in bed before sending, suddenly overthinking every syllable you ‘spoke’ to him.

Hey, it’s Y/N. Back yet?

Home safe.

You recalled being shocked he was such a fast texter.

Thanks for following up. Got your number saved.

Does that make two numbers in your phone now?

Three. Running out of storage space at this rate.

1.Alfred

2.Alfred (Cell)

3.Me

How’d you hack my phone?

Lol (laughing out loud)

Thanks. Had no idea.

Now that Bruce Wayne is in the public eye, you gotta know this stuff.

Hope I don’t run into him. Heard he’s a total tool.

That poor journalist he roped into interviewing him.

You know Bruce, desperate to talk.

By this point you’d been grinning in bed, forgetting the turmoil of the past half hour. You’d set your phone on your nightstand, until two minutes later when it lit the room up.

I did have a great time tonight. Sorry if I intruded.

I owe you another bottle. And Skittles.

I liked the company. Wasn’t looking forward to being alone, hence the edible.

I’m sorry for how I acted this morning. If it helps, I’m safe.

It does. Glad you’re feeling better, really.

Appreciate you looking out for me. I’ll try to make it easier.

You’d have been lying if you’d said that didn’t make your stomach flip a little.

You don’t need to feel bad about this morning. It makes sense why you’d feel that way, the pity stuff.

Doesn’t mean you had to be in the crossfire.

How’s your head? Your leg?

Better. I think the weed’s helping somehow.

Good.

If you want to talk about anything, I’m here.

I forget the toll these things take.

By this point it was like a spell had overtaken you, like his kindness was a slippery slope of contagion enveloping you before you’d even realized what you were messing with.

For someone who claims these interactions are so new, you sound pretty normal.

Alfred fills the gaps.

I’m imagining him standing over your shoulder telling you what to say.

I’d sound more British.

In the pause of you laughing to yourself, he sent another text.

Followed up with Gordon before you texted. Miller’s still in custody, no chance of bail. Hope that helps you sleep better tonight.

You distinctly recalled thinking Talking to you is helping me sleep better before promptly throwing your phone across the room on reflex. It thudded into the pink chair of your desk, thankfully unharmed. You laid there, chest heaving, room spinning. Like a petulant, obnoxious visitor looking for any excuse to insert themselves, the mirage came back with a gentle pulse, and you felt his breath on your neck again.

You hadn���t responded the rest of the night, and that was where the text chain ended. By the time you’d gathered your breath enough to walk to your phone, it was too late to respond, made you too self-conscious. You’d hoped he’d leave it at that, and wouldn’t follow up more. You were petrified of the nightmare coming back.

The light turned, and after a triple check to make sure it wasn’t short-circuiting, you pocketed your phone and walked across, flinching at every crunch of a leaf under your shoe. Bruce had certainly been a favorable distraction from the reality of having been held at gunpoint, of being kicked and pummeled into the concrete, but you couldn’t shake the sweat-soaked feeling that clouded every thought about him: whiplash.

Walking home, the feeling was different than he’d ever felt before; rather than harassing himself about why he’d said this, that, or anything else, he felt… peaceful. A bit sore, but a good sore, like flexing a muscle you hadn’t exercised in a while. Simultaneously, he felt like he’d opened up too much for comfort and comfortably stretched his limits. It was disorienting, the usual word for how he felt around you. Rather than ruminating on words or tone, he looked at the flicker of the streetlights off the broken windows, how the puddles created a dew on the jagged edges of the brick in the alleys he slipped through. More than anything, he felt like he’d been cracked open. Like a sliver of light was getting in; the light of wanting to keep you talking on the couch. The light of getting lost in you.

As he drew closer to Wayne Tower, his legs felt more weighted. Maybe it was the alcohol, no, it was absolutely the alcohol, and he’d likely feel horrible in the morning, but for now, as he walked through the damp streets, his head felt less crowded. A nagging thought at the back of his mind was how the hell he’d fallen asleep so quickly. He was always keenly aware of his energy levels, having mapped them endlessly to accurately gauge how much longer he could stay out and fight. He hadn’t felt tired. It hadn’t even been midnight. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d fallen asleep that early. It was ridiculous.

