#i'm so sorry about the constant disappearing.

[robotsandfrippary]

You can trace this all back to around 2009 when EA, Activision and other big publishers went and bought all the smaller studios and closed them. Pretty soon after that games became all about making money for some ephemeral corporate overlord. Bonuses dried up, disappeared or were used as incentive because "Yeah, the pay isn't as good as it should be but wait till your bonus at the end of a three year development cycle! It'll make up for that!"

And we believed them. We just wanted to make games and have a nice stable life. Prior to 2009, there were a lot of independant studios were the bonuses were seriously like $90-200k. Maybe more. Insomniac used to take it's entire staff and their families on a paid cruise after they finished a game. When my team released COD:WWII? Our release party was in the courthouse in San Francisco and we had to pay our own hotel rooms if we didn't want to drive home drunk. For AW we at least got a plus one and hotel fare, even if we only got to go to San Diego(less than an hour flight), spend the night and then go back home.

So we went from being able to comfortably afford a place to live in a(more reasonably priced tbf) Bay Area to having Senior game devs, people with 10+ years of experience, having to live with multiple roommates because they didn't make enough money.

We live in constant fear of the studio closing, getting laid off(which I think 50% of the industry is laid off atm), and we can't make new small indy companies because we don't have the money to without dealing with venture capitalists who will want say over the game.

The real reason "This Game sucks now!" is because we're so fucking burned out and people who don't work at the studio, play the games, play games at all, never have played games, are making the decisions about plot, game play, art, ect. We're trying to do more with less. To make a huge game like COD or Overwatch or anything, you're looking at wrangling at least five outsourced game studios being managed by one extremely depressed outsourcing manager because your staff locally is like 1/3 what you'd need to make a game 1/3 as big.

TLDR: People complain about the $60 for an unfinished game and I want to tell all of you that it is 100% the corporation's fault.

sorry, this went into a tangent. I'm big mad about all this bullshit.

I saw someone referencing that "what if a game with the depth of Disco Elysium but about finding lost cat in the Alps" tweet (to mock it, natch), and it finally made me figure out why I get angry when people mock that tweet

The reason we don't have games like that is not because they couldn't exist. It's a workers' rights issue.

[h1ghscre]

been a little quiet here, hasn't it?

[deerest-deer]

thinking really hard about logging into my old tumblr acc after being gone for like a year and a half cause i stumbled upon a post that led me to my old mutuals and i teared up a lil </3 but also i feel so ashamed i left without saying a word to anyone aaaa

[l0vergirlsw0rld]

my little voyeur

neighbour!loganxvoyeur!reader

a/n: so sorry about the hiatus, started university and midterms are already here, crazy. anyway, enjoy this little idea i had, inspired by a real life situation. xox

wc:3.1k

MDNI !!! 18+, AGE GAP, SEXUAL CONTENT, ALCOHOL USE

summary: Y/N is growing needier with every one-night stand her hot neighbour brings over, one night she decides to be his next.

"-Oh fuck, keep going!" A muffled voice cried between the rhythmic thumping noises that came from the ceiling above you.

You bit down on your lip, shifting needily on your sofa. 

"Here we go again" You mumbled to yourself, glancing at the clock on your microwave.

8:37 PM. 

"Earlier than usual... Do you have to be somewhere early tomorrow?" You pressed the mute button on your TV remote to get a better listen.

The intrigue in your neighbour's activity had been a shameful recent development. He'd have company over almost every night now; which meant constant, rough sex.

The shared two-story house was old, and the walls were poorly insulated, which surely didn't aid your newfound obsession. Your unit was the basement suite: a homely one-bedroom, one-bathroom with a large kitchenette and living room. Even though you both lived in the same quarters, you both had your own respective spaces and entrances, which meant you rarely crossed paths. 

You knew little about the man upstairs, only that he lived alone, wasn't the talkative type, and rode a Harley Davidson that was equally as loud as his one-night stands.

Though it was ill-mannered of him to be as careless as he was, you couldn't stop yourself from being attracted to him. He might've had a good twenty years on you, but that didn't matter in this case. 

The man was in phenomenal shape for his age; You had come home one day to him working on his bike, shirtless. His physique was composed of thick broad shoulders that counterbalanced his narrow waist and muscular biceps that bulged beneath his skin, flowing seamlessly into veiny forearms. Dark curls of hair stretched downwards from his brawny chest, over his chiselled abs and disappeared into the denim waistband of his wranglers. 

To pair with that irresistible body, was a charmingly rugged face. Thick, untamed eyebrows cast a shadow over his piercing hazel eyes, while dense sideburns traced the sharp angles of his jawline. His short, spiked hair flared into two distinct tufts on either side of his head, adding to his wild, primal look.

"-Logan! I'm coming!" The voice screamed. Since this all began, you found yourself feeling rather bitter. Not only was it rude and annoying but from what you managed to pick up, most nights they would be playing out the very type of fantasies you'd always had but never got the chance to experience.

You let out a heavy sigh, feeling that excitement slowly pool in your lower stomach. You knew this would end soon, Logan seemed to have quite the routine, so your impending neediness wouldn't go any farther. 

His partners were usually dead silent for the rest of the night, presumably busy sleeping off the intense sex, which made the inconvenience somewhat tolerable. The only time they would potentially disturb you again was as they made their exit down the stairs the morning after. You could catch glimpses of them as they passed in front of your kitchen window, usually around the time you'd be having your coffee. 

From the looks of it, he had a type: girls your age. They'd always be dressed in last night's skimpy outfit, with knotted hair, but somehow still looked gorgeous. As they stumble their way to the taxi at the edge of the driveway. You'd observe them closer pressing up the glass, often spiking your jealousy.  

The first few you had laid eyes on made you snicker a jaded"How original."  But you were well used to it by now. 

Logan was your typical walking mid-life crisis; Bringing home adventurous young women, fucking their brains out, sending them away in a yellow chariot and never talking to them again. From the frequency of these one-night stands it looked as if he was trying to satisfy a hunger he couldn't seem to fulfill. Almost like preparing for hibernation.

 He was living the bachelor life that men his age could only dream of having, but there was something about the whole routine that felt...off. It was as if every conquest left him more empty, more distant and detached from everything and everyone around him. It wasn't just women that Logan indulged in, he was also a heavy drinker. You could tell by the recycling bin, always overflowing with liquor bottles, and the fact that the few times you'd been to The Black Lodge—the only bar in small-town Burns, Alaska—you had seen him there

You watched from your bar stool, careful to remain unnoticed. The brief exchanges between him and the bartender made it clear he was a regular—no need for small talk, just an easy, practiced silence. Logan's eyes, however, never lingered on the glass of neat whiskey in front of him. Instead, his gaze swept over the crowd, scanning for his next target, his posture relaxed but predatory. Despite his intimidating exterior, there was something magnetic about the way he worked the room, luring them in with lustful glances. He wasn’t just playing the game—he was built to win.

His trophy shelf was overflowing, yet there was no trace of happiness in Logan’s eyes.

You couldn’t help but wonder if this was the Logan everyone else saw—rough around the edges, careless, chewing through women and booze as if they were nothing more than fleeting distractions. Or was there something deeper, a hidden tenderness that only emerged behind closed doors? He never had family or friends over, just a revolving door of women. His life seemed lonely, private, and it made you wonder what demons gnawed at him when the nights grew quiet and the distractions faded away.

Was it trauma? 

Regret?

Or just the inevitable realization that his time was running out?

A part of you cared and wanted to be there for him, but it wasn't as simple as ringing his doorbell, he was unapproachable. During the few interactions you shared, he made it unmistakably clear that he had no interest in forming any kind of relationship with you. His responses were dry and curt, laced with a dismissive tone that cut down any hope of connection. Each word felt like a brick wall being built between you. He practically didn't look at you the entire time, keeping his eyes focused everywhere else but on yours. You couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment with every exchange, it was as if he was purposefully keeping you at arm's length.

Through your confusion, you understood why. You weren't what he was interested in, you couldn't contribute to his unfaltering hunger. You were more than happy to not be categorized with what he'd bring home from the bar, but a slight part of you wished that for one night, you would be. 

The selections were slim in Burns and you were newer to the area, which made it impossible to call for a late-night booty call, unlike him. It had been a long time since you'd last been with someone and the constant exposure to Logan's fruitful sex life made you grow needier by the day, which is where your obsession initially formed.

It began with something small, almost too innocent to notice. You found yourself paying closer attention to his everyday routine, drawn by curiosity. You’d glance out the window to check if his motorcycle was parked in the yard, and when you heard the faint sound of his footsteps starting the day, you’d instinctively check the clock taking mental notes of his wake-up times.

Before you knew it, your interest had evolved into something deeper, something far more personal. You began noticing his trash in your shared waste bin; discarded remnants of his life blending into your obsession. At the liquor store, you found yourself buying the same brand of beer he preferred, curious to experience the taste that would linger on his lips if you kissed him. At the supermarket, you began to choose the same detergent, not for practical reasons, but to breathe in the scent that clung to his skin.

There was a day that he left his Johnny Cash shirt outside. He tossed it on the ground carelessly after working up a sweat while fixing something in the yard. When he left, you ran out and took it. As your compulsion grew, so did your need for closeness to him. The shirt became more than just a relic of him—it was a trigger. 

You began wearing it late at night, feeling its used fabric against your skin. While the sounds of him having sex filtered through the thin walls. The rhythmic creaking of his bed upstairs, the faint moans, you’d inhale it deeply, lost in his scent. You'd thrust your fingers deep inside of you, following along with his rhythm, imagining it was him inside you—picturing how Logan would take control, filling you with the intensity you longed for. In those moments, it was as if he belonged to you, even if just in fantasy.

Your cheeks flushed red as you listened along, It was become too much to handle. You unmuted your episode and got up, needing to find some distraction. 

"It’s almost over," you told yourself, trying to ignore the urge to grab his shirt and take care of things right then and there. Instead, you walked over to the unpacked boxes in the corner of your living room, hoping to find a distraction.

As you opened the cardboard, you started sifting through the mismatched stuff crammed inside. Your fingers brushed against something soft and bristly, sparking your curiosity. You tightened your grip and pulled it out for a better look. To your surprise, it was an old wig from a Halloween costume—vivid and wild, a memory you had almost forgotten.

The faint sounds you were trying so hard to ignore managed to slip through anyway, sparking a devilish idea as you twirled the wig in your hands. You were going to get his attention, whether he liked it or not. A mischievous grin spread across your face; this could be your way in. It was time to shake things up and show him a side of you he hadn’t seen yet. 

It was the next day, and you knew for sure that Logan would be at that bar, just like he was every Thursday. You stepped inside, adjusting the wig discreetly, tucking away any hint of your natural colour, determined to become someone new for the night. This was a wild idea, but desperate times called for bold measures. You were dying for some relief and he was the only remedy for this ache you couldn’t shake.

The bar buzzed with energy, a lively crowd which meant you had competition. But tonight, you were set on one thing: going home with him, and anyone else.

You’d dressed the part—skin exposed, tight-fitting clothes that hugged your curves just right, making you feel both powerful and vulnerable at the same time. 

You scanned the bar, your heart racing as you spotted him in his usual seat. The moment you walked in, his eyes locked onto you, holding your attention captive. You averted your gaze and took a shaky breath, your feet guiding you across the room, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Pretending not to notice his gaze, you played coy, an enticing smile dancing on your lips. You slid into the seat across from him and reached for the black menu that lay before you, feigning interest in the options. Your eyes traced the words, but your mind was elsewhere—focused on the weight of his stare and the electric tension building between you.

The bartender approached, and you quickly ordered the first thing your eyes landed on, feeling a rush of nerves. You folded the menu neatly, deliberately turning your attention to the crowd, avoiding his gaze, you weren't playing his game, you were playing yours. The thrill of the chase sent a shiver down your spine. The bar chattered around you, laughter and conversation creating a lively backdrop as you focused on maintaining an air of nonchalance, even as you could feel his eyes on you, studying you with that intensity.

A beautiful stemmed glass slid in front of you, snapping your attention to your hands. You mumbled a thankyou and you took a sip, savouring the sweet burn as it slid down your throat. It gave you a moment to gather your thoughts. Just as you were about to steal a glance his way, you noticed from your peripheral that he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. That confident look told you he knew exactly what you were doing.

"Nice wig," he said, his voice low and smooth, cutting through the noise of the bar like a knife. The compliment sent a rush of heat to your cheeks, but you kept your expression cool, shooting him a sidelong glance as if you were just as unfazed by him.

��Thanks,” you replied, forcing a casual tone. “Just thought I’d switch things up a bit.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. The game was on, and you were ready to play.

Logan leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “It suits you, it's different.”

You felt a thrill at his words, the compliment warming you in ways you hadn’t anticipated. You kept your composure, but inside, your heart raced. “I like keeping things interesting,” you replied, matching his playful tone.

The atmosphere around you shifted slightly, the crowd fading into the background as you locked eyes again. The moment felt charged, filled with unspoken possibilities. You could sense the magnetic pull between you intensifying, and it was exhilarating.

He took a sip of his drink, never breaking eye contact. “Well, you're doing a good job of doing that."

You smiled, feeling a rush of confidence. “It's just a little bit of fun for a Thursday night. What about you? Same old routine, I bet?”

His smirk widened a glint of challenge in his eyes. “You could say that. But maybe I’m looking for something different tonight.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, sending a thrill of anticipation coursing through you. This was the moment you’d been waiting for. You leaned forward, pushing your breasts together. “Well, that's hard to imagine. What’s your idea of different?”

 Logan’s eyes dropped to your cleavage. “How about we take this conversation somewhere a little more private?” His voice was low, rich with promise, and it sent a jolt of anticipation through you.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning casualness even as your heart raced. "And where would that be?”

He chuckled softly, a deep, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “How about the upstairs at your place?”

The two of you made your way up the narrow staircase, the familiar creak of the wooden steps echoed in the silence. You could feel the heat radiating off him, each step heightening the anticipation of what was to come. You both reached his door, and his keys jingled as he unlocked it.

The door swung open, and you stepped inside as he held the door open for you. The soft light from his living room illuminated the space, casting warm shadows that danced along the walls. The place was surprisingly tidy, with the scent of cedar and booze lingering in the air.

Logan followed you in, closing the door behind him with a deliberate click that sent a thrill down your spine. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

You didn't know what you expected but it wasn't this. You took in the details of his space—artwork hung at odd angles, a well-worn couch sat invitingly in the center, and an empty whiskey glass perched on the coffee table. It was comfortable, lived-in, and spoke to the kind of man he was.

“Nice place,” you said, trying to sound casual, but your pulse quickened as you caught the intensity of his gaze. A beat passed.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, a hint of seriousness threading through his playful tone.

Your heart raced at the implication of his question. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” you replied biting your lip,  voice steady from a boldness surging through you.

Logan smirked, his expression shifting from playful to something more primal and dark. 

“Good. Because I don’t plan on holding back. Gotta teach you a lesson after all,”

Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you, backing you against the wall with a firm press of his body. The warmth of him enveloped you, and you felt your breath hitch as he leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from yours. As he grabbed your face, his calloused fingers dug into your cheeks roughly, parting your lips open.

“I know you took my shirt, you fucking freak,” he murmured, his voice thick and husky.

You were unable to form words as you felt the threat of what was to come flood your senses. Your heartbeat stammered in your rib cage, fear overcoming you but there was a thrilling undercurrent of excitement that was hard to ignore. Logan’s intense gaze held you captive, and the edge in his voice sent the tension crackling in the air between you.

“You didn’t think I’d notice?” he continued, a low chuckle escaping his lips, laced with a hint of danger. “A man owns about three good shirts and is bound to notice when one goes missing.” His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, making your breath hitch again, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond.

“You’ve been watching me,” he stated, his voice dropping even lower. “Spying on me like some lovesick teenager. It’s cute, but it’s also… a little sick.” The intensity in his gaze softened slightly, a flicker of something deeper behind his fierce exterior.

You swallowed hard, the words caught in your throat. “I—”

“Save it,” he interrupted, his grip tightening around your jaw just enough to keep your attention focused on him. “Don't give me excuses. Tell me why.”

The question hung in the air, heavy and charged. What could you possibly say that would explain the tangled web of emotions and desires that had led you here? His proximity was intoxicating, and the conflict between fear and yearning made your head spin.

“I... I just wanted to understand you,” you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper. “I hear you with the women you bring home... and I want that. ”

Logan's smile grows somehow even darker. "So ya' got all dressed up for me because you want me to fuck you like I do with the others? That right, sweetheart?" 

The only thing you could do at this moment was give him an eager nod, the ache between your legs growing shamefully larger by the second. 

“I’ll give you what you want kid', but you need to know something first.” He paused slightly, the air between you thick with tension. 

“I’m the best at what I do, and I don’t do it very nicely.”

cliff hanger I know, but i'm such a slut for teasing.

🏷️: @back2thebasics , @spookyfunhottub, @lanassmarty, @hypermarvellove, @kbear8863

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[utterlyazriel]

let me keep you company

a/n: a wee break from the doom & gloom of wtssf! it's unedited so i want no flack for that thank u <3 enjoy <3 wc: 5.1k whoops synopsis: You're studying in Velaris and a certain Shadowsinger catches your eyes in more than one way. It takes a while to realise the shadow keeping you company means more than you expect.

For the record, you had never met a Shadowsinger before.

You'd never even seen one. Sure, you’d read about them briefly in your studies and almost every Fae in Prythian had heard about them in whispers and rumours.

Rumours that increased more so when a Shadowsinger rose to become a hand for the Highlord, his own personal spy. Then became the spymaster of the entire Night Court for the next Highlord.

But beyond gossip and unfinished chapters within the scripts of your libraries, the knowledge of Shadowsingers is far limited. They’re rare. For all you know, Shadowsinger’s are a ghost— moving as a shadow, disappearing in and out of the darkness of the world.

You had never met a Shadowsinger before—so it makes sense that you hadn't an ounce of a clue what to expect.

Staring at him now, 6 feet something of pure muscle, you're a bit embarrassed at your own surprise.

Because he's probably— no definitely— the most beautiful Fae you've ever laid eyes on. His hair is tousled and dark, his glorious tan skin that's mostly hidden beneath the black of his fighter leathers, and his amber eyes that laid on you for only one long moment. Breathtaking is the only adequate word for him.

All that beauty and he's a Shadowsinger.

And it's not like you thought he wouldn't be like, well, any other Fae. But also... you kinda did? Mother, you should've known Freya was tricking you when she said they were all just shadow-y corporeal forms.

But she's also not entirely wrong there. There are dozens of wispy shadows that hover around him in constant motion, dipping and flying around his shoulders and if you look close enough, you can see how he seems to ripple at the edges. Shadows blur the edge of his very being.

You wonder if he can disappear into them all together, if that was one of the abilities granted with them. Does he control them? He must, you think, if the title is Shadowsinger.

But looking at him now, his beautiful face turned to face the Highlord you should definitely be listening to, they flit about almost absentmindedly, as though they have a mind of their own.

One curls up by his ear and you watch it, fascinated, more and more questions springing up in your mind— what do they feel like on skin? Do they make any noise? Is that what they're doing now? Talking to—

A sharp elbow jabs into your side, making you jump.

Your head whips to the side, an instinctive scowl almost overtaking your face before you plaster it over with a smile, realising your mistake. Your mentor, Sergei, clears his throat and smiles awkwardly ahead at Rhysand. You blink and take another moment to realise you've been asked a question.

