#it just never sounds like it does in my head

[godsfavdarling]

waiting for the day to end

my masterlist

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader summary: You and Spencer come back to his apartment, and your boyfriend’s drunken state brings old wounds to the surface. words: 2,3k warnings: angst, panic attack, drunk Spencer, mentions reader's ex-bf who was an alcoholic, no y/n a/n: I'm imagining later seasons Spence but I am not gonna yuck anybody's yum!

You smoothly place the keys in the lock of his apartment and quickly turn them twice to unlock the door. The dark room abruptly brightens when you flick the light switch on.

Spencer, who has been leaning against the wall near you, stumbles into the room right behind you.

The door slams shut behind him, the thud reverberating through the room.

You flinch, spinning around at the jarring sound.

“Sorry,” Spencer mumbles, a bit unsteady.

He throws himself onto the armchair with a heavy sigh, his head lolling back as he closes his eyes.

You murmur under your breath, “I’ll get you some water,” and head toward the kitchen, your heels clacking against the floor. 

In the quiet, you take a few deep breaths to steady yourself before filling two glasses of water. 

When you bring them back, you hand one to Spencer, urging him to drink. He gulps it down immediately, nearly draining the glass in one go.

You’ve never really seen him like this.

Spencer rarely—almost never—drinks. But tonight, it’s obvious just how far gone he is. He’s coherent enough to hold himself up, and his words still make sense, but you can tell he isn’t fully present. 

He was already fading hours ago, just an hour into dinner at Rossi's when his team had convinced him to relax and celebrate Garcia’s birthday with a few drinks.

Now, he’s staring off into space, eyes glassy, a faint smile still lingering from whatever joke had last drifted through his mind. You swallow, feeling the anxiety tug at you.

You felt it early on. But you tried to ignore it.

Spencer was different. 

He was responsible and careful. He liked being sober and in control. He was someone who avoided excess.

He was not a drunk. 

You knew all this and tried to stay rational. 

After his third drink, though, all that rationality flew out the window. With the last gulp of his third drink, you decided to excuse yourself, claiming you weren't feeling well, and spent most of the evening outside. The poker game was so intense that no one really questioned you or bothered to check on you.

You had thought, knowing Spencer’s sharp observation skills, that he would come find you shortly and ask what was wrong. He always did. He could always tell when something was off and always wanted to know. But tonight, he didn’t.

You waited, each minute stretching longer than the last, hoping he’d realize and come find you, that he’d be his usual self. But as the laughter and clinking glasses carried on from inside, you realized he was somewhere you couldn’t reach him tonight.

As you watched him now, slouched in the armchair with you far away from him sitting on the edge of the couch, your heart ached. 

This wasn’t the Spencer you knew. He was lost in his thoughts, barely acknowledging your presence. You handed him your glass of water, and he took it with a mumbled "thanks", sipping it more slowly this time.

“Spencer, are you okay?” you finally asked, unable to keep the concern out of your voice.

He looked up at you, his eyes a bit clearer but still distant. “Yeah, just... tired,” he replied, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

You nodded, but the anxiety still sat inside you.

Stop!

Spencer is not him! 

He is nothing like him!

You keep staring at him, fidgeting with your fingers and the hem of your black velvet dress, feeling helpless as you try to guess what he wants. 

Is he going to stay here for a while? Does he need more water? Is he going to shower, or maybe just head to bed?

Finally, Spencer glances up, his gaze focusing on you as if for the first time tonight. His brows knit together as he notices the anxious look in your eyes. 

"What’s wrong?" he asks, his voice soft but tinged with confusion.

You swallow, feeling a rush of emotions you’ve been holding back all evening. He’s looking at you now, really looking, like he usually does, but something about his unsteady, drunken state makes you hesitate. 

He’s here, yet somehow not fully here, and you’re not sure how to answer.

You force a smile, shrugging as if it’s nothing, but your heart pounds. "Just… tired, I guess."

Spencer’s gaze doesn’t waver, and you know he sees through your answer, even in his state. 

Now he sees. 

He’s silent, watching you with a slight frown like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle. The quiet stretches between you, heavy and thick.

You glance away, twisting the hem of your dress tighter. 

"Maybe you should get some rest," you say, your voice barely more than a whisper. You try to keep the tremor out, but it’s there. A lot of it.

He’s never seen you like this—not this vulnerable, this close to tears. You’ve not been dating that long. A lot of things are still unknown, unsaid, unshared and the toxic, drunk but highly functioning, unpredictable boyfriends have not yet come out in any conversation.

"I’ll be fine," Spencer mutters, rubbing his face with one hand as he sinks further into the chair.

His words are gentle, but they’re not the reassurance you’re aching for. 

You wish he’d tell you he’d never do this again, that he understands why this is hard for you. But he doesn’t. He just looks at you, distant and hazy.

A lump forms in your throat as the silence presses down on you. You stand up, needing some distance, and force a tight smile. "I’ll let you get some sleep. I’ll go… take a walk or something."

As you turn to leave, Spencer reaches out, his fingers brushing your arm. "Hey," he murmurs, his voice soft but unsteady. "It’s like 2 AM. You’re not going anywhere alone."

You stop, frozen, a tightness forming in your chest. You want to say it’s fine, that you just need space, but the words feel like they’re stuck in your throat. Instead, he continues, unaware of how badly his presence is affecting you right now.

“Let’s take a walk together. It’ll help,” he offers, his voice tinged with concern, though still a little slurred.

You turn sharply, frustration and something darker bubbling up in your chest. “No!” you snap, louder than you intended, the word echoing in the quiet room. You instantly regret it, but the hurt is too raw, too overwhelming. You try to swallow the sudden surge of emotion, but it’s too much.

You finally realize that his hand in on your arm, and the realization hits like a cold wave. You feel an intense rush of discomfort. You don’t want him near you right now. 

The feeling of his fingers on your skin, even though they’re meant to comfort, feels wrong.

You can’t breathe. You can’t handle his touch, not like this, not after everything that’s happened. You jerk away, backing up, your heart hammering.

Without a word, you turn and storm toward the bathroom. You lock the door behind you and lean against it for a second, trying to steady your breath. 

The walls feel like they’re closing in, the anger and fear swirling inside you until you can hardly tell the difference between the two.

It’s not his fault, you think, taking a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside your chest.

He’s just drunk, he’ll be sober soon, but... why does it still feel so wrong?

You press your hands to your face, feeling the tears already starting to form.

I’m not that person anymore. I’m not going to let this take me back. I can’t let it.

Your thoughts race, but you force yourself to focus, turning the shower on. The sound of the water helps. 

You quickly but clumsily step out of the dress and underwear, leaving them in a heap on the tiles. 

You step under the hot spray, closing your eyes, letting the warmth soothe the tension in your muscles.

Just wash it off, just wash it off, you tell yourself as if the water could cleanse more than just your skin.

You’re lost in the sensation of the water for long minutes when there’s a gentle knock on the bathroom door. 

You freeze. Your heart skipping a beat.

“Hey… uh… I really need to pee,” Spencer calls out, his voice even softer than before.

You swallow, fighting the panic rising in your throat, and quickly shut off the water. You wrap a towel around your body and open the door just enough for you to slip past him. Without a word, you go into the bedroom and gracelessly put on one of the shirts you left in his drawer.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow everything will be fine, you think, climbing into bed, curling up under the covers. 

You just want this day to end. You need it to end.

Then it hits you—you’re in his bed.

You stand up and then sit again on the edge.

You should go home. You should be in your own bed. You want to get up, gather your things, get dressed, and leave, but you're paralyzed. You're overwhelmed. You can’t breathe. You can’t move.

Then Spencer walks into the room, his gaze landing on you. As if he can read the turmoil in your mind, he says softly, "It's late. Stay here tonight. Take the bed. I’ll take the couch."

You don’t say anything, unable to find the words.

He pauses, watching you for a moment, before quietly pulling his pajamas from the closet and heading into the bathroom.

You just need to sleep. You’ll sleep it off, and when you wake up, things will make sense again. Maybe Spencer will apologize. 

Apologize for what?

He didn’t do anything wrong.

He’ll be sober. Everything will go back to normal.

But sleep doesn’t come. The bed feels cold, and the silence in the room is suffocating. You can’t shake the thoughts in your head.

What if he doesn’t remember?

What if he won’t leave it and you’ll have to explain and he’ll be angry?

Why are you angry?

Why are you upset?

Just as you're about to give up on sleep altogether, you hear the soft creak of the door opening. Spencer slips into the room quietly, his footsteps hesitant. He walks to the bed, sitting down beside you without saying anything at first.

"Are you asleep?" he asks quietly, his voice gentle, almost too careful. You feel his gaze on you, even though you’re facing the window, your back to him.

You don’t answer at first. You don’t want to talk to him right now. You don’t want to explain why everything feels broken. You don’t want him to ask.

But you can feel him there, his presence. 

Finally, he speaks again, his voice low but steady. “Please... can we talk? I don't wanna go to bed with you upset and angry.”

You don’t move, staring into the dark. You wish you could say the right thing. You wish you could fix it, but all you feel is a dull ache in your chest, and the thought that maybe nothing will ever be the same again.

Spencer’s hand reaches out, his fingers trembling slightly as he hesitates for a moment before gently moving toward you. "Hey, I—" His voice cracks, and you can hear the sorrow in it, the regret, the helplessness.

But as his arms come closer, something inside you recoils. You can’t have him near you right now. Not like this. Not when everything feels so wrong.

You flinch, turning away from him instinctively, the words coming out before you even have a chance to stop them. “Please don’t touch me.”

The words hang between you like a heavyweight. 

Spencer freezes, his hand hovering in mid-air, and for a second, everything is still. You can hear his breathing — shallow, uneven — as if he’s trying to understand, trying to process what just happened.

You don’t want him to feel hurt, but you can’t help it. You feel exposed, vulnerable, like a raw nerve, and his touch, even if it's meant to comfort, feels suffocating.

“Okay,” Spencer finally says, his voice small, resigned. He pulls his hand back slowly, as though giving you space to breathe. 

You don’t look at him. You can’t. 

“I’m sorry,” he adds, his voice distant now, like he’s trying to find his footing again. “I just... I’m not sure what happened. I know hurt you. I don’t know how but I’m sorry.”

The silence lingers, thick and uncomfortable, wrapping itself around both of you. Spencer hesitates for a long moment, unsure of what to do or say next. You can feel his eyes on you, but you don’t lift yours. 

Finally, he clears his throat softly.

“I’ll... I’ll sleep on the couch tonight,” he says, his voice gentle and careful like he’s trying not to disturb the fragile air between you.

“It’s okay. If you want to talk... or anything... just come and tell me. I’ll be here.”

You don’t say anything. You still don’t look at him. But you can hear the sincerity in his voice, the aching honesty of it.

If only his words, his willingness to be there even when you’ve pushed him away could make things better.

But you don’t answer him, because you don’t have the strength to. You don’t know what to say.

Spencer sighs quietly, almost like a final surrender, and then you hear his footsteps moving away from you.

The door opens and closes softly behind him, and you’re left alone in the silence of the room once more.

Spencer’s words echo in your mind, but they don’t bring comfort. Not yet. 

[reallychaoticwoo]

Can you do an ATEEZ reaction to their girlfriend squirting on them for the first time?

⛓️ Yess! Lord help me cause honestly the thought of this has me absolutely feral! 🤤🫠⛓️

✨️ Do It Again ✨️

❤️Pairing: Ateez x reader

📌 Masterlist

⚠️Warnings: MDNI 18+ ONLY!! cussing, squirting (obvs), fingering, oral (f receiving), face riding, thigh riding, unprotected sex (wrap it up buttercup!), dom/sub dynamics, use of pet names (daddy, sir, babe, baby, darling, my love, etc) rough sex, clawing, overstimulation, slight bondage, I think that's it but lmk if I missed anything 🖤

‼️This is purely for entertainment purposes and does not represent the idol(s) in any way‼️

🖤Please support your authors by liking, reblogging, or even just leaving a comment! I love interacting with comments and reblogs they honestly make my day. As always, I hope you enjoy!🖤

HONGJOONG:

His fingers buried themselves deep inside you for the 4th time tonight as your release washed over you (and him). His eyes widened and his once concentrated face morphed into that of a predator. "Oh sweetheart, you didn't tell me you could do that." Something between fear and arousal circulated deep inside you as you awaited his next words. "Oh I am going to have so much fun seeing how many times I can make you squirt for me, my love. I hope you're ready." His final word spoken just as his fingers entered your overly sensitive cunt for a 5th time.

SEONGHWA:

Your legs trembled and your back arched as you screamed, your orgasm rushing through you like never before. He lifted his face from your core, his pupils blown, and his face glistening. He chuckled darkly as he snaked up your body to meet your lips."Darling, did you know you could do that and didn't tell me?" You shook your head frantically, "N..No! I didn't know I promise!" He hummed to himself as he thought over your words. "Well, you made quite the mess. I suppose I won't punish you for it... IF my sweet girl can squirt for me again before I cum." He swiftly snapped his hips forward burying himself to the hilt. "Starting now." He said as he reared back and thrust inside again.

YUNHO:

He was balls deep in your cunt, thrusting hard and deep. His tip kissing your cervix with each snap of his hips. Your slick walls clenched around him as your arms gave out and you fell face first into the mattress. "Fuccckk I didn't know you could do that baby." He practically growled as he began picking up speed, his own release threatening to snap. "One more baby, give me one more please, fuck that was so hot!" His voice closer than before as he bent forward to whisper in your ear. His hand placed on the back of your neck pushing you further into the bed as his thrusts grew frantic. A few thrusts later and your release sprayed all over as his own was pumping deep inside.

YEOSANG:

His eyes were blown out as you bounced yourself up and down, your warm tight walls clenching down on his length as you chased your orgasm. Your head fell back as you bottomed out, euphoria washing over your body. He held you hips and bucked up into you, elongating your release. "Shit... shit that was so sexy." You smiled down at him as you slowly started moving your hips again. "If you can get me to do it again before you cum, I'll wake you up to head for a week. How's that sound Sangie?" He thrust his hips up into you once before answering "Sounds like a challenge I am going to enjoy either way baby. You're on."

SAN:

Your back was up against the wall and your legs hanging over his arms as he thrust into you with such primal force. You clawed down his back as you let go, soaking the two of you in your essence. He glared down at where your bodies met and smirked with nothing but pure sin in his eyes. "Oh, oh you've fucked up babygirl. Gonna make you do that again and again. Gonna take this cock all fucking night right princess?" You gulped, already fucked out, and managed to mumble, "Yes sir. Gonna take what daddy gives me." He resumed his brutal pace without warning before whispering in your ear, "Good girl."

MINGI:

Your thighs were straddling his face as he blissfully lost himself in your cunt. Out of all the things he loved, you riding his face had to be in the top five. A particularly sharp suck on your clit sent you over the edge as you tried to keep from falling forward. He did not let up as you squirted all over his face, his tongue hungrily begging for more as it lapped at your folds. Once you caught your breath you sat back on his chest. "Shit, oh my god are you okay Min?? I didn't know that was gonna happen!" He just smiled still drunk of your pussy before he answered, "Drown me again please, pretty please baby!" He didn't even wait for a reply before he grabbed your hips and moved you back to his face.

WOOYOUNG:

The thing about you and Woo that works so well is that you're both bratty as fuck. Although you both liked to test the limits, Woo almost always ended up on top and in charge. Tonight was no different. You laid back against the bed, hands tied to the headboard, your legs spread apart by a spreader bar, and Woo between your thighs with a magic wand grinning manically. You were so overly sensitive from the hour he'd been edging you that tears streamed down your face as you begged him to let you cum. And the second he said "Cum for me sweetie" your orgasm washed over you like a hurricane threatening to destroy your very existence. As you slowly came back to, your vision finally returning, you looked to Woo. His cheshire smirk only grew as he met your eyes before practically growling, "Do it again."

JONGHO:

You were feeling especially needy tonight. Rubbing yourself on his thigh as he tried to relax from a long day. "That's it baby bear, doesn't that feel good?" He asked as his hands moved in tandem with your hips adding some much needed pressure. "Y-yes..ssoo good.. gonna cum soon.." You moaned as you began to pick up your pace. You buried your face in his neck, needy whines escaping your lips as you slowly reached your climax. His hands moving your hips for you, slowly dragging you back and forth as your rode out your high. "Sweet baby bear, did you just squirt on my thigh?" You mumbled something incoherent. "Lay down baby. We're gonna go again until you do that on my dick, understand?" You nodded, chest still heaving as you laid back for him. "Yes please sir."

‼️TAG LISTS FOR GENERAL ATEEZ CONTENT ARE OPEN! I do also have tag lists for individual members if you like to be added to that.

[parfaitblogs]

over the moon ❀ s. reid x reader

in which a bout of insomnia prompts the usage of your arguably overworked baking equipment. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: fluff tags: established relationship. cliché flour fight into kissing... sorry... no i'm not. use of pet names. make out sesh (obviously).  word count: 1.4k a/n: also known as spencer and reader take on the margotlia bucket list for margovember!!! happy birthday to my lover @pathologicalreid!!! who has very quickly become my other half on this silly little side of tumblr. a prophet told me there are snickerdoodle cookies and a smithsonian date with our names on it in our futures ♡

"Honey, please tell me the light on in the kitchen is you getting a glass of water."

Like a deer in headlights, you're frozen in your beelined pathway between the fridge and the countertop of Spencer's kitchen, the carton of eggs in your hands preventing any attempt of a lie to him.

"Uh..." Your eyes lock with his, and he's visibly deflating upon spotting the pantry's baking ingredients arranged in front of you. "I'm just getting water?"

"I didn't realise you put sticks of butter into your water," he counters, voice meticulously picking apart your lie in front of your face. "Does that taste good?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sure," he nods his head, his feet carrying him over to you behind the counter. "What recipe have you chosen to victimise today?"

"Snickerdoodle cookies," you mumble, as his arms wrap around your waist, and his chin sits on your shoulder, eyes peering at your phone screen that had the cookie recipe open. 

"Any particular reason?" 

"I couldn't sleep," you explain. "Did I wake you up?"

"Yeah," he nods, and a beat passes where you mumble a quiet apology to him, before he's pulling away from you and picking up your phone. "Where do we start?"

It wasn't the first time you had baked instead of sleeping, and it certainly wasn't the first time Spencer had woken up to the sound of your hand mixer combining sugar and butter, or the oven timer dinging to accompany the smell of freshly baked muffins. In fact, he had become accustomed to not getting through an entire fortnight without at least one tray of baked goods taking up counter space. 

It was the first time he had offered to help you, though. He either accompanied you and watched you bake, or sat at his desk to get paperwork done (he said he should use the extra time spent conscious wisely). 

"You don't have to help," you're shaking your head, but he's already going to the sink to wash his hands. 

"You only slept for two hours before waking up to do this. I'd like to get you back to bed sooner rather than later," he answers, patting his hands dry. "I won't sleep until you do, anyways."

"Okay," you relent, staring at him almost stunned, before you return to the recipe you had up on your phone. "Um... could you combine the sugar and butter?"

Baking with Spencer Reid seemed to make everything a lot easier. Ignoring the obvious (the help an extra set of hands provided), his eidetic memory meant you could throw a step his way, and he'd know exactly what he was doing. Having asked him to add the eggs to his sugar and butter mix, he was already separating the yolk from the whites before you needed to say a thing.

"Have you ever stuck your hand into flour?" you ask him, and he lifts his head, eyebrows frowning together. 

"No. Why would I do that?"

"To know what it feels like," you say, dryly, though there isn't any malice behind it. "Have you never wanted to know what it feels like?"

"You can use context clues to figure out what it would feel like," he replies. "Correct?" 

"Spencer, you're entirely missing the point," you shake your head, and though he lifts his head from his sugar-butter-and-egg mixture to question you, he doesn't even remotely expect a large fistful of flour to explode across his chest. 

Then, you're laughing, and he's still battling with the initial shock of your flour attack for a few more seconds to laugh with you. But, when he does, he's almost mocking with it, and your face falls when he's putting his own hand into the container labelled flour, lifting it, and dragging his hand over your stomach. 

"Oh my God!" you say through a laugh, looking down at the smear of flour on your t-shirt. "Spencer!"

"Reap what you can sow," he retorts. 

So, you do.

You aren't too sure when the flour fighting gets more intimate. Somewhere between your fingers running it through his hair, and his hands landing on your ass, as he tugs you into him.

You're heaving, though the smile on your face is perfect, and he's certain he might be falling in love with you all over again. Cheeks stained in flour and all. 

"Hello," you sing, lifting your chin up to smile at him.

"Hi, sweet girl," he replies, ducking his head down to brush his lips against yours, and you pull a face at the faint taste of flour on them. 

Your finger lifts up to brush his lower lip, face growing concentrated as you brush the powder off it. "You've got a little... something..." 

"Do I?" he asks, condescendingly, and you're firmly nodding your head. 

"Yep. This is why I bake alone, Spencer Reid," you tut. 