It’d been about ten minutes into the episode that he’d noticed you were sleeping. As quickly as he could remember after, he’d followed your lead. He’d passed a long-abandoned park a half-mile from his house and a swingset creaked in the wind, mimicking the sound in his chest when you’d come back from the bathroom with a yawn. It’d been devastating to leave, but he hoped he’d played it off well enough.

Even cloaked in alcohol’s gentle embrace, he felt the sober him kicking at his walls. In the morning he’d be scared of this, and he knew it, he knew it as well as his feet knew their way home. He pictured himself in the batcave the next morning swearing off alcohol for the rest of his life, planning a campaign to make Gotham a dry town so he’d never again be tempted to fall into this. Or collect all the beers up in his tower so he could drink, drink, and drink the slope of your smile out of his memory.

Alfred was in the kitchen again when he’d entered; a fragment of him wanted to thank him, tell him he was right, that he’d opened some sort of door into something new. Instead he nodded at the man, striding past him like he wasn’t still coming down, like they hadn’t had the confrontation, and went up to bed.

As soon as he sat, his phone buzzed. Before inputting you as a contact, he read your number with focused repetition to commit it to memory. He sat back against his headboard, feeling its squish against the wall. As he responded to your messages, it dawned on him that he hadn't texted like this in ages, if ever.

That poor journalist he roped into interviewing him.

He didn’t realize he was smiling until his cheeks felt weak from the tension, and by then he didn’t care. After he sent the message about Gordon, he stayed up for the next hour waiting for what you might say back. Sleep interrupted his waiting, and he woke up the next morning with his phone still in his hand. He’d startled upon rousing, usually keeping it tucked into his nightstand or face-down on top of it. A few moments of blinking back to the room, and…

He felt like shit. Every feeling came back to him tenfold, alongside a mind-numbing headache. The gentle hold of last night’s vulnerability had degraded into a blanket of knives, puncturing every inch of his body. He ignored Alfred when he stormed down to get lunch, and ate it in a daze. He stomped up the stairs and threw on a hoodie and jacket, tightening the drawstrings and slapping a scarf over his face. He threw on a pair of sunglasses and called it a day, jogging the back alleys downtown, all deliberation gone on whether to visit or not.

In the hour before sleeping, deliberate he had; he’d ached over whether or not to visit you so soon. He owed you another bottle of wine, and some snacks, but he felt like shit inserting himself again. His feet slammed the pavement as he broke into a sprint, his teeth gnashing together with each thudding step. You’d only allowed him to visit because you’d thought he was in crisis, you probably felt violated having someone over while under the influence; probably thought he was irresponsible and opportunistic; maybe you’d even blocked his number by now.

Bruce had to take a detour from the usual route, having to slip onto the main road for a few blocks. He kept his head firmly down, never being out at this time of day and absolutely hating it. Keep to the right. Keep to the wall.

Someone slammed into his shoulder, falling and spilling the contents of their purse about the sidewalk. His head snapped up, noticing the color of your hair, stooping to collect what had fallen. Some lipstick, gum, keys. Did you recognize him? He moved his hand to his sunglasses to pull them down, a sneaky tell just for you, but when he looked up his stomach sank. The stranger grabbed her stuff from him quickly, hastily pulling the bag over her shoulder before rushing off.

Shit. He hurried and slunk more to the wall, the arm of his jacket skipping against the brick. He pulled against the snags when they caught, clipping along to the beat of his chest. He wanted it to be you so badly. Too badly. He felt nauseous.

Possibly in the worst timing of all, he found himself approaching the worst intersection in the city. Whenever he drew up his budget, he needed to lobby for it to be taken care of. Cars whizzed past, most drivers looking anywhere else but right in front of them. A passing thought: if they hadn’t died that night, they probably would’ve died here. How much blood was caked in the potholes and chunks of dry gravel?

The light came on, another force of hand making him interact with the world around him. Except when he did, his eyes dragged up to you at the other side, staring down at your phone while you sipped a coffee. The tips of his fingers went cold.

You were looking forward, but looked right through him. This was possibly the first time he’d ever been disappointed by invisibility; it was a trap, not freedom.

He’d look suspicious following you, but he couldn’t very well pull you to the side on a busy street corner.

He’d talk. He’d say something as you walked past, and you’d know it was him. You’d know his voice. You knew him.