"I'm— I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" You try not to sound as mousy as you feel but the question comes out as a squeak anyway. He is the Highlord of the Night Court after all. You suddenly feel very foolish for being so easily distracted.

Thankfully, Rhysand regards you with an easy smile. He's leaned back in his chair, relaxed, and his violet eyes dance with humour as he flicks his gaze over to where you had just been staring.

"That's alright. Azriel is a piece of eye candy, I can't blame you for staring," He all but purrs, a hint of mirth pulling at his lips as he casts another glance at his Spymaster. You're taken aback by the casualness of his words.

Rhysand continues. "I was only saying that for the duration of your stay, you'll be hosted in one of my homes, the House of Wind. You aren't afraid of heights, are you?"

A smidge of fear pinches at your stomach because, honestly, you aren't overly keen on the idea. But you know better than to turn down the generosity of a Highlord.

You take another glance at the wings of his Spymaster and General and pray that it's not too high up.

"Not... much." You answer honestly.

There's a chuckle from the side of the room and your head swings around at the noise. It's not the Shadowsinger, though he looks as though he's politely trying not to smile, his chin ducked. It's the General, just as beautiful as his brother but in that more rugged way.

He flexes his wings out a bit, showing off their mighty wingspan. "We'll rid you of that fear in no time."

You try for a smile but it might be closer to a grimace.

"Fantastic." You say, not managing to put all your enthusiasm into the word like you hoped.

Another sharp jab of Sergei's elbow in your side. The Shadowsinger, Azriel, huffs a quiet laugh, his amber eyes flashing up to steal another look at you. You try your best not to fluster.

It's going to be a long two months.

—

As Sergei's apprentice, you're expected to shadow him through his allowed time within Velaris.

Which means if he goes to the library, you go to the library.

There's just one problem; the library is down in the city and your temporary home is up in the mountain. The quickest way down is with wings.

Rhysand— or just Rhys as he had told you to call him— had relayed the information that you could ask either Cassian or Azriel to escort you if you didn't wish to take the stairs.

Cassian, the General, had been the one to fly you down and back the first couple of times you had asked and you weren't in any particular hurry to relive the experience.

Cassian was nice and he was more than friendly but seemingly incapable of understanding any fear of heights. You weren't sure if that was just the only way to fly— swooping and dropping fast enough to make you shriek— but it certainly seemed to be Cassian's way.

Which leaves you with the option of either asking the Shadowsinger or taking the stairs.

You get down about two hundred steps before you start to regret your decision. But, also, how in the Cauldron were you supposed to ask him to take you? (Never mind that you had asked Cassian quite easily, albeit very nervously.)

Oh, hi Shadowsinger who I can't stop staring at for both your abilities and your handsome face—care to sweep me into your arms and carry me places?

As if, you snort to yourself.

You take the thousand stairs all the way to the bottom and trot towards the enormous library, pretending your thighs aren't aching with overuse or that you're out of breath. Thankfully, the library itself isn't too far from the House of Wind, carved into the same side of the mountain.

As expected, Sergei is less than pleased with your tardiness.

"Sorry," The word rushes out of you in a wheeze, probably too loud for the library, as you scuttle in the entrance. A few priestesses turn their heads to look at you and you cringe, raising your hands in apology. "Sorry, I'm sorry,"

You focus back on your mentor and try to catch your breath, all while you explain. "I took the stairs and it took—" You huff out a breath. "—way longer than I thought."

Sergei's face softens a bit at your explanation, his face taking on a pitiful smile. "Still not enjoying the flying?"

"You are?" You ask in response. The thought of Sergei, your old-Fae mentor, swept up in Cassian's arms as he dips and dives makes you chuckle just a bit.

Sergei shakes his head as if to change the topic of conversation, deciding you've wasted enough time already. He turns, beginning to head further into the library and you follow behind him closely, eager to brush over your early morning fumble. The cavernous structure within the mountain yawns out ahead of you and you get all of two moments to wonder just how deep down it goes, when—

"You did not ask for a ride this morning."

Azriel steps up beside you, seemingly from nowhere, his steps falling in time with yours with ease. You jump, startled, and your footsteps falter for a moment. You're relieved to say that you only make one embarrassing noise in your surprise.

"I— oh, it's— I mean, I just..." You trail off, feeling flustered. "...like to walk."

You chance a glance up at him. He's wearing that same polite expression from yesterday, as though he's trying not to laugh and you get too caught up in the swirlings of his shadows to remember to be properly embarrassed. Both of you walk in tandem behind Sergei, slowly descending into the lower levels of the library.

"If you insist," He says, his voice low. It sends something warm down your spine and you pray he doesn't notice how your body temperature is definitely climbing.

His amber eyes pin you with another look, his lips twitching into a small smile. "However, if Cassian is giving you trouble, I would be happy to provide a smoother ride."

You flounder for a moment. You don't want to get anyone in trouble.

"I— he's not giving me trouble," You stammer.

Azriel smiles a little wider as if he can tell how polite you're trying to be. He slows to a meander and you realise only after you walk past him, it's because Sergei has stopped himself, turning down one of the many aisles.

You skid yourself to a halt and turn back, praying your flaming face isn't as obvious as it feels. You're not entirely sure if Azriel is accompanying you today but you're sure that Sergei would've mentioned it if he was.

You dip your head in a strange, awkward bow motion. Then point to the aisle Sergei disappeared into.

"I'll be... going this way."

Azriel's smile grows, like you've told a joke, and he ducks his head. He peers up at you through his dark lashes and you wonder if anyone's ever told him how damn beautiful he is. Probably. You're probably the last in a long line of people. Mother, his eyes though.

"If you don't wish to make the hike the other way," He murmurs.

He extends one of his hands and you watch the dozen shadows swarm around it, one of them separating from the pack to dive to the ground. It shoots forward and spins around your ankle, almost happily. "Just let the shadow know. I would be happy to assist."

When you look back up, he’s already gone without a sound. You try not to look so surprised— you’ve seen someone winnow before but you’re almost certain that the way Azriel moved about silently was something else altogether.

“Y/n!” Sergei’s voice echoes down the shelves, reminding you that you’re still late. You throw a quick glance around to check but it's fruitless; you can’t see the Shadowsinger anywhere.

You turn and bustle down the aisle quickly, not wanting to keep Sergei any longer. It takes only a second to notice the sole, black shadow that dances along behind you.

Guess you have company.

—

Okay, so, the shadows are definitely their own little guys.

Mainly because you can’t imagine how Azriel would be controlling them when he’s nowhere in sight.

And this one shadow is being awfully helpful.

The first time you drop your quill, knocking it to the ground as you lean over one of the many intricately carved desks, trying to reach another book, you don’t even notice it fall to the ground.

In fact, you have no idea how many times it’s picked up your fallen quill that you’ve undoubtedly knocked over countless times— only that it had given you the fright of your life to have it hover before your face, gripped only by the wispy shadow Azriel left with you.

“Holy shit!” You gasp, your loud voice echoing in the quietness of the library.

Sergei's head whips up, his eyes narrowing at the intruding sound with evident disapproval. You quickly snatch the quill out of mid-air and sink down in your seat. Gods, the echoes in here were doing you no favours.

“Sorry,” You whisper. Your eyes dart down to the shadow that retreated to your side, flickering around your ankle more wildly. “Er, thanks.”

It feels a bit silly to give thanks to something you’re not sure can hear you. But you figure if it can pick up your quill, you're better off using your manners.

Sergei gives you a somewhat bewildered look and you try to appease him with an awkward smile. It works enough for him to continue his work but not without one more lingering glance of worry in your direction. Great. You're talking to shadows and your old-man mentor thinks you're a bit nuts.

The shadow continues its helpful endeavours, following you when you head down different aisles at Sergei's request. It dances across the shelves, dissolving occasionally just to puff back up somewhere else, pulling your attention this way and that. It's playful. Friendly.

You deduce by the end of the day that you know even less about Shadowsinger's than you had thought. The abilities and personality of just one shadow are uncanny; like a silent friend keeping you company. You imagine that Azriel rarely gets lonely with as many as he has. Maybe you'll ask him.

When Sergei and you wind back up the staircases and he dismisses you for the evening, heading into the city for his own further business, you stand at the mouth of the library and ponder if you'll be brave enough to summon the Shadowsinger.

The shadow is still with you, circling your wrist absently. You peer down at it and think of all those stairs. Somewhat nervously, you raise your hand and try to be as casual as possible about talking to a shadow on your hand.

"Hi." You start, trying not to feel foolish. "Um, well, I guess I'm done for the day. Could— could you, if he's not busy that is, uh, let Azriel know? I don't mind waiting if he is."

The shadow zips off barely before you can finish your sentence and your head swings to watch it go, disappearing somewhere to your left.

You can't help but be a little amazed at its speed—it must be an incredible networking system to have a thousand little spies running around for you. No wonder almost all Shadowsingers tend to end up in the same line of work, you think to yourself, still peering in the direction of the shadow when—

"Y/n."

Even though he's said your name soft and quiet, Azriel still manages to take you by surprise. You jump and turn, all in one motion.

"Mother!" Your hand holds over your chest, relief curling in at the sides as your fright ebbs away. "That was fast."

"You called," Azriel responds, as if it's the easiest thing in the world. He gives you an almost shy smile.

It makes you fluster a bit and you gesture to the exit awkwardly and wordlessly, if only so you don't have to come up with a response to his intense and endearing answer.

Together, you wander out from the library and creep towards the edge of Velaris. It's a beautiful city and more than deserving of its title, especially when viewed from the House of Wind. You turn and cast your eyes up the mountainside, your familiar nervous fear pitching up from your stomach.

Then you look at the warrior beside you, tall enough that he's got what feels like more than a head's height on you, with his wings reaching above even his own head. His jaw is sharp and his eyes are already on you as your gaze trails up his face. Fuck. He's really pretty.

Now you're nervous for an entirely different reason.

"We can still take the stairs if you wish," He says, his hand sweeping back to the path you had followed along this morning. His shadows move with his hands, a black vortex that whirls around and around. "I'd be more than happy to keep you company."

Mother, he's not helping you in the slightest, being so perfectly nice to you. You regard the stairs and think back to how many hours it took before your thighs stopped aching—and that was on the way down.

"No, we can- we can try flying again." You say, nodding to yourself as if it'll help quell your fear. It takes another moment to realise that means you'll be bundled up in his strong arms, held against his broad chest and you feel a little shiver run through your body at the thought.

Azriel notices it too, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. "You're sure?" He checks.

You nod, not meeting his eyes, trying to keep your nerve. Flying is already something you're not keen on. Flying whilst being swept up in the arms of a Shadowsinger who you think is the most beautiful Fae you've ever seen? You send a silent prayer to the Mother that you don't do something embarrassing, like puking down his front.

"Let me know if you're uncomfortable at any time," He says softly and then he bends his knees slightly, one of his scarred hands resting on your lower back as the other scoops beneath your knees. He lifts you as though you weigh nothing.

It's impossible not to flush as you get nestled against his firm chest, your hands panicking for a moment as you try to think of a normal place to put them. Around his neck? On his chest? Either of them feels far too intimate for a man you've known only a week.

"You don't have to but I would suggest holding on," Azriel comments with a smile, his chest vibrating with the words. You nod, agreeing with him, but don't make a move to do so, only holding your hands out in front of you to indicate you're not sure where to put them.

The shadows adorning his shoulders move on their own, their friendly presence easing your nerves as they slither down to circle around your wrists. There's a gentle tug and you let them move your hands til they're wrapped around Azriel's neck, moving you much closer in the process.

Gods, your faces are close together. Another couple of inches and you could probably press your lips to his perfect ones—a thought that makes you fluster all over again. Was he getting prettier every time you saw him? For not the first time, you thank the Mother that it was Rhys with the daemaeti gift and not Azriel.

"Ready?" He checks, which is sweet. Cassian had just shot up into the sky the first time, without any warning.

You grip your arms around his neck a little tighter and then nod. "Ready," You say, quieter than intended.

You catch just a moment of Azriel's demure smile, your heart swooping at the sight, before you're both launched into the sky with one flap of his wings.

The noise that escapes you is one you're less than proud of, a squawky sound noise of panic that you bury into Azriel's neck. You expect him to laugh like Cassian had, not meanly but playfully, but instead Azriel's arms just tighten around you. As if he was assuring you that he would not let you fall.

By the time you're up at the House of Wind, Azriel making a far more graceful descent than his brother, you're less freaked out and more ready to point some accusatory fingers in the face of the Night Court's General.

That bastard had been fucking with you! The flight with Azriel proved as much, considering how much calmer and smoother it had been. You couldn't help but say as much as you were placed down from Azriel's hold, glad to be back on solid ground.

"I have some words for Cassian, Mother above," You ramble, straightening out your rumpled clothes from the flight. "Did he think I was kidding when I said I was afraid?"

Azriel smiles at your fieriness, his shadows calmer than they were in flight, moving about lazily. His eyes take a fleeting glance at the house behind you before focusing intently back on you.

"Cassian can have a strange sense of humour at times. He means well." He says. Then he grins. "I should like to see you tell him off— not enough people do."

You hmph. "Maybe I will."

You suddenly realise the closeness between you and Azriel, close enough to feel the warmth of his body. His scent of cedar and mist swirls around you, tantalizing and alluring in a way you've never known before. You take a step back to contain yourself.

"I—uh, well, thank you very much." You say, as sweet as you can. "For the ride."

Your eyes catch on one of his dozen shadows and you smile, observing them for a moment. "And the shadow. It was excellent company."

Azriel brightens, an expression of surprise crossing his face before he schools it away. He smiles, brazen and breathtaking. When he speaks, he sounds a little disbelieving. "You like them?"

You nod quickly, noticing how one of his shadows has snuck off again and circulates your ankle speedily. You laugh at the ticklish feeling of it against your skin.

"They're incredible." You breathe, meaning every word. "I imagine you must've ge—"

"Apologies, y/n." A smooth voice cuts in, Rhys stepping up somewhere behind you and stealing both of your attention. He dressed in more casual clothes than you last saw, but not quite Azriel's fighting leathers. "Azriel here is needed for some brief business. Do you mind if I borrow him?"

The way he poses the question, as if Azriel is yours, does something wonky to your heart. You flounder for a moment, stepping back and waving your hand in the direction of the Shadowsinger.

"Of- of course, by all means." You trip over the words and hope you don't sound too eager to escape his company. That couldn't be more untrue.

You turn back to Azriel and fix him with a smile, hoping it's not as nervous as you feel. "I'll... see you around?"

Azriel steals a glance to the side where Rhys awaits before he nods with another reserved smile. Hold on, is that pink on his cheeks?

"Let me know if you need any more help getting to and from the library. I'd be happy to assist."

And then with a quick nod to you, he walks off to join Rhys, his wings tucked in tight, careful to not nudge you. You watch them go, unable to stop yourself from letting your eyes wander down. Damn, all that training did wonders. What was that saying? Hate to watch 'em go, love to watch them leave.

Ahead, Rhys abruptly laughs and peers back over his shoulder, letting you exactly how well you had shielded those thoughts. You flush and scurry into the house as if it'll save you from the embarrassment of what's just happened. You only hope he won't pass the message on to Azriel.

—

It continues like that for the rest of the week.

Azriel carries you down the height of the mountain and leaves you with a promise that if you need anything, you can tell the shadow and he'll come to find you.

The shadow keeps its usual playful company. Beyond retrieving your dropped quills, it helpfully turns the pages of books for you. When you're focused on what you're writing, it nudges back any loose strands of hair. Once it even brings you a flower from Mother knows where. One single Lily of the Valley, left resting on your desk.

It makes you wonder; are all Shadowsinger's shadows like this? You can't help but imagine these niceties are shaped by Azriel's own soft nature.

Today, whilst you study in the vast caverns of the library, you get an unexpected visitor.

As you take your time scanning through the books in one of the vast aisles, you realise the Fae coming down from the other end of the aisle is none other than the Highlady herself.

"Feyre!" You greet warmly. The two of you had met before when she had taken duties in your home court and if it weren't too bold, you'd say you consider yourself good friends. Feyre smiles, glowing like moonlight, as she realises who it is.

"Y/n," She says your name sweetly and her hug is just as such. She pulls away, ready to inquire about your studies when she spots the trailing shadow behind you.

"Making friends, I see," She comments. Her eyebrows raise almost teasingly as if she's made a certain insinuation. You take a moment to notice what she's referencing.

"It's nice," You say, a defensive lilt to your tone. You hold out your hand and the shadow jumps at the opportunity to skitter around it playfully. "It's like a little friend."

Feyre smiles at your words but chuckles a little. "Except Azriel is anything but little."

You pause at her words, glancing down at the shadow and back up at Feyre. "What do you mean? I thought— they're not- I mean, aren't they...?”

You trail off, unsure of how to word the question you're trying to ask. Feyre smiles, her gray eyes glittering with mirth as she realises what you're figuring out.

"They're all his. Azriel's. He controls them." She tilts her head a bit, watching the shadow that drifts about your hand and wrist. "True, they roam a bit on their own but... Not like this."

"Oh," You murmur, thinking back to that first day in the library.

The playful shadow that lead you back and forth, picking up your quill and turning your pages. It was him, all along.

Something immeasurably warm starts to glow in your chest, a thread that loops through your heart and sends the valves into overdrive. Its warmth grows, something molten hot beginning to bleed in your chest— and it feels wonderful. It feels right.

"Oh," You gasp as you figure it out.

Feyre grins, watching you piece together what the rest of the inner circle has clued together from the very first day. She stands to the side and gestures to the entrance of the library with a tilt of her head.

"Go on then," She urges you.

For a moment, you think back to Sergei who sent you hunting for a certain manuscript Cauldron knows how long ago but the thought is washed away in an instant. You can feel it now, the strong tug in your chest. The connection that binds you to another.

You stride past Feyre, giving a quick thanks! and all but run up the spiral staircases, heading for the entrance. The shadow pings along with you and as you near the top, you look down at it and say through huffed breaths, "You better go get him."

He's waiting by the time you get there.

Against the setting sun, for a moment there's only the silhouette of him— a warrior with tall wings, the edges of him rippling like a mirage. He might just be one; an oasis in your life, the answer that you've been searching for for centuries. You can't believe you didn't notice.

Your footsteps echo on the marble as you march right up to him and Azriel watches you closely the whole time, his amber eyes soft but his expression hinting at his nervousness. Gods, he's wonderful. You can't believe he gets to be yours and you get to be his.

"How long have you known?" You ask because it's the first thing on your mind. You're nearly panting from the exhilaration of your sudden exercise, from the dawning future that's blooming right in front of you. He's your mate. Gods, how could you have missed it?

Azriel smiles, that same tentative one that's been driving you crazy all week. His wings give a little shake behind him, a giveaway of his nerves.

"I... suspected from the beginning." He chooses his words carefully, wary of how you might respond.

You can't help your little gasp, feeling even more of a fool. You curse, ducking your head before you glare back up at him, no real heat in your gaze. You have the urge to give him a little shove, just for keeping you in the dark.

"And you didn't think to tell me?"

One of his shadows spins up unexpectedly, dancing across your shoulders and tickling your cheeks gently. You startle in surprise but something sweeter curls up in your chest at the tenderness of its touch.

"Believe me," Azriel says with a quiet chuckle, his amber eyes darting over your face intensely. "I've been trying."

You melt. Eyes locked with his, you move slowly, letting your arms drift up to drape around his neck like they've done every morning and evening since he began flying you around. You realise acutely that Cassian's behaviour, his shoddy flying, had likely been on purpose. You laugh a little, eyes creasing shut in pure euphoria.