His eyebrows raise. "I don't know if I want to even try to prove you wrong."

"I wouldn't recommend it."

"Duly noted. Anything you do recommend?"

You pause. "Kissing me might help in my journey of forgiving you for this mess."

If he's got any plan to defend himself, it crumbles beneath the words of your request, and his lips are stretching into a smile. 

"I'll do whatever I can."

His lips have a film on them from the brushed away flour, making them softer than they usually are, as he presses them against yours. Hands that were once resting almost teasingly on your ass lift to your hips, and your own drop to the countertop behind him as you lean into him.

As you usually feel in your slow moments like this with him, you feel your heart soar, your head tilting to the side as you accomodate his face being so close to your own. 

Arguably, his favourite thing about kissing you for longer than half a second, is the mewls and hums that leave your lips. Never too much to prompt anything more, but instead just enough to tell him just how much you enjoy kissing him. A feeling that is entirely mutual.

As soon as it starts, it's over. Which can't really be true, for you are panting when his head pulls away from yours,  and he's got that glassy look in his eyes that always makes your body warm. 

"We need to go shower," he murmurs, breath warm against your skin. 

You want to decline, just to stay standing right there in the kitchen with him, the urge to keep kissing him almost overwhelming. But his fingers have lifted to brush against a patch of flour on your neck, and you're surrendering at the feeling. 

"Okay."

Thus, forty-five minutes and one unreasonably long shower later, you were standing back in the kitchen, a bowl with cinnamon and sugar in front of you. Spencer's t-shirt hanging off your body — after you had expertly coerced him into letting you wear it — and a fork in your hands as you whisk the two toppings together. 

He's sitting on a stool on the other side of the bench, stirring the dough together after you had complained it was too thick. He argued it was supposed to be. 

Heading over to Spencer once the cinnamon and sugar was combined in a bowl, you mumble, "Okay. 'm tired," your head buried into the crook of his neck. 

"Yeah, weaponising that flour probably exhausted some energy," he muses, letting go of the wooden spoon to wrap his arms around you. "We still need to bake these, though."

"Cookie dough is yummy too," you retort, hand reaching out to pinch a piece of the dough. 

"Cookie dough isn't safe for you to eat," he answers, catching your wrist before you can get ahold of any batter. Upon seeing your pout, combined with the tired look in your eyes, he relents, letting you pick up a small piece just to eat. "How about we put this in the fridge, and we bake them tomorrow?" 

"I like that plan."

"I thought you would."

Helping him with the clean up consisted of you putting the dough in the fridge and cinnamon sugar in the pantry, and him doing... everything else. He didn't seem to mind, though, and his hands found their place on your waist as he walked you back towards the bedroom. 

"C'mon, sleepy girl."

He laughs at your incoherent grumble towards the name calling, letting you drag him back into the bed adorned with wrinkled sheets. 

"Thanks for baking with me," you say, voice layered with your exhaustion as you're curling up next to him. 

"Thanks for attacking me with flour."

"And I'd do it again."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[cmdrfupa]

Nanami sat at a quiet corner table in a small cafe, one hand wrapped around a coffee cup that had long since cooled. His gaze drifted out the window, taking in the sights of the street but focusing on none of them.

The hum of the cafe, the muted conversations and clinking cups, was soothing. A moment of quiet felt surreal as he waited for you to meet him.

“Excuse me?”

Nanami looked down to see a small girl, maybe six or seven years old, standing by his table. Her eyes were round and curious, and she was staring at the healed web like burn scars on his face and the scars that peeked out from under the cuff of his shirt.

He felt a pang of self-consciousness and was about to glance away, but the girl tilted her head, undeterred.

“What happened to your face?” she asked, her tone as innocent as her question.

Nanami blinked. He wasn’t used to such direct curiosity. Most people (adults) either looked away out of politeness or offered a sympathetic smile that he never quite knew how to respond to. But this child simply waited, eyes bright and expectant.

He took a steadying breath. “I got hurt while I was working,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “But I’m alright now.”

“Oh,” she replied, digesting this. She looked at his hand, tracing her gaze over the marks on his fingers and wrists. “Does it still hurt?”

“Not anymore.” He found himself softening a bit, his usual reserve giving way to something gentler in the face of her openness.

She nodded, apparently satisfied with this answer, and then broke into a grin. “I think it looks cool. It’s like super hero scars. You must be one!”

Nanami couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. “Thank you,” he said. “But I’m not a superhero.”

The girl crossed her arms, as if deep in thought. “My dad says superheroes don’t always wear capes. He says sometimes they’re just regular people who help.”

Nanami felt something twist in his chest at that. “Your dad sounds like a smart man.”

“Sometimes,” she said, scrunching up her nose. “But he doesn’t like coffee or chocolate. He says it tastes like dirt.”

Nanami let out a quiet chuckle. “It does, a little bit. But I like it anyway. And chocolate? That sounds criminal.”

The girl laughed with him “That’s what I think! Chocolate is yummy. He’s nuts.” For a moment, it felt like the weight of everything he’d been carrying was a little lighter.

“My name is Emi.”

“I’m Nanami. It’s nice to meet you Emi. Where are your parents?”

“Behind the counter. They own the cafe.” She smiled as she waved at her dad who gave an apologetic look towards Nanami.

“Do you come here a lot?” she asked, swinging her arms a bit as she looked around the cafe.

“Sometimes. Me and my wife like the pastries here. Or I come here to think.”

She seemed to consider this, then pulled a bright red crayon from the front pocket of her Bluey bag and placed it carefully on the table. “Here. In case you need to write something while you think. Or your wife!” she offered earnestly.

Nanami took the crayon, holding it between his fingers as if it were made of glass. “Thank you,” he said, voice soft. “That’s very kind of you.”

The gentle wind from the door opening brought Nanami’s eyes up and to you as you walked over. “Hi darling.”

You bent to kiss his cheek and smiled before looking over at the little girl. “Well hello! Do we have a new friend?”

“I’m Emi! Is Mr. Nanami your husband?”

You nodded sitting down at the table but still keep contact with the girl.” “Uh huh. He is.”

“Thats so cool. You’re married to a super hero! Did you know that?”

You looked up to Nanami, confused as he chuckled and traced his thumb over the crayons paper wrapping. “It’s.. we’ll get to that in a second.”

[not-playable-character]

For my main Rook, Galena Ingellvar

1. How old is Rook?

28

2. How did Rook get the nickname? What do they think of it?

Varric gave it to her just after they met, she is indifferent to it.  She likes more that Varric likes it

3. What was Rook’s life before their faction?

She was baby (mourn watch faction lol)

4. Which faction did they join, and why? How long has it been?

Mourn Watch, 28 years

5. What was life like for Rook before joining the Veilguard?

She was a warrior in the Watch fighting off unruly undead and tending to the friendly ones.

6. What was the reason that brought Rook to Minrathous?

Varric picked her and due to the issues regarding her semi exile she took the chance to see the world

7. Why does Rook agree to join the Veilguard?

A sense of adventure and a calling to help people

8. What makes Rook a good leader?

She doesn't believe she is a good leader, she goes with her gut and lets her heart lead her decisions.  She prefers to talk things out rather than fight and loves to listen to others.

9. What is Rook like on the battlefield?

Heavy frontline fighter, would rather get hurt herself than allow others to take damage.

10. Does Rook know their history? Do they know of the HoF, Hawke, the Inquisitor?

Not really, she knows about Cassandra due to being Nevarran and she knows of the inquisitor from Varric and Harding but doesn't know the others or much about the South

11. Does Rook keep up with current events? (How aware of the situation are they at the start of the game?)

She tries but she is not immune to propaganda (she's the type to believe that demons rule the Magisterium if she read it in a newspaper, This bothers Neve to no end)

12. Does Rook have any family? Do they keep in touch?

Yes!  She was adopted by the undead and spirits in the Grand Necropolis.  It's hard to keep in contact really due to their nature but she connected with a spirit of benevolence that stayed with her through her teen years and they connect frequently through Vorgoth.  She also keeps up with other members of the Watch regularly.

13. Did Rook bring any trinkets/sentimental items to The Lighthouse?

Yes, she brought her first embalming kit, a sentimental skull, and a stuffed dragon from her childhood

14. What does Rook see when they look in the mirror? 

She sees a person in over her head, forced to lead a team that has faith in someone who has no faith in herself.

15. What’s the first thing people notice when Rook enters a room?

Her jovial smile

16. Got any tattoos? What’s the story behind them?

None, she could never commit to a design

17. How’d Rook get those scars?

Unruly undead like to spread infection

18. Their fondest childhood memory:

Playing games with the Watch and the spirits in the gardens.  She loves to play Wicked Grace with a spirit of luck

19. What is Rook’s love language? What love languages do they respond best to?

Gift giving and physical touch.  Responds to words of affirmation and praise

20. What’s it like to see them smile? Their laugh?

Her smile lights up a room and her laugh is contagious.  She tries to be the happiest she can and spread that to others.

21. What does Rook’s voice sound like? One of the voice options available, or do they have a different accent/voicecast? 

Feminine voice 1 mid, the slightly scottish/irish accent makes me act up ngl

22. Most embarrassing memory as a teenager:

She had to explain to her mentor that she developed a crush on one of the older members of the Watch; miscommunications occurred and she, mortified, had to explain she did have a crush on a Living person.

23. What does Rook wear in the off hours? Do they like dressing up?

She likes large comfortable clothes, she'd wear pajamas everywhere if she could.  She will dress up but its not something she likes or dislikes

24. Does Rook have any nightly rituals before bed?

She prays to the Maker occasionally and will send thanks to the spirits in the Fade

25. How does Rook like to spend their free time?  

She prefers to spend time with friends, but on the occasion she wants to be alone she curls up with a nice book in a common area to listen to people talk while reading.

26. Rook is in charge of the grocery list. What’s on it?

Nevarran pastries and juice.  She would also ask the others what they want/ get their favorite foods.

27. When was the last time they cried?

When she had to leave the Necropolis

28. Does Rook have any pets/animal companions?

No, she always wanted a cat or dog though

29. Any vices?

Sweets

30. What is Rook’s class? Did they choose it? 

Warrior; yes, she naturally fell into the role while training for the Watch

31. What specialization does Rook pursue? What called them to it?

Reaper; she had some experience following her senior Watchers and wanted to emulate them

32. How would a desire demon tempt Rook?

She would easily fall prey to a pretty woman giving her praise (not even necessarily sexual but girly does have a praise kink)

33. What do fear demons look like to Rook?

Her friends dead/hating her (loss in general ironically)

34. How does Rook begin their day? 

Slowly, she immediately looks for anything with caffeine and breakfast

35. Ultimate comfort food meal:

Nevarran Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte (Black forest cake, i'm basing this as if Nevarra is a prussia equivalent even though i assumed russia)

36. What would Rook say are their flaws?

She feels that she is weak, she has very low self confidence and self image, she will degrade herself constantly in a joking manner

37. Does Rook ascribe to a faith? 

She is Andrastian (based on Nevarran culture so shes more accepting of magic and spirits)

38. Did Rook have any relationships before Veilguard?

A few short romances and loose friendships, the younger members of the Watch didnt want to talk to the crypt baby

39. What is their room at The Lighthouse like?

Minimal, she doesnt keep much but will have her special belongings on a small table near her bed

40. Describe Rook’s bed:

Simple double bed with cotton sheets

41. What’s on their nightstand?

The book shes currently reading, letters from the Watch, her sword, a potted plant and a glass of water

42. Something Rook regrets:

Not making more friends and being antisocial

43. Is Rook the type to gossip?

Yes, but not intentionally.  She just spreads misinformation like a grandma on facebook (“Neve! Did you hear that Magister Pavus is actually 3 different men and one woman??!!!”)

44. What is Rook really good at? 

Listening to others and getting them to open up to her

45. Who was Rook’s closest friend before joining the Veilguard? 

A skeleton worker in the gardens who was inhabited by a spirit of innovation (they gardened together and she helped it to cross breed flowers)

46. What does it take to earn Rook’s trust?

Not much, she is very trusting.  Simply be honest and true to yourself and others

47. What’s Rook’s temper like?

Very calm, but she can get spicy when she knows she’s being lied to and manipulated

48. A color, flower, animal, and weather to describe Rook:

Blue, camomille (patience in adversity), Weasel, calm skies

49. What will always make them laugh?

Puns

50. Are they a mystery, or an open book?

Open book 

+1 What does Rook smell like?

Earth, mint, juniper, moss, and a faint underlying of magic

fifty questions for rook

(no spoilers!)

veilguard is finally here yall!!!!! and now a set of character building questions for rook, because i wanna know all about them! there will be more question lists as I play the game, but those will be marked with spoilers and under a readmore for the next sixty days

1. How old is Rook?

2. How did Rook get the nickname? What do they think of it?

3. What was Rook’s life before their faction?

4. Which faction did they join, and why? How long has it been?

5. What was life like for Rook before joining the Veilguard?

6. What was the reason that brought Rook to Minrathous?

7. Why does Rook agree to join the Veilguard?

8. What makes Rook a good leader?

9. What is Rook like on the battlefield?

10. Does Rook know their history? Do they know of the HoF, Hawke, the Inquisitor?

11. Does Rook keep up with current events? (How aware of the situation are they at the start of the game?)

12. Does Rook have any family? Do they keep in touch?

13. Did Rook bring any trinkets/sentimental items to The Lighthouse?

14. What does Rook see when they look in the mirror?

15. What’s the first thing people notice when Rook enters a room?

16. Got any tattoos? What’s the story behind them?

17. How’d Rook get those scars?

18. Their fondest childhood memory:

19. What is Rook’s love language? What love languages do they respond best to?

20. What’s it like to see them smile? Their laugh?

21. What does Rook’s voice sound like? One of the voice options available, or do they have a different accent/voicecast?

22. Most embarrassing memory as a teenager:

23. What does Rook wear in the off hours? Do they like dressing up?

24. Does Rook have any nightly rituals before bed?

25. How does Rook like to spend their free time?

26. Rook is in charge of the grocery list. What’s on it?

27. When was the last time they cried?

28. Does Rook have any pets/animal companions?

29. Any vices?

30. What is Rook’s class? Did they choose it?

31. What specialization does Rook pursue? What called them to it?

32. How would a desire demon tempt Rook?

33. What do fear demons look like to Rook?

34. How does Rook begin their day?

35. Ultimate comfort food meal:

36. What would Rook say are their flaws?

37. Does Rook ascribe to a faith?

38. Did Rook have any relationships before Veilguard?

39. What is their room at The Lighthouse like?

40. Describe Rook’s bed:

41. What’s on their nightstand?

42. Something Rook regrets:

43. Is Rook the type to gossip?

44. What is Rook really good at?

45. Who was Rook’s closest friend before joining the Veilguard?

46. What does it take to earn Rook’s trust?

47. What’s Rook’s temper like?

48. A color, flower, animal, and weather to describe Rook:

49. What will always make them laugh?

50. Are they a mystery, or an open book?

+1 What does Rook smell like?

[sugarlywhispers]

b.katsuki x reader (fem) | quirkless!reader, prohero!dynamight

a.n; I'M IN LOVE WITH THIS IDEA OKAY? I HAVE HAD IT IN MY DRAFTS FOR LIKE A YEAR ALREADY AND I NEED YA'LL TO RANT WITH ME ABOUT THISSSS<3 it's mostly enemies to lovers💕

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG

"For the love of–... I'M COMING!"

It's Sunday morning. You have been expecting this day to wake up maybe mid-morning, with the gentle warm breeze coming from your open window; have an exquisite brunch that you have been planning and craving since Friday; maybe watch an episode or two of your favorite show before preparing a full spa day, with a long and refreshing bath included. That's how you have planned your Sunday to go.

But no… Apparently, someone's intention was to ruin the whole day for you while their knocks on your door were persistent and annoying at 6 freaking a.m.

You don't think about what you're wearing before stumbling towards the door, with the loud BANGS still sounding. You think of your poor neighbors next door and their newborn baby.

"This little shit," you protest, completely annoyed with this person knocking on your door like someone has died. "Someone better be dead or else…" You open the door in one strong pull and huff utterly annoyed when you encounter the person behind.

Vermillion eyes collide with yours, the intense hate and annoyance so palpable in the air it almost cuts you both.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

He tchs, rolling his eyes at you. The bile travels up through your esophagus, and you want to spit at him.

"Save the greetings, if you know what a decent greeting means… Well, considering how well you just did it, I doubt you fuckin’ know…"

The muscle at your temple twitches so hard, you believe he is actually able to see it. That would explain his upcoming smirk.

"The fuck do you want?" You repeat, not even caring or taking the time to follow this banter with him. You would normally do it, come back at him with a snarky response that would probably hurt his ego and he would answer back making you even angrier, and yada yada, nothing new to this ‘hate x hate’ relationship you had with this man in front of you. But today is not a day you planned on dealing with Bakugou-annoying ass-Katsuki.

He looks down at his hands, his fingers fidgeting a bit with the buttons on his all-black suit jacket you just now noticed he is wearing. Interesting; he never uses formal suits like this one if it isn't for a Hero Gala, and that was only once a year. Or that one time you remember he had to apologize to citizens through a TV interview with Deku because of a villain attack in Hokkaido they couldn't quite contain on time and caused a lot of material damage. You shake your head coming back to the present. Pro Hero Dynamight, a.k.a. Bakugou-annoying ass-Katsuki is standing right at your door, looking a bit nervous while playing with the buttons of his jacket, furrowing his eyebrows like he is angry even at the air he breathes.

You could have expected anything from this unpredictable man who infuriated you almost twenty-four hours a day, the seven days of the whole week. However, you were not expecting at all the words that come from his mouth after he looks up again and his eyes lock with yours.

"Fucking marry me."

Your eyes open wide. And the only thing you think of doing is punching him. And you do.

Your hands close in tight fists, and before saying anything, you punch his shoulder as strongly as you can with one. You know for sure your small and useless fist won't do any damage to this hulk of a man, but the meaning behind it it's what matters.

He simply looks at you in disbelief. "Ouch?" He smirks. He fucking smirks at you, and this time you punch his stomach, which does make him grunt and hover a bit in pain.

You attempt to close the door right at his face, but he suddenly pushes it with his hand and makes you waver a bit back, holding yourself on the door handle. He stands straight again, retrieving his hand from the door when he realizes he used more force than intended to prevent you from closing the door.

"I- umm- Shit, sorry, I didn't-..." 

You raise a hand to stop him from talking.

"Just fucking tell me what you want, so I can go back to bed and not see your ugly face for the rest of my day."

You watch in satisfaction how his face contours into full rage. And this time you smirk. 

"I fucking hate you…" He spits, and you bat your lashes at him while smiling.

"Ah, the feeling is mutual, baby."

Bakugou takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and holding himself on the door frame with strength. You're sure his hand shape will print on it, and you get more annoyed –if that's possible, but you have already learned that when Bakugou was involved, the anger was immeasurable– thinking that you will have to hire someone to fix that.

"I fucking hate you," he repeats through his teeth with his eyes still closed, but then he opens them, and his entire face changes into something you never expected to see. He looks at you, begging, "But I need you to marry me."

You look… perplexed. Again, never in your life have you ever come across the thought that those words would ever come from the man in front of you, much less towards you.

You open your mouth to say something, but the neighbor from the apartment in front of yours opens his door, standing there with his arms crossed and looking menacingly.

"Everything okay, Y/N?" His deep baritone voice asks. Bakugou turns his head and when he sees him, stands straight, head held high and you can imagine the type of defying expression on his face.

You roll your eyes. Men.

"Yes, Arisu, everything is fine. He's… a… friend," the word stung your tongue because you couldn't consider Bakugou that, even though you shared the same group of friends. But it wouldn't have been good having these two fight over something you still didn't understand what was happening; the thought of who of these two hulk men would win still was entertaining to think about. Your money was on Arisu, of course.

"Alrigh’," Arisu says, looking at Bakugou up and down before retrieving himself back into his apartment.

"The fuck this fucking extra-..." You stop Bakugou from turning and going towards Arisu by holding his arm and pulling him towards you.

"Stop it. Come inside," you demand, pulling him as he watches your hand around his bicep, "before any of my neighbors file a complaint against me thanks to your fucking loud mouth."

Bakugou grunts at your words as he lets you pull him inside. When you close the door and turn to him, you realize how big he looks in your small apartment, where there is barely space between the living room and the kitchen and two doors, one leads to your bedroom and the other to the bathroom. You want to laugh at how uncomfortable he looks.

You take a deep breath, scratching your forehead to regain a bit of patience –which was non-existent whenever Bakugou was around.

"Okay, now, explain to me what the hell is wrong with you."

"Nothing is wrong with me. More like what's wrong with you and this small thing you call apartment… When did you-..."

"Bakugou! I didn't invite you in for you to start insulting my living space!" You say more exasperated by every second he is in there. "Tell me what the hell happened to you! Why did you come here, almost tearing down the door of my place at 6 in the fucking morning, annoying even my neighbors, and then you fucking propose out of nowhere!"