He drew a breath before you walked past, but hesitated when you did. You’d been so close the ends of your hair had flounced against his jacket, could smell the subtle sweetness of your shampoo. He swallowed hard, his breath faltering. A light airiness bounced around his stomach. You were walking fast, he only had a few seconds…

He started walking toward you, but stopped after a few steps. You wouldn’t believe he hadn’t followed you, it would be too suspicious. He turned around with a snap, checking if the signal was still on, and jogged across the street. His head was a mess. He reassured the pit in his stomach that he’d see you on Tuesday for March’s rally, while also wanting to temper his hope, while also not wanting to have it…

“Hey, sorry, I was just in your shop, and—yes! Y/N. Oh my god, thank you, I’m a block away. So sorry, I’ll be right there.”

Bruce looked over his shoulder to see you running across the street, your jacket flapping in the wind behind you, just like your hair, your phone pressed to your ear. At this point the universe was teasing him. Bruce Wayne can’t have simple run-ins. Certainly not with you.

You walked past fellow pedestrians, no one giving you a second glance, like you were another faceless member of the nebulous ‘public’. You were even allowed to say your name out loud, to use your voice without modulation, bare your face, dress how you’d like, go where you pleased. You disappeared a block down into a small café, and he wanted to follow, but he waited. You came out a few seconds later, finishing the pocketing of your card into your pant pocket.

You walked to the intersection a few feet from him. It felt bizarre watching you, like he was watching a movie happen in real time. A woman walked to the waiting area beside you, pushing a stroller with a very loud child inside. You and the woman exchanged grins, and you waved at the baby. Your hair flew into your face and you tucked it behind your ear, saying something he couldn’t make out. The woman’s voice got louder as she recognized you. “Wait, are you the journalist who did the interview with Bruce Wayne?”

Bruce stepped to the side a few feet, playing with his position against the wind to ensure he could hear.

“Yeah! It was wild, really cool he wanted to work with someone from GU.”

“That’s so fun. Congratulations!”

Even though the conversation was polite, it churned Bruce’s stomach to see your coffee trip be affected by your connection to him. She was only one out of many who had passed by without look or comment, but that ratio, and those interruptions, would only increase the more time you spent together. He felt like a monster, too big to hang out, encroaching on all remaining normalcy in your life.

The light turned, and you walked in tandem with the woman and her stroller. The wind was able to lap across your cheeks, not a camera to be seen; no shouting crowds, clamoring strangers. He turned and walked the rest of the way to his car, pulling the keys from his jacket pocket before standing limply by the driver door. Why couldn’t he walk up to you? Why was he wrapped to anonymous completion, having to obscure every inch of available skin for the crime of walking to his car? The scarf was stifling. His eyes sweat behind the sunglasses. At the beck and call of his dead family’s reputation was an excruciating place to live.

He jammed into his seat and restrained every muscle in his foot that wanted to slam on the gas, only letting himself do so once on the outskirts of town. The pedal hit the floor hard, and the world whizzed by in a blurry haze. He had half a mind to slam on the brakes, sending the car toppling over itself into the gravel ditch.

The image of it is what made him coast to a stop, the world slowing enough for him to catch his bearings. Once he was safely pulled to the side, near one of the city’s many graveyards, he pressed his forehead to the wheel, feeling what bubbled under the surface. Grief.

The drive home was slower and more deliberate. Every time his foot itched to slam into a tree, or ram into an alley wall, he counted his breaths. By the time he got back he was drained, but wouldn’t let himself sit in it. His stomach grumbled, ached with emptiness, his meds rotting an ulcer into his abandoned stomach, but he didn’t care.

Not able to enter Wayne Tower by the front, he didn’t see the police car sitting on the curb; instead, Alfred was already in the cave, standing by the elevator so there could be no faux pas. “Detective’s arrived. Wants a statement for this past Thursday.” His cane echoed coolly on the concrete floor.

Bruce would’ve asked if there was another time, or a way to skip altogether, but that wasn’t an option when it came to helping you. He pulled off his disguise and ran a hand through his matted hair before following Alfred up the elevator. It was difficult not to overthink the first extended interaction Gordon would have with Bruce Wayne. At the mayor’s funeral, he’d turned his nose up at Bruce, going so far as to eye him with criminal suspicion. He hadn’t yet figured out what to do if Gordon were to find out, and he didn’t want to have to think on his feet today.