Azriel's hands find your waist and you can feel the slight tremble in them.

"In my defense," You murmur, pushing up on your toes. You're close, so close, your lips hovering just an inch from a kiss—his shadows go wild around you both. It makes you grin. "I had never met a Shadowsinger before."

"Yeah?" Azriel breathes shakily. "Disappointed?"

He says it like a joke but you can hear the note of sincerity in his tone. His hidden worry that he isn't all you dreamed of. It's nearly laughable how wrong he is.

This close you can see his long lashes and every shade of brown in his eyes. You wonder if you'll ever get used to how beautiful he is. Part of you hopes you never do.

"Not in the slightest," You say, nearly a whisper.

Then his lips are on yours, pillowy soft skin against yours, and it feels like coming home. He kisses you, kisses you, kisses you til you're breathless and the glow in your chest could rival the sun in its warmth.

He kisses you and every atom in your body hums and fizzes and comes to life — and all you can do is hold him tight and kiss him back, just as fiercely.

Breaking the kiss to catch your breath, you pant and grin brazenly at Azriel, at your mate, happier than you've ever been. Faintly, you realise that you won't be heading home when the two months of your study are up after all.

Not when you have a man who looks at you so reverently, who kisses you like there's oxygen hidden in the plush of your lips, who holds you like there's nothing more precious in the world.

Not when you know that home is right here, in front of you.

[mayxxday]

how bakugou would react to his child telling his mom to shut up?

Katsuki has always had his doubts when it came to parenthood. However the first day he held his baby boy to his chest after his birth, he felt all his fears disappear in thin air. The comfortable weight of his tyke somehow was enough to silence his fears of being a good father.

When he found his little brat inherited the same quirk as him, he was over the moon. Their bond only grew stronger and stronger through their endless training and practice at his agency. After all, if Katsuki was anything, he was a family man.

With his son growing in a young adolescent, Katsuki could see only more of himself in his boy. The same brash attitude he once strutted around the campus of his middle school. Their mannerisms hardly differed as they sat discussing on the couch, his sweet little wife tucked under his arm.

"This is heaven" He couldn't help but think. There he was, living a life his younger self could never have imagined. Yet this was all he needed. The most important two people of his life, right here with him. The explosive pro hero's train of thought was rudely interrupted however by the loud sneer of his son.

"Shut it mom- we're busy"

The words that left his son's mouth in a fleeting moment, left a bitter look on Katsuki's face. How could Katsuki ever miss the way his wife tensed under his arm, a look at her and he would have seen the tears that rushed to her lash line. However he didn't know if he was strong enough to see that at the moment.

Had he not been holding his wife to his side, he would have flown into a rage. Katsuki loved his boy to pieces, but his wife had been the one to teach him how to love. His wife had stuck out his explosiveness, all the crude remarks and his constant hot and cold behavior throughout his UA years, and made herself a home in his heart. So no matter who it was, Katsuki wasn't gonna have it.

"What did you say, brat!"

Katsuki snaps back, his voice dangerously low as if daring his son to try to repeat himself. Holding his wife protectively to his side, his thumb subconsciously rubs circles on her arm in an attempt to comfort her, while his teen could only look at him dumbfounded. Frozen still in place for Katsuki was never like this at home, his anger never directed towards him especially.

"Dad I-"

"Apologize. Now."

Katsuki said coldly. He wasn't the one for any dumb excuses and his son's malicious tone towards his wife wasn't something he was just gonna tolerate.

"Katsu, it's okay"

He could hear his wife mumble softly, her warm hand pressed his chest, coaxing him gently to let go of the matter. He was only a teenager after all, isn't this what they do, his wife believed. Katsuki however, didn't believe the same. Had the remark been directed towards Katsuki he would have let go of it, getting back to him a crude comment of himself, but this was his sweet little wife. He couldn't even remember one instance of her raising her voice to discipline their son, she's always been kind and gentle in her parenting methods, offering only the utmost support. So no, it wasn't okay in eyes Katsuki's eyes.

"I'm sorry mom... I shouldn't have done that. I didn't- ..mean to"

His son replies, his head hung shamefully as he takes a moment to reflect what he had just done. Katsuki had raised him to be gentleman through and through. Every step of the way, reminding him how his mother deserved only the best in the world. So for him to snap at his mom was out of character for him, but he would say the stress of school and preparing for UA was getting to him, resulting in him snapping at the only person his heart trusted not to hate him for it.

"Try that once more and we'll have long talk about it. And I can promise you the next time we train you won't have it easy"

Katsuki threatens lightly, knowing he had the little smack to his chest coming as his wife chuckled shyly as his protective instinct. Maybe he meant it, but his wife didn't have to know that he wasn't kidding. Of course he would never hurt his own son, but of course he could tire him out until his body had no energy to snap at his own mother of all people.

His wife's chuckle however was enough to lighten the air around them. The little bakugou earning a little tug on his ear to make sure he understood his lesson. All the while he smiled sheepishly, moving to sit on the floor in front of his mother, burying his head in her lap as a silent apology, seeking her reassurance.

Katsuki could have been the strongest damn hero to exist, but again, he was only a family man after all and the sight was enough to soften his iron heart. His wife tucked under his arm, rubbing the head of his now teen boy.

"brat"

Katsuki mumbles softly, tucking his wife's under his chin as he starts his earful lecture for his son about his wife being 'the most damn amazing woman on earth' and how he needs to do better he's gonna be a true bakugou, because in this family, we love our only woman.

That night, Katsuki slept with his head tucked in his wife's neck, whispering sorry's for not being a good father enough for this to happen in the first place. His worries however were soothed with an array of kisses on any skin his wife could reach, all pressed with a "you're the best father our baby could have had".

p.s. thank you soooooo much for the ask! I had so much fun writing this. I hope you like it <33

[lyinginmeadow]

Shadows will guide you home | Azriel × reader

Summary: Some fae don't like the idea of the Archerons turning into high fae and reader being one in unfamiliar city makes a perfect opportunity for an intervention Warnings: acotar related violence, not super descriptive, language, slight angst Word count: 1.4k a/n: Hii, this is my very first fanfic, please remember to be kind. <3 Also English is not my first language so it may be a bit rough.

Being another Archeron sister was quite exhausting. The constant comparison drawn between you ever since you were born created a dark place deep within you. After years of being poor, starved, and uneducated, the family regained their riches back thanks to Feyre. The cost left you empty, breaking your heart into a million pieces. You wanted your sister back more than anything, you would return your newfound lifestyle to have her with you again. Taking lessons together, sharing laughs, and pretending as if everything is normal. As if she never left and their father hadn't left them to starvation.

Instead, the Gods were laughing in your face as you with two of your sisters were changed and thrown into the world of high fae. While you got your sister back, there were matters to be taken care of. Leaving you alone in a city and with species foreign to you. You had met the inner circle while you were still human. They were nothing but kind to you then, but you assumed that was because you were Feyre's sister. Now they haven't paid you much mind because their hands were either full with court business you didn't understand or your sisters. You were left scarred inside while pretending it hadn't affected you as much.

''Are you listening?'' Asked a pretty blonde in a red dress, Mor. ''I'm sorry, I just spaced out a little. What were you saying?'' You smiled, red creeping up your cheeks. ''You are free to explore the city, you don't have to feel caged inside.'' She returned your smile. ''Oh, I don't feel like that. I...I guess it's kind of strange to be here. Is there an apothecary around here?''

''Yes, it's in the square just next to the bridge you can’t miss it,'' Mor replied. ''I must go, but I will see you during dinnertime.'' She smiled for the last time as she disappeared into thin air. She came by just to invite you as per Feyre's request. Your sister knew you were too polite to decline any offer and without it you would probably not show up.

''Right.'' You mumbled under your breath as you looked out of the window. In the reflection, you caught the sigh of a shadow. You whipped around to see nothing. Signing, you turned to the window again thinking about certain Illyrian familiar with shadows. When you first met him, he was like a rock that you could lean onto while the queens invaded your home. You talked, feeling an instant connection and thought he felt the same. You didn't remember what happened during the changing process, your brain blocked the memory altogether. But after waking up in Velaris, he didn't seem to notice you, rather seeking the company of your older twin sister.

You knew it wasn't rational to feel hurt by this, but that didn't stop your heart from throbbing. Exhaling a deep breath you went to explore the city as Mor suggested, feeling sick of your little pity party.

After hours spent in the city, it was starting to get dark. Nights here were magical, but your fear of them only amplified during years spent in the dark streets trying to provide for your family by any means necessary, so you tried to hurry back to the house. Taking a turn into an ally wasn't a choice you wanted to make, but panic started to take over every action your body made. Looking around you knew you were lost and didn't know where to go next.

''Looking for something?'' You whipped around with shock in your eyes. ''No, but thank you. My partner is just around the corner.'' You smiled politely your instincts kicking in as you lied smoothly. A shadow caressed your skin as if to soothe your worries and disappeared. You didn't have time to think about it more as the man standing in front of you stepped closer. ''Are you sure? We could help you, Y/N.'' Another dark figure from behind you said so near you could feel his breath on your neck. ''I don't know who you think I am, but that is not my name. And I do not need help from strangers. So let me pass.'' You tried to will your voice not to tremble, but it was of no use. You were starting to give in to the panic rising within you. ''And we don't need humans becoming high fae and hijacking our court. But here you are.'' Said a male in front of you while pulling out a knife. “This will send the message." Continued another one next to what you pressumed was the leader. One againts three were not the odds you prefered.

You had no idea how they found out your name or how they knew of your fate of becoming fae. "Feeling threatened by a female?" You knew getting a rise out of them was not the smartest idea. But maybe it could gain you valuable time for someone, anyone to notice. Velaris was supposed to be peaceful after all.

"You think you're funny, huh? We'll see if you'll find the knife just as entertaining." The male behind you pulled your hair harshly earning a scream from you. You didn't understand how they could blame you for something you had no control over. “Watch the alley, will you?” The male infront of you ordered the one standing next to him as he lifted his hand to your face. The knife danced lightly on your cheek leaving you defenseless. "Just so you know, maiming your face will be a pleasure." He whispered to your ear as he increased the presure on the knife drawing blood.

The whole alley turned pitch black. You had fae senses, but the dark was completely impenetrable yet familiar. You could only feel your hair being released, knife falling to the pavement, followed by screams and scratches on the stone. You were paralyzed, terrified, and unable to move. The dark had you in its claws and you could feel your breath getting more and more quick. ''How dare you hurt her ?'' A deep familiar voice took you out of your panic. There was no answer to his question. Only whimpers.

The shadows slowly dissolved letting in light from the main streets. There was no one here anymore. Only blood and scratches deep in the stone indicated a struggle.

Azriel appeared in front of you his hands gently grazing your untouched cheek. ''Don't look at it.'' His voice hoarse. You inhaled his scent making you instantly relaxed. ''Are you hurt?'' He asked worry lacing his voice. You gave him a shake of a head not trusting your voice. ''Lies. Shaken. Blood.'' Hissed hushed voice, startling you. ''I am not lying. I am just fine.'' You pushed Azriel away looking around for the source. ''You can hear them?'' Azriel frowned examining you.

''Look, I am sorry you had to bother with this. I know there are a lot of things to be done and I should have known how to protect myself-'' He stopped you from rambling with a thumb to your lips. His previous question forgotten. ''No one has a right to assault you. It is not your fault. Velaris is supposed to be safe. I promise that no one will harm you ever again.'' He left you completely stunned. ''Now, could you please show me where they hurt you, so we can heal it?'' Azriel asked slowly removing his thumb from your lips. Leaving you wishing it could stay there for a bit longer. You pushed back the hair that was covering your healing cheek. ''It's already healing. My abilities do come with very fast healing. As long as I don't use my powers much. I am just a bit shocked, that's all.'' You admitted looking to the stone path. ''Let's get you home then." He offered his hand which you gladly took your heart threatening to jump out of your chest.

''Look, Nesta started training with Cass and a few priestesses joined her. It is a way for them to regain their power and help them with their struggles. I was thinking that maybe it could be something you would give a try?'' Azriel asked as he led you through the house to your bedroom. ''Oh...I think I would like that.'' You smiled. Silence enveloping you again.

''Thank you, Az. For today and the offer.'' You looked down standing infront of the door to your bedroom. ''There is no need to thank me. But you should get some sleep.'' He looked at your door and then down the hallway. ''I will be right next to your room if you need anything. So please, let me know.'' He gave you a look of urgency and you gave him a nod even if you knew you would not. He probably knew it, too. ''Goodnight.''

"Goodnight."

[jaewritesfic]

Everlasting Trio DP x DC Nobody Knows AU Part 9

Part 8

“Nothing? At all?”

“Nothing, Red,” Barbara's voice repeats through the speakers of the Batcomputer, sounding irritated at this point.

“But- I mean, did you try-”

“She's going to come to the cave and shove a Batarang up your ass if you ask her one more time whether she missed something, Replacement,” Jason drawls off to the side. He's reclining in a chair, feet kicked up on a weapons table.

Tim groans. “I know, I know. I'm sorry.”

He's back in the Cave, and so is pretty much everyone else. Turns out he'd caused something of a panic, and it was all hands on deck for a hot second.

When the engineer had density shifted out of his grasp and heckled him from some nebulous spot midair, it had taken only a few seconds afterwards for Tim’s comms to explode with noise.

Turns out nobody had been able to hear anything from him except a constant low static from shortly before the encounter until after it ended, and his mask camera was borked the whole time too.

Understandably, there was some alarm about that. Bruce had ordered everyone back to the cave for a full explanation and conversation on what the hell happened.

“Sit down and tell us what happened, baby bird. You're gonna wear a hole in the floor at this rate,” Dick tells him, a gentle hand on his shoulder nudging him towards a seat.

Tim groans and throws himself into it like a puppet with his strings cut.

“Well he's definitely a meta,” he grumbles. “I never actually laid eyes on him. Wouldn't have even known he was there if he hadn't gotten ghost busted.”

“Ghost busted?” Jason asks, eyebrows raised. Tim huffs out a reluctant laugh, because in retrospect that part was pretty funny.

“His fucking phone went off. All of a sudden the empty air next to me was blasting the Ghostbusters theme song and an invisible man was swearing like a sailor until it cut out.”

Stephanie blows a raspberry in the start of a laughing fit, and suddenly the whole cave is echoing with mirth. It lifts Tim's spirits a little, makes him laugh too.

He means, come on. That has to be the new record for the funniest botched stealth mission, a position previously held by Damian when a stray dog outed him because it smelled the treats he keeps in his utility belt.

The shade of red the demon brat's face was when he had to explain why the mission went sideways was fucking glorious.

“So you've confirmed that we're dealing with a male meta?”

Speaking of the brat.

“Sounded male, and he at least has invisibility and density shifting,” Tim confirms.

“Density shifting?” Bruce prompts.

“Yeah. After the phone went off I couldn't see him but I was trying to figure out where he was. Then the lockbox disappeared too - he can transfer the invisibility through touch, apparently.”

“Huh. Haven't seen that before,” Duke comments.

“Me neither. But I made an educated guess at where I thought he was and grabbed his arm. Had a damn good grip, and then he just…went through me. Like I literally felt something pass through my hand all cold and tingly and suddenly I wasn't holding anything anymore.”

Jason snorts. “Bet that was a kick in the nuts, huh.”

“Come on, Little Wing,” Dick scolds half heartedly. “Be nice.”

Jason rolls his eyes.

“You said ‘at least’,” Bruce says, brow furrowed. “You suspect he has other powers too?”

Tim purses his lips. “I can't be sure, considering I couldn't see him, but…I think he probably has flight too.”

“Flight?” Dick says, furrowing his brow. He crosses his arms and shakes his head, looking both thoughtful and troubled. “No, that's not possible.”

Tim blinks. “What? Why not?”

Dick ‘Be Nice, Little Wing’ Grayson looks him dead in the eyes and says, “Because according to all known laws of aviation-”

“You-!”

The cave is filled with laughter again, Jason throwing his head back and cackling in a way that's particularly irksome. Tim reaches over and shoves at his boots while he's tipping his chair back and sends him toppling to the floor.

Jason flails and fails to save himself, rolling back to his feet and spitting curses with a hint of green to his eyes. Tim freezes at the sight of it.

It's not that he's scared. He and Jason have come a long way, and everyone knows by now what amount of green is actually dangerous. Jason's nowhere near actually losing it right now, he's just annoyed.

What makes Tim freeze is-

“He's been exposed to the Pits.”

Everyone pauses, confused. Jason blinks at him. “Uh…yeah, fucking duh?”

“No,” Tim shakes his head. “No, not you. The Engineer.”

Suddenly there's no laughter anymore. Everyone has gone tense and alarmed.

“Tim?” Bruce prompts lowly.

“I did see part of him,” Tim murmurs lowly, realizing it himself for the first time. “When I grabbed him, there were two bright lights for a second or two before they faded. God, I should have realized- it was his eyes. Like Christmas lights, bright Lazarus green."

Masterpost

[churipu]

I love you so so much omg ur posts, ur content, un vibe everything. you’re so so nice and yet you have me crying over every single post because of how good this is. Like yesterday i had a whole debate talking to myself abt how good of a person you were and how the likes were not doing you justice.. usually I never send requests mostly because i’m scared they take a look at it and be like “you cannot be srs”. Idk if it makes sense but oh well😭😭

can i request u make a scenario where the reader is insecure and worried their partner is going to leave them for someone prettier but they dont say anything and just start to distance themselves from them from how big of a toll it was taking on the reader? thank you sm😭🫶🏽

YOU BEING INSECURE + JJK MEN

featuring. gojo satoru, nanami kento, sukuna ryomen x reader

warning. cursing

note. ANON YOU'RE SO SWEET OMG BRB SOBBING HAVE ABIG FAT KISS, and i love this request so much, you don't have to worry <33 thank you for requesting my love, sorry it took so long :')

GOJO SATORU. even if gojo didn't seem like the type to be aware of his surroundings — he is very much aware. behind those blindfolds and dark glasses, his eyes darts everywhere, making sure everything is fine. even if one small thing is different to his eyes, he'll notice.

so when you began distancing yourself from him, he notices off the bat. but decided to say nothing just to make sure of it, gojo did not want to jump into conclusions. it started off as you telling him that you're busy to go on dates, or even declining his offers when he wanted to come over to your place.

he didn't think much of it until it visibly worsened, you looked miserable. when he sees you, it was like the shine in your eyes have gone away — gojo didn't know what happened, but he automatically assumed that he was behind the disappearance of it. when he asks you if you were okay, you brushed him off with a forced out smile, and he was dying to push you to just tell him everything.

but he didn't. he was afraid that if he'd push you, it would spiral an argument. for a while, he was walking on eggshells around you, you were like a ticking time bomb ready to blow up at any minute.

it was gnawing internally in gojo's mind, what did he do? what happened to you? what happened to y/n?

his y/n.

so when shoko drops the bomb on him, asking if he had broken up with you. gojo was mortified, is that what it looks like to other people? him and you calling it off? he was terrified, scared, nervous. the strongest sorcerer. yeah — he was scared.

and so he felt like it was a now or never situation.

"y/n, can we talk?"

you grimaced at his soft voice, wondering if this is the part where he's had enough and decided he'd leave you. but you nodded your head, your mind was ready, you were ready to hear it, those words: "i want to break up with you."