His lips are held in a tight line as he watches you almost yell at him, hands opening and closing anxiously. There is silence for a couple of minutes before he says, "My father died."

You gasp, taking a step back. Wow. That's something you were not expecting at all. You get now why the black suit. And now that you look at him better, his eyes look glassy and reddish –probably thanks to how much he's holding himself back from showing any other emotion that isn't anger. And that's… sad.

Your arms immediately hug yourself, one hand settling over your chest. "I- I'm sorry…"

"Don't be," he turns a bit to the left, facing the kitchen to avoid looking at you. "Fucker was a right pain in the ass."

You choke on the laugh that almost escapes you at his words, and after you clear your throat you murmur, "Sorry." He looks at you a bit amused, the right corner of his mouth lifted a bit at your reaction.

You sigh again after a few seconds of silence, "Bakugou, what does that have to do with you asking me to-...”

"My great-grandparents are-were the funders and CEOs of TCA Technologies Corp.," your eyes open wide at the name of the prestigious company that had been ground-breaking in the creation and use of robots, before being the number one seller of technology materials to support heroes. They were high class in society, civilians and heroes. "Yeah, that's the face every extra makes," he smirks when you stick your tongue out at him.

He then looks at you up and down and immediately looks away, clearing his throat in a clear gesture of shyness. You frown confused.

"Fucking go put some clothes on."

That's when you remember you had no pants, no bra, and an old shirt that barely covered your panties. Fuck. You almost run towards your room to get changed. All of this had to be a dream… or a nightmare.

Your Sunday was entirely ruined. You know that for sure.

After you change to decent, more covered clothing, leggings and a big shirt that almost reached your knees –it is Sunday, dammit, and the hell you are gonna dress up for Bakugou Katsuki– you walk again towards the living room where you left said asshole waiting for you there. He is now sitting on your couch, his suit jacket lying over the back of it. His elbows are resting over his knees, his hands holding his head. You have never encountered a tired Bakugou, yet here he is. Looking beaten and down.

He looks up at you when he hears you approach him; his eyes are more reddish than before, kind of like when you want to cry but don't let yourself do it. That made you feel bad for thinking about him as an asshole.

"What took you so long, short-legs? Whatever you wear, you'll still stink and look ugly on it."

Nope. He is and will always be a stupid asshole.

You roll your eyes grunting as you let yourself fall on the couch, as far away from him as you can on that three-people couch, crossing your legs under you.

"Spit it out, asshole. What's all this about?"

He sighs, "My father inherited it all after my grandfather died. His whole life had been that stupid company, his and my mother's. I don't give a fuck about it, but the old hack insists that I- ow!"

You pinch him on the shoulder this time, knowing very well that if you had punched him he wouldn't have felt anything. But pinching… he did feel that.

"What the fuck was that for?!"

"Don't call your mom like that, idiot!"

"Fucking piss off, you know shit! The old hack is an old hack, she deserves the title."

You shake your head in disagreement but decide to leave that topic there considering how affected he looks by it.

"The old hack said," he simply repeats that to spite you, and you really want to punch him, "that I need to step up and be fucking CEO of that bullshit, or…"

He looks at you, and you gulp, kind of understanding where this is going.

"Or get married." You finish the sentence, crossing your arms over your chest, "But why? Those two options are completely different from one another."

"The sky will fucking fall the day I understand any-fucking-thing that comes out of her mouth. She's nuts!" He protests, arms exaggerating his words as he opens them wide, evidently showing how much stress he has, before laying back on the couch, head resting over the back of it where his jacket is. He sighs long and deeply before talking again, "My great-grandmother had a strong Quirk, but she decided to stay at home instead of being a Hero. Those were other times, ya'know?"

"I know History of Heroes, Bakugou. I'm not stupid."

He looks at you again, this time genuinely surprised, "I, umm, thought you-..."

"Have you ever thought that despite not having a Quirk, I know about heroes?"

He tchs, "No wonder why you and shitty Deku are such shitty nerds."

You roll your eyes for the eleventh time that morning, "Get to the point, shitty asshole."

Bakugou scoffs, clearly holding back a retort to answer back, then he continues, "I'm the first in generations with a strong, hero-level Quirk. Most of my family had decided to live as civilians, building this stupid company from generation to generation."

"Oh, and you are the first actual Hero in the family. You are the first one to choose differently…"

He nods in response, "It almost gave my grandfather a heart attack. Ever since my Quirk woke up, I knew what I wanted," he looks back at you, and for the first time, you admit to yourself that you're curious of knowing what he wants, what goes through his head, so you nod allowing him to continue, "I want to be a Number One Hero. I want to kick villains' asses as much and as hard as I can for as long as my stupid aging bones allow me to."

The intensity in his eyes and conviction in every word he spoke made you feel his passion. And that was… new.

"But to be that, I can't afford to waste time in falling in love and all that bullshit…"

"Then say no to your mom and the company," you offer as a solution. He snorts letting his head fall back against the couch.

"You know shit…" He shakes his head, "There's a requirement in every hero company, it says that a familiar, or a spouse if the hero is married, has to validate your mental sanity alongside a doctor to keep working as a Hero."

"I… didn't know that."

"Of course not, short-legs. You're not a hero, why would you know?"

"So, if I… If we get married-..." he nods in confirmation even before you say the words. But he says them.

"The old hag won't have to validate my status as Hero anymore, and she won't have anything to hold me back from sending her and the company to hell."

You looked serious at him, "Bakugou, you and I don't like each other. You hate me and I hate you. And you want to put your Hero status in my hands by marrying me?" You say in disbelief, almost anxious about the whole meaning of this. You stand up and walk from one side to the other as you keep talking, "Why? Because your inner kid is in rebellious tantrum mode and does not want to take the responsibility to-..."

"Shut the fuck up! You. Know. Shit!" He also stood up, shortening the distance between you two in the small living room.

"Then tell me! Explain it to me! Cause to me you only sound like a spoiled brat who doesn't want his veggies for lunch."

He looks you right in the eye, hands almost trembling in fists beside his body, and then he drops the bomb.

"My mother killed my grandfather."

You recoil a step back, "What?"

He sighs, hands and fingers running through his hair, clearly uncomfortable, "I-... There is no proof, no solid proof about it. I just- I know it was her." Again, the conviction in his eyes made you believe him. "My mother wanted the money, the luxury life being with my dad could bring her. But my dad had a brother, an older brother."

"Had?"

Bakugou simply shakes his head, "The idiot got himself in between a shooting from two villain groups. He was shot only once, and it killed him. A fucking looser…" 

You try, you really tried not to smile but failed miserably. "You are the idiot," you say fighting back the chuckle.

He smiles back, "No, I got shot several times, I even got thrown at and through walls, and I'm very much fucking alive. I'm no weak ass looser as him."

You can't stop laughing, Bakugou definitely is an idiot.

He waits until you're done laughing before continuing, "Even then, my grandfather didn't think my dad was capable of handling the company and all it meant, so he was thinking about giving it to one of his nephews. That's when, I fuckin’ know, my mother took matters into her own hands. I'm an only child. If I say no…"

"The company has to go to another familiar..." Everything washes clear now in your head, “And your mom won't allow that to happen. So she’ll lie and say you aren’t sane enough to keep working as a hero,” Bakugou keeps nodding, confirming everything you’re saying.

“That way, I’m obligated to work at the company.”

Your hand travels from your forehead and brushes your hair back. “She wouldn’t that… She’s your mom, Bakugou...”

“Haven’t you heard a fucking thing I said? She fucking killed my grandfather so the company was legally inherited by my father! Therefore, she could hold all the rights, all the stupid money! My father was a fucking dimwit who believed every-fucking-thing my mother said. She controlled him as she pleased.”

You gasp as another realization hits you, “That’s why you are an asshole to her…”

“She can fool anyone, but not me.” He declares, standing tall and proud. “I have never played her game, and I fuckin’ never will.”

You hug yourself once more, taking some minutes to assimilate all the confessions he just dropped on you. Everything feels like a script of a freaking movie or something. And there are too many questions you want to ask. But there’s only one thing you mostly don’t understand and you need the answer to.

So you look back at him, head tilting up a bit due to the height difference between you, and ask, “Why me?”

Bakugou does not hesitate in his answer. 

“You’re strong, despite not having a Quirk. And smart. You don’t let anyone dictate what you can or cannot do,” he takes a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours, “You have never backed down from a discussion, with me or anyone else. You don’t let anybody step on you, holding tight to your convictions and beliefs.”

You visibly gulp, feeling a little warmth in your cheeks that makes you want to look elsewhere, but you don't. You hold the connection between your eyes like dear life. And he smiles, the left corner of his mouth raising a bit.

“You have a fuckin’ strong character, you won't even shy down from me,” you suddenly feel the back of his index finger caress the right side of your jaw, where lays an old scar he perfectly recognized.

It was the scar he accidentally left when you were younger, stupider. He had picked a fight with another newbie hero –another asshole in your opinion– who kept talking shit about his other newbie hero friends. Bakugou had snapped when the guy mocked the word “whore” towards you. You have tried to separate them, earning yourself a punch on the right side of your face by this same man that has touched the reminder of that old memory.

“But above all that…” It’s his turn to gulp, eyes going up and down through your face. Is he… Is he looking at your lips? “You are kind. You care about everyone. You always try to solve everything for everyone –that’s fuckin’ annoying actually.”

You open your mouth to swear at him, stupid asshole; but he doesn’t give you time to say anything. “What I’m trying to fuckin’ say is–” he takes a deep breath, “You are… good. A good person. And you… You understand m- us.”

Was he going to say ‘me’? By ‘us’, you know he means heroes.

Your parents had been heroes before they died. Unfortunately, you were born Quirkless, so the dream of following your parents' path was decided the same day you were welcomed into this world. You have already made peace with this idea, it didn’t hurt like it used to when you were young. Despite not having a Quirk, you specialized in Quirk and training analysis, which granted you a job that most Hero Agencies wanted you for. Hence also how now your group of friends involved all heroes.

However, one thing is working with them, working with Bakugou Katsuki, a.k.a. Pro Hero Dynamight, who was the biggest pain in your ass you have ever had since the day you met him. Another completely different is actually marrying the pain in your ass.

You sigh, “I don’t–...”

“What? You want me to fuckin’ beg? ‘Cause I fuckin’ will…” Bakugou takes a step back and literally kneels before you. You protest, grabbing his forearm and pulling him back up, but he doesn’t let you move him even a millimeter. “What do you want? Whatever you want is yours. We can even sign a dam contract if you so want, I don’t fuckin’ care what it is. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

“This is not a fucking joke, Bakugou. You are asking me to marry you. What if I have a boyfriend? You didn’t even fucking ask!”

His eyes open wide, surprised. “Do you?”

You roll your eyes, releasing an exasperated sigh. “No! I don’t!”

“Then, what are you bitching about?”

You groan. “I’m bitching about the fact that I don’t know why would you put a whole big deal on me when we hate each other!”

“I trust you.”

It’s a short answer, his expression is even so neutral and sure that leaves you perplexed. Surprised at how easily he said those words.

“We don’t like each other…”

“I don’t need to like you to trust you, idiot.” It feels like he’s mocking you, but one look into his eyes and what he is saying actually feels right. He is completely sure of what he is saying. “I would even fuckin’ trust you with my life.”

He already does. Every day, at work.

Still, you can’t pass the opportunity to piss him off. “Wow. That’s deep, buddy.”

“Fuck you.”

Mission accomplished.

You laugh gently, looking at him still kneeling on the floor of your living room. The sight in itself is a miracle. A sight you won't get to see ever again from this man. But it’s not the image of his kneeling position that makes you take the decision.

It’s his eyes.

They are screaming, desperately begging for you to help him. And, damn it, he is right; you always are at the disposal of everyone when they need your help. Fuck! It is actually very annoying –but you will never admit that out loud, especially not to him.

You close your eyes, head tilting back, and take a long, deep breath.

You are so going to regret this.

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

Bakugou Katsuki immediately stands up and practically throws himself at you, his whole hulk of a body surrounding you in what you have never thought would ever happen between you two: a hug.

Are you though?

[fear-is-truth]

GUILTY PLEASURE — spencer reid x reader

˖˚⊹ 𝓙’s note: wrote this in a hurry, apologies for the rushed writing + english isn’t my first language .. content warning: prof!spencer x student!reader (in her early 20’s). smut

professor reid, who first noticed you as just another student. someone eager and sharp, with that gleam of curiosity he remembered from his own younger years.

he could see bits of himself in you, the way you’d lean forward, pen poised, eyes locked onto his every word as if his lecture held the secrets of the universe. he felt a faint swell of pride every time your hand shot up, answers always impressively well thought out. it’s hard to miss the spark of admiration in your eyes when you looked at him or when he called on you—traits he chose to see as mere enthusiasm for the subject.

sometimes, he’d catch you staring, your gaze dropping shyly when he looked back, leaving him with a weird mix of pride and shame. you weren’t the only one smitten for him, of course. nearly every woman in the class regarded him with that same starry-eyed admiration. still, spencer reminded himself that it was natural, just his mind latching onto familiarity, seeing a version of his younger self in you that felt both nostalgic and bittersweet. it made sense, he reasoned, that he’d be drawn to someone with similar traits. he didn’t dare entertain the thought that it might be something dangerously toeing the line of taboo.

over time, he started to feel a gravitational pull toward your presence that made him… justifiably uncomfortable. he started second-guessing his own motives, wondering if he was favoring you in ways he shouldn’t.

searching for you, through the sea of faces in his lectures. enchanted by the way sunlight hit your hair. your adorable little quirk of gnawing the end of your pen in deep thought. his heart beating a touch faster when you’d smile up at him, grateful for his feedback. the way he’d subconsciously tune into your reactions during his lectures, adjusting his delivery if he sensed you were confused, feeling an unexplainable satisfaction whenever he saw that beautiful “eureka” moment cross your face.

spencer saw flashes of his younger self in you.

he never would have guessed then, during those careful exchanges, that the controlled, ethical version of himself he clung to would slip. that he would be here, now, literally inside you.

.

the air is thick and heavy—reeking of the sweet, primitive scent of carnal desire. spencer’s shirt is half-unbuttoned, clinging to his skin, nearly transparent from the sweat that beads on his chest. the navy blue tie is long gone—discarded somewhere on the floor, forgotten. you crane your neck, lips parting slightly, desperately trying to get to him. you need him, more than you ever needed anything. fingers pulling him in by his hair, a low groan slipping from his throat as your tongue shoved its way unceremoniously into his mouth.

hand slips up to cradle the base of your skull, his fingers threading gently through your hair as he angles your head, deepening the kiss. you can feel his breath hitch as your tongues meet, and he presses forward, his body leaning over yours, guiding you back until your spine meets the hard surface of the desk.

your panties are a twisted mess—dangling limply around your right ankle as his fingers dig into the flesh of your thigh, securing you to the wooden surface that you’re so precariously perched on. a smooth, precise thrust hits the sweet spot within you that has your back arching and you swear you can hear vertebrate pop.

he’s buried so deep inside that you can feel every ridge and vein. every delicious twitch and throb against your walls.

you gasp at the feeling, the new closeness sending an euphoric thrill through you, and a soft sound escapes your kiss-bitten lips before you can stop it. spencer notices; like he always does. his grip falters, and with almost superhuman effort, he pulls back slightly, sweat-slicked forehead pressing against yours.

he mumbles a quiet, “i’m sorry,” like he’s still fighting with himself, knowing he’s finally crossed a line but can’t bring himself to stop. but then he’s leaning back in, lips finding yours again, hand slipping up your back, holding you as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away.

bad and wrong and twisted, but love has never felt so good.

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[moonstruckme]

hi love I like all ur fics!!! Ur most recent emt Maurader made me realize tho we don't always get to see Sirius being vulnerable so what about a fic where may be he's having an off day? Or runs into a cousin and they completely ignore him and he tries to act like it doesn't bother him and just reader comforting him and giving him space

Thank you for requesting angel!

cw: allusion to past abuse, discussion of toxic workplace dynamics

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

Sirius gets home from work early. You’re in the bedroom, stomach-down on the mattress with your book in front of you. You hear the front door open and come out to greet your boyfriend, but your smile falls when you see him. 

Sirius’ face is red. He doesn’t usually color when he’s upset, so you take it to mean something that he has now. He steps on the back of his shoe a couple of times before he manages to get it off, stomps on the back of the other even more harshly. You think he might be shaking. 

“Sirius?” 

He flinches. Turning around, his expression twinges with some mix of emotions at seeing you, too muddled to parse apart. He seals them all away quickly. 

You take a step towards him. “You okay?” 

“Yeah.” It comes out hoarse. Sirius clears his throat. “Yeah. Just a shit day at work.” 

“You’re home early,” you note. 

Sirius nods curtly. You think maybe that’s that, but his expression is conflicted. 

“Do you wanna sit down?” you ask gently, going to the couch and hoping he’ll follow. He does. It’s a challenge not to reach for his hand, to pull him closer or offer some kind touch, but the stiffness about Sirius’ frame hints that it may not be well received right now. 

When he’s still silent after a moment, you say, “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I could make tea and we could just relax.” 

Sirius shakes his head. “It’s okay,” he says, tersely, like he might be trying to convince himself more than you. “I think I’m probably going to be fired, though.” 

You feel your eyebrows go up. 

“I…you know how I got a new boss a few weeks ago?” 

You nod mutely. 

“Right, well, she’s got a temper. At least a couple times a week I’ll hear her shouting at someone in her office and she’s already managed to fire from almost every team.” Your dread mounts as Sirius goes on, speaking faster now that he’s on a roll. “She called me in after lunch. I fucked up something in a report—I hadn’t checked it and it had gotten sent out with the error—and she was pissed. She screamed at me—really screamed, stood up and got red in the face and all that—for probably ten minutes before she sent me back to my desk. And I just came home.” Sirius lets out a dry chuckle. “If she doesn’t fire me, I might quit.” 

“You should, baby.” Your voice pitches with dismay, hurt and outrage for him warring inside you. You take a chance and reach for his hand. Sirius fits his fingers between yours instinctively, something seeming to loosen in him at the touch. “I can’t believe she really shouted at you. No one deserves that, least of all for a silly error in a report. She should be fired for that.” 

Sirius gives you a little smile, but it dissolves at the edges, watery. A cavity opens in your chest as his eyes grow shiny. 

“Baby.” 

He shakes his head, jaw clenched. Blinking. “Sorry,” he says roughly. “I never used to do this.” You feel your face pinch with sympathy. He means cry, you know. Sirius as an adult is more emotional than he was as a child, but you still rarely see him cry. “She just—she sounded just like my mother.” 

Realization comes like a blow to your middle. “Oh, my love,” you say breathlessly, moving to put your arms around him. 

Sirius usually hugs with his whole being. He throws himself into it, with force and purpose and his own rough brand of caring. So you’re used to letting him take the lead, but now, when his arms come around you hesitantly, you’re the one who applies the pressure. And Sirius melts against you. 

You cup the back of his neck in one hand and squeeze between his shoulders with the other, imagining your love pouring out of you and into him through your palms. Sirius is quiet, but you feel a couple of hot tears transfer from his chin to your shirt. You worry he’s holding his breath. 

“Sirius.” You say his name with all the tenderness you can summon, afraid of him hearing echoes of his mother’s voice. “I’m so sorry, lovely. You never, ever deserve to be shouted at that way.” 

“Even if I told you I left your favorite mug at my office?” he jokes weakly. 

You let him go. There aren’t many tears to brush off his cheeks, and you make short work of them, soothing your thumbs over his face just for the sake of it. Surprisingly, his complexion is less agitated than it had been when he’d come in. He was holding it in, you realize. 

“Don’t ever let me speak to you like that,” you say.

Sirius’ expression sobers. “You wouldn’t. I know you wouldn’t.” 

“Really. Leave me if I talk to you like that, I’m serious.” 

“No, that’s me.” 

One side of your mouth tips up without your consent. “Bad joke.” 

Sirius mirrors you, grinning halfheartedly. “You think you’d have learned to evade it by now.” 

You gather that he wants things to be light now. That’s okay. You know Sirius has a difficult time with the truly heavy emotions—anger is an instinct for him, but tears and sorrow he’s never known what to do with. You’ll talk about it more over time, in bits and pieces where he’s comfortable. And just because you’re letting it go now doesn’t mean you’re done coddling him. 

You let your hands coast down from his face to either side of his neck, massaging gently the tension in his shoulders. “Did you really bring my favorite mug to work?” 

Sirius’ smile goes a tad sheepish. “Yes?” 

“Why would you do that?” 

“Because it makes me think of my most favorite sweetheart when I get coffee from the break room,” he says, smarmy. “Also, it was the first one I saw when I went to grab one from our cabinet.” 

You smile at him. Sirius pretends at facetiousness, but you know the first reason had been the genuine one. 

“What,” he asks, “you didn’t notice it was missing?” 

“No, I did. I only thought you’d broken it.” 

“And you weren’t going to say anything?” 

“What’d be the point?” 