Gordon was sitting at the table in Bruce’s seat. Martinez stood beside him, his energy expanding to fill the dim room. Alfred flipped on the last of the lights, making everyone wince. “Apologies, thought it best to let the light in.”

“Mr. Wayne.” Gordon cleared his throat, Martinez taking the opportunity to speak with the thinly veiled glee of a child on Christmas morning.

“Sir, we’re here to collect your statement sir, about an incident that occurred on…” He continued to talk, but Bruce tuned it out, wanting them to leave already. He situated himself in your seat, clasping his hands together on the table.

“I was walking to a convenience store after the City Hall meeting. Passing by that alleyway, I noticed the shape of a gun being held to someone’s head. The man saw me, as he was facing back, and slammed on the gas as I approached. I didn’t know what was going on, until the journalist that I spoke to earlier this month fell out of the vehicle before crashing.”

Gordon notated everything, his tone light, but suspicious. He had this tone whenever interrogating someone he didn’t fully believe. “Lucky timing, huh?”

Bruce shrugged. “Glad I could help.”

“Of course.” He flipped a page in his mini spiral. “So, after she ‘fell’ out of the vehicle, what happened?”

He shoved down a brittle laugh. Did they really think he was nefariously involved in this? If only Gordon knew… if only they both knew. Martinez continued to have the same reaction to Batman as his partner was having to Bruce now.

“She told me he held her at gunpoint asking to recant her statement. Apparently they’d been in some sort of altercation the night before.” He wondered if he was speaking too matter-of-fact, if he should dull his adjectives and verbs. “Wanted to use her to get to my lawyers. Get him back in school.” He hesitated before saying the next part, trying to glean off pure body language if Gordon knew you hadn’t come back to your apartment that night.

“I wanted to help, so I brought her here for the night. Talked through things,”

“What things?” His pen sat menacingly above the ruled paper.

“About what happened then, and the night before. Got her situated in a room upstairs, took her home in the morning.”

“She trusted you to do that?” He peered over his glasses. Bruce nodded, and Gordon sighed. “Must’ve formed quite the alliance at the interview.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed, feeling a shift in the room. What did he mean by that? Him too now? His voice was darker, grim, the rose-colored lens fading to purples and blues. “I don’t know what you mean.” He wanted Gordon to say it with his chest.

He didn’t bite. “Did she ask to come here, Mr. Wayne?”

“I told her it would be safest.”

“Didn’t think to report it?” His left hand fiddled with the curled pages at the bottom of the notebook, as if he were going through the motions, unfazed. Another one of his tactics to get people’s guard down. Maybe he’d even start doodling on the seams. “Slipped your mind?”

He grit his teeth. He knew Gordon was reading into the circles under his eyes and the laxity of his skin, both giving away too much to do on not enough sleep. “My priority was to make sure she was alright. It’s traumatic having a gun pointed at your head.”

Martinez’s eyes flashed just so, his chest puffing. Gordon rustled, closing the notebook with a plop. Bruce never liked employing that night in any form of defense, but this was threatening murky waters, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep a rein on his temper with Gordon’s passively placed, blasé accusations about you.

“Thank you for your time Mr. Wayne. We’ll be in touch.” Alfred saw them out, and Bruce waited to hear the door click behind them before pulling himself out of his seat, returning right back from whence he came.

The elevator was rickety, and it unnerved him, which was unusual. His muscles felt tight, his chest and throat constricted. Rumors about the interview had reached the GCPD, infiltrated Gordon, ooh. He walked to the front of his desk, facing the computer that had been untouched the past week and a half, one of the longest breaks yet. He pressed his palms to the edge of the metal and hung his head, coaxing his temperature down.

Clicking the computer on showed where his mind had been the days before the attempt. A dozen tabs with varying searches for Electrum came to life just as the days swept into him. Before he could jump back in, he forced himself into purgatory, opening a new tab to draw up new contingencies. The blank document titled Emergency Plan: Mental glared back at him. He closed his eyes and typed, holding his breath like a ball in his chest until the last word was released onto the page.

- Come on quickly: easily accessible button to phone Alfred

- Unstable reality when it hits: program unique signal to physical distress

- During periods of stress: increase assessment of stress on patrol

- Some form of tranquilizer/sedative readily available

- Orienting item: figure out

He hadn’t stopped hearing what the nurses, psychiatrists, and social workers said to him in Arkham, he’d just stopped caring. Unfortunately, he’d been wrong, not them, adding an entirely new level of shame to the affair. It took longer than he would’ve liked to manage recall as he waded through the memory.