"please talk to me. i can't do this whole...you avoiding me, tell me what's bothering you...please." the desperation in his voice was visible, almost as if he was in the verge of tears.

his cerulean eyes were filled with such hopelessness, one you've never seen even when he was fighting a curse. you widened your eyes and inhaled sharply, "i...i'm sorry, satoru."

that was all you managed to muster up and gojo was clueless, he needed more answers, he needed answers to why you were like this, "baby, i don't... is it me? did i do anything wrong to you? please tell me, don't run away.. let me make it up to you."

it pained you to see that he thinks it was him, when it was you behind this. you shook your head, "'s not you 'ts me."

and that made gojo even more terrified than he already is, a lot of questions spiraling in his mind, did you find someone else? did you get bored of him? were you finally breaking up with him because of his constant bothering? so many questions.

"i just...there're so many more people prettier than i am. i just can't stop thinking about it. you leaving and all. 'm sorry i distanced myself from you." when you said that, gojo felt like half of his questions were all useless and he felt a bit relieved to finally get an answer to his speculations.

gojo wasted no time pulling you into his embrace, he needed it, you needed it. both of you needed it just as much, you felt so small in his embrace, head buried into his chest. gojo didn't move a bit, fearing if he moved at all — you'd break, you looked so fragile and so dainty, it scares him.

"i..love you so much." was all he could say,

"'ts you, 'ts you that i love. it hurts me to hear you talk like that." you felt like shit, you really do — so you said nothing back, you kept your face hidden in his chest.

and gojo didn't pry you away, he just needed to be close to you, "sorry."

that was when he pulled away, "you don't have to be sorry, but please talk to me, 'ts not fair if we're happy together and you have to be sad alone.." you hated crying in front of people, especially gojo, and he knew that about you.

so when you cried in that moment, gojo knew this wasn't something light — he didn't need any more explaining from you, he was just there by your side the whole night. and the next day. the next week. month. year. both of you never spoke of it again.

he's in love with you and nobody could change that, he thinks you're the prettiest anyways.

NANAMI KENTO. nanami's eyes are always on you. nobody else. and everyone knows that.

everyone except for you, unfortunately.

usually he comes home and you were always there to greet him, with a hug and kiss. it was an inseparable combo he made a routine, but for the past couple of days — he hasn't been getting that.

instead, he was greeted with silence. and just from the second time, he knew that something was definitely wrong with you. he'll find you curled up in bed, under the covers like it was the only thing that mattered in the world; but he tries to see it as a sign of exhaustion.

nanami watches your every move, for the past couple of days. you have been out of it. to the point where it was plain obvious and nanami tries asking about it, but you tell him it was just because of the stress. a sweetheart he is, he tries telling you to get some rest from work — he'd even excuse you if it's needed, but you tell him that wasn't needed and that you were fine.

obviously lying. he could see it, smell it, hear it.

it was suffocating. everything was suffocating to you, it's like everything was slowly masticating on every fiber in your body. you wanted to just, drop down and cry but whenever you try to, you just end up sitting on the floor blankly staring at nothing.

it scares yourself sometimes how empty your eyes look.

you wouldn't be surprised if nanami didn't come back home one day because he's so fed up — that's what you've been planting in you. that nanami would leave you for prettier people, for people who don't overthink, people who are generally better than you.

"y/n?"

oh. you didn't even hear him come home, you sat on the bedroom floor trying to push yourself up. and you couldn't even do that, so when nanami opens the bedroom door, seeing you on the floor — he said nothing, not even a hello.

nanami just scoops you into his arms and lays you down on the bed mutely, his slender fingers brushing your hair, "i love you," he murmurs quietly.

that was enough to make tears dwell up at the corner of your eyes, and he said nothing, grazing your tears away, "'m sorry. 'm so sorry, kento."

nanami didn't understand why you were apologizing, he hushed you, cradling you in his embrace as you let your tears free fall, "why are you sorry?"

that's when it struck you, why were you apologizing?

nanami didn't question you any further but he held you close, pressing chaste kisses onto your forehead, "is something in your mind?" you nodded slowly, "do you want to tell me about it?"

you nodded, inhaling sharply, "i just don't feel pretty enough...i feel like you deserve better than me, ken."

nanami laced your fingers with his, kissing your knuckles, "why do you say such things?" you didn't answer him, and it just breaks his heart even more, "you're perfect for me."

his words fall into deaf ears, but you didn't continue saying your worries, you just feel like nanami gets a gist of it. nanami didn't leave your side, cradling you in his arms like you're the most fragile being, "i love you," he kissed your forehead, "so much," and he kisses your lips.

nanami makes sure to spend every second telling you how much he loves you, telling you how beautiful you are, and how you're the most perfect for him.

SUKUNA RYOMEN. he hates it when you ignore him without any explanations, he's told you before, "if you have anything to say, say it to my face, don't ignore me."

but this feels like something you couldn't tell him, how you feel. it's obvious that you were distancing yourself from him, when he calls you, you sometimes pretend like you didn't hear him — and when he confronts you later, you tell him that you just didn't hear his calls.

"you're ignoring me, hm?"

"what? no— i just didn't hear you calling out to me."

don't even try to lie to him because he will always confront you about it, he sees right through you and your lies. the second time you try to run away from him when he calls out to you, he wastes no time holding you in place; confronting you right at that moment.

"why're you running away, brat?"

"i...oh, i didn't realize you were here, ryo." sukuna clicks his tongue in mere annoyance — what a bad actor you are, it's so ridiculous sukuna wanted to just burst out into laughter.

"bullshit. why're you avoiding me?"

that was it. you were cornered just like that. sighing, there isn't any way out unless you tell him — sukuna just won't let you go unless you tell him everything behind your recent behaviors.

"just don't feel pretty enough for you," you mutter out, avoiding his sharp gaze, "i feel like you can do much better than me. you deserve better than me."

sukuna gave you nothing but a mere smirk, pushing his lips onto yours. god, he didn't want to admit it — but he hates the way you talk shit about yourself, if he could tell you everything that he loves about you, he would. but he didn't because he's a jackass (and he's too shy to tell you that).

"that's it?" that's it? that's it?

you were about to push him away when he gives you that glare of his, "which person has been making you think like that?"

"no one. me."

he flicks your forehead, "then stop."

if only it was that easy, you grumbled at his response, and said nothing else so you could just leave. but sukuna, despite his ignorant answers always makes sure that you never run away from him anymore, he's a lot more touchy than usual — and he (tries) to compliment you and your appearance.

keyword: tries

he fails at it though. but you gave him kudos for trying, that's all that matters, really. that he makes you feel loved.

© CHURIPU 2023 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE !

[f1nalboys]

Could you do a Billy Loomis x Stu Macher x Reader oneshot that's just super kinky I'm just fienin for some billy and stu smut 🙏

MY RETURN TO POLY GHOSTFACEEEEEEEE!!!! anon thank u very much for this request (and dont worry, i got the other one!!!) and i super duper hope u like it!!! it did make me realize i havent written a praise focused fic in FOREVER so sorry if im a little rusty D:

Poly!Ghostface x GN!Reader

WORD COUNT: 1132

WARNINGS: nsfw, hair pulling, praise, creampie, begging, reader isn't gendered but does get called pretty and beautiful, billy likes to watch <3, established relationship, kinda proofread

Billy and Stu knew how to make you tick in every way. Stu was great at aggravating you just enough to get you to pay attention to him, easily earning your affection back in just a few words. Billy could break you down, build you up, and do it over and over again until it made your head swim. Being with them meant you were on edge, always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But then there were times, like now, where you didn’t have to worry about anything other than cumming.

“There you go, baby,” Stu’s voice is muffled despite him being right behind you, his lips at your ear, his breath hot against your sweaty skin. He’s moving so slowly, cock pushing deep inside you and dragging out at an agonizing pace. You want to yell at him, tell him to move faster, go harder, something, but the only thing that comes out is a weak whine. He laughs and you feel it vibrate against your back. “Aw, sweet little thing is tryin’ to tell us something, Billy.”

Your eyes open and you do your best to blink away the haze. Billy is in front of you on the bed, his hand slowly stroking his cock as he watches Stu fuck you. Your hands are on Stu’s knees, your own legs bent uncomfortably backwards so you were sitting in his lap. “You gotta use your words, Y/N.” Billy says smoothly, tilting his head, voice smug. “You want him to stop?”

“No!” You say quickly, nails digging into Stu’s skin, your eyes widening enough to earn a laugh from Billy. Your voice is hoarse, raw from your constant babbles of pleasure over the last hour. “More,” you say, wiggling your hips slightly, your head tilting forwards as a sharp gasp rips through you. “Please, need it.” Billy watches with a pleased smirk as you begin to take over for Stu, using your hands on his knees as leverage to push yourself up and down, sinking down onto his cock.

Stu groans at the feeling, his hips flexing slightly. “Fuck, Billy, man… they’re so fuckin’ tight.” His hands rest on your hips, mouth agape as he pants, watching his cock disappear inside you. “So sexy like this, so fucked out, aren’t you, baby?” He asks, his usual laugh cut off by a moan. “Y/N?” You don’t answer. Your eyes are closed, your breaths coming quick, focused solely on the building pleasure in your gut. You barely even register the bed shifting before you feel thick fingers tangle into your hair, tugging your head back up roughly. 

“Hey,” Billy says sharply, fingers still tugging at your hair. Your eyes are open now, head bent back enough to force you to look him in the eyes, and he watches you with a pleased grin. “Stu asked you a question. You better answer unless you want him to stop. And you don’t want that, do you?” He tsks, shaking his head mockingly, his free hand leaving his cock to touch you between your legs. You gasp sharply, tightening around Stu, causing him to dig into your hips to push you down onto his cock even more. Billy’s gaze is unwavering. “Feels like you don’t want that.”

“Way they’re tightening around me, fuck, they better not want me to stop. Not even sure I could pull out.” Stu teases, placing sloppy kisses against your jaw and down your neck to your shoulder. Your head was beginning to throb from where Billy was still gripping your hair but the thought of him letting go, replacing the pain and his fingers with a dull thud, seemed unbearable. “Too tight, you know that, Y/N? Too fuckin’ pretty, too. Fuck, I love you like this, you know that? So sweet.” 

“You’re gettin’ ‘em excited, Stu,” Billy grins, his hand moving in tangent with Stu’s thrusts. “Baby, you better tell Stu you don’t want him to stop or you won’t get to cum.” Billy’s voice is soft and he’s leaning in, pressing his forehead against yours. His cock is aching, untouched, but you know better than to do so without his go ahead. “C’mon, baby, you can do it. Beg Stu not to pull out so you can cum. God, you’re fucking perfect, you know that? I mean, shit, Stu; you ever met someone like ‘em? So perfect?” Stu answers with a grunt and a quick shake of his head, going harder. Billy hisses as his cock twitches. “Fuck, you can touch me after you cum, baby, doesn’t that sound nice?”

“Yes-”

“Always trying to get your hand on my dick,” Billy grins, his hand speeding up, the pleasure building in your stomach tripling in less than a second. “So fuckin’ cute, so dirty, aren’t you? Sexy fuckin’ thing, God, c’mon, start begging so we can reward you.” 

Billy almost sounds desperate, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it before, and his grip in your hair loosens as he kisses you. Stu’s pace increases, barely pulling you up off his cock before slamming up into you. He’s grunting with the force but he’s holding back and you can tell; he’s waiting for you to beg. 

“Please, fuck, please don’t stop,” you cry out inbetween messy kisses, your face growing hot as your stomach tightens. “F-fuck, I wanna cum, I swear, please let me cum! I need it, I need to touch you,” you say to Billy and he nips at your bottom lip, pleased, “And I need you to cum in me. Please!” You cry, tears burning at your eyes from holding onto the edge of your orgasm. You watch as Billy’s eyes flick back towards Stu, darkening slightly, before he meets your eyes again and nods. 

You cum hard, vision growing blurry at the edges as you let out a strangled cry. Billy and Stu don’t stop their movements, working together to make your orgasm last as long as it could. “H-holy fuck!” Stu grunts, your tight hole finally sending him over the edge. He cums, wrapping his arms around your waist and keeping you seated fully on his cock. “So fuckin’ perfect, there you go… take every drop, baby…” he coos softly, head resting on your shoulder as his hips flex, pumping everything he could into you. You let out a shaky breath, a weak hand pushing at Billy’s. He listens for once, grinning at how out of it you seem, and he dips his head towards you to give you a few kisses. “Happy anniversary, baby,” Billy whispers, brushing his nose along your cheek. You grin, worn out but pleased, your hand moving to rub against Billy’s cock. He sucks in a breath, looking down at his lap, before grinning. “You’re fucking beautiful.”

[appleblueberry-pie]

hear me out- yandere Miguel capturing us after we managed to escape from his lair (he kidnapped us) and us dealing w/ the consequences he put up for us 👀

Anyways thank youuu 🤭

I Thought You Knew Better Than This.

You've never thought your own home could look so ruined. He threw and destroyed everything. Your walls covered in claw marks in certain places with big and heavy pieces of furniture destroyed and laying on the opposite side of the room it's supposed to be on. You tried to make minimal sound as his hand on the back of your shirt continued to hurt you. Miguel hasn't stopped breathing heavy since he found you hiding in your little corner. He was seething. Absolutely furious with how the way things have turned out. It was supposed to be a simple day today. He drowns you in his luxury and money while he also indulges in the feelings of happiness that your happiness gives him. But when he was distracted and had his back turned, you disappeared without a second to spare, taking his patience and mercy with you.

Even though he wasn't wearing the symbol of his power, his spider-suit, something about him wearing just regular clothes while chasing you as if he was a predator catching his prey made your heart pang in fear. You said nothing and kept to yourself as he practically shoved you into the fully formed portal.

When you two were back into your very carefully decorated and designed (he would call this your real bedroom in your real home)bedroom meant for your comfort and safety, Miguel sat on the edge of the bed and had you planted on his lap. Your back touched his hot chest and your each of your legs were spread out with the outer sides of his own.

You swallowed thick bile and continued to keep your mouth shut. Your eyes roamed around your room in hopes of self soothing your erratic inner turmoil. Miguel grabbed the lower part of your face and turned you to make eye contact with him. His eyes held some sense of control within him, but you knew his heart was telling an entirely different story. You tried your best not to look away, knowing how he feels about eye contact.

"Por qué te fuiste?"(Why did you go?) His voice was quiet as he asked. He spoke to you as if you were a child, and truth be told, you really really didn't want to tell him why. But the last thing you should ever do is lie. Especially to him. "I just.....I didn't want to be with you." You silently croaked out the answer, guilt showing in your eyes, but he didn't care. "Hm? Don't I give you everything? Don't I take good care of you? Papi no te cuida bien?"(Doesn't daddy take care of you?)

You slowly nod and he shakes his head. "I don't understand. Help me understand why you thought it was a good idea to run away. Please." You stutter as you try to answer as his hand somehow sneaked past your pants to rub his cold fingers on your clit through your underwear. ".......B-because I-" "Because you don't think. You just act immediately on your thoughts and leave me to clean up your mess. This is why I make you stay home."

No matter how hard you tried to ignore his fingers, your body somehow managed to build pleasure from the constant stimulation he was giving you. "I'm sorry." He rolls his eyes and begins to take off your pants. "Yeah." You didn't want to think about what he wanted to do with you. You drop the pants onto the floor once they pool around your ankles and Miguel manhandles you over his lap.

"Wait, no, Miguel. I don't wanna do this, I'm not ready!" You feel his digits prod at your entrance as best as they could through the small and unnecessarily damp part of your underwear that he caused. "It never seems like you're ready for me to give you any of your punishments, mi cielo. But don't you think it's time for me to give you what you deserve?" You squirm under his hold, and he rightfully continues to hold you down.

"No!" He coos at you while staring down at your panties, shoving the piece of the cloth to the side to access you more easily. "Mmmm, I think I should." Two of his digits poke at your hole and your shame drastically increases as you automatically whine at the feeling, squirming in his arms.

You hated, hated getting sexual with him. It wasn't fair that he had more experience than you and could play with you like an instrument, making you sing every song known to man. He was so good at touching you, you never wanted to try it again since the first time it happened. Knowing how hard it was to not only ignore him, but also how hard it was to go against his word when you and him both knew he could make you feel so good in ways you didn't think was humanly possible.

Miguel looks back up to see your reaction as he inserts his fingers and you immediately go silent. His fingers thrust inside of you two, three times and then on the fourth time, curls on that spot and you squeeze your eyes shut. A very small upward curve makes itself known on Miguel's face. He softly praises you and continues working your pussy out. "There, we go, bebé. No se siente increíble? Déjame escucharte."(Doesn't that feel amazing? Let me hear you). Your hands tighten their hold on his thigh and you shake your head no. He suddenly pulls his fingers out, licking them clean before tossing you onto the bed, immediately taking his hard cock out of his pants. "Está bien, nena."(That's okay, baby) He almost seems to say his words excitedly, rushing to mount your ass, one of his hands on the small of your back to keep you in place, his head hanging to watch the hot tip of his cock slip between the plush doors to his only escape to reality, indulging in you entirely. "........Tengo otras maneras de hacerte cantar."(I have other ways of making you sing.) He was gone, too far gone to stop and it was all of your fault.

He lets out a shaky sigh, leaning down to connect his chest to your back, now moving the hand that once was restricting you so that his body can take that role, and instead putting his hand in your hair to move your face to meet his. You look up at him with those adorable glossy eyes, the tears threatening to drop down your pretty cheek only makes him smile. "You did this to yourself, baby. Don't be so sad. All you have to do is let me do the work, okay? Just relax." Then his lips connect with yours in a sweet, loving kiss that you fucking hated. But your opinion never mattered in these moments, and it especially didn't matter when he kept deepening the kiss, groaning into your mouth as you felt him very gently intrude your entrance.

His kisses. His kisses successfully distracted you. Those plush lips making you forget your words. And when his tip oh, so gently kissed that spot inside of you when he was fully in, you felt your mind begin to buzz and didn't even realize you stopped trying to resist. Miguel took that moment to let his hands roam your heavenly body. There were only a few times he got to do this, and sadly, it was only when he was having sex with you. He wanted to be able to touch you every day. He wanted his hands to touch your stomach, your sides like this every morning and every night. He wanted to soothe your mind and body like this every day in any way he could, outside of a sexual context, because he knows he could. He just wishes you would love him back so he can give you what you truly deserve. Own him like you truly deserve.

But then he remembers you telling him he wasn't shit, his love wasn't shit, you wanted him dead, wanted him gone, he was worth nothing and the only thing you'd enjoy would be him in the dirt. Dead, gone, cold and forever silent, out of your mind. But what about all of this he built for you? What about those mornings you'd be in his arms and immediately realized you cuddled him all of the damn time in your sleep? What about those times he had to help you cook, had to help you with those weirdos who cat-called you outside, had to help you with your stress? Your pain that he took away from you? Just like this?

What about that? "Nothing I do is ever enough for you." His hips slowly roll into yours and you focus on the sheets in front of you, ignoring his crazy talk. "Maybe I should try giving you all that I got. Maybe then, you'll learn to be thankful." He grabs you by the waist and pulls you to the edge of the bed. Both pairs of feet touch the ground, but you both remain bent over the bed. His hands grab onto yours and pulls them up, giving you no space or peace of mind to be able to ignore anything he's doing to you.

The soft rolling picks up speed and force, the jabs he makes inside of you increasing in pleasure with each thrust. You begin making sounds you can't control, and Miguel smothers you with kisses on your neck, praising your actions.