A soft, intimate look comes over Sirius’ face. “I don’t deserve you,” he says, gray eyes raw and quiet, “do I?” 

You match his tone. “Of course you do, lovely. You deserve better than me, it’s just I’m what you’ve got.” 

“Mm, there’s another way you’re not allowed to speak.” He wraps his arms around you, pressing a heavy-fond kiss to your hairline. “I won’t have any of that talk.” 

“I’ll trade you that for the jokes about your name.” 

“No, I don’t think so. You’re going to have to work a little harder, doll, I’m not giving those up so easily.”

[mialikeshockey]

Kiss Me - Jack Hughes

Being with Jack was always like a fresh breath of air. Never was there a moment where we weren’t giggling and laughing over the most ridiculous things. Everything was always so smiley, it’s kinda why being with Jack was always so special to me; until I remember he’s my twin brothers best friend. Jack would never be anything more to me than my brothers best friend. Case would never allow it for sure.

So I thought…

“Hey lil mac, how’s it going?” Jack says walking into my room. “Case is out back with Trev.” Jack chuckles, “I wasn’t gonna ask about him, but great to know.” I set my book down on my blanket, “What were you gonna ask about then? You never just come in my room to talk unless Case isn’t home, and well, Case is home.”

“Who said i didn’t wanna talk to you even while Mac is home?” Jack picks my book up and starts looking over at the back. “Since when do you enjoy reading, give me my book back.” I say, taking my book out of his hands. “Ouch. I guess there’s a lot you don’t know about me Lex.” I put my bookmark in my book and close it, gently setting it down on my nightstand.

Before I could get a word out, Case runs in my room giggling,Trevor following behind him. Case jumps on my bed, landing right on top of me. “Ew! You stink! Get off my bed Case!” Case just chuckles. “It’s not funny, I will push you off. You have five seconds to get up.”

Case gets up, “Come on Hughesy, we gotta head out soon. Marshall and Danny are waiting for us at the rink.” Case walks out of my room, Trevor following him like a lost puppy. “I guess I gotta go.” I lay back on my pillows, “yeah, I guess so.”

“I’ll call you later lil mac, and ps, maybe this time, answer the phone.” He pats my head and walks out. I grab my book and try to finish what I was reading before, but all I could think about is why he wanted to talk.

—

Later that night, I finished up some last minute homework before I could head to bed. I finish packing my bag for school tomorrow and my phone lights up, with Jacks name on the screen. I sit there thinking if I should answer or not, why would he even wanna talk to me anyways. I mean he does call and text a lot but I’m always dry with him and I don’t try to keep a conversation.

I let myself just have the win of my feelings take over and I answer the call. “I feel like I just won the lottery.” Jack says, very tiredly. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Jack chuckles, “lil mac finally answers one of my calls.”

“Well, make this quick, I wanna go to sleep.” Jack goes quiet for a moment, “Jack, I really gotta head to bed. I have an ap history test tomorrow.”

“okay, goodnight beautiful.” Jack hangs up before I could say anything. My heart drops to my stomach and all I could think about was his voice repeating that over and over again in my head.

I lay down in bed and try everything to get it off my mind, but nothing sounded as good as hearing him call me that. I close my eyes and relax and I was out.

—

My alarm is one of the worst things to wake up to. I hate the noise of it. I turn it off and give myself time to wake up, I sit up and check my phone. Nothing much to really check because I hate having social media but got it to see my families posts.

I turn on some music and I start to get ready. I get one of my jeans out with a sweater to go with it. I put my hair in a low messy bun. I was never big on makeup, I did put on mascara on every now and then but I have gotten used to not putting it on at all. I put some lip gloss on and headed downstairs.

All my brothers were sitting at the table eating breakfast. “Morning boys, morning Gav.” I say, giving Gavin a kiss on the head. “How come Gavin gets a special good morning and Case and I get a lame one?” Aiden gets up from the table, I take his spot. “I actually like Gavin.” Gavin smiles in response.

“Come on Lexi! We gotta go, I gotta pick up Jack!” Case yells to me, walking out of the door. My heart drops at Jacks name. I grab my bag and put my shoes on, “I’ll make cookies with you guys after school if you ask mom go get the stuff.” I tell Aiden and Gavin, they both nod.

—

We get to Jacks house and he walks out. He’s wearing gray sweatpants and an ntdp hoodie, his hair being a bit messy, but I always found that adorable. He gets in the front seat and looks back at me. “Morning lil mac.”

“Morning.” I say quietly, putting my face back down in my phone. Thank gosh the school isn’t far from Jacks house.

—

We get to school and i quickly get my stuff out of the car and walk to the building. I head to my locker and get my history books out and my notes to help study for the test. As I’m shutting my locker, I see a familiar face standing right next to me. “Can I help you?”

Jack rubs the back of his neck, “I wanted to apologize for last night.” I look over at him, “what is there to apologize for?” He gives me a confused look.

“Jack, your my brothers best friend, he’d kill me if I ever once said anything about having a crush on you.” I state, walking away. Jack walks with me, “so you admit it, you do like me?”

“Never said that.” I put my book to the side. “Well then, do you?” I stop and turn and look at him. “It doesn’t matter if I do or don’t Jack. Like I said, you’re my brothers best friend. I can’t do that to him. He’s my twin brother.” Before I could walk away, Jack grabs my arm.

“It does matter Lex, I already talked to Case. He trusts me. Why do you think he lets me come over so much and be around you?” I start thinking of all the times Case never got mad at Jack for hanging out with me and not him.

“I like you a lot Lexi. I wouldn’t be trying to do anything about it if I didn’t.” He grabs my hand. “So kiss me.” I say walking closer to him. “What?” Jack says softly.

“If you like me and Case is okay with it, kiss me to prove it because I don’t believe you.” Jack stands there and looks around. “Exactly.” I say, letting go of his hand and walking away. “Wait! Lex come here.”

Jack pulls me in and kisses me. “I don’t wanna mess up okay. I call you every night because you are my last thought before I go to bed. You’re the last person I want to talk to before I go to bed. I got scared last night and hung up because I didn’t mean to call you beautiful out loud. It just slipped out.”

Before I could reply to Jack, Case and Marshall appear out of the corner. “About damn time!” Case yells. “I’ve been waiting for this for months. Only took a couple pep talks!” Case pats Jack on his back. “Yeah yeah whatever Mac.”

The bell rings, Case and Marshall head the opposite way of Jack and I. Jack holds my hand, “you’ll do good on your test. You’re really smart.” I try to hold back my smile but being called smart is one of my favorite things.

He walks me to my class and before I go to walk in, he kisses the side of my cheek. “Good luck beautiful.”

I walk in class looking like a tomato with how red my face is from smiling.

—

Sorry I haven’t posted in so long, I was visiting family back home and haven’t really been on any social media. I wanna write more for Jack but I have like no ideas but I’m gonna try to post a lot more with holiday themed stuff so if you have requests feel free to send them in!

Credit to gif maker!!

(Also for the people that don’t know, Cases nickname is Mac so that’s why Lexi is named lil mac 😭)

[zara-renata]

The pool | ao3 | my fanfic masterlist

Summary: You dream, you do some art, you go for a swim, Sylus destroys part of his office, you discover the hot tub, you're close to catching a clue. A 'morning' in the life at Onychinus HQ. Part 17 of the Sylus series.

Notes: Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, second person POV, some Sylus POV MC is referred to by they/them pronouns as a placeholder for your preferred pronouns. This story contains: soft Sylus, embarrassed Sylus, fluff, angst, grief, profanity, mentions of self harm, self-destructive urges, mc with self esteem issues, obscene art, nudity, the twins being the twins

This is what it feels like. Lured to the edge. Balancing on the cliff. You probably know how it ends, before you even realize it's beginning. But the knowing doesn't stop you from leaning, leaning, until the gravity of the inevitable pulls you down into the fall.

Wet cobblestones, moss growing between the cracks. Fallen leaves, slick from the recent rain, gathered in the gutters, piled against the garden wall lining the uneven sidewalk. The scent of damp earth, and the pleasant smell of a wood-burning fire.

Night. Lamplight puncturing the dark at even intervals, marching into the distance. Each lit lamppost haloed by the mist, edges blurred. The muted light bathes everything in warm tones, a sunset’s yellow. Beyond the pools of light—an ocean of night.

Light rain makes no sound as it drifts to the ground, as it coats the hood drawn up over your hair. It would be bone-chilling, if the wind were blowing, but the night’s air is still. You see your breath in puffs of white. You feel like you are the last person on the planet with how quiet the streets are. It is just you, the mist, your footsteps in the pools of light, the eddies of dark between.

You are reminded of the holidays with your gran and Caleb, the way the air smelled in winter, when you would emerge from the metro and walk the last few blocks to your grandmother’s home. Hot, abundant holiday meals, the undercurrent of excitement in exchanging gifts. The scent of pine. 

Winter’s dark nights, softened by the glow of your little family.

You don’t know why you’re walking through this neighborhood, on this dark winter night. It doesn’t matter, really. The woodfire, the leaves, the stillness of the mist. Linkon City’s streets are never this deserted, even in the middle of the night. The solitude is a welcome reprieve from the constant presence of other people, their existence weighing on your subconscious in a way that you only notice when it’s absent—a form of relief, of your breath coming easy for once.

To your left, the high garden wall of a residential building. To your right, a quiet street, stretching forward into the distance, disappearing into the night. On the other side of the street, darkness. You get the sense of open space. The lamplight, though not very bright, is blinding against the black night. No matter how long you stare into the darkness, you can’t discern anything beyond that sense of open space. Like you’re at the very edge of the city. Maybe even the edge of the world. You’re tempted to cross the street to see if you could just let yourself fall and continue falling into forever.

You shake your head. What a strange thought. You have your family waiting. Your colleagues. Your work. A whole life, really. 

But do you? Your footsteps are muted by the slick leaves, the misty night. There is something you’re forgetting—you just don’t know what it could be. You’re on this lovely night walk, with no particular destination in mind. You’ve been walking on this sidewalk for what feels like a long time now, but the garden wall does not end. You do not see the end of the road, no matter how far you walk.

What are you forgetting? A woodfire in a small fireplace. The scent of pine. Plate after plate of food, apple pie.

Why are you tempted to cross the street, tempted to see what endless depths lie on the other side?

You’re forgetting something. Gifts wrapped clumsily but carefully. Ribbons that shine in the light from the fireplace, a string of lights draped over the window.

Apple pie, warm on your tongue.

You stop walking. You listen, straining to hear… something. Something you’re forgetting. You turn and look behind you. Just the garden wall. The leaves piled along the curb. The street stretching into the night. The way back is a mirror of the way forward. There is no end, there is no beginning. There is only the street, the lampposts, the leaves, and the darkness on the other side.

You take a step off of the sidewalk, onto the cobblestoned road. Still no sound. Just the small clouds of your breath. Just the crisp scent of a cold, wet winter day.

You need to see what’s across the street. A muted feeling of fear sweeps through you as you take another step. Just a few more, and you will leave the pool of light from the streetlamp. You won’t be able to see the edge if the world does drop off on the other side. You will simply take a step, and there will be nothing—

You feel like you’re peeking over the edge of a tall building, knowing that the flimsy handrail will give way if you lean too hard. But you can’t stop yourself. You take another step.

You should stop. You have your family waiting, after all.

But you’re forgetting something.

An apple rolls off a cutting board. It hangs suspended in the air, as if time has stopped.

You’re forgetting something, but you don’t want to remember what it is. You take another step.

You are caught between forgetting and remembering, now. What’s holding you back? Perhaps when you reach the edge, you will mirror the apple. You will hang suspended, between forgetting and remembering, and you’ll never hit the ground.

You need to know. Your curiosity would always lead you into trouble. Gran would scold you for it. Caleb would tease you for it. Not the curiosity itself, but the boundary-pushing, the rule-breaking you’d commit to satiate it. You used to have to know, no matter how terrible you knew the knowing would be. Now though—now there are things you do not want to know. But you don't know why you changed. You lean back, slightly, and then sprint out of the safe pool of yellow light. Your feet hit solid ground, echoing on the cobblestones. Until you take another long stride and then—nothing.

You are falling, into the black. You are not the apple. You are deadweight, and you are falling, falling, falling, with your heart in your throat, your stomach turning inside out, so terrified that you can’t even scream.

You’re going to die. The apple, no longer suspended, falls the short distance to the worn wooden floorboards of your grandmother’s house. When it hits, it explodes like a bomb—all sound is sucked from your plummeting trajectory, and all you hear is a high-pitched whine as you continue to fall.

“Darling, wake up,” a deep voice says in the black, right before you splatter onto the unseen ground.

You fall back into your body in terror, only to find that it’s held tightly by strong arms—

Sylus.

He is cradling the back of your head in his big hand, holding your face to his chest. He’s rocking you, as he did in the shower, his cheek resting on the top of your head. The high pitched whining from your dream is coming from your throat, not from the tinnitus in your ears from a bomb exploding.

You gasp.

Sylus lifts his head to look down at you. “Finally awake?” he asks, but not with his usual teasing manner. He’s pale—more pale than usual, and his eyes are wide.

You can’t speak. Part of you still feels like you’re falling. Part of you still feels the impact of when you hit the ground. All of you remembers what you were forgetting in the dream—your family is gone, and they’re never coming back.

You can’t speak, so you just throw your arms around Sylus’s neck and cling to him, burying your face where you previously bit him, where his neck meets his shoulder. It’s not close enough. 

You’re still falling. You’re still hitting the ground. Your family is still gone, and you’re all that’s left.

You push back from him.

“Sylus—” you gasp again. It’s hard to breathe.

He cradles your face in his hands. “What do you need? Tell me.”

You stare into his beautiful eyes. Red is too simple of a word to describe them. They’re the color of red brought to life. They’re the heart of a fire, glowing on a calm winter night.

“Resonate with me?” you manage to ask through your struggling lungs.

He stares at you.

“Please?” you whisper.

He sucks in a breath and drops one of his hands from your cheek, fingers gliding along the skin of your forearm where you’re clinging to his neck. He gently pulls your wrist down, aligns his palm with your own. He slips his fingers between yours, and your hand is swallowed by his. He then clasps it, hard.

Everything fades away.

There is only Sylus’s hand, calloused and rough where it grips yours, Sylus’s heartbeat, fast and hard. You’re sinking into the night, but instead of a starless void like the dream, it is a galaxy under placid waves. Quiet, and strength. So much strength—raw power. Heat. A lava flow beneath, diamond netting glittering above, reflecting the hot glow below. 

You are pure energy—there are no borders, no limits, no restraints. None, except a chain leading from him, stretched taut, anchored in you.

The longer your energy flows into him, and his flows into you, the borders between you and him blur, melt. You are him, and he is you. You can’t tell if this overflowing sense of safety, of want—this yearning threaded with adoration—is yours or his. You are strength incarnate—you can dissolve matter with your mind, disassemble and reassemble atoms, all the constituent parts of a thing, a person. If you were to punch someone right now, they would implode from the force, a collapsing star.

You are aware of all this, faintly. The power of your evol—of Sylus’s evol, your evol, borders rendered meaningless, what’s his is yours, what’s yours is his—-it’s drowned out by the power of hunger, of missing him when he’s right in front of you, an instinct demanding that you grasp him and never let him separate from you again, to taste him, lick and bite, swallow, over and over again, a snake devouring itself, an endless loop of desire mirrored. You are together, scarlet, you are together, ink, particle and wave, solid and liquid—you are not you, he is not him, there is only…

His hand, swallowing yours. A chain anchored in both directions. You are no longer falling. You are no longer hitting the ground. You are no longer the only one left. The emptiness inside you, filled. 

Sylus’s hand. Sylus’s heartbeat. Your heartbeat. Your hand in his. The energy sloshing between you, overflowing—you can teleport. You cling to his neck, hold his hand tighter, and you both dissolve into scarlet-ink mist, swirling up, spilling across his ceiling. The opposite of falling. You feel laughter bubbling up in you, amusement—is it yours? The glee of playful weightlessness? Or his, at your antics with his power? His affectionate indulgence as he waits to see what you’ll do next. You teleport out of his room, bouncing from ceiling to floor—you knock over some edgy modern sculpture. It rolls off a table lining the hallway wall and shatters on the ground—your guilt morphs into more laughter, his again. How could he be mad at you as you ricochet through his home, your home—pick another sculpture to replace it, something you like, this time. You continue, ping ponging through his hallways, destroying more things as you go. Slowly, you get the hang of it, and then you’re a bullet, whooshing through his base until you’re in the greenhouse again. You want to go in, you want to re-materialize on the garden fuck-bed, hand still clasping his, arm still around his neck, but you’re worried you’ll disturb the birds or hurt the plants. You swirl, slingshot back out of the mudroom. Mephisto has been following you, and he squawks in indignation as you rush past him.

You settle for returning to Sylus’s bedroom, where you feel less bad about knocking the pretentious books off his shelves in your reckless enjoyment of this unfiltered power. You re-materialize on his soft, black duvet, arm still wrapped around his neck, hand clasped in his. You’re breathless still, but from the laughter, the joy of reveling in how good it feels to not know where you end and he begins, to not feel so alone—not alone, with the one whose company you crave the most.

You hug him.

He’s silent, as the connection slowly fades, as you let the resonance dissipate. What’s left doesn’t feel empty. You can feel him still, somehow, even though you’re you again, and he is himself again.

You sigh. “Thank you.”

He slings an arm over your waist, as you each lie on your side facing each other.

“Can’t say that I was expecting you to ask to resonate this morning, but you’re very welcome,” he says, thumb soothing along the skin of your waist where your sleep shirt has ridden up.

You’re overcome with relief. You had been so afraid to resonate with him again. The first time had been so overwhelming—no longer hating him, after you learned that he hadn’t killed your family. But still caught in a whirlwind of fear, fascination, trauma. The way he danced with you, the way he handled your panic attack—the only reasons you were able to resonate with him at all so soon after he had treated you so cruelly. You have spent all the time since blocking out that feeling of intimate connection, of drowning yourself in him. It occurs to you that he’s never brought up resonating again, since those long days trying to force you, since you were able to do so once.

You wince. “I’m sorry that it was so abrupt.”

“I told you I don’t want apologies from you. Who said the surprise wasn't pleasant?”

“Okay. Good.” You fall silent, just enjoying his hand on you, the connection that still thrums between you.

But of course he won’t just let you get away with saying nothing about your demand that he resonate with you. “Care to share what brought on the sudden request?”

“Not really,” you mumble, curling in on yourself like a shrimp.

“Mmm,” he acknowledges. His hand slides down, over your hip, curls around the back of your thigh. He tugs a little, and the connection is still so strong that you can’t deny his desire to pull you closer, as if his desire is still yours, and yours, his. You let him pull your leg over his own thighs, and then he rolls. You find yourself lying on top of him, his bare skin under your cheek as it rests over his heart.

He places a palm on the back of your neck, just holding you against him, while hugging you with his other arm.“Were you having a nightmare?” he asks. 

You’ve never told anyone about the night terrors that have contributed so much to your inability to sleep since your family was killed. You feel like you’ve swallowed a knife.

“I woke up because you slapped me in the face as you flailed. I assume you were dreaming about something,” he murmurs, but tightens his hold as you stiffen. “You were making a noise like you were in pain. I didn’t like it.”

You can’t speak. There is a knife stuck in your throat.

“Were you dreaming that Mephisto was trying to steal your ruby earring?”

You jerk your head up and find that he’s staring down at you, his wide mouth lifted in a slight smile. The image of Mephisto trying to pluck your earring from your ear is so ridiculous that you choke a little laugh.

“No? Then perhaps you were dreaming that Luke and Kieran were trying to drag you to karaoke night. You were terrified that you wouldn’t be able to compete against my talent.”

This time you laugh out loud. He frowns a little, as if indignant that you would find the idea of his talent preposterous enough to break you out of your inability to speak.

“It’s not that funny,” he gripes. 

You smile at him. “No,” you manage to say. “I wasn’t dreaming about either of those things.”

“But you were dreaming,” he says softly.

This time, you’re able to nod.

“Were you dreaming about a wanderer attacking you?”

You shake your head.

He’s quiet for a moment. You’re expecting him to narrow it down, to figure out what could possibly cause you so much distress, but he surprises you by not prying further into the details of your nightmares. “Do you have dreams like this often?”

You’re even more surprised when you find yourself answering honestly. “Almost every time I fall asleep.”

He squeezes you tighter and sighs. “Thank you.” 

And then he just… leaves it. You’re so relieved, you just hug him back.

He makes a sound, deep in his throat, that almost sounds like a purr. You drift like that, letting the final remnants of the dream wash away in the scent of his skin, his steady breathing, the stillness of his quiet bedroom.

Eventually his purrs grow louder, more steady, and you realize that he has started to snore. You lift your head and stare into his face. He’s asleep again.

His face is so soft in sleep, you can’t look away. You prop your chin on your hands, folded over his chest, and just enjoy looking at him. His eyelashes sweeping over his pale cheek. The frown between his eyebrows smoothed. His soft lips parted slightly. The insistent rumbles of his snores.