His phone rattled on the table closest to the exit, next to the pile of the day’s disguise. It was easy to pull him away from the computer screen, the back of his thoughts in a constant search for something to distract from the unraveling of his mind, potentially the upheaval of life as he knew it.

It was you.

The sunglasses were a nice touch.

It was like the air got knocked out of him. Your perceptiveness could’ve made him jealous if he weren’t the current victim. He’d worn a different scarf this time, you’d only seen his jacket under struggling streetlights, a dark kitchen after getting your head pounded into pavement.

Had to get my car. Didn’t want to bother you.

Do you believe that I won’t tell now?

I already have for a while.

He put the phone down and told himself it was to focus back on the work, ignoring the squeeze in his gut, the thread you pulled simply by acknowledging him, making him looser, the seams splitting, letting the contents of him jostle and spill out over your lap.

BZZT.

Now I kinda want to prove you wrong.

BRB, calling the president.

Told him. He’s helicoptering over to Wayne Tower as we speak.

Bruce grinned against his will again.

Your fingers were clammy from cradling your phone, the remains of your coffee sitting cold next to you at the kitchen counter. The woman from earlier had commented on how it was ‘so late’ to be having a coffee, but that she understood. It had been difficult hearing her with Anonymous Dock Worker Who Was Definitely Not Bruce standing behind you.

Now you can see me hold my side of the bargain.

Waiting at my apartment in armor. I have a big stick, don’t know if that changes things.

My weakness.

Too bad people don’t try that more often.

Got you all figured out.

More than most.

This conversation was equal parts painful and thrilling. In honesty, you’d ignored him when you saw him on the corner, hyperaware of his presence from the moment you walked past him. You’d suspected it was genuinely to get his car, no secret stalking, but you couldn’t put your finger on why you were so convinced so soon.

This was where things went wrong–when you felt like you knew a person more than you did. This was where charisma and power pulled their initial weight, in making their victims swim in a sense of novel electricity. It was the reason you hadn’t spoken to him on the streetcorner, and why it took pacing your apartment for an hour to finally send him a text back. You were circling the drain, avoiding the swirling waters that you knew could pull you under.

You glanced over at the couch, the cushion still ruffled from where he sat. He can be so sweet. The symphony of his smile and his laugh together, planting a glow deep in your chest, padding you from the familiar, harsher realities of your past experiences with him. You didn’t want to ignore them. It would be irresponsible.

You grabbed your laptop and pulled up the schedule of events for the next three months. Bruce was harsh and unyielding.

SEARCH: Lincoln March

He was a recluse, someone whose most regular social contact was his own butler, who he treated pretty shittily.

Lincoln March - The People’s Candidate

Still, he kept showing up for you, slowly increasing in warmth each time.

Campaign Goals:

But only because you’d lied.

Fully-fund Gotham’s K-12 public schools.

He was only being nice out of guilt. You couldn’t read into it further.

Maternity leave has long been a partially-funded social program in Gotham, but if elected, I plan to expand upon…

He ran another hand through his hair, shutting his computer off. You were only acting this way out of guilt, handling him with gloved hands, every interaction careful and gentle. Impulsive, he crossed the room to don the suit instead of sending you another text. The snap of his armor into place atop his padding was the sound of Bruce Wayne slipping away. Relief washed over him as he dipped his fingers into the tarry paint. He didn’t have anything to do but what Gotham gave him tonight.

He called Gordon once he was on the road. He didn’t answer.

The streets were filled, a typical Saturday night. He slunk round the same alleys, the usual crime spots, even looped around the watchtower in case Gordon was there, messing with a broken bat signal. Nothing. Until he heard some shouting at a nearby subway station. He cut the lights on his car and slipped silently through the corridor, ears ringing with adrenaline.

A small group of men were harassing a young girl with a sparkly pink backpack. She couldn’t be older than thirteen. The men were whistling, one of them tugging on her ponytail. Her face was scrunched up tight with her hands covering her ears. He didn’t even think before jumping in.