You hated him. You hated how you began leaning into his affection and relaxed at his words as he fucked the logic out of your mind. You hated how he numbed your tongue and continued to abuse your sweet spot constantly, knowing how sweet you'll be to him afterwards. And even when you grind back into him, all of your muscles tensing as he rubs at your clit during your orgasm, you still find a way to try and curse his name, only for it to come out of your mouth as if he was an angel from heaven.

Miguel pulls out to shoot his load onto the sheets, knowing the relationship you two have isn't something he wanted his child to see. It'd take a few more months.

You let him clean you, wash the sheets, feed you and put you to bed. And you couldn't find it in you to complain, let alone have any kind of opinion of what just happened. Not when you were this tired. Miguel decided to skip work for the rest of the night to sleep with you. You don't say anything.

You curled into his arms, knowing the next morning will just be a mental battle with yourself over giving in or continuing this exhausting fight you were putting up. His hand softly caresses your head, the other one holding your body close to his. He is whispering to you in such a soft and lovely tone, it just makes you wonder how obsessed he really is with you. Skin to skin. He lulls you to sleep and stays awake for a good while, just to embrace the moment he's never given. Then follows you into his subconscious.

[zara-renata]

Hello and good morning~ I was listening to RED by taylor swift while working and suddenly ALL I could think of was the Sylus series (and how MC thinks she was rejected). 💙❤️ Think this song fits them so well

I have been meaning to answer this ask since you sent it, but it gave me a little Scenario that I had to carry around in my head until I could figure out how to work it into a story. Your ask, in combination with a post by @leaderincrows about wanting to see Sylus collared and gasping pathetically, led to this story. I hope the result is enjoyable. Thanks so much for sending this ask, and I'm sorry it took 8 million years to answer!

Goodcat code, or how you learned to care for your catboy | ao3 | masterlist

Summary: Your crimelord boyfriend disappears for a week, you make yourself sad listening to breakup songs, you learn that he got turned into a catboy, you get assigned a mission on the worst cruise ship ever, undercover shenanigans ensue. Loosely based on the Sylus memory Goodcat Code.

Notes: Sylus x gn reader, sylus x mc, second person POV, some Sylus POV MC is referred to by they/them pronouns, intended as a placeholder for your preferred pronouns. Established relationship, can be read as a standalone. This story contains: profanity, activities of a sexual nature, violence, probably too much internal monologue and not enough action, too many feelings and not enough sexual activity, inappropriate use of a tail, an argument with your boyfriend, a happy ending.

You wonder if it’s because you trounced him in kitty cards the last time you played.

The silence. 

For the past week, your phone has been pinging with constant notifications but none with My Sy listed as the sender. Just work, spam, Xavier asking if you want to go to the bookstore the next time you’re both free, Tara spamming you with pleas to go to some shitty club where her latest favorite indie EDM DJ is playing—why she thinks that her insistence that “He looks just like Skye, I promise!” is enough incentive for you to wade through loud, sweaty, touch-feely dancers as you can’t help constantly checking the exits, while simultaneously making sure a molly-rolling Tara doesn’t abscond to the bathroom with a mistake waiting to happen, while being subjected to mediocre beats from her artist-of-the week, is beyond you. “Skye” is gorgeous, yes, but you’d rather admire the real thing up close than squint through a fog-machine haze to look at a cheap knock-off.

Maybe Sylus’s snobbery is rubbing off on you.

Then again, Tara doesn’t know how up close you get to examine Skye on a regular basis, so perhaps you’re being unfair, because you’re in a terrible mood, because you haven’t heard from him for a week now.

Because maybe you won’t have the chance to see “Skye” up close ever again. Because all you have is a deafening silence from him, and it started the day after you wiped the floor with him at the kitty cafe playing kitty cards.

Could something so petty cause him to finally lose interest in you, the way you've feared ever since you allowed yourself to consider the possibility that Sylus may be romantically interested in you?

It’s not your fault that the longer you spend time with him, the more you have unraveled his mysteries. If he doesn’t want to be so easy to beat, he needs to try harder to be less predictable. You never would have thought, when you first met him, that you’d ever think the words “predictable” and “Sylus” in the same sentence, but the mercurial man is like clockwork when it comes to kitty cards.

He always, always offers you the chance to go first. Why on earth would you say no, and then lose the chance to play your inevitably shitty, low-value cards in the matching colored cups, just to prevent him from playing one of his inevitably high valued cards in the matching cup?

He grumbles, tries to give “helpful” advice about being patient and gambling on drawing a higher value card instead, all the while doing the exact same thing when it’s his turn and he has a shit hand. The condescending hypocrite. You stew a bit thinking about it.

And then, you’ve long since learned that the arrogant bastard is cheating while you play. He somehow marks the cards—you don’t know how. Something to do with his evol? He refuses to admit it outright, so you doubt you’ll ever know. But what you first thought was a generous habit of offering to give you two  of his cards for one of yours, actually turns out to be an opportunity for him to offload his low value cards and give himself a chance to poach your higher value cards. You refuse his offers now.

And lastly, you’ve figured out that for all of Sylus’s skill, brilliant brain, and talent at strategy, the man has a few weaknesses that you are ruthlessly willing to exploit to gain the upper hand to beat him despite all of his dirty tricks.

Namely, he’s easily distracted by a few very specific things.

Your mouth being one of them.

So last week, you went first, played your shit cards in the colored cups, refused his offers to trade, and ordered a strawberry shortcake with extra whipped cream to enjoy while you played.

He leaned back in his seat at the kitty cafe where he was sitting across from you, manspreading as usual, arms casually draped over the back of the booth, the picture of casual, smug confidence. The dictionary definition of winner. 

“Do you really have the luxury of splitting your focus between the game and your dessert, kitten? It looks like you need all of your concentration just to keep up, let alone win this round,” he drawled, secure in his five point lead over you. It was his turn, and yet he had time to taunt you.

You just shrugged, holding your cards fanned in one hand, dipping your finger in the whipped cream with your other. You brought it to your lips, pretending to think very hard about which card you’d play next when all of them were crap, and rubbed the cream over your bottom lip.

You heard a sharp inhale from the other side of the table, but ignored it. You “absentmindedly” flicked your tongue out, gathering the cream there before swallowing and biting your lip pensively.

“It’s good,” you murmured, not taking your eyes off your cards. “Not too sweet.”

Silence. It took all of your willpower not to look up to see what his face was doing.  But you heard him place a kitty in a cup, its cute little meow signaling the start of your turn.

You let your gaze flick back and forth between the board and your cards. Good. It was working. He played a low value card in a white cup instead of drawing a new card like he should have.

You put your crap sage card in the last sage-colored cup. Sylus tsked and drew a new card.

This time, you picked up one of the glazed strawberries adorning the shortcake and placed it between your lips, sucking on it gently as you “thought.”

The groan coming from across the table was so low that you almost didn’t hear it over the sounds of the cafe—other players chatting, the meows of the kitties, the clink of cutlery and tableware. But you heard it, even through your tinnitus.

You played another low value card in a matching cup—the last one. Unless he had a six, this round is yours.

You finally dared to look up and find Sylus glaring at you, all while petting a beautiful, tawny colored cafe cat that had apparently settled in his lap while you were busy trying to distract him and beat his ass at this ridiculous game.

“Sy, you know the rules of the cafe—no petting the cats unless we pay extra!” You looked around furtively, forgetting the game, worried that the staff were going to get mad and kick you both out for this breach of etiquette. You pay first, then pet!

“I can’t help it if, unlike some, this particular kitty is straightforward enough to ask for pets from me,” he said pointedly. “Who am I to deny its desires?” 

In response, you popped the strawberry fully into your mouth, closed your eyes, and bit down, letting out a genuine little sound of appreciation for the sweet fruit.

Suddenly there was a disgruntled mewl from across the table. You opened your eyes and saw Sylus with a death grip on the cat where he was previously petting it gently. The cat squirmed, trying to get off of his lap. He blinked and let go of the cat, which then bolted off of his lap like he had just yanked its tail—which he hadn’t, but Sylus’s grip was no joke. You would know.

He watched the cat, a rare apologetic look on his face, before turning to glare at you again. “If we get kicked out, it will be your fault,” he accused.

You just looked back at him innocently. “What on earth did I do?”

“Maybe I’ve been too soft with you, and you’ve gotten too comfortable with me—you grow more cunning by the day,” he said softly, almost like a threat, but he looked… pleased.

“Still have no idea what you’re talking about,” you hummed, taking a big forkful of the shortcake and shoving it in your mouth. 

Sylus just groaned again. He lost every game the two of you played the rest of the evening.

When you parted ways with him, heading back home to sleep while he was heading to a meeting, he pulled you into his arms as you stood by your motorcycle. He breathed in your hair and sighed, and then pulled away, turning on his heel, and walking away without a backwards glance.

And that’s the last you heard from him since that night.

You sit at your kitchen table, staring glumly out into the chill fall night. Your phone lights up, but it’s just Rafayel sending a photo of a little crab brandishing a plastic spork captioned Lol littering humans suck but at least this trash is useful for this lil guy he’s got a sword now

You often wonder why both Rafayel and Sylus sometimes refer to humans as if they themselves are not also human. You text back.

You: he just needs a shield. give him a bottle cap and he can fight wanderers with me 

Fried Shrimp: nope he’s my new bodyguard because you suck too and have been too busy lately to guard my body like you promised

You: you’re perfectly capable of guarding yourself you pyromaniac

Rafayel just responds with a poop emoji.

You consider his text. Rafayel may have a point for once—you have been spending every free moment that you're not working with Sylus lately.

Which is bad. You don’t want him to take over your life. You want to maintain a balanced, a healthy relationship with him, if possible. It would be so easy to let yourself be consumed by his charismatic, overwhelming presence in your life. But what happens when he disappears as quickly as he appeared?

You don’t want to think about it. But that point may have already arrived. You stare at your dark phone again.

You could… call him first. Or send a text. But you’re not to the point where you can bring yourself to contact him first. If he wants to talk to you, he isn’t shy about reaching out for your attention. He calls almost every day. To tell you that you need to expect a package. To complain about his bad luck at a poker game with business rivals. To pester you about when you’ll come visit him again. Mephisto hasn’t seen your face for two days, he’s starting to pout. The twins brought home ten different flavors of syrup for the espresso machine, look at what you’re doing to them, they’re going to get diabetes at this rate.

You don’t think you’re to the point of being able to handle being left on read by this man if you send a text first and he doesn’t answer.

It’s time to wallow. You reach for your phone, pull up your music app, and put Taylor Swift’s RED on repeat.

You’ll give it a few more days, and then you’ll put on Olivia Rodrigo. After another week, it will be Sabrina Carpenter, because you’ll probably have entered the anger stage of grief by then. After that, it will be Hozier, when you finally accept that Sylus will never be calling again and try to find the beauty in everything you’ve lost.

***

“Status report?” Sylus growls into the phone. 

“Boss, I really think that you should reconsider this course of action,” Kieran’s voice is just loud enough for Sylus to be able to hear over the absolute cacophony of the closed cat cafe, which is considerable, even with his double, hypersensitive hearing due to his current… condition.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, I asked for a status update,” Sylus hisses, and then clears his throat. He totally meant to hiss just then. His hissing has nothing to do with his current affliction.

“But I really must insist—” Kieran tries to argue, but he’s drowned out by the cat cafe’s OTTO.

“Caracal Butler! May I remind you that not only is your customer satisfaction rating in the negatives, but you are also not allowed to make personal phone calls on the kitties’ time!” The OTTO hovers menacingly in front of him.

“Oh, I’m so scared,” he responds, voice dripping with sarcasm. Even the robot should be able to discern his disdain.

“You should be,” it says, threateningly.

“Oh? And what are the kitties going to do that’s worse than what they’ve already done.” He flicks some cat hair off of his bespoke tuxedo. The fact that he’s going to have to get it de-haired and dry cleaned if he ever wants to wear it again just adds insult to injury, as he had been hoping to wear it with you to a Linkon City Symphony Orchestra’s performance soon. He had a matching outfit tailored for you at the same time he ordered this tux, so he has resigned himself to getting the damn thing cleaned when this... ordeal is over.

The OTTO jerks him out of his irritation with its nagging voice module. “It is protocol for this kitty cafe to act as a responsible caretaker for the kitties under our care. We require spaying and neutering of all kitties under this roof. You have not yet received such care.”

The threat in response to his sarcasm could not be clearer.

He narrows his eyes at the OTTO and feels his tail swish menacingly as his ears press flat to his hair.

“Come anywhere near my balls and I’ll fill this cat cafe with so many cat toys of the loud, exploding variety that there will be nothing left of either it, the cats, or you except a smoking crater.”

The OTTO flits backwards out of Sylus’s reach.

“Perhaps Caracal Butler may be allowed a limited number of private phone calls on the kitties’ time without repercussions,” it says, tone placating as it drifts quickly to the other side of the room.

“That’s what I thought,” Sylus growls again, and not because he’s been stripped of his evol and cursed with two fucking cat ears and a tail that betrays his emotions no matter how much self control he tries to exert, but because he meant to growl.

He returns his attention back to the phone as his patience wears ever thinner. “Status. Report.”

“Boss, I really must insist—” Kieran tries again, tone incredibly concerned, before being interrupted by Luke.

“Your hunter is listening to breakup songs and mopily staring at their phone every spare moment they get.”

Sylus’s ears swivel around to full attention and his tail thwacks a kitty climbing tower so hard it’s almost knocked off its base.

“Breakup songs? Why—”

“They obviously think you’ve ghosted them,” Luke continues. “Keep this up and you’re gonna lose them.”

Sylus tilts his head. Could you really believe that he’s capable of ever leaving your side before you tell him to leave and mean it? What an absolutely ridiculous notion. His tail swishes thoughtfully. He did not want you to see him like this—stripped of his power, kneeling to these demanding cats like a… well. Like a fucking catboy butler. He has his pride, after all. He was hoping that the curse would fade quickly and you’d be too busy with work and your social life to notice that he has been absent for a little while. And you hadn’t reached out to him either, during this time. He runs his gloved hand along his bottom lip before realizing that he’s been touching cats all day, makes a disgusted face, and taps his temple instead. Why hadn’t you reached out to him? His mind drifts over memories of all of your interactions with him when you are apart and he's been forced to make do with communicating to you via phone and text.

This is not the first time that it occurs to him that you have never, not once, reached out to him first. He is always the one calling you, texting you, sending you packages.

He stops, tail and ears still. He has noticed it, but he hasn't thought about it deeply. He's willing to chase you to the end of time, after all. But now, he wonders what he's missing. He is almost entirely sure that you miss him as much as he misses you when you’re apart. You always pick up the phone. You always respond to texts. As for sending packages, you've grumbled about not knowing what to gift a man who has everything, but he always reassures you that he already has everything he wants, as long as you’re there.

So why is it that you have never reached out to him first? He flicks his ears. It would be nice, if you reached out first, every once in a while. He doesn't require it. But it would be nice. He tucks that thought away for further analysis after the current problem is fixed.

Time to assess the damage, and then engage in damage control.

“What kind of breakup songs?” he asks.

“Currently listening to RED by Taylor Swift.”

Sylus considers. Taylor Swift isn’t as bad as Sabrina Carpenter, or Hozier. Once you start with Hozier, Sylus will really be worried.

“Are you gonna stop being a big scaredy-cat and contact your hunter now?” Luke demands, sounding absolutely done with his ridiculous boss and his equally ridiculous partner.

Sylus values the intel they just provided, so he lets the insubordination slide. This time.

“I will remedy the situation. You’re dismissed from hunter observation detail.”

All he hears are twinned sighs of relief and then the phone disconnecting. He stares at it. What impudent henchmen.

He turns and wades through the meandering cats to the OTTO.

“I’m leaving, but I will be back to fulfill my contract once a personal emergency has been resolved.”

The OTTO, with his previous threats clearly still fresh in its memory, meekly allows him to pass without any fuss.

He steps out into the cold winter evening, the street lights and bright advertisements of Linkon City temporarily blinding him. Normally he would just teleport along rooftops to get to you as quickly as possible in such an emergency, but with this fucking curse, he has to make his way to your home like a regular human. His lip curls in disgust, but then he schools his face into its customary blank, intimidating expression as he notices people passing by gawking at his swishing tail and his cat ears. He’s drawing enough attention to himself without looking threatening while doing it. He quickly strides to where he parked his motorcycle, jams his helmet on his head, and breaks six different traffic laws trying to get to your place as quickly as possible.

***

You’re trying to wallow, snuggled into your bedding with a tray of some sad soup heated up from a can and a chunk of stale bread, when your hunter watch pings. You flick through the new assignment. Some asshole smuggler in biologically modified wanderers code-named “Snowy Owl” apparently needs to be brought down. You slurp some soup while you try to formulate a plan of action for snaring this new target, who has in turn snared many innocent wanderers to then sell them to shady collectors with who knows what kind of intentions for them. 

This is just the sort of thing that you’ve all too easily grown accustomed to discussing with Sylus, due to his spiderweb of connections through the underworld. But isn’t that part of the problem? Where before you would rely on yourself and Association resources to arrange a mission of this kind, now you’re all too comfortable relying on Sylus for help. That sort of sloppiness is unacceptable, and the gaping absence he’s left behind in the last week only serves to drive that point home. You cannot let the blade of your skills dull because of reliance on your all-too-willing-to-help boyfriend. Maybe ex-boyfriend, you think miserably.

You sigh, leaning back, turning up the music that you had previously turned down to focus on the mission details. You’re trying to drown out all thoughts of the man who you need to get out of your head, only to find yourself yelping in surprise and flinging the tray with the soup at the tall intruder who has just silently appeared at the side of your bed—who you hadn’t heard at all, as if they had entered on padded cat paws.

Only to realize halfway through the soup’s trajectory that the intruder is Sylus and he’s wearing a very fancy suit.

All the previous times you have flung tableware containing hot liquid at him, Sylus has been able to dodge the container, if not its contents, because of his evol. But this time he’s struck square in the chest by both the soup and the soup bowl. It hits one big pec with a dull thud and then crashes to your floor. He stands there, dripping soup, looking down at his dress shoes.

“The fuck, Sylus,” you breathe, not because he appeared out of nowhere in your home, again, but because you can clearly see two twitching, incredibly real-looking cat ears—tawny, fuzzy on the insides, coming to a beautiful, regal black point at the top—swiveling through his gorgeous silver hair. As your eyes travel down his long, lovely body, they catch on a flicking cat-tail with the same coloring as his ears. Something about the fur strikes you as familiar, but you can’t quite figure out why.

“Darling. Dearest to my heart. My heart, in fact, beating within the safety of my ribcage. Could you, perhaps, in the future, try to refrain from assaulting me with molten liquid when I surprise you in your home.” His tail swishes, swishes, swishes behind him, and you’re utterly mesmerized. It takes a moment for it to sink in that Sylus is actually here. You want to scramble off the bed, climb him like a tree, the dripping soup be damned, and just hug him. Now that you’re seeing him in person for the first time in a whole week, you are able to actually feel how much you’ve missed him, instead of suppressing, repressing, pretending that the unending ache didn’t hurt so terribly much.

You’re about to launch yourself at him when you remember why you had been feeling this way all week. Where the hell has he been? And why does he have cat attributes now? Well, more than he already had to begin with, you snicker internally, until you remember that you’re still feeling heartbroken and wary of why he has shown up now after ghosting you all week. Are you being melodramatic? Are you being immature? Are you being unfair? Could you have called him to check in, when he didn’t? You eye his ears. His tail. Yes to all of the above, but it doesn’t change how you simply can’t bring yourself to go to him, and instead draw further back, away from him, on the bed.