You don’t want to go back to sleep, even though you’d be happy to lie here with him forever. Resonating with him drove the horror of the feelings from the dream away, but you’re not eager to return to the possibility of another nightmare. You slowly sit up, careful not to jostle him. His snoring hitches, stops. But he doesn’t stir.

You sit on the side of the bed and notice that your phone is on the nightstand, plugged in. He must have done it for you, after you fell asleep before the movie even started. You feel a little sad that you still don’t know what his favorite movie is, but soothe yourself with the thought that Sylus is right—you have all the time in the world now, for a little while, to discover as much as you can about him. To satisfy your dangerous curiosity.

As you’re gazing at the phone, you notice that it now has some kind of cute little ribbon on it, and what looks like a cat’s paw medallion at the end of the ribbon. It matches your favorite color, which is also the color of your phone case. It’s adorable, and you’re tempted to reach for your phone to examine it more closely, but you stop before you actually pick it up. Sylus told you that Jenna approved of your leave. She will tell the team about your absence. You’re not ready to read what “you” texted Zayne when Sylus asked for his approval in securing your convalescent leave. Not yet. You don’t want to think about the real world right now. You want to dive into this dream and stay underwater in it until the very last moment. Tara, Xavier, Rafayel—they can live without you. You are convinced that your presence is just a blip on the radar of your friends’ lives. They’ll hardly miss you at all.

You leave your phone on the nightstand, promising yourself that when you do have to pick it up again, you’ll look at the little cat’s paw Sylus clearly gifted you and thank him for it.

You’re a little disconcerted, with the sudden freedom and safety of all the time stretching in front of you, but with Sylus in the bed behind you. You don’t have to do this alone. He told you to assume that he wants to spend time with you. There’s no one else staying at the house, besides Luke and Kieran, as far as you can tell. You can just… live, for a little while. What did he say? Recover, not just survive.

A feeling fills you, but you don’t have a word for it. All you know is that it feels good. You don’t question it. Not right now.

The only question you want to ask is what do you want to do, right now? 

You pad quietly toward the bedroom door, but pause to pick up the books that you knocked off Sylus’s shelves as you teleported, scarlet and ink, sparking mist. You read the titles—they’re all philosophy, psychology. Books to understand the breadth of human existence, the human mind. As if the person collecting them had to start from the very basics to understand what makes people tick. When you pick up the Humanity and Conquer book, you hold it in your hands for a moment, just staring down at it. The ampersand is positioned in such a way that when you first saw the title, you thought it read “Human Anal Conquer,” because someone’s passion was obviously graphic design and some overworked editor clearly approved the cover without even looking at it. You would laugh at the absurd memory, but you don’t want to wake Sylus. You set the book gently back on the shelf and head to the kitchen. There’s no point getting properly dressed if it’s just you, the twins, and Mephisto here.

Speaking of Mephisto, you turn and find him flying quietly behind you as he follows you from Sylus’s bedroom.

The answer to the question of what do you want right now? Coffee. Even if it’s from a pretentious french press.

As you approach the kitchen, you hear the now-familiar voices of Luke and Kieran.

“Oh, that’s the best one so far.”

“Do you really think so? I fail to see marked improvement between this one and the others,” Kieran says mournfully as you stop in the kitchen doorway.

It must still be “early,” in terms of Sylus’s flip-flopped sleep cycle—outside the vast windows looking out over the bleak landscape leading down to the N109 Zone’s imposing city skyline, it does not appear to be night, but rather dusk. You wonder how early it is in terms of Sylus’s morning, if the twins are already awake.

There is a fire burning in the large fireplace on the far wall, and its wood smoke scent reminds you of your dream. Strangely, instead of upsetting you, you feel what can only be the connection to Sylus thrum again, and the memory feels distant already.

You focus on the music drifting through the room instead. Something old, and bluesy, trumpets and piano, a smoky jazz voice singing about lost love. Not the kind of music you’d assume twenty year old dudes would like. But then again, nothing about Sylus and his inner circle is what you would have expected when you looked up into his beautiful face with its cruel smirk for the first time.

Mephisto flies to a perch in the corner of the room and ruffles his feathers before settling.

“I totally think so, you’re getting better and better, man,” Luke says, clearly trying to encourage his dejected brother.

You take in the scene before you, which consists of a very large, professional-looking espresso machine now squatting on the huge, black-marble kitchen island, with Luke and Kieran sitting on black leather bar stools in front of it, surrounded by a bunch of wide-rimmed mugs, each filled with what smells like coffee.

You take a step closer and see that in each mug, the clear outline of a dick and accompanying balls has been drawn in the foam of a latte.

The twins’ heads jerk up in unison as you bark a laugh that sounds more like a seal than human.

“I see Sylus made good on his threat to get a fancy espresso machine,” you say, dabbing at the corner of your eyes because you’re trying so hard to contain more of your insane laughter.

“All thanks to you,” Luke grins. “As you can see, we’re making great use of it!” He proudly gestures towards the dick art Kieran has been making.

“I wouldn’t call it great, but it is certainly amusing,” Kieran sighs, idly stirring a little wooden stir stick in the latest latte dick.

“Did you make all of these?” you ask.

“No, Luke made a few too. Here—” Kieran carefully scoots a mug closer to you, and you gasp when you look down at the meticulous, gorgeous rendering of van Gogh’s Starry Night painting contained in it.

“Now you see how he’s patronizing me with praise for my sad little penises,” Kieran grumbles.

Luke pats his back, even as he puffs a little with pride at your clearly impressed reaction.

“Your penises are awesome, Kieran. You just need to keep practicing if you want them to be photo-realistic.”

You try really hard not to laugh at this strange, earnest back and forth about dick art, but it’s a losing battle. You laugh, softly, but then clear your throat at Kieran’s disappointed expression.

“You’re way better than I am probably. I’ve never made latte art before,” you try to comfort him instead of continuing to laugh at him.

“Luke has never made latte art before either, but look at what he’s already made!”

Luke just nudges him. “You’re a lot better than me at a lot of things. Just think of it as a… an incentive? to practice.”

Kieran smiles at him. “You really are reading your thesaurus.”

Luke nudges him again. “I told you!”

They smile stupidly at each other for a moment, and you’re suddenly struck with a sharp pain of missing Caleb. Although he wasn’t your real brother, his presence in your life, a constant sidekick until your ways parted, you to the Hunter Academy and him to flight school, was a source of comfort long after you grew apart. The shared history alone…

The twins seem to notice your staring, and Luke gestures as the espresso machine.

“You wanna try?”

You shake your head to clear the grief from your thoughts, and it works, a little. “Try?”

“Latte art! You should try to draw something too!”

You stare at him for a moment. Normally you’d be too pressed for time—getting to work, getting to bed, laundry, dishes, vegging out in front of a stupid series if you hadn’t overbooked your rare time off. But Sylus, despite the absurd way he went about it, has gifted you with precious time. You don’t have to be anywhere at all. You can just… be.

“Yeah,” you smile. I do.” Luke whoops and holds his hand up. You stare at it, confused.

“High five, high five, high five,” he chants.

You laugh and slap his hand, hard. 

“Yeah! Okay, okay, fist bump!” he holds out his big fist, but when you make one and reach out to bump his, he slides his under yours and makes a peace sign. “Snail!” he laughs, wiggling his fingers, and your fist combined with his two fingers really do look like a cute little snail. Well, big snail, considering the size of his fingers.

All you can do is laugh again. Kieran gestures you to come over and shows you how to use the fancy as fuck espresso machine that Sylus had overnighted to his place based on your flippant comment. You would marvel at the insanity that is your life right now, but you’re indulging. Like this strange feeling filling you, you don’t question it. 

You just pay close attention to Kieran’s instructions, make a respectable looking latte, and look pensively down into the finished product while clutching a stir stick.

What should you draw?

Your gaze drifts between the dick and balls and starry night, between vulgar and highbrow. You decide not to overthink it and begin by lowering the little pitcher, pouring the concentrated microfoam into the liquid’s surface.

Kieran and Luke’s chatter melts away as you focus on your latte art.

It’s meditative, drawing the stir stick through the thick foam, the curves and swirls following. You could make this your new hobby, you’re enjoying it so much. After a final pour and swirl, you sit back on your stool in satisfaction.

“Oh, you done?” Luke crowds one side of you, while Kieran leans over from your other side. They’re quiet as they observe your handiwork.

“Can you even tell what it is?” you laugh, because you think you did a decent job, but who knows if anyone else shares your vision?

“Hmm, it’s quite lovely, just the design itself. But … is it an orchid?” Kieran tilts his head, his dark curls cascading over his forehead.

“Or a leaf? Like a fancy leaf?” Luke asks, tilting his own head, the mirror of his brother.

You’re about to answer when you yelp instead as a solid warmth materializes at your back, big arms wrap around your waist, and a voice like melted chocolate dripping along your skin rumbles next to your ear. “It’s a vagina, children.”

Luke and Kieran don’t even react to Sylus’s sudden appearance between them, only tilting their heads in the opposite direction as they observe your latte art with new eyes.

“Ooooh, now I see it!” Luke lights up. “And that’s the clit there at the top!”

“Indeed Luke—that’s what made me think it was an orchid!” Kieran turns to you. “You could be the next Georgia O’Keefe!”

You laugh. “You couldn’t even tell what it was. I don’t think I’ll be the next anything, but it was really fun to make.” You turn your head to meet Sylus’s red gaze as he remains leaning over your shoulder, observing your latte. “What do you think?”

He lifts a dark silver eyebrow. “Why this particular design?”

You shrug. “Just trying to balance Kieran’s fleet of dicks with some female representation in your base. Your men could use a different perspective besides the reigning patriarchy.”

“Ooh, that gives me an idea,” Luke lifts a finger like he’s just had the biggest Eureka moment since the discovery of volume displacement and hurries back to the espresso machine.

Sylus continues staring at you. “I suppose I can’t lament your lack of maturity when you were motivated by such a concern for equality.”

“Oh, I definitely also just wanted to draw genitalia like Kieran, but we’re gonna have to drink enough dick with all these mugs. I figured a little variety was in order,” you grin at him.

“You will absolutely not be drinking more than two of these,” Sylus orders. “I didn’t invite you here to have a caffeine-induced heart attack. You may have some green tea after you slurp your pussy and suck down one of these cocks,” he says sternly, but somehow—maybe through the connection that still echoes through you from the resonance—you can tell he’s trying very, very hard not to laugh at his own wordplay. Even when making a joke, he’s smug as hell.

You lean forward so that your mouth is right by his ear and whisper, “You can’t tell me what to do.”

In utter fascination, you watch as he shivers from your breath in his ear, and you feel like the raw power of his evol is still running through you from the realization that you caused such a reaction in his big body.

He turns his head to meet your gaze, so close that his nose brushes yours, lovely eyes fixed on yours. He opens his mouth to respond when suddenly Luke lets out a triumphant cheer.

“In the words of my badass brother, ‘Behold!’” he crows, pushing his mug over to you, Sylus, and Kieran, who is still standing at your side.

You stare down into the cup—and burst out laughing like a hyena.

A very detailed, highly accurate clenched asshole stares back at you.

“But why, Luke?” Kieran cries in horror.

Luke just beams. “Now the… what is the word? trifecta? of naughty bits is complete, and this one’s gender neutral. Everyone has an asshole! We’re not misogynist pigs! Sylus is a feminist and Kieran just likes dicks,” he tells you earnestly, like it’s very important to him that you don’t get the wrong idea about the twins’ stance on gender equality.

Sylus just hangs his head, the soft sweep of his hair brushing your cheek. “Look at what you’ve encouraged in my men,” he grumbles. “Now we’ve got anuses.”

You lay your cheek on top of his head. “I walked in here and Kieran already had an armada of dicks. I didn’t do anything but add a little diversity. Not everything is about your dick, after all.” You can’t help yourself and run your hand through his hair, tracing the shell of his ear with a fingertip along the way. He shivers again.

“I’m having a hard time remembering that,” he says, so softly that you could be imagining it. Before you can think too hard about it, Sylus straightens up and reaches into his pocket, where his phone has begun to vibrate. He remains close as he accepts the call, one arm still wrapped around your waist.

“Speak,” he commands, sounding irritated.

You let your attention drift as he grunts in response to whomever is speaking. The fireplace, the soft lighting, the evening darkening into night outside, Luke and Kieran’s chatter as they begin drinking their creations, insisting that the decorated lattes taste better than lattes without art, the scent of coffee. It all blends together, and Sylus’s warmth at your back anchors you in it. 

“I specifically told you to handle as much as you could without my input. And yet, the very next day, you’re calling me with this mess.” Sylus says softly, menacingly.

You turn to watch his face. He meets your eyes as he listens for another moment, looking increasingly bored.

Which you’ve learned means that he’s having big feelings that he’s trying to mask.

You place your hands on his forearm, slipping them under the sleeve of his soft sweater, and run your palms up to his elbow, and down again. He closes his eyes and exhales a deep breath, his expression softening as he does so.

“Fine. But I’m not coming in person. They will have to accept a video conference. If this happens again, just eliminate whoever is giving you trouble.”

He listens again for a moment. “I don’t care if it ruins another pair of Bontonis. They’ll make more next season. I. Am. Unavailable.”

He ends the call with a jerk of his thumb and slides the phone back into his pocket. He looks at you, his face neutral.

“You will have to entertain yourself for a little while. Aidan has already encountered a problem that requires my personal attention. I’ll find you when I’m done.”

You let your hand fall back down to his wrist and squeeze it gently.

“Okay.”

He doesn’t move, but instead turns his wrist so that the soft underside is facing up, still held in the circle of your loose grip. He puts his other hand over yours. “Are you going to be okay?”

You smile at him, filled with that strange, unnamable feeling, filled with the bizarre conviction that you’re still connected with him somehow, because of the resonance earlier. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I told you. I can handle your big scary men, and your big scary house.” And you mean it. 

He smiles faintly in response and then leans down. You have the insane feeling that he’s going to kiss you goodbye, but before his nose brushes yours, he stops, a funny expression coming over his face. He lets go of your hand and straightens. You let your own hand fall. He stares at you for a second longer, and then spins on his heel and walks out of the kitchen.

That welcome, good feeling drains out of you as he leaves. In its place is… nothing. 

How ridiculous, that you’d think he was going to kiss you, when he has made no attempt to do so, despite all of his physical affection, up to this point.

You stare at the empty kitchen doorway, and that feeling of connection to him drains from you as well.

What’s left behind is… well, it’s what you usually feel like. Nothing has changed, really. Your echoing insides. The knowledge, deep in your bones, that the last of the people who had any understanding of you are dead. The only ones who could possibly love you for you, and not for what you could do for them. The ones who knew you before you became a killer, a sword in the Association’s arsenal.

Nothing has changed at all. It’s only in the comparison that your usual state of being hurts so keenly as you return to it. 

In this moment, staring at the empty kitchen doorway, you’re viciously reminded of why you’re so terrified of even considering the possibility that Sylus could ever care for you beyond an entertaining acquaintance. How will you ever be able to recover after having only a small taste of Sylus’s full attention, a feeling of connection to him through the resonance, when he grows bored and no longer looks at you like he looked at you before he leaned down and remembered whatever made him stop—whatever brought him back to his senses, and sent him ricocheting away from you.

You have always told yourself that you’re a survivor. You can survive anything. You lived, when you shouldn’t have, while Caleb died. And he was the strongest person you’ve ever known. If you can outlive him, even if you shouldn’t have, you can outlive anything.

You force yourself to focus on the emptiness ringing through you. The emptiness that you’ve carried for longer than you can remember your own life’s events. Whatever feeling you had upon waking in Sylus’s arms—whatever connection you imagined with Sylus after the resonance faded—it’s an illusion. What’s real is tolling inside of you right now. Echoing through the hollow halls of your mangled heart, the silent bell of your solitude.

This may be a nice dream to indulge in, but it’s just a dream.

You’ll outlive this too.

You turn away from the empty kitchen doorway. The twins are staring at you.

“I really thought boss would have more rizz than this,” Kieran says, bizarrely.

“He’s too cautious for his own good,” Luke murmurs, sounding sad.

You don’t want to know what they think they just saw. Maybe they’re bored too, and ship you with Sylus because it’s something to do. You wouldn’t be surprised if your pathetic crush on their boss is fodder for some bet, which is why they’re keen on trying to convince you he’s such a great guy. It has nothing to do with you, whether they like you or not, whether they think you’d be a good partner for their boss.

Everything hurts, and you want to run. The feeling that always comes after the self-recrimination is welling up in you. You want to slap yourself for reaching for Sylus this morning, forcing him to resonate with you after your stupid nightmare, letting him in. 

You make a fist and squeeze as hard as you can. Your nails are too short to do anything, even as your knuckles pop from the strain. It’s not breaking your promise to Sylus. It doesn’t hurt, not in comparison to what’s happening inside you right now. He told you to bring yourself to him when you feel like this, but he’s busy with … whatever it is that Sylus does.

“Hey, do you want to drink one of those lattes now?” Luke asks tentatively.

“Or tea? We can also make some tea, if you prefer,” Kieran asks hopefully.

You try really hard to make your face smile, but by the look on the twins’ faces, you probably just look horrifying.

“Thanks guys. I think I’m just gonna—” You actually don’t know what you’re going to do. But you’re going to get out of this room, to begin. “I’m just gonna go.” You turn.

“You’re not going to go, go, right? Like…” Luke pauses, looks a bit constipated. “You’re not gonna run half naked out of the house with no shoes on again, right?”

Kieran hangs his head. “What my brother means is, if you’d like to leave the base, please take the Phantom. It will respond to your face, so you don’t need to worry about a key. Luke and I will swing by and pick it up from your place another time.”

You stare at him. “What do you mean, it will respond to my face?”

He glances at Luke, and then back at you.

“Every room in this house and every vehicle in the garage is programmed to recognize your face and authorize your entry and use.”

“But why?”

He tilts his head. “Did Sylus not tell you?”

You shake your head.

“Because Sylus wanted it that way.”

“But why?” you ask again, completely confused.

“Why do you think?” Luke demands, but Kieran puts a hand on his arm.

“Why would someone give another full access to his valuables, his fortress, and his secrets?” Kieran asks instead of answering your question.

Yes, my beloved?

Words he’s never said to you.

When you wake up, you will remember this, if nothing else.

It’s just a dream within a dream.

You relive him leaning down, a kiss that never happened, him disappearing through the doorway. The twins are still staring at you.

“I’m not going to make you guys chase me down the road again. And I’m still sorry for that. I’m just going to find something to do until Sylus is done,” you reassure them, head too full, chest too empty.

You need to get out of this room and move your body.

You wave and leave them behind, surrounded by mugs full of delicious coffee.

You hear the quiet flap of wings. You don’t even have to turn around to know that Mephisto is following you. It’s fine. You think that you should wander around the grounds one of these early “mornings” before it’s full night and see if you can’t pick up some shiny pebbles to treat Mephisto with. But maybe Sylus’s bird is just as much of a snob as his owner, and he only accepts treats in the form of rubies, sapphires, diamonds.

You want to move your body, but your feet hurt. You have that jittery feeling, where you know you’re really hungry because you haven’t eaten anything, but the idea of eating makes you feel sick. You need to move, first. You remember that the twins had mentioned a pool. You turn to Mephisto.

“Hey buddy.” You hold up your fist, wondering if he’ll get the message.

He flies to you and lands on your wrist, cocking his head as if in inquiry.

“Can you show me where your daddy’s pool is?”

He squawks quietly, and it’s just as grating as when he squawks at full volume. It finally dawns on you that it sounds as if Sylus recorded his own voice making crow noises and set that as the bird’s voice module. It’s uncanny, and jarring, and you think the idea is kind of hilarious, no matter how unlikely.

Thankfully Mephisto can’t read your mind, because he does not squawk in indignation as he would if he knew what you were thinking. He just takes flight again and begins leading you to the part of the house that contains the promised indoor pool.

Finally, he stops and hovers outside a plain black door.

“Thank you,” you nod to him and throw open the door, ensuring that he can fly in after you before it swings shut again. He flies ahead as your breath catches, settling on one of his perches that Sylus must have placed in every single room of the house to accommodate his “not-a-pet,” clearly beloved pet.  