His fist connected with the nearest man’s jaw, amplifying a rush of adrenaline through him. Suppressing a grin, he followed it with the other, ducking to dodge a hit from the man behind him. He spun out his right heel, rendering the man unstable, and slammed him against the brick with a jut of his elbow. Every punch he landed was easy, instinctual, bliss. The fighting felt different. He had vastly more energy. While the three men staggered back, he gestured for the girl to run. She mouthed something he couldn’t hear, a hit landing in the plane of his back.

Jaw. Nose. Rib. Kidney. A tooth of the man flew out amid the tunnel of punches, skidding into a puddle. Batman grinned.

“COME ON, MAN!” A hoarse voice, the tallest man of them, shouted out. They ran off, leaving the empty sound of terrified sniffles echoing from the far corner. He studied their clothes, their hair color, and height, giving a quick call on his wrist to the GCPD. The dispatcher confirmed they already sent cars to the area, and he calmed his heaving body before turning around.

The girl was clutching her backpack like a stuffed animal, shoving herself into the metal bars of the subway entrance. He made his voice softer. “They’re gone, you’re safe. Do you know where your parents are?” The only time he wished the suit was less threatening were cases like this. Kids didn’t need to be more scared than they already were.

“LACIE!” The strained shout of a desperate mother arrived at the same time as Gordon’s vehicle. The child raced to their mom, and Gordon sidled up with another notepad for his statement. He gave it, listened while the mother tearfully explained that the kid had gotten off at the wrong stop, and left before anyone could see the blood dripping off the knuckles of his gloves.

Against your better judgment, you loaded up Scypher, clicking to clear but ignoring everything in the ‘Social’ tab and all notifications. You locked your accounts to ‘private’, upset you’d kept them public this long, but paused. What if that makes me look suspicious? You set them public again, noticing a ping on the ‘Crime’ tab.

GC1 News was reporting on a shooting at a nightclub about three miles north. Only minutes before their reporting, you saw a swarm of posts from right after.

BATMAN JUSR SAVED ME

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Wtf are you okay????????

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YEA HE TOOK A BULLET FR ME IM HSAKING

You refreshed, frantic. He was fine, right? His suit was meant to take bullets. He was used to taking bullets. He was fine. You could hardly read the screen your hands were shaking so intensely.

Did anyone die?

|

The shooter I think. I was at a bar nearby, so far only one body has been brought out and no one in handcuffs.

You texted him.

Are you okay? I heard about the shooting.

No response. You put your hands over your head and talked yourself down for the second time today. He’s fine. He’s used to this. He knows what he’s doing. He helped someone. He’s just busy.

But two minutes turned into five, which turned into seven, and you could barely breathe.

Text me when you can.

Which turned into ten, then fifteen, with no further mention of his presence online. It was fine. It was fine! You tried to meditate on the image of Batman before you knew his identity. Someone competent, agile, strong, impenetrable. That was still true. That was still him.

Your phone lit up as you were sipping water at the sink, and you nearly tripped rushing over to it. Alfred!

“Miss. Is Bruce with you?”

“No, whe—”

“It says he’s parked about three blocks east of your apartment. I lost the signal to his suit.” You were already out the door.

You didn’t think you’d run that fast before, racing right back to where he’d dropped you off the day prior. Was he bleeding out? Incomprehensible? Unconscious? You ducked through an alley in a shortcut, jumping over piles of trash and dead rats. Your leg was starting to stiffen at the thigh, your knee crunching and grinding as you propelled forward.

You had to clamp your mouth shut after almost shouting "Bruce!” at the masked man standing at his trunk. He spun around, his cape swishing against the bumper of the car with a satisfying crack.

“What are you doing?!” His voice had slipped the octave, going back to Bruce, a slipup that unnerved him on a spiritual level. He surveyed the surrounding area with a paranoid daze, motioning hard for you to get into the passenger seat. The door was heavy, tactical, and the seats the same. The outside of your vision took in all the gadgets, wires making shapes you’d never seen before, but you were centrally focused on the blue of his irises against the backdrop of black.

“Are you okay? Alfred–”

“What did he say?” You were shaking, out of breath, gulping after every word.

“Your suit lost signal and you were parked here, I heard about the shooting online, that you were there,”

It took every available cell in his body to smother an angry rebuttal, his defenses beginning to stack.