He apparently doesn’t miss your movement, as his ears swivel forward as you move, and then flatten onto the top of his head as he assumes an aggressively bored expression on his face.

“Not going to answer me?” he growls. Actually growls, like a cat warning a naughty kitten.

You can’t help yourself. “Who’s actually the kitten now, Sylus?”

His tail flicks violently behind him.

“Careful, kitten. Perhaps you’ve forgotten in the past week that this cat has claws,” he says, low and menacing.

You just laugh at him.

“Mmmm, yes, your oh-so-so sharp claws, which are now covered in soup. What are you doing here?”

He narrows his eyes at your unimpressed reaction to his empty threat. “Do I need a reason to visit my heart?”

The more he acts like nothing has changed, as if he didn’t just disappear on you without a word for a week, the more wound up and jittery you feel. “What heart?” you ask, a little petulantly.

He lifts an eyebrow. “You know the answer to that question.”

“Do I? Not a very important organ, if you can survive a week without it,” you grumble.

His ears swivel forward, and his tail starts to… wag, but his facial expression doesn’t change.

You immediately regret revealing so much.

“Ah,” is all he says, but he sounds pleased. 

You look away, out the window. But all you see is Sylus in the reflection, and the dark night beyond. You’ve said too much already. 

“I’m going to change. And then we’re going to talk,” he announces, and it sounds like a purr.

You feel silly as you realize that Taylor Swift is still warbling loudly in your bedroom about loving him but losing him so suddenly, trying to stop when you’re already in free fall, loving him being like the colors in autumn, so bright, just before they lose it all. You flick off the music.

He’s here again. He’s here again, but for how long?

You hear water running in the bathroom as you go to the kitchen to grab some towels and return to your bedroom to mop up the soup, tidying your embarrassingly messy flat along the way. You return to bed and wait for him.

After a few minutes, Sylus emerges from your bathroom clad in one of the soft sweaters and silk sleep pants he keeps in your closet. You can’t help yourself again—you stare at where his tail emerges from under the sweater. The flexible waistband of the pants must have been pushed down a little over his ass to accommodate where his tail emerges. 

He strides to the bed and pauses next to it. “May I?” he asks, tail flicking, ears twitching.

You nod, and he prowls onto your duvet on his hands and knees. Before settling next to you, however, he turns in a circle, once, twice, three times, before sinking down and pulling you into his arms, your back to his chest, curling around you. You let him, feeling the flood of safety and sense of wholeness that you always get when Sylus is touching you. You sigh. All of your worries seem so trite now. Why didn’t you just text him first? Why did you wait for him to reach out first? Why are you like this?

As if reading your mind, Sylus says, “Were you worried this week?”

His arms are wrapped tightly around you, he has one leg shoved between yours, and you feel his tail curl around your bare ankle. Its fur is so, so soft.

You nod.

“Why didn’t you call me, then?”

You don’t want to tell him how afraid you are of him finally not answering. Of him finally losing interest. It sounds so pathetic to even think it, let alone say it out loud.

“I’m sorry about your fancy suit,” is all you can say.

He hums, and his tail wraps tighter around your ankle. “It’s a tuxedo. And it can be cleaned.”

“Fancy suit, tuxedo—pretentious, overpriced pieces of fabric,” you tease him.

“My heart is a heathen,” he sighs into your hair. “It’s a tux that matches pretentious, overpriced pieces of fabric that happen to fit your body perfectly.”

“What use do I have for such fabric?” you ask, turning in his arms, lulled by his familiar humor, his still-unexplained tail wrapped around your ankle. You lie on your side, facing him. His ears twitch in your direction.

“There's a ticket to the Linkon City Symphony Orchestra with your name on it. You should note the date in your agenda.”

“What if my agenda is already full? I haven’t heard from you for a week.”

His ears flatten in his hair. “You’d replace me in just a week?”

You hum a little, reaching up to run a finger along one cat ear. He makes a purring sound, deep in his throat, closing his lovely eyes. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to replace you, even if I wanted to,” you murmur, lost in his presence again, feeling safe now that he’s here again. But the week was long, and you really were afraid he’d left for good, no matter how silly it seems now. “But maybe I thought you had replaced me,”  you admit, marveling at how soft the ear is, how good it feels to caress it between your forefinger and thumb. You want to kiss it, rub your face all over it. You lift your other hand and fondle his other ear.

His tail loosens on your ankle and begins drifting up your bare leg, the fur caressing your skin so gently, until it curls around one thigh and squeezes between your legs, right below where your thighs meet. You shiver at the sensation and forget to pet him for a moment.

“You should have more faith in your pet. Sometimes cats have business in the neighborhood that keeps them away for a few days, but they always come back home.”

“Did your ‘business’ have anything to do with your new accessories?”

He leans, shoving his head against your hands to remind you to keep petting him, and his tail drifts up, up, until it’s nudging between your legs. You gasp softly at the delicious pressure, but have enough presence of mind to keep massaging his ears.

“Yes,” he murmurs, a little breathless. “Like that.” You continue, and he continues teasing you with his tail. It’s not enough. You want more of him.

“How did you get the cat ears and tail, Sy?” you ask, trying to remain focused. 

The tail nudges you a little harder—you can’t help the jerk of your hips which sends you rocking into him, where you’re met with his hard dick under the fabric of his pants. The sensation of his hardness against your front and his tail at your back is almost overwhelming.

“Your fault, kitten. You and that fucking strawberry last week,” he growls again, flexes his hips into yours. “That cat I was petting was unhappy with how roughly I handled it while you cockteased me with your cake,” he gasps as you grind back into him, as you widen your legs to let his tail do whatever it wants, restricted only by your sleep shorts. “The evol kitties cursed me for petting without paying, and for roughing up the cat.”

You can’t help it. Even through the pleasure, you burst out laughing.

“They cursed you with a tail and ears, and that’s why you avoided me all week?” It’s absurd. All that worry, thinking that he’d finally grown bored with you, because he was too, what? Embarrassed? to reveal that he’d been given such adorable attributes. “You mean we could have been doing this all week?” you ask, incredulous, as his tail rubs against your sensitive spots through your shorts, as it nudges you again and again, as Sylus loudly purrs from the pleasure you rubbing his ears and the friction against his big dick is bringing him.

He opens his eyes, half-lidded, lips parted, panting. One of his hands drifts down your back and takes a handful of your ass, pulling, bringing your hips against his cock again. He grinds you on himself, leans forward, licks a swipe up the side of your face.

“The biological markers that were affected by the ears and tail are tied to my own evol—I don’t have my ability to manipulate energy so long as this curse lasts,” he says, breath hitching with the movement of your bodies.

You lean forward, press your forehead against his, share his panting breath. “What does that have to do with not calling me?” you manage, even though all you want to do is rip his pants down, shove down your own shorts, and impale yourself on him.

“Didn’t want you to see me as weak,” he admits. He opens his eyes, looks into yours. He then kisses you with his full lips, soft, slow, in contrast to his tail still nudging you through your shorts at a steady rhythm, teasing, teasing, teasing.

You pull back from his kiss, catch his gaze again. “Even without your evol, you’re still one of the strongest people I’ve ever met,” you whisper.

He pauses, his ears flattening again. “Just ‘one of’ the strongest people you've met?”

You laugh. “I know a lot of strong people Sy. And your new bits are cute, just like you.” His tail firmly nudges you again, once, as if to warn you. “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” you tease him.

He just groans and kisses you again, his tongue slipping between your lips, his big hands moving to shove down your shorts. “I don’t make threats,” he says, low, smug. “I make promises.”

You roll your eyes, but neither of you talk any more after that.

***

Much, much later, after you’re thoroughly fucked out, muscles pleasantly sore, as Sylus purrs beside you in sleep, one arm flung over you, you lie awake thinking about his admission of worrying about being 'weak' in front of you. Of the vulnerability in his questions—why didn’t you call him if you were worried? Would you really replace him within a week? 

You’ve been so wrapped up in your own insecurities, so busy trying to protect yourself from what you think is the inevitable pain of being abandoned, that you’ve never stopped to consider what Sylus may worry about. What his insecurities may be. He has always seemed so larger than life to you, from the very beginning. Invincible. Solitary and strong. But as you’ve gotten to know him, you’ve also had glimpses of his own tender heart, the same tender heart he warns you about having—a liability in his vicious world. The care he shows the twins, who he insists are just his henchmen but clearly love him like family. His meticulous maintenance of Mephisto, whenever the bird needs parts switched out, cleaning, or upgrades. His habit of masking his true feelings by maintaining a look of boredom, as if revealing such feelings is a vulnerability that even those closest to him could exploit. Even his tendency to cheat at kitty cards—his luck is so bad, and he works so hard to compensate for it in the best way that his brutal life has taught him. In the end, Sylus is just a person, like anyone else. Complicated. Layered. Strong and vulnerable, cruel and kind. You’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about him as something you crave, something you adore, as well as something you fear, a threat to your heart. Not always as just a person, with feelings of his own.

Feelings that include feelings for you, specifically. He has never hidden his care for you, not since those first days of knowing him. Even if he looks indifferent, the words coming out of his mouth are always achingly straightforward, and sweet in a way that sounds sarcastic but you have learned is actually simply the unvarnished truth. His actions—his gifts, his texting, calling, physical clinginess when you’re with him—in the quiet dark, with Sylus’s soft snores next to you, his cat ears twitching even in sleep, you realize how utterly unfair you’ve been to him. How one-sided this relationship has been up until now in a lot of ways.

You’re suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to show him how much you care about him too. How safe he is with you, just as he makes you feel safe whenever you’re together. You recognize that you need to do some work on yourself. That it’s not normal to go through life terrified of being abandoned. That the past does not predict the future. You can’t spend the rest of your relationship with Sylus, no matter how long or short it lasts, punishing him for the pain others have caused you.

You roll over in the dark and pepper his face with soft kisses, each one a silent apology for not calling him this week, when he probably needed to be reassured that you still care for the version of him with ears and a tail and stripped of his god-like abilities. How worried must he still be, moving through the world without such abilities, without his customary armor against a hostile world that wants him caged or dead?

As you lean over him, trailing your lips along his skin, his arms snake around you and pull you closer.

“Tell me what I did to deserve this, so I can do it again,” he says, voice raspy from sleep. His tail wraps around your waist.

“I’m afraid I can’t,” you whisper between kisses.

“A hunter’s trade secret?” You can hear his smile in the dark.

“A lover’s inability to properly articulate that all you have to do is continue being you.”

His tail tightens around you, and its end wildly thwacks your back. “That sounded pretty articulate to me. Your words are honeyed—is there a catch?”

You kiss him on his soft lips. His hands run along your hair, down your back.

“Only one way to find out,” you tease.

“I see you’re done pouting. Do I get any other rewards for just being me?” he asks, sly.

“Only one way to find out,” you repeat, nudging his nose with yours.

“Oh, I like surprises.”

“I know,” you say, because you do know that. You know so much about this man already.

He pauses, catches your gaze. “Keep it a secret, okay?”

Yet again, he’s showing you his weakness. Reminding you that he’s taking a risk by being here with you at all, just like you are risking your heart, and everything else, by being here with him. “Your secrets are safe with me, Sy.”

He holds you tighter in response, and you fall asleep in his arms. You don’t dream about anything at all.

***

In the morning, after you’ve made him coffee, after you’ve eaten breakfast and you’ve lounged on the couch with him, watching something stupid on tv while he browses online auctions, you tell him about your Snowy Owl mission. He’s heard of this person, but they’re not colleagues or rivals, moving in different circles. But he knows where to locate them, and you form a plan, inspired by Snowy Owl’s interest in modified wanderers and humans, and Sylus’s twitching ears.

“You want me to act as your catboy butler.” He says it flatly. “Boring.”

You nod. “And I’ll be your owner, willing to sell you to the highest bidder.”

His ears flatten against his hair, despite his bored expression, and his tail whips back and forth, back and forth, slowly. He really hates the idea.

“Do you have a better plan?” you ask.

“Better than you selling me off to someone else? I can think of a few. A carefully placed bomb on the cruise ship, for one.” At your look of discomfort, he continues. “You don’t even have to come. Just check off the mission as accomplished on your little Association to-do list.”

You scowl at him. “I’m supposed to bring Snowy Owl in, not assassinate them.”

“Boring,” he repeats.

“I’m not actually selling you to anyone, Sy. I just need a small distraction, much smaller than a bomb,” you cut him off as he opens his mouth. “While I plant a tracking device with them, once we pinpoint who they are.”

He leans over, rubs his cheek against yours. “What’s my reward for considering this utterly boring plan?” He drags your hand to the base of his tail.

You take the hint, grasping his tail firmly, and he groans. You pull a little, and he lets you, rolling onto his stomach on the couch. You straddle the back of his big, meaty thighs and begin palming his tail, starting at the base where it meets the skin of his lower back, circling your thumb and forefinger around it even though it’s thick enough that your fingers don’t meet. You pull, and pet, over and over again, and his purrs are so loud they start to vibrate the couch.

“Say yes,” you demand. “Put that tux and your new parts to good use before the concert.”

“Fine,” he gasps, as his hips jerk a little, pressing himself into the couch.

“Excellent!” You spring to your feet, heading to the shower. There’s not a moment to waste if you’re going to get this mission over with before his tail and ears disappear.

“Stingy!” he yowls. Literally yowls, like a big tomcat thwarted in his attempt at mating by a mean owner yanking him into the house from the alley where his would-be mate was waiting.

“Consider that the down payment. Upon delivery of your promise, you’ll get the rest,” you say in a sing-song voice, just to further annoy him.

“I want double!” he yowls again, but anything else he might be whining about is cut off when you let the bathroom door close behind you.

***

Sylus has been impeccable for the duration of your agreed-upon mission. Poised, elegant, obedient. He has tolerated you treating him like an object to be admired and dismissed on a whim, even when people approached you not just to express interest in your catboy butler up for bidding, but also when they showed interest in getting to know the mysterious owner of said catboy butler more intimately.

The only indication that he was perhaps not entirely pleased with his code name was a flick of his cat ears and one hard thwack of his tail against the rail of the cruise ship when you first said, “Please fetch me more of the strata, Mister Whiskers,” in front of the other guests on the dining deck.

Furthermore, he only tried to attack and eat one person’s pet parrot, and he dropped the seagulls he kept catching at each ordered “Drop it, Mister Whiskers!” from you every time.

All in all, you think that you’re having a harder time than he is. High tea is over, seagulls have been caught and released, and you’ve already collected a number of business cards and varying degrees of subtle invitations to further discuss your catboy butler. You’ve navigated each diplomatically, and are rather proud of yourself, but your own patience is wearing thin as you stand at a luxurious bar in a small lounge on one of the upper decks of the cruise ship. The floor to ceiling windows give a lovely view of the blood-red sunset over the water—it reminds you of Sylus’s eyes. The evening, and therefore the black market trading, is about to begin in earnest. You’re waiting for a mocktail—you’re on the job, and you are a professional after all—when yet another person sidles up to you. Sylus, who has been standing at a respectable distance from you at relaxed attention, hands crossed behind his back, looking coolly over the people scattered at elegant standing tables, ears swiveling at constant alert, looks toward the newcomer, but he makes no move to come closer to you. It occurs to you that one of the reasons you are feeling increasingly off-kilter is that you are so used to Sylus touching you, draping himself over you, maintaining at least a sliver of contact at all times, that this respectful distance makes you feel like he’s standing on the other side of a great canyon.

You turn to the person who is trying to join you at the bar. He’s handsome. Tall, muscular. Dressed nicely, with subtle style. Nothing like your boyfriend’s flashy jeweled necklaces and bold colors. His blue eyes are startling in contrast to his black hair.

“Hi,” he says, smiling a little ruefully, like he wanted to open with something better, but this is all he could think of. He knows that he’s handsome and can skate by on the bare minimum.

You smile faintly back at him, despite wishing Sylus would come closer. “Hi,” you say. You’re not going to do all the work, dammit. This guy wants something from you, not the other way around.

“You’ve caused quite a stir tonight with your… companion,” he says, dark eyebrows lifting, gaze darting to Sylus and back to you again. “It’s made for more entertainment than usual on nights like these.”

You lift an eyebrow in response. “Oh? How so?”

“Watching the sharks circling and getting into tussles about who will ultimately have your pet.”

Your stomach twists at hearing someone other than Sylus calling him a pet. He’s not your pet. He’s your partner. He’s a whole person—a complicated, vicious, funny, cruel, gentle man. You suddenly hate the appraising look this asshole is giving him. But you’re a professional, damn it. You smile wider, going for seductive, amused, haughty.

“No need to tussle,” you tilt your head. “It’s simple. Offer the highest bid, and congratulations, you’re the owner of a new, obedient, exotic pet.”

The fuckhead eyeing Sylus chuckles heartily, as if what you said isn’t disgusting but the height of rich-asshole humor.

“I like the idea of owning the obedience of such a big, powerful creature. Is he willing to do anything you ask?”

The way his gaze keeps flicking to Sylus, as if he can’t help himself, makes you want to remove his eyes with one of your knives and wear them as a warning to anyone else who dares look at Sylus with such depraved, cruel desire.

“Place the winning bid and maybe you’ll find out,” you say coyly, somehow controlling your homicidal urges. Barely.

“Something to consider.” He shakes his head, as if trying to break the spell Sylus seems to have over him. “In any case, after a while, all these events start blurring together. May I buy you a drink, to thank you for dumping new blood in the water?”

This guy is the pinnacle of rich guy ennui. He probably would enjoy dog fights or hunting other people for sport, anything to break through his privileged, seen-it-all, can-buy-it-all numbness. Despite sharing the same status of filthy rich elite, this piece of shit is everything that Sylus isn’t. You want to hunt him for sport. Your nerves are fraying, and it’s getting harder and harder to maintain your composure.

“Shame, I just ordered a drink.”

He leans closer, invades your space.

“Why not indulge? You can have two drinks. And after, perhaps you’d like to show me just what your cat can do… a sort of preview, if you will.” He leans even closer, tilts his head as if a new thought has just occurred to him. “Is there perhaps a possibility of bidding for the pair, instead of just the butler?”

You realize that he’s propositioning you as well as your catboy butler, but the fury you feel at the idea of using Sylus for this fuckhead’s viewing pleasure overrides even your indignation at the insinuation that you, too, are for sale.

Suddenly Sylus’s warmth is at your back and the effect is immediate. Your murderous rage settles inside of you. You turn to him, lift an eyebrow like the imperious owner you’re supposed to be, slightly irritated at your servant’s interruption of… whatever this asshole at the bar thinks he’s getting away with. “Speak,” you command, imitating the most imperious man you know. Sylus, as he has done the entire duration of your appearance in public on this ship, does not react at all to your obvious inside joke.

“My owner,” he purrs deferentially, dipping his head. “You asked that I escort you back to your cabin at 21:00 in order to properly prepare for the bidding.”

The asshole’s gaze drifts from Sylus to you and back again. “A possessive cat, I see. What will he do, when his owner abandons him to another?”

You shrug, as if you don’t want to pull this guy’s tongue out of his mouth and garrotte him with it.

“As I said, buy him and find out,” you breathe through the nausea, trying desperately to stay in character—you are the same ilk as this guy, here to pawn your broken, loyal manservant onto anyone who can afford him. “But he’s right. Thank you for the interesting … offer, but the auction is about to begin. Tick tock, tick tock.”