You’re hit with the smell of chlorine, and you inhale deeply because you’re a weirdo and have always enjoyed the smell of chlorinated pools. It’s warm, much warmer than the rest of the house. Instead of the modern decor and ubiquitous black and maroon of the rest of his house, and unlike the colorful, messy tiles of the greenhouse, you feel like you’ve walked into a zen garden. The soaring ceiling is glass, like the greenhouse, with the night sky spilling into the huge space. Pale stone lines the floors, pale wood panels the walls. At periodic intervals, shelves are bit into the walls, each hosting a meticulously cultivated bonsai plant of some kind. There are low cushioned chairs, white fabric and pale wood matching the walls, scattered throughout a sort of sitting area before the pool area begins. And of course, there’s a bar along one wall, the bottles glittering, reflecting the soft lighting built into the floors and lining each wall of the large space. You joke about Sylus’s tendency to drink, but the evidence of it in each room of his house is actually starting to worry you. You shake your head and continue into the room. The stones narrow to a path leading to the pool itself. On either side of the path, pebbles that you associate with zen gardens stretch to the walls, with large rocks—boulders, really, dotting each pebble bed here and there. Along the edge of the pool, the pale stone provides a generous walkway leading in both directions, each ending with a door—one glass, the other solid. Lounge chairs line the walkway. At a glance you can see that through the glass door is a sauna. On the far side of the pool, which is probably olympic sized, floor to ceiling windows provide yet another view of the barren landscape stretching beyond Sylus’s home. 

You walk to the edge of the pool and disturb the still water with a toe. Lighting from the bottom of the pool sends the reflections of the rippling water against the glass, giving the effect of looking at the N109 Zone from the bottom of the ocean, somehow enhancing the view. The water is deliciously warm, where you expected it to be cool. You don’t even want to think about the energy bill required to keep such a huge pool this warm.

The space is so peaceful, with such a sense of soaring space, you want to cry. The whole space is simple—-no recreation of natural waterfalls, no waterslides or multi-level bathing areas. Just a huge, beautiful pool, in a minimally designed space. But every placement of rock, every design choice feels deliberate, thoughtfully chosen. You can imagine that Sylus probably flew in some zen garden expert to personally create the space for him. You could live in just this room for the rest of your life and be happy.

The emptiness, your self-pitying wallowing, the humiliated feeling of having imagined that Sylus would kiss you only for him to get that look on his face like he tasted something bad—you shed it like a second skin. You shed it like you begin to shed your clothes, not thinking about anything else. Just slipping out of your sleep shorts, your sleep tank top, your underwear. You carefully unwrap the bandages from your feet and let them slither down on your pile of clothes. You turn, run a few steps in one direction, ignoring the sting, and then take a running leap into the pool.

Under the water, all is quiet. All is still. You draw your legs up to your chest, wrap your arms around them, and sink to the bottom. Everything else fades away. 

When you run out of breath, you send yourself soaring to the surface, your gasp and the lapping water echoing through the beautiful room. 

You begin to swim, enjoying the stretch of your body, your weightlessness. Time pulls taut, snaps, becomes meaningless, as you leisurely swim laps in this lovely, secluded pool.

***

Sylus is in a bad mood. The only reason he didn’t teleport through the phone to strangle the people Aidan was meeting with during the highly unwelcome phone call that interrupted his latte moment with you was your hand caressing his forearm. He felt the rage slam into him the moment he felt his phone vibrate, his impatience a living, choking thing. But when he felt your calloused fingers drifting along his skin, the rage, the impatience, simply dissipated. What was left was not even a relief—it was like such negative emotions were never there to begin with. He recognizes that your ability to do this to him—to alter his entire mood, to change his course of action without even trying, is a weakness. If you only knew how much power you already have over him. He sighs. He wants you to know, if that means you will never doubt again what you are to him. But he can tell you’re still too scared to fully consider the possibility.

Sylus is in a bad mood, because he knows that he should be in a great mood. All of his plans are in motion. First, he has an invitation to the birthday party of a daughter of a potential business ally that he desperately wants to secure. Second, Aidan will be handling his business moving forward, for the most part. Even aside from your calming touch, Sylus is able to forgive today, because it isn’t Aidan’s fault that the presumptuous fucks supplying him with a certain number of high-grade protocores felt entitled to a face-to-face with the boss. They will be punished for their impudence, in time. But only after he has secured the product. And finally, you’re here, in his home, touching him of your own volition. What else could he possibly want?

He had carried you to his bed after you fell asleep before the film even started, and slept better than he has in years. He can usually manage four, five hours a night, and even then, his sleep is restless. His body is always on alert, even in the safety of his stronghold. But with you breathing softly next to him… he slept like the dead. It’s a testament to how relaxed you already make him that you didn’t end up seriously injured after slapping him in the face while he was dead asleep—his subconscious must have recognized that you were not a threat. Anyone else may have ended up paralyzed, or worse, due to his tendency to reflexively lash out against unexpected physical touch. Like that one time with Kieran. He closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose. He refuses to dwell on it further. It’s in the past, he tells himself. Kieran is fine. And so are you.

Except you aren’t, are you?

Another contributing factor to his shit mood—he didn’t realize you were having night terrors, despite all the time he has already spent at your side while you sleep. How he managed to overlook such an obvious thing when he was plotting how to help you with your insomnia is—frankly, it’s sloppy. He suspects that the dreams involve your family. That your night terrors are tied to your new fear of using firearms. But he could also tell from your face, drained of color when he asked you what you were dreaming about, that you weren’t ready to discuss it. He has learned his lesson well from trying to force resonance with you at the beginning. He will not push you any further than absolutely necessary to get what he wants. You’re here now, in his house. He has the time to draw your fears, your nightmares out of you—to lance the wound and let it drain. 

And yet another reason for Sylus to be in a fantastic mood—even though he regrets the circumstances leading to it, you finally asked him to resonate with you for the first time since the auction. Feeling you filling him, feeling himself fill you. Watching you playfully test out his powers as your own. The joy you felt as you got the hang of it. The rush of being folded so tightly into you as you both were energy, sparking mist careening through the halls of his home. It took a huge amount of self control not to let his true feelings flood into you as the boundaries between himself and you melted in the resonance. You’re not ready yet. But when you are ready, when he can finally resonate with you after you know the truth of his feelings for you, he intends to flood you with them, to drown you so thoroughly in his devotion to you that you will never doubt him or his feelings for you ever again. 

But then he fell back asleep. He was sulking after waking up and finding you gone, irritated at being forced to come looking for you when you should have been right there for him to roll over on top of, to breathe in, to greet the new night with, only to discover you bonding with Kieran and Luke over obscene lattes. Just when he thinks his delight with you has reached its ceiling, you do something new, so effortlessly, and he finds himself floored again. His capacity for pleasure expands beyond what he could have ever imagined. Each new encounter with you is slowly teaching him that with you, there is no limit to how much joy he can experience.

But then the phone call. He was eagerly looking forward to having an uninterrupted day full of just his beloved. He didn’t even have any plans—no dates, no distractions. He wanted to follow you around, even if such wandering ended in simply sitting with you while you read a book. No music, no phone, no games, no diversions necessary, if he could just touch you while you turned the pages. In fact, he’d love it if you read to him. Your voice does things to him that no music can ever truly achieve. Pure, unadulterated peace, hearing you talk. He taps his temple. Well, except when you’re whispering You can’t tell me what to do in his ear. He groans. Oh, he might not be able to tell you what to do, but you can make him do whatever you want. 

Fuck, just thinking about it makes him… sloppy. So sloppy that he almost forgot himself as he was leaving you to go deal with his supplier mess. It felt more natural than breathing to lean down, offer you a kiss, take from you a kiss, feel his lips on yours in a swift moment of goodbye, a promise of soon, I’ll come back to you as quickly as possible.

What would you have done, if he hadn’t caught himself at the last moment, forced himself to straighten, to leave without taking what he has been craving in every free moment since your dream? Would you have welcomed him, as you did in the dream? Or would it set his progress back with you ten steps? Sylus isn’t accustomed to fear, but he fears returning to a place where you don’t reach out to him, stroke his hair, clasp his wrist, all without his bidding. He’s greedy, and he knows it. Now that you’re putting your hands on him, he never wants you to stop.

The dream. He shakes his head. Again, sloppy. He had intended to comfort you, not maul you, when he slipped into your mind as you slept. To say all the reassuring things he was too impatient to wait until you were awake for, and ask you to remember them so that you’d believe him when he said them again in the morning. A little trick. He’ll show you how to do it, when you learn that it’s one of many up his sleeve besides his ability to plumb the depths of a person’s soul for their deepest desires. He hadn’t planned to bait you into saying such sweet things to him. He hadn’t planned to be so overwhelmed hearing your true feelings about him, your true feelings that so closely mirror his own, his kindred spirit, his twin in a different, but no less meaningful way than Kieran and Luke are twins. Hearing you speak his own feelings, admitting you felt the same way, had broken his self control in a way that should be frightening. He marvels again at the irony. You’re so afraid of even considering the possibility that he could love you at all, let alone like this. When he’s the one should listen to Aidan and be afraid of everything you can already do to him if you so will it. 

He wants to kiss you again. His want is a living thing in his mouth. He can taste it, just as he can taste your tongue now, the memory more precious to him than all the protocores on the damn planet.

He will be patient. Until he’s sure that you’ll kiss him back in real life, just as you did in the dream.

He looks down at the bulge in his pants.

He will be patient, damn it.

He is in a shit mood, but now that the video conference is over, and his impudent supplier and his posse think they’ve managed to see the boss in deference to their power play, he intends to get in a better mood. There’s not a moment to waste. Well, at least, not any more moments to waste than those he lost this morning with you already.

Now, to find you. He hasn’t bothered to raise the screen back into the ceiling that he uses for video conferences and when he’s in the mood to catch up on the news in his office, so he pairs his phone with it and pulls up Mephisto’s app on his phone, tosses the phone on his desk. The screen flickers to life, and—he almost falls out of his chair.

You’re in the pool room. In the pool. You’re swimming leisurely, free style, your gorgeous, strong arms cutting through the water with knife-precision, your legs hardly making a splash as they propel you forward. Your glorious, exquisite, mind-breaking, naked ass on full display.

He covers his open mouth with his hand.

Sylus’s brain, with all of its clockwork finesse, perfectly calibrated to calculate every scenario and its multiple pathways to the next possibility, and the next after that, endlessly—its ability to conceive of multiverses, each playing out differently in parallel—his brain is overwhelmed, grinding to a complete halt in the face of your masterpiece of an ass and the question of Why aren’t you wearing a swimsuit when there are twenty swimsuits of various brands, designs and fabric sitting in the closet he made for you?

He can’t help himself. He stares at you, shifts uncomfortably in his chair. He needs to turn off this feed. He needs to turn off Mephisto. He hates that Mephisto is seeing what Sylus is seeing. Which is insane, because Mephisto is a mechanical bird and does not care that he is witnessing a wonder of the world right in Sylus’s pool. A wonder that neither he nor Sylus have permission to see. He shakes himself, steels his resolve, takes one last glance at the screen, at you, and reaches for his phone again.

Just as he’s picking it up, the door to his office bursts open and Luke and Kieran are huffing, panting, struggling to fit through the doorway first. 

“Not! This! Time!” Luke growls, ruthlessly trying to shove Kieran’s face back behind him, as Kieran attempts to sideswipe Luke’s legs from under him with a low kick.

“Boss’s office race game winner is ME!” Luke hops, avoiding the kick, and bodychecks Kieran into the other side of the door.

Sylus’s brain is still non-functioning, because instead of smoothly flicking the app off, he accidentally projects the sound along with the visuals on the screen.

The sound of splashing water is deafening, causing Luke and Kieran to both slap their hands over their ears, wincing, while also pulling their attention to the screen, where you’re still swimming ass-naked through the water. It takes a second, but once the images and sound register, they both whirl around, still squished in the doorway together, the breadth of their shoulders making the squeeze look painful.

“Boss, what the fuck?” Luke yells.

“Have you no shame, boss?” Kieran bellows at the same time.

Sylus curses, gives up trying to use the app, and snaps his fingers. The screen explodes in a mist of red and black which then dissolves into ashen mist.

Now that he doesn’t have to worry about Luke and Kieran being able to see you just as he saw you, he manages to flick the app off his phone screen. He stares down at his home screen, which is a picture of you asleep next to him, so achingly lovely it makes his heart jam every time he uses his phone. 

“Is it safe to turn around?” Luke yells again, causing Sylus to wince.

Sylus just puts his face on his desk.

He hears the rustling of the twins moving in the doorway, and then Kieran’s tentative voice. “It’s safe.”

And then… silence. Deafening silence.

Luke clears his throat. “Look. We, uh. Well, sometimes, when we really like someone… I think?—I mean, I don’t know if I’ve ever really liked, liked someone, you know, but I can imagine, maybe, that like, when we really like someone, we uh… spy on them like creeps with our mechanical crow?”

Kieran sighs. “No, Luke, what you said first is correct. What the fuck, boss?”

Sylus keeps his face planted in the desk. “It’s not what it looked like,” he groans.

“Well, what was it then? Because it sure as hell looked like you were using Mephisto to watch your hunter skinny dipping in the pool,” Luke scolds.

Sylus rolls his head so that he’s facing the twins, who both stand with their hands on their hips, looking at him with such disappointment he wonders if this is what having parents would be like.

“I didn’t realize what kitten was doing when I checked in with Mephisto. I was just about to turn off the feed when you two came bulldozing into my office.” 

“Oooh,” the twins say, in unison. Sylus has long been used to their uncanny mirroring.

He groans again. “Which, may I remind you, yet again—we’ve talked about the no-knocking issue. Now that we have a guest, you really have to remember to knock before you come in.”

They have the decency to look a little sheepish, even as they are clearly looking at him with suspicion.

“So you weren’t being an utter scumbag and getting your rocks off watching your hunter through Mephisto?” Luke asks.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Sylus growls. “I want kitten to know when I’m getting my fucking rocks off.”

“Eww, it’s like imagining our parents doing it,” Luke grimaces.

Kieran just winces, like the thought is unbearable.

Sylus stares at them. “Parents?”

Luke and Kieran look at each other, and then look back at Sylus. “Yeah?”

“Do I even want to know?”

“Well. You’re like. Work dad, right? And your hunter… they’re your chosen mate, right? So that makes them… also our parent,” Luke ticks off his points on his fingers, tilting his head in concentration.

Sylus can’t process this right now. He still has the image of your delicious ass in his head, and now he’s being confronted with sudden parenthood from his henchmen. Despite himself, however, he’s curious. “Would you be okay with… kitten. As… your parent?” He tries very hard to look bored. Why should he care if his employees approve of his beloved? Their opinion won’t change his feelings. They’re his henchmen, not his children. He suppresses a horrified shiver.

“Totally! They’re so fucking badass! And they’re hilarious!”

“And their willingness to play along with us, with the handcuffs and flare gun, with the latte art—I quite like them a lot. And watching them frustrate you, and throw duffel bags full of feathers at you, and shock you with their behavior in our pool, is amusing,” Kieran coughs, and then looks guilty for having admitted all that.

“Yeah, you could have chosen someone who just, totally sucks,” Luke adds. “But your hunter is fun!”

“Noted,” Sylus sniffs, ignoring the relief he is certainly not feeling because Luke and Kieran are his henchmen and not his kids. “We will never speak of this again.”

Luke and Kieran grin. “Sure, boss,” they chirp in unison.

“Was there a reason you steamrolled into my office in the first place?” Sylus ignores their obvious lie and changes the subject.

“Oh, not really. We just wanted to show you Kieran’s latest dick latte. The veins look great.”

Sylus rubs his temples. He has to install a new screen in his office because of his henchmen’s new hobby. A new hobby that they only have because of you, and your expression of interest in an espresso machine. If he wasn’t already aware of how much you’re changing his life, this would be another moment of epiphany.

“Take a picture, and I promise to look later. Right now I need to help kitten find the selection of swimsuits that are available.” Sylus is thrilled to have you swimming naked in his pool. In fact, he’d prefer it. But he wants you to have the option of a swimsuit. He suspects that you just didn’t realize that along with the rest of the things he has arranged to make your stay more comfortable, swimsuits are also among them.

***

You are weightless, and warm. Your arms and legs are growing pleasantly heavy, tired. Muscles well-used. You know that they’ll ache tomorrow—you’re not accustomed to swimming. Your workouts tend to be weightlifting, running. You used to run with Caleb, when you were still both living at your gran’s place. You take the memories and tuck them into a pocket. You don’t shove them down deep, but you don’t want to think about them right now. You don’t want to think about anything right now.

But now that you’ve worked out the anxious, jittery feeling from earlier, you’re really, really hungry. You wonder what time it is. If Sylus is done with his business. If he is, then you’d better figure out if there are any towels in here and get dressed before he comes looking for you. You finish your lap, hand touching the edge of the pool. You lift your head, preparing to haul yourself out of the water—and then squeal like a frightened rodent that’s just been stepped on. “The fuck, Sylus?”

Sylus is stretched out on one of the lounge chairs lining this side of the pool’s walkway. His chest is bare again—it looks like he’s wearing scarlet swim trunks. Two big, fluffy looking towels are on a low table next to him, along with a little bundle of dark fabric. Two cocktail glasses with little pink umbrellas sit next to the towels, along with a bowl full of… pastries? Croissants. Maybe cinnamon buns. Your mouth waters. His arms are folded behind his head, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s humming a little tunelessly, eyes closed like he’s on the verge of napping.

You sink back into the water until it’s up to your chin and just stare at him.

“Hello to you too, darling. Aren’t you getting hungry?” he asks, eyes still closed.

“How long have you been there?”

“Long enough to know that you’re probably hungry by now,” he smiles faintly.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Did he watch you swim? Does he think you’re ridiculous, skinny dipping in his big fancy pool, a feral, uncivilized guest? You hadn’t even thought about a swimsuit. You just wanted to move your body, under the silent water.

“And interrupt your obvious enjoyment of our pool? I’m not in a hurry.” 

“How did you know I was here?” you ask, but you know the answer. Like the swimsuit, you hadn’t even thought about Sylus being able to reach you through Mephisto, just as he explained to you that you could reach him through Mephisto. How could you have forgotten months of Sylus’s stalking you through his pet bird? You’ve been here one day, and despite everything, you’re already forgetting to be on your guard.

“Guess,” is all Sylus says.

You scowl at him, but he’s still not looking at you.

“Well? Hungry?”

At his amused words, your stomach growls loudly. The lapping of the water seems to cover it though, because he doesn’t react.

“May I use one of your towels?” you ask, trying to figure out how to get covered up as quickly as possible.

“That depends.”

“On?” You’re so not in the mood for one of his games, but he seems playful.

“Do you want to keep swimming after you eat?”

You stare at him.

“It’s not a trick question. You can do whatever you want. Are you done in the pool, or do you think maybe you’d like to check out the hot tub in the other room? Or use the sauna?”

“There’s a hot tub behind the solid door?” You promptly forget everything else. Drinking a fruity cocktail at what feels like ten in the morning, wolfing down some croissants, and soaking your pleasantly tired body in a hot tub? And since Sylus is wearing a swimsuit…

“Are you going to come, if I want to use the hot tub?”

“Why thank you for the kind invitation. I’d love to,” Sylus’s lips curl further.

“Okay, then I want to use the hot tub. But I’m starving.”

“Can’t have that,” he murmurs. He sits up, eyes still closed, and gingerly pats the side table. You realize that he wasn’t just resting his eyes. He’s respecting the fact that you’re not wearing any clothes.

You want to tell him that he can look all he wants. That out of everyone in the world, he is allowed.

His long fingers find the little puddle of dark fabric, and he tosses it to you. Despite his eyes being closed, it lands right in front of you.

“Neat trick,” you snark.

“Having good hearing helps,” he smirks.

“I wouldn’t know,” you mutter, suddenly painfully aware of your tinnitus ringing in your ears.

“Use me then, whenever you need a pair of ears.”

You stare at him for a moment, but he just serenely waits. You pull the fabric towards you, and it spills out over your hand and down your wrist. A swimsuit. In what appears to be your size.

“Is this some kind of hint? Can’t have your uncivilized guest wandering around buck naked, even if no one else is in the house?”

Sylus cocks his head. “I’m here. The twins are still here.”

You shrug, but realize he can’t see the gesture. “It’s just my body. It barely does what it’s supposed to do these days—I can’t imagine that seeing it is particularly interesting for anyone, let alone you or the twins.”

“Then your imagination is severely lacking.”

You snort. “You’re very good for my ego, insulting my imagination.”

“I would hope it’s good for your ego when I’m complimenting your gorgeous body.”

You pause. What? “There’s no need to mock me.”

“Who says I’m mocking you?”

You take the hint and pull the swimsuit onto your body. Unsurprisingly, it fits perfectly.

“There. You no longer have to shield your eyes from the horrors.” You drip your way to the table, grab the bowl of pastries and one of the cocktails, and then head to the solid door on one side of the pool. 

When you’re faced with the question of how to open the door with your hands full, the tendrils of Sylus’s evol twist around the handle and pull.

“Thank you,” you murmur, before your breath is taken by the sight before you. Where the pool room was a study in soaring, minimal elegance, this room is small. Still with the ubiquitous floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of the grounds, but the space is intimate. Steam rises from a pool—not a mere hot tub, but a small pool—tiled in the same colorful tile as that in the greenhouse, with underwater benches circling the edges. Moss-covered stones are piled on one side of the pool and dotted around the small room, where there is space between the large pine trees ringing the pool. You catch a whiff of pine over the scent of chlorine. It’s like being in a sheltered mountain hot spring.