“Someone said you got shot,”

He scoffed. “I didn’t get shot,”

“Are you hurt?” You grabbed his wrist and darted your eyes along his chest. His breathing hitched at the contact, even through the layers. His brow furrowed, but you couldn’t see it through the cowl. He felt like you were looking at him, not Batman, even though he was sure you couldn’t see anything but armor right now.

“Are you sure you’re not in shock,” your cheeks were red-hot, inflamed from the sprint and the fear crushing adrenaline through you. All you could see was black, darkness, you couldn’t see anything, you couldn’t get a good look. You fumbled with your phone to find a flashlight, but it fell onto the passenger floor.

“It was a normal patrol,”

A strangled whimper left your panicked, overwhelmed body as you strained to reach the phone. You heard a shick and a button unclasp. “I just need—”

“—To breathe.” A warm, non-gloved hand wrapped around your forearm, applying gentle pressure back towards the seat. Your eyes shot up to his like a deer in headlights, his touch creating a separate raucous within you. He exaggerated the slow movement of his shoulders up and down, opening his mouth on the exhale. You mimicked his breathing, comfortably matching it after a few cycles.

“I’m okay.” He nodded at you as your demeanor settled, his attentive gaze drilling holes in your memory. “I promise.” He let go of your arm and your hand snapped out to grab his. Your breathing hastened the second he broke contact, and only slowed once your fingers interlaced with his. He welcomed your hand with a reassuring squeeze and continued breathing slowly, deeply, guiding you out of the stratosphere. You squeezed back ten times harder, feeling like the barrel was at your temple again.

He let your hands sit together for a few seconds, your eyes trained on his like life support. He nodded again, letting you know he was still here though he was slipping his hand out of yours. Bruce glanced out the windows for onlookers and pulled off his cowl, unclicking the front half of his armor, tossing it to the backseat.

His hair was mussed, sweaty, the paint around his eyes smudged and smeared. He had dirt and faint droplets of red along parts of his jaw, with shadowy stubble underneath. He took your wrist, always with an astounding gentleness, and moved your hand to his chest, gliding your hand across the soft padding. “See?” Your hand moved along the sides of his body, across his stomach, and up to his collarbone. No snags, no wet spots…

Your palm felt like it was on fire, your heart thundering, cranked up to eleven. You slipped your hand past his collarbone, over his shoulder, and glided down his bicep. Still nothing. You shut your eyes, shouting at your brain to believe it, begging your thoughts to stop swirling horrific images, jumping to horrifying conclusions. Including the ego-dystonic impulse that wanted to tug your hand lower, pull him closer.

Bruce couldn’t hear himself think with your hands skimming his torso. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. He didn’t know how helpful he was being now, his breathing way too shallow to help you regulate, his brain going offline. He studied your face, the only part of you he could see clear enough, scouring it to see if this was bringing you even a crumb of peace. He was jolted back into his body when your finger skimmed his exposed neck as you trailed to the thicker padding over his sternum.

You shut your eyes and pressed your fingertips into the padding, seemingly grounding yourself. Your expression drew increasingly relaxed until your hand pulled away, falling almost limp at your side. When you fell back against the headrest, he finally looked away. He flexed his hand against his knee where it sat now, biting the inside of his cheek until it bled. He hardly registered it as he struggled not to pass out.

It was about a minute until he tossed a glance your way again; a minute of sitting at the bottom of the deep end, rationing held breath. He only exhaled when you did, a loud one, now more calmly leaning to nab your phone. “I’m… thank you. That won’t happen again. Freaking out. It was stupid.”

“It wasn’t.”

“You don’t have to be nice,”

“I’d do the same.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re used to it.”

“That’s not a good thing.”

Oh. It was like Alfred had entered his psyche. A Freudian slip. You stared at the ground, evidently unaware of how candid an admission that had been. He was gridlocked. You fiddled with your phone until your shoulders sank, popping the door open without warning. “I’d better get home.”

He let your door shut before opening his, using any opportunity to gather himself before stepping out to the night breeze. He leaned his elbow on the roof of the car as you started down the gravel. “Text me when you get back.”

You gave him a thumbs-up.

He noticed a limp in your gait, feeling the smart in your thigh like it was his own. “And put some ice on that tonight.”

You unlocked your phone as you turned the corner. Bruce heard a buzz from the center console, and fished out his phone after settling into the driver’s side.

Will-do. So attentive.

He noted the concerned texts just before your message.

Just returning the favor.