“You’re a very good salesperson,” he smirks, as if pleased with the idea of depriving Sylus of his beloved owner and seeing if he can bend him to his will. You can’t see why you ever thought him handsome at all. “A raincheck, then, on the drink, and perhaps your own company.”

You just lower your head slightly, barely suppressing the urge to put this man on the ground and punch his smug smile until he is permanently unrecognizable, and the intensity of your renewed desire to hurt him for daring to even look at Sylus has you reaching for Sylus’s arm for support. He tucks your hand into his elbow and leads you out of the lounge.

When you finally reach your first class cabin on this pretentious floating black market, however, you see the strain that his flawless behavior has placed on your miscreant boyfriend.

As soon as the door closes behind you, he growls, deep in his throat, and spins, grabbing your wrist. He pulls you more roughly than usual through the elegant sitting room—the place looks like the interior designer was trying to recreate the staterooms of the Titanic—to the bedroom. Without letting go of your wrist, he yanks the scarlet velvet duvet and crisp white sheets from the bed and dumps them on the floor. The ocean glitters under the bright moonlight outside the bedroom’s window, the salt scent strong. The bed successfully stripped, Sylus now tries to jerk you onto the mattress, but you dig your heels into the plush carpet, feet dragging because despite your own strength, you can’t match his. You jerk your wrist from his grasp and whirl on him. You are willing to die for him, but you aren’t going to let him manhandle you like this.

“What is wrong with you?” you demand, rubbing your wrist.

“If I still had my evol, you’d be on the bed.” His voice is still calm, but his tail flicks angrily.

“If you still had your evol, I hope you wouldn’t use it on me when you’re this upset,” you glare at him.

He doesn’t respond, just begins to pace. Around the bed. Back into the sitting room. He veers into the bathroom and then returns to the bedroom. The anxious energy he’s giving off is palpable—you’ve never seen him this agitated in the entire time you’ve known him.

The longer he’s quiet, the more concerned you become. 

“Sylus?” you ask, softly. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, I’m Sylus again? Not Mister fucking Whiskers?”

You stare at him. Your boyfriend, who is always up for teasing pet names and playful banter, is looking at you like he’s genuinely angry about the silly code name.

“Sylus—?”

His tail is thrashing back and forth as he continues to pace, ears flat against his hair. “Are you sure you’re interested in hearing how Mister Whiskers is doing now? You didn’t seem to be too interested when you were being fawned over by your suitors.”

You stare at him. At the tension he’s holding in his body, the wild movements of his tail.

“Sylus—”

“This was a boring plan to begin with, and now it’s even less interesting. You already have a mountain of gifts from my bidders—leave. Go through them to see if Snowy Owl has taken the bait so we can get this charade over with,” he snaps, effectively dismissing you. He sits on the side of the bed and puts his head in his hands.

With each harsh word, you feel your insides folding in on themselves. He hasn’t spoken to you like this since he held you captive when you first met. He promised he’d never treat you like that again, but you realize he never promised to never speak to you like that again.

Normally, how he’s talking to you—if it were any other person, you’d be out the door. Gone, ghosted. You speak to yourself cruelly enough every day in your own head, you don’t need that shit from other people. You’re even more shocked that it’s coming from Sylus, of all people. The Sylus who has cared for you so patiently, through all the time you’ve been together since that first auction. Who kills with his bare hands, but touches you with those same hands as if you’re made of glass. Until tonight.

You are tempted to run as the betrayal, confusion, and fear of the inevitable end course through you. To just stuff the gifts waiting for you on the sitting room’s coffee table into one of the big duffels you brought, move to another room, and wing the rest of the operation without Sylus. You can pose as a fucking waiter once you figure out Snowy Owl’s identity. You don’t need him for this mission. And you don’t need him in your fucking life, if this is his true self.

As you’re almost to the door leading to the hallway, reaching for the handle, you suddenly remember your promise to yourself, just a few nights ago—the night Sylus came to your place and you learned why he had gone silent for a whole week.

Your resolution that you wouldn’t give in to your fear at his expense anymore, that you would show him you care for him, just as he has done so for you through all of your time together. Even when he witnessed your worst moments, he did not walk away from you. He stayed, even as you pushed him away.

You think about how he was afraid for you to see him stripped of his power, as if you’d ever think him weak, and think less of him for something outside of his control. If I still had my evol, you’d be on the bed. How unnerving must it be for him to be in this shark’s tank without his ability to protect himself beyond his own body? It suddenly occurs to you that if he gets injured while his power is suppressed, he won’t heal like he normally does. The idea that he could get seriously hurt while here, helping you on a mission that has nothing to do with him, hurts a hundred times worse than the words he just snapped at you.

Weren’t you just furious with that fuck from the cocktail lounge for talking about Sylus like he was an object, instead of a person? Sylus is a human being. He’s not a god. He’s not perfect. He’s just a complicated man, a complicated man who hurt you with his harsh words tonight, but who has steadfastly shown how much he cares for you in the best way he knows how. Who could be expected to act normally, to be their best self, if one were to find oneself fundamentally changed, stripped of a lifetime of skill and ability, experiencing strange new urges, and to top it all off, thrown into a dangerous situation? 

You turn and walk back through the sitting room, to the bedroom where he’s sitting, head still in his hands. You stand in front of him.

“Sylus.”

He doesn’t respond. You reach out, gently grip his chin, and lift his face.

He lets you, docile. His cat ears are drooping.

“Tell me,” you order.

He refuses to look at you. His tail swishes petulantly behind him. 

“Tell. Me.” You tighten your hold on his jaw.

His eyes flick to yours, but he keeps his face turned away. “Caracal’s hate water.”

You gaze into his beautiful eyes, fire-lit gems. “And a caracal is the type of cat that you’ve partly mutated into?”

He nods, just a little movement of his head.

“And I brought you onto a boat, surrounded by water.”

He finally turns his head to face  you, gazing at you but not responding.

“What else?” You relax your hold on his jaw, moving your palm to cup his cheek and bring up your other hand into his hair, running your fingers through the soft strands.

“Each person who shook your hand, who handed you their business card, who leaned too close to you… their stench is all over you.”

You run your fingers through his hair until you reach one of his cat ears and gently begin to rub it. He closes his eyes and he leans into your touch.

“What else?”

“If this plan goes sideways, I won’t be able to protect you.”

With each admission, his shoulders relax. His face softens. But there’s still something bothering him. You search his beautiful face. His tail flicks, flicks, flicks.

“What else, Sy?” You lean down, rest your cheek against his soft hair. His ears are velvet against your skin.

He reaches out and clasps the backs of your thighs to pull you closer to him and rests his forehead against your chest. “Even if it’s just for the mission, are you really okay with letting someone else have me?”

It takes you a moment, but when you realize what he’s saying, you’re floored. 

Sylus has spent the whole evening watching you laugh off multiple peoples’ offers to take over ownership of your catboy butler. He watched you tell that little bitch at the bar, more than once, to buy Sylus to find out how obedient he is, how he’ll react to being parted from his beloved owner. Each time, you responded in character, like the idea didn’t bother you at all. Because that’s what the mission required. 

You realize that this entire ordeal has made him insecure. He wants you to be jealous. He wants you to be possessive of him. The thought never once crossed your mind that he would be bothered by the cover you planned for this mission. He is always so self-assured, only hinting at flashes of jealousy in playful, dismissive terms. And yet he doesn’t want you to be okay with the idea of him being possessed by another, no matter how briefly, no matter how falsely.

You continue to pet him as you let everything he just admitted sink in. The water, other peoples’ scents on your body, his lack of power at the moment, your lack of jealousy at the mere idea that another would have him.

After all the times Sylus has comforted you, cared for you, solved problems for you, it’s now your turn to do the same for him.

You drop your hands and he looks back up at you with such raw longing that you almost can’t step away. But you must.

“Would you like to abort the mission?”

He looks at you in confusion. “Don’t be ridiculous. This is your job.”

You smile down at him helplessly. “Don’t you realize by now that you’re more important to me than my job?”

He sucks in a breath.

“How else could I be with the most wanted man on the planet?”

“The only reason I have been able to repress my instincts through this whole shitshow is reminding myself how important this mission is to you,” he breathes, closing his eyes.

“Your instincts?”

“You have no idea,” he says through clenched teeth. His tail is violently flicking again. You can’t bear to see him so distressed.

“Yes or no. Forget what you think I want. If it’s too much, we leave right now.”

Eyes still closed, ears still flattened to his head, he shakes his head no.

“Okay.” You turn, but he reaches out and grabs your wrist to stop you leaving. You put your hand over his. “Since I can’t remove the ship from the water, I’m just closing the window and the curtains so you don’t have to see it.”

He reluctantly releases your wrist. You do as you promised, and when you’re done you return to stand between his legs.

“What do you need to do about how I smell?”

You don’t have to repeat yourself. He grasps your wrist again, pulling your closer. He grabs the hem of your outfit and pulls, tugging it over your head, lifting your legs one by one to tear off your shoes, tossing everything into the farthest corner of the room, until you’re standing in front of him in your underwear. He then pulls you down onto the bed with him, rolling you under him. He presses his face into your neck and rubs, rubs, his tail wagging behind him, his ears brushing against your skin again, their softness making you want to grab them and pull, pull, the cuteness aggression difficult to contain. You satisfy yourself by running your hands through his hair, gripping slightly, tugging, releasing.

As he rubs his cheeks all over you, he pauses to lick your skin, runs his hands along your shoulders, your arms, your waist.

After a long time, his manic movements slow and he inhales deeply. “You have no idea how hard it was to resist the urge to piss on your shoes while you were talking to that bastard in the cocktail lounge.”

You freeze. “Piss… on my shoes?”

“Didn’t you know? Cats urinate to mark their territory,” he licks your skin again, purrs. “And you’re my territory, sweetheart.”

You don’t even know how to feel about his admission. “Well… I might be willing to die for you, but I draw the line at letting you pee on me. So thank you, for not giving in to your caracal urges.”

He pauses, lifts his head. “Don’t fucking say you’ll die, ever again,” he growls. “I forbid it.”

You laugh, a little breathlessly. You decide it’s not a good time to point out that you will, in fact, someday die. Probably sooner than the average human, with your job. So you just say “Okay.”

He looks mollified and his tail begins to swish playfully again. “So that’s a no on watersports, in the future?”

You scowl at him. “Just try to piss on me and see what happens.”

“That sounds like a challenge. And you know that’s like catnip to this big cat. Are you sure you aren’t actually interested in golden showers?”

All you can do is laugh, and pull him down to you, and kiss him so he’ll shut the fuck up about peeing on you.

After a few minutes of mauling him, you groan and pull away.

“If we don’t want this entire thing to be a waste, we need to check the contacts we made today and finish the mission before the auction is over.”

He rests his head against your shoulder. “I know, but I don’t want to get off you. No one can hurt you as long as you’re under me,” he grumbles.

You stare at the ceiling and run your hands through his hair again, fondling his cat ears. “I survived before I met you, because I’m a fucking badass. I’m strong enough for the both of us, especially for a covert mission like this. We go through the business cards and gifts, pinpoint Snowy Owl’s room, you distract them for ten minutes while I plant surveillance, we get the fuck out before the auction’s over.”

“You and I both know how quickly plans get fucked,” he murmurs into your skin.

“And you and I both know that I am skilled enough to unfuck it. And with you here, even without your evol, it’s going to be okay.”

His tail lifts, curls up your leg.

“Fine.” He rolls off of you reluctantly, and you immediately miss his weight. “But the reward for going along with your plan is now tripled.”

“You can have anything you want, when this is over,” you promise, sliding off the bed and gathering your clothes from the floor.

“Even a golden shower?”

You throw your shoe at him. He just catches it and laughs, relaxed again.

After you’re dressed, the two of you tear into the gifts people sent hoping to gain your favor and therefore an advantage in the auction for your catboy butler. Sylus, the spoiled creature that he is, tosses multiple priceless trinkets aside like they’re trash, complaining about being bored out of his mind. However, he bats at a feathered butt plug before realizing what he’s doing and then tosses it as well. The only other thing he expresses even a passing interest in is a little spray can with DOCTOR SLEEPYTIME printed on the side, with the caption reading, “A stalker’s new best friend! Never worry about your target waking up too early again! Ten fewer side effects than chloroform!” You squint at it. The legal disclaimers are a solid block of text underneath the caption. Apparently, one of the side effects that it still shares with chloroform is death. You don’t comment when you see Sylus slip it into the breast pocket of his tux, not even wanting to know what he has planned for it. Finally, you open a small box and realize that the weird little thing inside matches the description the Association provided you of Snowy Owl’s calling card.

“Got you,” you whisper triumphantly, pawing through the packaging to figure out which room it came from.

Sylus stands, prepared to play his part in this little ruse, but you stop him before he opens the door. “Wait a second,” you say, running to the bedroom, throwing open your luggage in the cabin’s closet, and pulling out what you had hastily prepared in anticipation of this mission.

You return to Sylus with the item hidden behind your back.

“You asked if I’m really okay with the idea of sending you to someone else.”

He just watches you in silence, ears twitching in curiosity, tail swishing behind him.

“Of course I’m not. You don’t know how badly I wanted to slit that fucker’s throat who talked about you like you’re not even a person. I feel sick at the idea of anyone else looking at you with anything less than respect and admiration, let alone as some kind of object to be owned. I can’t even stand the thought that I own you. You are wholly your own person, and I’m just happy that you want me by your side, and allow me to adore you.”

His tail swishes faster the longer you speak, but stills at your last sentence. “But you do own me. Body and soul.”

You swallow through the thickness in your throat. You’re not going to cry at his absurd, devoted answer.

“Then perhaps you will do me the honor of wearing this while we’re apart.” You show him the soft black leather collar. “It can only be placed on you, and taken off you, by a person whose pheromones match those of your owner. Your true owner.”

“So this was your trump card,” he murmurs, tail thwacking against the door so hard that the door vibrates.

You shrug. “You don’t have to wear it.”

He flattens his ears against his head. “Nonsense. Put it on me,” he commands imperiously.

You try to hide your smile, but probably fail. “In that case, I hope it will remind you that I am definitely not okay with sending you to someone else. But none of this is real, and when we’re off this boat, I’m never going to ask you to do something like this again.”

He reaches out and wraps his hand around your wrist. “How many times must we go over this? You can ask anything of me.”

“Just because I can, doesn’t mean I want to.”

Without waiting for his answer, you unclasp the collar and lift onto your tiptoes to thread it around his neck. He growls softly, in annoyance or exasperation, and sinks to his knees in front of you.

As always when Sylus kneels before you, you’re overcome with a sense of wrongness. But he seems to want to give this to you, to drive home the point that anything he has is yours for the taking. You can’t find it in yourself to refuse him by insisting that you could have reached his neck just fine without him having to kneel.

You lay the collar against his neck, thread the end through the buckle, and tighten it. His eyes are half-lidded, the glow of his irises spilling from between his eyelashes. He seems to be enjoying this so much that you tighten it just a little bit beyond what is necessary, just to see his reaction. He lets out a pathetic little gasp, and you loosen it, worried you’ve hurt him. But his chest expands and his ears droop, almost as if he’s disappointed. So you tighten it again. “Yes,” he breathes. 

You stand there, with this gorgeous, half-feral man at your feet, fingering the pendant of the collar. You couldn’t afford the platinum that you think Sylus deserves, so silver had to do. But you did splurge a little to have your initials engraved on the inner side of the pendant, so that it’s pressed against his skin where no one else can see it. Your little secret against his pulse.

“We need to get moving, Sy,” you whisper, regretfully.

He rises gracefully to his feet.

“If you want it taken off, just ask.”

He gives you a disdainful look, his only response a tsking sound on his tongue. He leans down, kisses you, once, hard, and then straightens. He turns, throws open the door, and disappears down the hallway.

The rest of the mission goes off without a hitch. When you arrive at Snowy Owl’s door, you pick the lock easily, slip into the empty room, leave a variety of tracking devices in their possessions, and slip out again unseen.

You return to your room, prepared to wait for Sylus, trying to suppress the worry that he’ll have to put up with yet another handsy asshole all because he doesn't want to jeopardize your mission.

However, when you open the door, you find your big, beautiful cat already lounging on one of the sitting room’s ornate love seats, examining his nails and humming leisurely.

At his feet is the asshole from the cocktail lounge,  bound, gagged, and clearly roughed up, his bloody nose dripping into the fabric of his mouth gag.

“The fuck, Sylus?” you ask.

Sylus rolls his head to look at you, lovely eyes glowing in the light of the tiffany lamps on the tables on either side of the love seat.

“I brought a gift for my owner,” he says, ears twitching between you and the asshole who started to struggle at your entrance, making little pleading whimpering noises. “I could tell how much you hated this waste of oxygen the whole time you had to endure his attention at the bar.”

“A… gift?” you repeat.

“You have no idea the self control it took to suppress the instinct to bring him to you as a corpse, as nature intended, when I was done playing with him. But I assumed that would make my owner mad,” he says languidly, but his tail is flicking in agitation.

“Okay,” you draw out the word, trying to process this… gift. “And Snowy Owl?”

“Passed out in a janitor’s closet in the ship’s casino,” he shrugs. “Doctor Sleepytime is true to its claims. A great improvement over chloroform,” he drawls. “I’ll have to leave a good review on their website.”

Relief floods through you. You’re done. The mission is almost complete. All that’s left is to get the fuck off this floating cesspool.

“Thank you,” you murmur. But you’re still left with the problem of what to do with Sylus’s ‘gift.’ “But Sy, what the fuck am I supposed to with… this.” You can’t help but sneer a little at the asshole still struggling on the ground.

“Whatever you want, my heart,” Sylus responds. “He’s wanted in Linkon City by at least three different agencies. But we could just dump him over the railing and be done with it. In fact, I’d prefer that,” he says, perking up.

You march over to him and slip a finger under his collar.

“No! Bad kitty,” you scold, pulling a little on the leather, intending to simply tease him for his outrageous suggestion.

Sylus just gasps, eyes going half lidded again. You stop in surprise at the clear pleasure your rough treatment is causing him, but he wraps his hand around your wrist and moves your hand again, tightening the collar against his neck once more.

“If I’m a bad kitty, you better keep a tight hold on me to make sure I don’t drag home any other unwelcome surprises,” he says, voice low and rough.

“Oh?” You marvel at how lovely he looks, cheeks flushed, mouth slightly open, breathing hard. “Maybe my bad kitty needs to be punished, so he stops suggesting I murder wanted criminals instead of bringing them to justice like a professional.”

The man on the floor who is forced to witness this flirtation struggles harder, his whimpers ranging from disgusted to terrified. You ignore him.

“Oh nooo,” Sylus says, voice dripping with sarcasm. Then he narrows his eyes. “You better make good on your promise. Or are you just full of empty threats?”

You lean down and press the heel of your hand onto his hard cock straining against his zipper, hard. He moans, eyelashes fluttering.

“Get us to the getaway boat without causing a scene and you’ll find out what I’m full of. Or what I’m about to be full of, if you’re a good kitty for me,” you breathe into his ear.

The man on the floor gags a little.

Sylus stands, lifting you in one arm, grabbing a full duffel bag you hadn’t noticed with the other.

“What’s that?”

“Your bad kitty helped himself to a cat treat,” he purrs.

“What kind of souvenir?”

“The loud, prone-to-exploding-if-you-shake-it-too-hard-kind.” He grins at you, canines flashing.

You can’t help yourself. You burst out laughing.