You turn to find Sylus right behind you, looking at you curiously, holding the towels under one arm and his cocktail in one hand.

“All of this luxury, and it belongs to just one man,” you sigh, grateful that you’re allowed access, tormented by the thought of the poverty you’ve seen in the N109 Zone, in Linkon City.

“Well, the twins too,” Sylus shrugs.

“Do you ever have time to spend in here? Or are all these amenities in your base just for show? To be able to say to yourself that you own this, too.”

“I’m about to use it right now. Does that not count?”

You shake your head. “You know what I mean.”

He places the towels and the cocktail on the soft moss next to the pool and turns to you.

“May I?” he holds out his hand, and you give him the bowl of pastries and your own drink. He sets them next to the towels. 

“Come,” he tells you, holding his hand out. You put your hand in his, and he steps into the water, pulling you with him. The water is deliciously hot. Sweat breaks out on your forehead after just a few moments. The water comes up to your waist if you stand, but you let yourself sink until it laps around your neck. Sylus, still with that faint smile, pulls you towards him as he sits on the built-in bench that rings the pool next to where he set the towels, drink, and food.

“It’s true that the more you have, the more you want. I am not immune to being greedy.” He picks up the conversation again as he guides you to him and settles you on his lap.

You can’t help yourself—you wrap your arms around his neck.

“So you’re saying you have all this for show. That you never use it. That it remains here, consuming all this energy to stay hot for an owner who will never come, while children are hungry on the streets.”

“Careful, your tender heart is exposed again, darling,” he murmurs, reaching over to the bowl of pastries, selecting what is definitely a gooey cinnamon roll, and bringing it to your lips. “Bite.”

You stare at him. “And if I don’t?”

“You’ll stay hungry like the children you’re worried about.”

You scowl at him. “How can you not care?”

“It’s not that I don’t care. It’s that some children will remain hungry, whether my hot tub is ready for my kitten when it wants a bath or not. Depriving myself of the pleasures of life does nothing to help them.”

“Your hot tub funds could go towards feeding them.”

“How do you know I don’t have separate funds that go towards feeding them?” He gazes steadily at you. “Bite.”

“Are you saying that you do use your money for good, as well as for personal pleasure?”

“I’m insulted that you think ‘good’ and ‘my personal pleasure’ are mutually exclusive. I derive pleasure from my philanthropic efforts.”

“What kind of efforts?”

He shrugs. “I don’t need to brag, sweetheart. Let’s just say that my interests in supporting the public welfare are varied and expensive, even with the tax write-off benefits. And yes, such interests do include funds that go towards improving the lives of children.”

You eye him, trying to gauge his sincerity.

“Are you satisfied? Will you stop thwarting my efforts to satiate your hunger now? Bite.”

You lean forward and take a big bite of the gooey, soft, delicious cinnamon roll. Your eyes roll back in your head and you can’t help the sound that comes out of your throat, it’s so good.

When you open your eyes again, Sylus is staring at you, the heat of the hot tub causing a luscious pink blush to rise in his pale cheeks, the tips of his ears.

“Again,” he says softly. 

You take another bite. He stares at you while you eat, instructing you to take another bite after each swallow of the pastry. When you’re done, he lifts his thumb which is covered in the glazed icing, sugar, and cinnamon.

“Lick,” he says, his voice low.

The heat of the water, the pleasant fatigue in your body, the calm you achieved while swimming in the quiet for so long, the reassurance that Sylus, for all his faults, also tries to do good in the world—you feel pliant, and willing to do anything he wants. You lean forward again, open your mouth, and wait. Your heart pounds..

His nostrils flare and then he’s slipping his thumb into your mouth. You close your lips around it, and tongue the sweetness from his skin. When there’s nothing left, you still your tongue and wait.

He bites his full bottom lip and a look of regret crosses his face as he slowly withdraws his thumb from your lips. He then runs it along the lip he just bit. He closes his eyes, breathes.

“Why do you think no one would find your body interesting?”

Through your pounding heart, you swallow and  try to look unaffected by what just happened, by what you can clearly feel as you rest on his lap through the thin fabric of his swimsuit. Because he is affected. His body is responding to you again. But for some reason, he wants to play the guessing game instead of… doing anything about it. You think about him leaning down, as if he’d kiss you. You think about him spinning on his heel and walking away instead. 

“It isn’t so much that it’s not enough to pique interest in anyone else. It’s simply that it’s not enough to retain that interest.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “How so?”

You try to look away, but he reaches up and catches your jaw, gently guiding you back to meet his eyes. You sigh. Might as well get it out in the open. “I tried to tell you, when you asked me to help you with dating. I’m the last person you should ask, because even though I have a lot of experience in romantic relationships, they’ve never ended well. I’ve been cheated on more than once. I’m not qualified to be your dating coach.”

His brow furrows as you say ‘a lot of experience,' like he’s sucked on a lemon, before it’s quickly replaced with his customary bored expression. “I’ll take my chances. All I need to know is what you like, and you are best qualified to do that.”

“Why does it matter what I like? What about your beloved?”

He sniffs dismissively. “Why are people so insistent that I repeat myself today?” But before you can ask him what he means, he asks, “What does your… mistakes having cheated on you have to do with you?” Now he looks aggressively bored.

“When it happens not once, or twice, but more than that, it’s pretty obvious that the common denominator is me. So maybe it’s not my body that’s the issue. Maybe it’s just… all of me, that can’t retain their interest, or at least their courtesy of ending things before they seek out someone else to satisfy them.”

“Or maybe the only thing wrong with you is your taste in partners.” His eyes glow in the soft light emanating from under the pool’s water. 

You look at him, this beautiful, dangerous, mercurial creature, your heart aching from how lovely he is, how far away he feels when all you would have to do to kiss him is lean forward, just a little bit, like taking a bite from the cinnamon roll. “Perhaps you’re right.”

His brow furrows. “If they cheated, then they were not for you. You were fated for another. And the one you’re fated for will never stray.”

You’re surprised. Sylus has never struck you as the type of person who would accept fate in determining his life and destiny—such a belief feels too passive for such a strong-willed man. “Do you actually believe in fate? In soulmates?”

He nods. “No matter how much I may resent the whims of fate, I do.”

His answer makes you unbearably sad. “What if you don’t like the one you’re destined to be with? And the person you have no choice in loving—if you’re destined for someone, then it doesn’t matter who they are, what makes them unique. It kind of… removes the idea that the person you love is special, that you chose them because they fit you so well.”

He runs a finger from your chin, up the line of your jaw, until he rests his palm against your cheek and smoothes his thumb along the corner of your eye. “On the contrary, I believe that my beloved is destined for me because they fit me so well—if they were not uniquely them, then they would not be my fate. I can assure you, I have very specific reasons for adoring my beloved. Even if fate gets everything else wrong, it has not failed me in this regard.”

Part of you is breaking at the clear adoration in his voice for his beloved, who can’t be you. 

The other part of you is treacherously whispering in his deep, decadent voice— Yes, beloved? Words you’ve never heard him say to you, but you can hear so clearly in your head.

“Tell me about your beloved,” you whisper.

He leans forward, runs his nose along yours. His tongue flicks out and you feel its warmth along the side of your mouth before withdrawing again.

“You had some sugar,” he says quietly in response to the confused look on your face.

The water laps the sides of the pool with each small movement of your bodies. The scent of pine, of chlorine, of sugar and cinnamon fill your senses. The world is dark outside the windows, but you can’t see anything beyond the panes because of the condensation drifting up the glass from the heat of the pool.

Your heart won’t survive this man. You want to be put out of your misery. You never want to wake up from this dream.

“Tell me about your beloved,” you ask again.

He runs the hand not holding your cheek along your waist, his fingertips trailing goosebumps despite the warmth of the water. “Do you really still not know, darling?”

You close your eyes. “Know what, Sy?”

“That you don’t need me to answer your question. You already know my beloved better than anyone else. But you’re too afraid to admit that you already know who they are. What they want. What would please them the most.”

“How could I possibly know all those things, when I don’t know who your beloved is?” Your thoughts drift to your nightmare. To the streetlamps, and the darkness. The temptation to step off the ledge. You’ve already lost so much. What happens if you accept what he’s been waiting for you to acknowledge for a while now, and you have a brief, supernova moment of happiness with him? And as with real supernovas, the flash will give way to an endless darkness, or worse, a black hole. In either case, you know that the darkness lasts so much longer than that brief, blinding light. What happens when the inevitable result of your terrible choices in partners is repeated, and you have to experience the memory of what it’s like to be briefly loved by him, in comparison to his absence once he grows bored?

“You’re breaking the rules again, darling.”

You open your eyes, and all you see is Sylus. “What rules?”

“You can lie to everyone else in your life, but you will not lie to me. If you can’t admit that you already know the answer to your question, then I’ll wait until you can.”

He too, has started to sweat in the heat of this quiet, almost unbearably warm space. You watch a drop of sweat form at his temple, make its meandering way down his sharp jaw. You can’t help yourself. You lean forward and catch it on the tip of your tongue. 

Salt. Sylus. 

He shudders underneath you.

“I will be patient,” he says, voice strained, as if he’s trying to convince you. Or himself.

“What happens if you get bored, waiting? What if I take too long?” Because you’re not ready. The fear is overwhelming. You gave in to your curiosity in the dream, and the fall would have killed you if Sylus hadn’t called you back to wakefulness.

“You have no idea how long I’ve already waited. In the end, there is only one answer to your question, and that will not change, whether you admit it out loud right now, or fifty years from now. If you must test me in order to believe me, then test me.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” you smile.

“My beloved never backs down from a challenge,” he doesn’t return your smile. He is watching you with such sincerity that it takes your breath away. “But I’d rather, this time, they simply take me at my word.”

“What happens when you tire of your beloved once you have them for a little while, and start to notice all their flaws?”

“I’ve already evaluated the jewel; I’m afraid this particular gem is flawless.”

You snort. “No one is without imperfections.”

“My beloved is not just anyone. They’re perfect to me.”

You’re reeling. You don’t dare believe him. He must be lying. You have no idea why he would lie about this, what he could possibly have to gain, but his honeyed words are too unbelievable. You? Flawless? Perfect in this extraordinary man’s eyes? The absurdity would make you laugh if you weren’t already breathless from the idea that he has meant you, you, you, this whole time. You, his beloved.

“You still haven’t answered my question. What happens when you get bored?”

“I won’t.”

“How can I trust that?”

He lifts a dark silver eyebrow. “Only one way to find out.”

Suddenly, it’s all too overwhelming. The heat of the water. The long, physically demanding swim in the pool earlier. The fact that the only thing you’ve had to eat in the last twenty-four hours is a cinnamon roll. You lean forward, bury your head in Sylus’s damp neck, manage to resist the urge to lick his sweat again.

“Please wait a little longer,” you whisper. You need more time. You need to go on those fake dates with him. You need to see how he treats wait staff at a restaurant when the order is wrong. You need to make more mistakes, like with Kieran and Luke on the roadside, and see what happens the more the reality of you chips away at the pedestal he has inexplicably put you on in his mind, if he’s telling the truth. The edge is already beckoning you. You can’t step over yet, you can’t. You can’t.

“Again, why must I repeat myself so much today?” he gripes. “I already told you, I will wait, for as long as it takes.” He wraps his arms around you and hugs you tightly.

You hug him back, dizzy. From the heat. From the whirlwind of the last forty-eight hours. From the fraying tether you have on reality, after such a short time living in his world of dreams. 

You stand at the ledge. You’re not ready to leap. But you’re leaning, leaning, closer than you’ve ever been. You just hope that when the inevitable happens—when you let yourself fall, Sylus will be there to catch you.

“I promise,” he says, as if he can read your mind. And he says he always keeps his promises.

This is what it feels like. Lured to the edge. Balancing on the cliff. You probably know how it ends, before you even realize it's beginning. But the knowing doesn't stop you from leaning, leaning, until the gravity of the inevitable pulls you down into the fall.

* * *

I said I felt like crawling into a hole for the next four years and then inflict almost 15k words on you dear readers, I'm sorry for never keeping my promises, I'm not Sylus😭. I hope you enjoyed, we're very close to an actual relationship and maybe some real life smooches. I have plans for Noah's return in the next part and some fun activities while MC gets to knows Sylus better and practices imagining what a commitment to the leader of Onychinus would look like, but who knows what will actually come out of my brain when I sit down to write again.

[locomoqo]

Could we get something related to gun trying to convince the reader who he loves to stay with him. Reader is conflicted with her feelings because she loves him but she’s aware of his job and how dangerous it is for the both of them. Angst & comfort please!

love me like a sailor

— gun park x reader

details: angst with comfort, established relationship

A/N: 1.2k words whewww, also i hope i did gun's personality justice here🥹 i rlly do believe he'd soften around someone he loves (i have a feeling this didnt come off as angsty as i wanted it to be bleh)

The room is dimly lit, shadows stretching long across the floor as the evening light fades behind heavy curtains. Gun stands in front of you, his usually impassive face softened by an emotion he rarely shows—vulnerability. The tension between you both is almost suffocating, a thick silence hanging between breaths. Your heart is heavy with the weight of a decision you don’t want to make.

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this,” you murmur, your voice barely a whisper. You clutch your arms, holding yourself together because you’re afraid that if you let go, you’ll fall apart. You look up at him, eyes filled with the conflict that’s been tearing at you for weeks. He’s been distant lately, lost in the chaos of his work, and you can’t pretend any longer that it doesn’t scare you.

Gun’s jaw tightens, his usually stoic expression cracking for a brief second. There's a flicker of something fragile in his eyes. He steps forward, a little too quickly, as if he's scared you might vanish. “I’m here now, aren’t I?” he says, his voice quiet and distant—just like it always is.

You meet his gaze, your eyes brimming with unshed tears, hating that he makes it sound so simple. “But for how long?” you ask, your voice breaking. “You’re always chasing danger, always fighting, always risking everything. I can’t... I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t tear me apart every time you walk out that door.” The words spill out of you, each one a stab to your own heart. You hate how weak you sound, how vulnerable. But you can’t help it. You can’t stop loving him.

Gun’s brows furrow, his usual mask slipping as he takes a step closer. He towers over you, but there’s a gentleness in his eyes that contradicts his imposing presence. His hands tremble slightly as he reaches for you but stops, hovering with uncertainty as if he’s not sure he has the right to touch you anymore. “I don’t know how to be different,” he admits, his voice raw and low, twisting your heart. It's true, fighting has become part of who he is, it's all he's ever known. “This is who I am. But if it means losing you, I’ll—”

“No,” you interrupt, shaking your head, feeling tears sting at the corners of your eyes. “I don’t want to be the reason you lose your edge. I don’t want to be your weakness.”

You see frustration flare in his eyes, the helplessness he fights so hard to conceal. His hands drop to his sides, curling into fists as he takes a shaky breath. “Do you think I want to be this way?” he asks, his voice suddenly fierce, desperation cutting through his words. “Do you think I don’t know what it does to you every time I leave? I’m trying, damn it, but I can’t just walk away from who I am. I’ve built my life around this, and I can’t change it, not overnight.”

He stretches his hand out, catching yours before you can pull away. There's an urgency in his grip—an unspoken plea hidden beneath his cold facade. The anger fades from his face, replaced by something hollow and broken. “You’re not my weakness,” he insists, his hold firm but gentle. “You never have been. You’re the only person who makes me want to be better. For you.” He swallows, eyes locked on yours. “I know it’s dangerous. I won’t lie to you about that. But I can protect you. I will protect you.”

Your heart aches at the sincerity in his voice, but you know it’s not enough. You pull your hand back, wiping away a tear before it can fall. “What if something happens to you?” you ask, your voice cracking. “What if I lose you?”

Gun’s expression tightens, and he reaches for you again, his hands settling on your shoulders with surprising gentleness. “Nothing’s going to happen to me,” he says firmly, his voice steady, as if daring fate to contradict him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He almost adds, “Not if it means leaving you,” but the words die in his throat.

“...I don’t want to leave,” you say, your voice hoarse, and it’s the truth. You don’t want to lose him. You don’t want to be without the man who’s somehow become the most important part of your life, the one who knows you better than anyone else. “But I don’t want to watch you destroy yourself either.” Your voice wavers, and you turn away as a sob escapes before you can choke it down.

Gun’s fingers gently tilt your chin back, his touch tender in a way that takes you by surprise. “Look at me,” he commands, his tone softer than you’ve ever heard. You meet his gaze, and for the first time, you see the raw fear in his eyes—the fear of losing you. “I’m not asking you to ignore the danger. I’m asking you to stay with me.”

Your chest tightens, and you shake your head as tears finally spill over. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough for this,” you admit, your voice barely audible.

Gun’s hands come up to cup your face, and this time, he doesn’t hesitate. His touch is achingly gentle, his thumb brushing away the tears that fall down your cheeks. “Then don’t watch,” he says, his voice teetering on desperation. “Let me be the one who takes the risks. I’ll handle it. I’ll handle everything if it means I can keep you by my side.” His voice is so soft, so uncharacteristically vulnerable.

“Isn’t that enough?” His eyes, usually so cold and distant, search yours, desperate for any sign that you might stay.

For a moment, all you can hear is the pounding of your own heartbeat, each thud echoing in your ears. The tears come faster now, and you let yourself lean into his touch, feeling the warmth of his palms against your skin. There’s a sadness in his gaze that cuts you to the core, but there’s also hope—a fragile, flickering flame that refuses to die.

Your hands tremble as you cling to the fabric of his shirt, your fingers curling into the material. “I love you,” you whisper, your voice breaking, “but I’m scared, Gun. I’m so scared.”

His arms wrap around you, pulling you against his chest. His hold is firm and unwavering, like he’s trying to shield you from the world itself. “Then be scared,” he whispers into your hair, his breath warm against your temple, “but don’t go.”

It's the first time you’ve ever heard him beg, and it shatters something inside you. You stay there, wrapped in the security of his embrace. He’s far from perfect, and so are you, but in this moment, you find a sort of peace—a hope that, maybe, love is enough.

Gun pulls back slightly, his hands still cradling your face as he stares at you with an intensity that steals your breath. “Stay,” he whispers, his voice rough and desperate. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to us.”

You don’t know what the future holds, or if his promise is one he can keep, but in this moment, as his thumb gently brushes your cheek, you find yourself nodding, your resolve crumbling in the face of the man you love. Gun exhales shakily, a soft, relieved sound, and pulls you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck. For the first time in a long while, you feel like maybe—just maybe—everything will be okay.

[mayrose713]

Beautifully Cruel World-Chapter 11

Series Masterlist | Previous | Next

ABO Non-Idol Stray Kids Universe Poly OT8 x Reader 18+ MDNI

Warnings in the Series Masterlist as well as any other information needed

Sorry for the wait, had a stupid meeting Sunday evening until 10:30 having already worked a full opening shift that morning after a closing shift Saturday night. Then was dead tired Monday that my brain wouldn't fully let me write. But I got it done.

Chapter 11

“Binnie.” Felix walks up to the alpha hugging him as Jisung hugs Chan, Y/n sitting on the stool at the kitchen island watching. 

“Channie.”

“What did you two do?” Changbin eyes the two omega like betas. 

“We didn’t do anything.” Felix places a hand on his chest for being accused. 

“What is it you two want?” Chan questions, pulling away from Jisung to look at the two of them.

“What makes you think we want something?” Jisung pouts. 

“Because you guys always want something.” Changbin gives them a look making the omega laugh as she watches it all happen. 

“And yet you guys never say no to us.” Felix smiles. “But anyways, we do want something.”

“Shocking.” Chan rolls his eyes giving Y/n an unamused look. 

“Can we go on vacation?” Jisung gives the two alphas puppy dog eyes. 

“Vacation?” Changbin looks at the two confused. “Where do you want to go on vacation?”

“And when?” Chan pulls his phone out. “Bin and I were already thinking of spending the holidays in Australia so that Y/n can experience it.”

Felix’s eyes light up at the thought of going to his home country with their omega for the holidays. “That sounds perfect… but we were also thinking of a small vacation with her here soon.”

“You know.” Changbin looks at the head alpha. “With all the stress we’ve had recently, I think we all could use a good vacation. And get to spend some time all together.”

Felix and Jisung both smile widely that they got one of them to agree and look for Chan's permission as well.

Chan sighs looking at his two younger mates before turning to Y/n. “What do you think, baby girl?”

“I think a vacation sounds nice. I would love to spend time with everyone as a pack. It would probably help with a lot of things.” She agrees with the other three. “But what about work for you guys? And for Min at the studio?”

“We run the company, pretty girl.” Changbin smirks. “And the company is all about family and packs, meaning if someone is needing to do something for their family or pack, then they should prioritize that. And this will help our pack bond, so it’ll be fine.”

Y/n nods in understanding, glad that they run their company like that. 

“And Min’s just teaching summer classes.” Jisung speaks up for the second oldest alpha, who’s currently at work. “It's more just private one-on-one and some of the advanced classes but he doesn’t have like a set schedule he sticks to at the moment. Just uses this app where his dancers can put in the days they can be there this summer and he schedules classes weekly based on that.”