It may have started with trouncing your crimelord boyfriend at kitty cards, but it ended with you learning how to better care for your catboy boyfriend. It also ended with the arrest of both Snowy Owl and the poor bastard who had to listen to you 'punish' said boyfriend from inside the duffel bag that he was stuffed in after Sylus cut the engine of the getaway boat halfway to your destination, too impatient to wait till you both got home to claim part of his reward for being such a good, good kitty.

[ofstardustanddreaming]

hidden sparks

headcanon summary: deadpool and wolverine individually + poly reacting to mutant gn crush who can hide their presence

content warnings: a couple of sex jokes, slight swearing, mdni

fandom: deadpool and wolverine

character: wade x reader, logan x reader, poolverine x reader

anon request

a.n. - i'm sorry this took a while, grad school immediately kicked my ass :(

Logan:

he's much more gruff about your powers, he aims to act as if he wasn't that interested at first. he's seen a lot of mutants before, hell he's one himself. but he can't lie that's he's interested in you beyond the powers you display.

he likes to play a sort of game without your knowledge, wondering if you'd make fun of him, where he tries to figure out where you might reappear after you disappear. he swears there's a light shimmer, barely noticeable, when you're about to reappear back into focus. but he has to be very focused on you, which causes him to realize how much he's been seeking you out lately.

the moment logan realizes his feelings for you, he turns into more of a grump around you. he does revere your powers, and he reveres you as a person more than that. but he internalizes his feelings, and his amped moodiness around you caused you to believe he hated you for your powers.

you didn't like the feelings of logan hating you, making you feel small because you've harbored a crush on him for a while, so anytime you were both in the same room together, you'd use your powers to hide yourself. (you were using your powers as a defense mechanism, much like logan with his enhanced grumpiness.)

but it causes logan to be concerned, wondering if you hated him as with how in and out of vision you were anytime he was in the room. the strong miscommunication between you two causes friends in the mansion to sit you two together, aggravated by your unseen feelings for one another.

you're both thankful for them at the end of the day, it causes you two to talk it out, finally confessing. (the second you two kiss, you nervously disappear, causing logan to roll his eyes.)

he does love how you two work as a team, you'd sneak up behind enemies to shove them near logan, where he'd pierce them with his claws. you'd then take the moment when he discards the body to launch yourself forward and reappear between his arms.

even though you may seem transparent at times, logan knows you're dependable.

Wade:

he's making constant jokes at your expense, wanting to constantly make some sort of perverse joke about what the sex would be like when he can't see you, but could still feel you.

you have to roll your eyes, using your powers to sneak up behind him to jab him with your weapon, especially because it wouldn't do long term damage. (even though he kinda actually knows where you are, hello fourth wall break. but he knows it's one of your ways of jabbing at him affectionately since he can't actually die.)

he absolutely asks you to pull pranks on fellow x-men, reveling in the idea of colossus being yanked around by you. or at the very least taken off guard by what you're doing since you're invisible. (wade revels in colossus always looking over his shoulder whenever wade visits, thinking you'd be with him if he's visiting solo.)

he appreciates having your help down in the void, thinking you'd be of good use against cassandra. he also would appreciate if you try to help him take down other people there (pretty much just nicepool).

whenever you're pissed with him, you'll turn invisible, causing him to roll his eyes, thinking you're childish, even if he has a general idea of where you're at. (blind al gets a kick out of it, thinking wade could use a taste of his own medicine.)

if wade every gets social media, he's requesting your help constantly with special effects, using your invisibility to help with prop efficiency.

he may never say it, but he is nervous that you becoming invisible one day means you've left him forever or died, so he pulls you a little closer. he'll be vulnerable about that one day, maybe on a day he's a little more sure you won't actually leave him.

Logan + Wade:

you love messing with them both with your power. you'd use your powers to sneak up on them, tickling them when they least expect it. they have to be on their guard anytime it's been too quiet and you aren't in their vision.

they both love seeing you thrive with your power. you were initially a bit hesitant to engage with your powers, knowing it can be odd to see your partner just disappear, but they loved seeing how you evolve.

you all absolutely think it would be cool to take advantage of your powers for all of your own benefits, like when you go to the movies, you could walk in for free and reappear at the snack area for what you wanted. or go invisible to snag some ice cream from the corner shop, no one could figure out where you were.

you had the great idea one year to go with them to a haunted maze and turn invisible while you were behind them and they weren't looking behind them. they got to the end of the maze, but wondered where the hell you were. when they turned around, you reappeared and scared the shit out of them. they still get grumpy if you bring it up (it's not like wade doesn't know where you are when you turn invisible, he's just not always paying attention to when you disappear so he can't focus on where you are.)

sometimes they love scaring you invisible, like when you're cooking. they'll come up behind you and scare you into hiding yourself, which means a bit of a food fight.

when you tell them that sometimes you're scared that your powers means that you'd be forgotten by them in the relationship, or they'll move on because they might perceive you as dull when you hide a bit of yourself for too long. but they're quick to reassure you otherwise, how could they possibly forget the coolest person they know?

[pin-k-ink]

freudian slip // kageyama tobio

tw ⇢ teeny weeny age gap, mention of face-sitting (this is basically the whole plot), horny kags, highly suggestive themes

wc ⇢ 1.3k

There were only a couple of things that could faze Kageyama Tobio, and he took great pride in that fact. With his blunt demeanor, lack of social graces, and complete disinterest in the opposite sex, he was far from your typical hormonal teenager.

But if anything could get under his skin and set his heart racing - aside from volleyball - it was you. His stoic upperclassman who had somehow gotten roped into being his tutor, much to your initial chagrin. Teaching Kageyama was an uphill battle, as it seemed almost impossible to get anything through his thick skull that wasn't related to his beloved sport.

And yet, as much as you may have resisted at first, you found yourself not minding the arrangement so much anymore. There was something undeniably cute about Kageyama's single-minded intensity. For you, the tutoring sessions had become routine, even a bit boring - but for him, they were anything but.

Unbeknownst to you, Kageyama's mind was in a constant state of chaos in your presence. He was hyper-aware of everything about you - the subtle scent of your perfume, the silky sheen of your hair, the creamy porcelain of your skin. And much as he tried to focus on derivatives and English verb tenses, he couldn't stop his imagination from wandering to the tantalizing way your uniform skirt swayed with your every movement...

"Kageyama? Are you listening to me?" Your voice cut through the haze of his thoughts. He blinked and shook his head, realizing he'd been staring blankly at the same page for the past five minutes.

"Sorry, what were you saying?" He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his face heat up.

You sighed, tapping your pencil against the textbook. "I was explaining the quadratic formula. Again. Honestly, where is your head today?"

"Nowhere! I mean, uh, I'm paying attention. Promise." He ducked his head, hoping you couldn't see how flustered he was. This was getting ridiculous. He had to get a grip on himself before he did something monumentally stupid.

"Alright, if you say so..." You still looked skeptical, but thankfully let the matter drop. "Let's try a few practice problems then. I'll walk you through the first one."

Kageyama did his best to follow along, keeping his eyes firmly on the page and not on the alluring curve of your neck as you leaned over to point out the key steps. But each brush of your arm against his threatened to short-circuit his brain. It took every ounce of restraint not to inhale the sweet scent of your hair...

An hour later, you closed the textbook with a thud and started gathering up your things. "I think that's enough for today. You're actually making pretty good progress!"

"Huh? Oh, uh, thanks." He blinked, trying to reorient himself. "Will you sit on my face?"

"Yep, sounds good." You stood and stretched, your skirt riding up dangerously high on your thighs. You had taken exactly two steps before you finally realized what he’d just said.

"Wait, what?"

Kageyama felt his heart stop as your eyes met his, wide with shock. The words he'd been holding back for so long had finally slipped out, and now he was left to face the consequences. "Um, nothing! I mean, uh, you didn't hear anything, senpai," he stammered, his palms growing sweaty as he tried to backtrack.

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curling into a teasing smile that made his knees weak. "No, I'm pretty sure I heard you ask me to sit on your face," you replied, your voice laced with amusement.

"No, you definitely heard wrong." Kageyama gulped, feeling like his face was on fire. The heat crept up his neck and spread to the tips of his ears, making him wish he could disappear into the ground. "You must be losing your hearing in your old age," he added, trying to deflect with humor.

"Ha, ha. Very funny." You sat back down next to him, crossing your legs and leaning in closer. The scent of your perfume filled his nostrils, a tantalizing mix of vanilla and something uniquely you. "So why did you say that, Kageyama?"

He squirmed under your gaze, unsure what to say. His heart was pounding so loudly he was sure you could hear it, and his mouth felt like it was filled with cotton. "Because I, um..." he trailed off, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes?" you prompted, your eyes boring into his.

"I really like the way you look, senpai." Kageyama hung his head, cheeks burning with embarrassment. The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, a confession he'd been holding back for months. "You're really pretty, and you smell nice, and you have a really cute ass-"

He clapped a hand over his mouth, mortified by what had just come out of it. What was he doing? You were going to think he was a complete creep now, a perverted underclassman who couldn't keep his thoughts to himself.

"Well, thank you, Kageyama. That's very flattering." To his surprise, you didn't sound angry or disgusted, merely amused. Your voice was warm and inviting, with a hint of something else he couldn't quite place.

"I didn't mean to be creepy!" he blurted out, desperate to explain himself. "It's just, um, you know, when I'm around you, I can't help but, uh, think about, um..."

"About?" you coaxed, your fingers brushing against his knee.

Kageyama took a deep breath, bracing himself for rejection. "I really want you to sit on my face, senpai," he confessed, his voice trembling slightly. "I want to taste you and make you feel good. I've liked you for so long, and I can't keep pretending that I don't have feelings for you."

The silence that followed his confession was deafening. Kageyama felt his stomach drop, sure he'd ruined everything. But then, you surprised him yet again by chuckling softly.

"Kageyama, look at me," you commanded, your voice gentle but firm.

Slowly, he raised his head, not daring to hope. His eyes met yours, and he was stunned to see the warmth and affection reflected in them.

You were smiling, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "I'm not mad," you assured him, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. Your touch sent shivers down his spine, and he leaned into it instinctively. "In fact, I'm flattered that you think so highly of me."

"You..you are?" Kageyama asked, his voice filled with wonder.

You nodded, biting your lip in a way that made his heart race. "So, do you really want me to sit on your face?"

"Yes!" He cringed at his own eagerness, worried that he was coming on too strong. "I mean, yes, please," he amended, trying to sound more casual.

"Good boy." You leaned in, your lips mere centimeters from his ear. Your breath was hot against his skin, and he suppressed a shiver of pleasure. "And maybe if you're really good, I’ll even return the favor."

Kageyama felt his mind short-circuit at the thought. Images of you on your knees, between his legs with your mouth stuffed-, filled his head, and he had to bite back a groan. "Oh god, please," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire.

"That's what I like to hear." You smirked, standing up and tugging on his tie. The silk slid between your fingers, and Kageyama swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. "Now, come here and show me what else that tongue can do."

Kageyama followed after you, his pulse racing as he eagerly obeyed your command. He'd always known you were going to be the death of him, and now it seemed he was about to find out just how literal that statement was. As you led him out of the room, your hand firmly grasping his, he couldn't help but marvel at his luck.

He couldn't wait.

[short-honey-badger]

Welp now i need a mihawk soulmate au😺

Pretty pleaseeee ❤️

So sorry this took a bit to get out lovely. I've been in a bit of a mood lately, but this was really fun to focus on. I hope you enjoy! Sorry it's kinda short! ❤️❤️

Masterlist

Mihawk is so used to your constant chatter that the day it suddenly disappears leaves him reeling. Soulmates, the few lucky, or unlucky, Enough to have them, share a telepathic link that got stronger the further apart they were to one another. There were three reasons why the connection would go silent, either there was simply nothing to say, they were within ten feet of one another, or one of them had died. His heart skips a beat, and he projects his voice through the bond, only to find nothing there.

The tavern he's decided to stop in tonight was crowded, but that doesn't stop him from standing in one spot and looking around at the patrons. People scowl and shove past him, but Mihawk doesn't pay them any mind. He's far too focused on his connection with you. His mind is running a mile a second, trying to decide if you were here or if you were dead.

And then everything came back into focus when he heard your voice again, the world correcting itself as he took in a sharp intake of air.

Mihawk? Did you-? Are you here?

He can hear the disbelief in your tone. The joy and excitement at the prospect of meeting him became a reality. A fond smirk painted his lips, his ringed eyes shuttering in soft delight. It was about time.

I'm here, love. Tell me where you are.

The warlord had imagined the day, but there is nothing that compares to how he feels now. Mihawk could finally touch you, see you, taste you.

There is a commotion to the right of the bar, and Dracule snapped his attention in that direction, golden eyes dialing in and sharp ears picking up the achingly familiar sound of your voice. His heart explodes in his chest, and he begins to push past the swarms of patrons.

“Mihawk! Here!”

He can see others whip their head around at the sound of his name, but he doesn't pay them any mind. The warlord is far too focused on getting to you. For years, he has wanted to meet you, and it could have been easy with how the connection worked, but you had expressed a curious desire to him one night so long ago.

“Let fate decide when we meet, Mihawk. The tides will bring us together when the time is right.”

Mihawk easily accepted. Their lifestyle didn't make it easy for them to pick and choose where they wanted to be anyway, so it made sense, even if Dracule was less than enthused with the idea of you out gallivanting around the New World. The two of you promised to keep in touch daily, and the system had worked for the two of you ever since.

But now? It seemed as though fate had finally deemed it time for them to meet.

The world disappears when the last body is shoved out of the way, and you stand before him. The two of you take each other in, your surroundings forgotten in favor of looking each other over. Mihawk knows you know what he looks like. His bounty poster is everywhere, but he's only ever imagined what you looked like.

And none of them could ever compare to the real you. He makes the first move, shifting a half step forward, and that seems to have been all the prompt you needed. Mihawk grunts when you throw yourself at him, but he catches you with ease and wraps you up tight against his chest. The warlord buries his face in your hair, breathing in your unique scent of salt water and honeysuckle.

You pull your face away from the crook of his neck, beautiful eyes full of tears as you beam up at him. He tucks one arm under your thighs to keep you held up and holds your face in his free hand, golden eyes locked with your own.

“Can I kiss you, love?”

You answer your soulmate by grabbing the lapel of his jacket and tugging him down to meet your lips in a messy kiss. It's full of teeth and tongue, and Mihawk can taste the sweet ale you must be drinking, but to him? The kiss was nothing less than perfection.

[rayraelleaizawa]

They say something hurtfull in an argument

TW: sad, slight angst, fighting

Characters: Shanks, Beckmann, Mihawk

Side note: a bit ooc cause they'd never say something like that but we live for angst

Part 2: Making up after an argument

Shanks

"Why do you always have to be drunk?" i asked him as he woke up with yet another hangover. Being together with Shanks is amazing, he loves you, he gives you everything you could wish for and more, but there is one thing you hate about his beheaviour: the constant drinking.

"Because we are pirates, we have to party" Shanks answered with a grin before he groans due to his headache.

"This drinking will kill you one time, do you know that? It's also a huge downturn in bed when i want to kiss you and all i can smell is alcohol on your breath." You kept on complaining, tired of this. "Alcohol damages your body so much, do you want to die so much earlier or what?" you snapped at him.

"Maybe I need something to make me feel better about your constant bickering." Shanks said with a growl, the grin disappearing.

You halted in your tracks. A look of hurt crossed your face as you shut your mouth close. Sadness welled up inside you at the thought, that you were also a reason why he kept on having this extremly unhealthy habit.

"I'm sorry then" you said quietly and walked out of your shared quarters, now probably only his quarters, cause you werent sure if you want to go back there and sleep next to him.

You were just worried about him, why didnt you notice that you were annoying him with that? You never said anything, helped him out of all his problems that he caused by himself with his childish demeanour, you only scolded him when he hurt himself. He never hurts others, he only lets himself get hurt. And that frustrated you beyond believe.

Didnt he know how much you cared for him? Did he even care? Are you even enough to make him start to look out for himself?

Tears rolled down your cheeks as you hid yourself in an empty room on the ship. You tried so much to accept his drinking habbits, you didnt even ask him to stop, just to not be drunk 6 and a half days of the week, and that every week.

You burried your face in your knees and cried. Where you that insufferable that he hurts his own body just to be able to endure your company? If you left, then he wouldnt do this to himself anymore, right?

Benn Beckman

"Really? Another one?"

You say annoyed as you watch your boyfriend light up another cigarette.

"Yes. Another one."

He plainly answers. You guys had this discussion before. You wanted him to smoke less, he said he'd try to but the amount doesnt get any less.

"Benn this really damages your lungs. Cant you please try to smoke less?"

You asked again, and he sighed annoyed.

"They help me relax."

You started to get annoyed by his short answers.

"You could relax with other stuff. You could take a bath, or i could massage you, or we could just spend time together."

You suggested as he sighed out audibly annoyed.

"And you think after all the work and stress I have the whole day I want to spend it around a person which constantly nags on me and where i cant let my mind settle even a bit?"

He snapped, looking at you angrily. You looked at him with an unmoving face before you adverted your eyes. You didnt want to show him that his words hurt.

"I'm sorry, I didnt know you couldnt let your guard down around me."

You said defeated, turning around and slowly walking away. You could hear him say your name quietly but you didnt want to turn around. You just walked under deck and into your cabin. You sat down on your desk and started working, tears running down your face as you felt a coldness within you.

Does he not trust me enough? I didnt know that I am a stress factor for him.

Dark thoughts pleagued your mind as you tried to just work through your feelings. You tried to not be even more of a burden. Tears ran down your face, some of them hitting the desk and some hitting the papers with the lists and research about the treasures your crew had gotten lately.

Benn works so hard, and I never made him feel better. I just added to his stress. He'd be better off alone, right?

Dracule Mihawk

"Could you please tell me when you plan on leaving?"

You said to Mihawk as he came back after two months without telling you that he'll be gone.

"Why? I have my own free will if i remember correctly."

"Because I worry about you when you just suddenly disappear! It isnt that hard to just leave a note or something when you cant tell me in the face that you have to leave."

You were angry at him. What did he think? He was your boyfriend so why couldnt he just tell you when he left for weeks?

He puts down his hat and went to get some vine but you stopped him. Him not even looking at you makes you feel like you're unimportant to him, that this whole matter is of no interest to him.

"Do you really care so little about my feelings? Or am I just a nuissance to you right now that you cant even stop walking when I talk with you."

He then looked at you, annoyance but also a sign of being unbothered on his face.

"You're acting like a child. If I leave again and dont come back you'll at least know why now."

He said that so matter of factly that you were stunned about his coldness. He moved around you to the kitchen to grab some vine, and you just stood there.

Did he really just say that I am the reason why he doesnt want to come home anymore?

You shook your head slightly, recalling his words again and trying not to be hurt by them. As you hear his steps starting to come back, you hurried out of the room and into your shared bedroom. Tears streamed down your face as you tried to make it make sense.

When did he start hating to come back to you? What exactly was so annoying about you? Why didnt he just tell you that he didnt like your behaviour anymore? Does he even like you anymore?

All those thoughts were running through your head as you packed the little clothes and stuff you owned. You didnt touch a thing that he bought for you. If he wanted to leave and not come back, then you will make it easier for him and leave on your own. That's what he wants, isnt it?

After you finished packing you quietly stepped out of his castle and made your way into the woods. Tears were still streaming down your face, but you ignored them. This was for the best, right?