“And Seungmin won't be starting baseball tryouts until the very end of the summer so I think we’re all good.” Chan nods. “Where was it you guys were thinking about going?”

“Jeju Island.” They say at the same time.

“Should’ve known.” Changbin rolls his eyes.

Y/n giggles watching all of them lovingly as Chan messages Minho about not scheduling any rehearsals next week. Changbin takes the younger two and hugs them, making them pout as he rambled about no one being able to deny the two. 

“When does your brother want to meet up with us?” Chan looks up from his phone at his omega.

“Ummm… he said any weekend is good, to just let him know.”

Chan nods before looking back at his phone again. “Do you wanna tell him we can meet him in the city on Saturday, have dinner or something and then we leave for Jeju island on Sunday?”

“I’ll see if he’s good with that.”

“Wait.” Jisung gasps. “We’re meeting your brother?” 

“Yes we are.” Chan confirms, and raises a brow at the two younger ones. “So everyone needs to be on their best behavior.”

“Why’d you specifically look at us for that?” Felix eyes his alpha back.

“Because you younger ones are menaces.” Minho comes into the kitchen having just gotten home, poking Jisung in the ass causing him to pout and move away from the older male. 

“Hyuk won’t care as long as you guys are truly yourselves and see that I’m safe and happy.” The omega reassures them.

Felix suddenly rushes over to the kitchen island and eyes Y/n a little before brushing her hair away from her neck, gasping and looking at Chan.

“Hyung?” 

She realizes what he noticed and places her hand over her neck blushing as the other three in the room look at the two omegas confused.

“What’s wrong?” Minho immediately goes into caring alpha mode walking over to Y/n and pushes her hand away from her neck to see the mating bite over her scent gland. “Oh.” 

Jisung and Changbin looks over too and the elder smirks at their alpha and Jisung pouts. “Who said you got to bite her first?”

“What?” Jeongin yells from the other room before you hear him run to the kitchen. “Someone bit Y/n already?”

Jisung points to the girl's neck showing Jeongin as he speaks. “Channie did.”

“Hyung.” The younger alpha joins Jisung in pouting. 

“Hey, don’t look at me like that.” Chan crosses his arms. “I’m pack alpha, I get first claim on our omega, just like I got first claim on all of you.”

The two start to blush causing Chan to grab the two and wrap his arms around them cooing at how cute they are when Y/n’s phone goes off.

“Hyuk said that Saturday is good for him.” She reads her phone. “And sent a restaurant address, it looks like it isn’t too far from your guy's office.

Y/n shows them her phone and Changbin takes note of where the restaurant is. “I’ll go ahead and call to make a reservation for ten of us and see if my family's rental house on Jeju island is available.”

Y/n just gawks, unable to believe that Changbin also has a rental house on an island. What else do they have? 

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Y/n stands in her room staring at her nest once again. Her omega instincts have kicked back in fully and she’s been feeling the need to nest all day. But no matter what she does it just doesn’t feel right and she’s not satisfied with it. 

“UGH.” She growls, frustrated, and grabs a bunch of the blankets and pillows, throwing them out of the nest.

“Woah.” Seungmin walks in, wide-eyed, having heard her growl. “What happened in here?” 

She looks at the beta, tears of frustration ready to spill as she drops to the floor, placing her head in her hands. “It’s stupid.” 

“Hey.” Seungmin kneels down in front of her, grabbing her hands to move them away from her face. “What’s wrong, pup?”

“No matter what I do, the nest just isn’t right.” She cries, looking at the mess she’s made.

“I can go get Lix. He can come help you.” He tilts his head trying to get her to look at him.

She shakes her head no and huffs. “I need to figure it out myself.” 

He looks at all the blankets and frowns, noticing that everything is the nesting materials Felix used to create her original one and not the new supplies he and Jisung got that they put in everyone’s rooms to get the packs scent on. 

“I think I might know what your issue is.” 

“What?” She finally looks at him. 

“Why haven’t you gotten any of the blankets or pillows from our rooms?” He grabs one of the discarded blankets, it only smells like her from being in her nest since Felix had put it there.

“Umm…” The omega looks around before sighing. “I didn’t want to take anything from you guys or invade your guys’ rooms.” 

“Baby.” Seungmin gently grabs her chin to make her look at him. “We keep an abundance of pillows and blankets around specifically for you and Felix to take and nest with. We want you guys to be comfortable in your nests with our scents, knowing you're safe.” He rubs her cheek with his thumb a bit. “If we’re needing more in our rooms we’ll just get some from the excess amounts we keep in the rest of the house. And we know eventually they stop smelling like us so you’ll switch them out for new ones from us. We don’t mind, we want you to do that.” 

“Are you sure?” She still seems hesitant so he stands up grabbing her hands to pull her off the ground too. 

“Go pick stuff from each of our rooms that you want for your nest.” He ushers her into the hallway and watches as she slowly walks into Jisungs room first. 

She looks around unsure at first before a certain pillow caught her attention making her want it for her nest. She didn’t want to take it at first in case the beta gets upset that it’s missing but tries to remember what Seungmin said and quickly grabs it, leaving the room before she could talk herself out of it. 

She does this with the others' rooms, taking a blanket or pillow that caught her attention. She took both pillows and blankets from Chan’s, Felix’s and Minho's rooms. And she’s lastly hesitating in front of Hyunjin’s door having just finished in Seungmin’s as she knew the oldest beta is in there.

“Just knock, pup.” She listens to Seungmin and waits for a reply from the oldest beta before opening the door:

“Hey princess, what’s up?” Hyunjin looks up from his sketchbook, where he’s sitting on his bed.

“C-can I…” Y/n mumbles, looking down at the floor. “… take some stuff for my nest?” 

“I didn’t catch that, baby.” 

She sighs. “Can I take some stuff for my nest?” She speaks a bit louder. 

“Princess, look at me.” He waits for her to look up from the floor and his heart melts when she makes eye contact with him. “You never have to ask me to take stuff for your nest, I want you to have my scent if that’s what you're needing.” 

She nods and looks around the room slowly as Hyunjin goes back to sketching. But the only thing she’s wanting is the blanket he’s currently using. She sighs, deciding to just leave empty handed not wanting to take anything if he’s using it.

“Didn’t find anything you wanted?” Hyunjin notices her heading towards the door. 

“N-no.” The omega mutters causing him to frown at the fact she still stutters sometimes around him. “I did, but…” She looks at the blanket over his lap but shakes her head.

“Is it this blanket you’re wanting?” He starts to lift the blanket off of him to give to her.

“No, no. You don’t have to give it to me.” She puts her hands out to stop him but instead the beta rolls up the blanket a little placing it in her arms. “I don’t want to take it if you’re using it.”

“Baby, take the blanket. I can get a different one.” He pushes the blanket further into her hands, walking her out of his room before she tries to put it back on his bed. “Go add it to your nest.” 

Seungmin smiles as he sees the two come out of the room and moves to the side to let Y/n go nest as Hyunjin joins him and they walk down the stairs to join the rest of their mates in the kitchen. 

“You two okay?” Felix asks, noticing them first as he’s baking brownies, the others sitting in the living room look over too. 

“Y/n’s finally giving in to her omega tendencies and is nesting.” Seungmin explains, taking a seat at the kitchen island. 

Felix’s eyes light up. “That’s great.”

“Except she didn’t want to take anything from our rooms to nest with so she was using the old materials you originally had used to make her first nest.” Seungmin sighs. “Found her crying in frustration because she didn’t know why she couldn’t get it right.”

“You told her she can get whatever she needs from our rooms right?” Jisung sit’s forward as if he’s ready to go upstairs and tell her himself.

“Of course I did.” 

“She came to my room last, was afraid to ask for anything.” Hyunjin sighs, grabbing a blanket from the large basket of them in the corner of the living room. “She almost left without anything because she wanted the blanket I was currently using, had to force her to take it.”

“I’ll talk to her.” Chan stands up. “Remind her that this is her home now too.”

The alpha goes up the stairs quickly, walking towards the omega’s room and stops in the doorway. He watches her for a few minutes as she nests. He’s always enjoyed watching Felix nest and waits until either she notices him or she finishes. He watches her, carefully choosing which pillows and blankets to put where, smelling them occasionally to decide how she wants her nest set up. It isn’t until she sits back on her knees looking around the nest satisfied with the outcome that he knocks on the doorframe causing her to turn.

“Hi Channie.” She smiles as he comes in and he sits on the edge of the bed. 

“Hey baby girl.” He watches her as she crawls closer to him and he puts an arm out for her to slot herself into his side. “I see you managed to build your nest by yourself.”

“I did.” She beams, snuggling into his side. “Minnie had to help encourage me a bit.”

“I heard.” He looks down at her. “I actually wanted to talk to you about that.”

“Oh?” Y/n looks at him a bit scared that she’s in trouble for taking stuff from their rooms. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, none of us are upset.” He reassures her, putting out calming pheromones. “I wanted to remind you that you don’t have to be afraid to go around the house. This is your home now too, ya know? Yes we have some rules for you outside of the house but here, you’re free to do what you want. And we want you to take whatever you want for your nest. We just want you to be comfortable, okay?”

“Okay.” She mumbles. “I’ll try to be better about it.”

“I’m not asking you to do better, baby.” He lays his head on top of hers. “Just don’t want you to feel like you have to be cautious around us or walk on eggshells.”

“I guess I’m just used to doing that.” The omega sighs leaning heavily into his side.

“I’m sure you are.” He pulls her closer. “But we’re gonna help you not feel like you have to do that anymore. This home is different from your last one, you’re free here.”

The omega nods in understanding, taking comfort in his words. “Thank you.”

______________________________________________________________

A/N~ now that the pack knows their omega has been claimed by their alpha, who do you think is next to do so?

reminder to keep an eye on the series masterlist of dates for future chapters posting as they get written.

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[notlhecxzsa]

Never Wanted Love Just A Fancy Car - N.R

Summary: Time seemed to pass by so quickly, everything seemed to be moving past between Natasha's fingers, but would she let the only thing that seemed to be giving her everything go? It is not what she wanted anyways... right?

Author's Note: Hii! Omg, finally! I hope this is enough to fill the weeks I haven't updated, I kind of got lost and everything's piling up. But, now, I finally have a good vision on how I want this to go! This is 3k+ words.

Warnings: Starting of Mean!Natasha (ughhh, here we go), bruises, mentions of abuse, sad Y/n (give my girl back her dog and lucy!)

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3rd Person's POV:

A week has already passed by, a routine was set between Y/n and Natasha. Inside that week, Maria, Clint and the other noticed how Natasha stayed in the penthouse, which was very unusual, given that she mostly lives in the manor. They chose not to mention it around the red head, thinking that they might just be thinking too much about it.

Y/n already knows the whole penthouse by heart, keeping everything as tidy as possible even though Natasha had kept saying that she has people to do those things. Making different delicious meals for the both of them, even making extra more for Clint, Maria, Bucky and Steve whom she met on the 3rd day of being there.

Y/n's kindness and attentiveness did not go unnoticed by the people that would come and go inside the penthouse, her actions warms the head of the people around her and makes their stomach churn in a very good way.

Natasha's eyes never left the petite figure of her 'significant other' wherever she goes and whatever she does. The fluttering of her heart makes her want to throw up as the compliments from her friends about Y/n makes her eyes roll. Though, she can't deny that her friends seemed to enjoy going to the penthouse ever since Y/n came.

Late night games and movies became a thing for the past week and a half, 'addicting meals'—as to how Bucky proclaimed it to be, are always served, all while Natasha kept to herself, specifically on times when she and Y/n are not alone.

She felt a magnetic-like energy, rather work at home than to do the work she normally would choose to do. Her tongue burning to get a taste of whatever's being cooked in the kitchen. The little moments and conversation that was spent between the younger girl became something she cherished and most awaited every single day, even though she will never admit it—even to herself.

Now, at the very moment, Y/n was cooking in the kitchen while Natasha seemed to be having a very serious call on the balcony with someone. Y/n's eyes kept checking her over, eyes raking on the expressions she wear across the kitchen, to the living room and to the balcony. She wanted so badly to ask what was wrong, her inside a raging bull that kept pushing her to be there for her...wife.

Before she could even go deep inside her thoughts, the sound of the sliding door filled the air and she quickly looked down to what she was cooking. she was cooking, heavy footsteps was what it was followed, then those deep heavy sighs she's starting to get familiar with. She's stressed. Natasha is stressed.

"Are you-" She started, not even getting the chance to talk before Natasha's dominant voice went straight to her ears.

"I'm going out. Don't wait up for me. I just need to deal with something." Natasha's footsteps did not falter, not even a bit as she passed through the kitchen, leaving Y/n alone and confused, her heart and mind fighting wether should she check on the redhead or not.

This is the first time she witnessed the redhead so stressed—the first time witnessed Natasha going out to do something without even knowing what it is. Usually, there would be a follow up reason, a short explanation from Natasha without even asking. Now, she just acted so...weird. There wasn't much evidence that Y/n saw from how she just acted, but Y/n could feel it.

What happened?

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Back at the penthouse, silence enveloped the whole atmosphere as Y/n fixed the food inside the microwave, deciding to wait up for Natasha so that they could eat together. Surely, she won't be home late, right? She always gets home by dinner.

Deciding to spend her time waiting by the living room, turning on the TV to watch something. Her hand subconsciously going up to play with her ring finger, wondering when will the ceremony of their wedding will be. Her mind fantasizing how beautiful the even might be, her younger self's dreams might finally happen in just a few days.

Her mind flooded with questions. Will my parents be there? Will Lucy gonna be there? Tamtam? Her heart fluttering in excitement at the thought of the two latter. She don't know how the wedding will go, all she knows is that this is all about something between Natasha's parents and her's. But, it's a wedding, a special event, a matrimony, it has to mean something more than just a business plan, right? Right.

Even though she still has mixed feelings about her unknown relationship with Natasha, she kept learning on how to love her, that what a wife does, right? That's what they should do.

Clad in her usual clothing, leggings and a domesticated sweater with her hair up in a ponytail and strands of hair falling to the sides of her face. Her attention was swarmed by the announcement spoken by the reporter on the television.

"Stark's industry has once again published a new electronic device, setting a standardized testing all over the countries, even in Asia. But, nevertheless, we can see how Romanoff corporation is still on top of the business. Electronics, weaponry, and services for the people and the government...." A small smile made its way on her face, her heart beats with pride. She was proud. She took a mental note to congratulate the red head later, maybe that's where Natasha was going. To discuss about this, this should be something to be celebrated.

Her gaze averted down to her arm, where the sleeves of her sweater was slightly ridden up. There was a vivid bruising, already healing. Caressing it, her eyes fell into a solemn look, thinking of home. Tammy, Lucy. She just hopes they're doing good. Her parents would call her, asking how she is, spending only a minute to talk to her before the conversation is averted about Natasha.

Pulling up the sweater to check on her other bruises, she saw how the others are still visible in the eyes close-up. She hopes it will be gone soon, people might think weird of her once they notice how she only wears a sweater and cover-ups.

Too lost in her thoughts, she did not notice the ninja-like footsteps getting near her. "Y/n?..." She jumped up at the sound, looking up to see Maria with a certain look on her face, her eyes glazing over the arm that was set in front of her. "Are you okay? What happened?" Looking down, Y/n realized that the sleeves was still ridden up.

Quickly pulling it down, she stood up. "Maria! I didn't- I didn't hear you... Why are you here?" Y/n mentally slalpped herself, sounding so nervous and maybe even mean. Fiddling the hem of her sleeves, she continued, "Have you eaten already? I cooked something... I-I'm just waiting for Natalia to come home, she left earlier, by the way-just incase you're looking for her..." She trailed off, not knowing what to say anymore.

Maria's gaze stayed for a while on Y/n's covered arms that was visible a while ago. She saw it. Bruises littered on her body is what her life is all about in this business, and she can't be mistaken if she saw one. She saw the stiff shoulder of Y/n and what seemed like a tensed body, clearly having a good read that it is not something she would be open into talking about. But to Natasha, she will for sure ask about it. There's no way Natasha's hurting her?

"Yeah- no, I mean, I was just gonna pass by to bring these papers to Natasha..." Briefly holding up a briefcase in hand, Maria's gaze averted to look back into Y/n's face. "She's been spending work times here, I told her I'd just give this to her and she agreed—where is she, by the way? Did she say anything about where she was going?" Maria asked as she put the suitcase on the coffee table and sat on the couch.

Y/n stayed standing up, "Uhm... no, she left in a hurry... and she also seemed stress." Silence enveloped the atmosphere around them, Maria seemed to be in a very deep thought as her gaze glued on the television while Y/n shifted on where she was standing.

"Would you— would you like to eat, Ria?" Maria look back at the young girl, smiling at the sound of the new nickname she earned.

"What do you have there?" Standing up, they both walked towards the kitchen.

"I cooked salmon! I also did some vegetables salads, if you would like I can make you some juices." Setting up a plate, Maria frowned.

"Aren't you gonna eat too? Did you eat already?" Sitting down, she muttered a small thank you when a glass of water was set in front of her.

"No, don't worry about me. I'll wait for Natalia..." Maria's eyes squinted a little as she looked at Y/n who was taking out the food from the oven.

"Why do you keep calling her Natalia?" Maria blurted out and Y/n frowned, her movements faltering as she turned to look at Maria.

"Isn't that her name?" She questioned.

With a chuckle, Maria took a sip on her water as the food was set in front of her. "No, yeah, it is, it is. She hates that name, do you know that? We all call her Natasha." Maria explained, amusement sparking in her voice.

With a deeper frown, Y/n sat down beside her, after setting all the food that is available in front of the raven haired woman. "She hates it? Really?" With a blown confused voice, she asked. "It's just... it was what I used to call her... before. From as far as I can remember."

"Yeah... but, doesn't seem like it when you're that one calling her that..." Maria took a bit of the delicious food, just as she was about to take a second bite, her movements faltered. "Wait... before?" Looking at Y/n who was looking ahead into a space, seemingly lost in her thoughts with a faint blush creeping up on her cheeks.

"Yeah... when we were kids. She used to come in our house with her parents, but I remember only very little." She explained, looking at Maria with a small smile on her face. "Why?" Seeing the distant look on Maria's face, she asked curiously.

A blip of silence came over, the gears running inside of Maria's head seemed to be heard by the girl beside her before she clears her throat slowly. "Urhm... no, nothing. Just curious, that's all—This is so good, by the way. Might eat it all if only Natasha would not kill me." Giggling, Y/n shook her head.

"I can cook you another?" Warmth spreading in her chest, she thought how Natasha got so lucky.

"No, no, don't bother, this is all good." With a nod, Y/n settled beside Maria, conversation thrown at each other like a normal friends would do.

Y/n could only hope Natalia is fine and will come home sooner.

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3rd Person's POV:

Hours passed by and the both of them had settled by the living room, with Maria deciding to stay for a couple of more hours and Y/n now falling asleep on the couch.

Averting her gaze from the television to the young woman who had her head on her knuckles while the other hand cuddled a pillow on her lap. Maria looked down on her phone, all of her messages from Natasha popped up immediately with no reply in sight. Sighing she got up to get herself a glass of water, deciding to stay a few more minutes before heading off.

As she was pouring herself a glass of water, a sheets of colored papers along with some art materials caught her eyes. Flower papers. The same ones she saw on Natasha's glovebox. The same one she also saw on Natasha's room yesterday.

Huh. Smirking, she shook her head before the sound of the door caught her attention. It might be Natasha. Deciding to stay in the kitchen as those familiar quiet footsteps reached her ears. From where she was standing, she could still clearly see where Y/n was laying on the couch but she's not visible for anyone to see if the person walking inside will go straight in the living room.

She watched as the familar form of a red haired woman with a dominant aura walked slowly with careful steps that Maria is not familiar with approach the young woman. With furrowed eyebrows, curiosity filled her body as she watched Natasha stand still, her figure looming over the girl, just watching over her.

Slowly, a sly smirk made its way on her face as she decided to step little by little closer to the living room, coming into a view where she can see Natasha's face clearly.

There was a certain look in Natasha's face that she could not pinpoint. A certain look she'd never seen before. Now, with a frown, she thought how could Natasha not notice another presence with them? With her eyes soft and tensed at the same time, analyzing the small figure by the couch, she decided to get her attention.

"Natasha..." With an uncertainty in her voice, she called out.

Head whipping around, shoulder becoming tensed as her features falter, Natasha replied, "Maria..." Clearing her throat, she straighten up, turning on her heels and walked towards the kitchen, her eyes trailing towards the art materials present on the table. "What are you doing here?"

Watching as Natasha opened up the fridge but just stared. "I got you the files. Where did you went?" She asked.

"Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you not to come anymore. I'll be going back at the mansion." Closing the fridge, she went to sit on one of the stools, now looking straight into Maria's eyes, not caring how she ignored the second question.

Frowning, she asked, "What? What about Y/n?"

Natasha shrugged, "What about her? I mean, she's doing fine here...I can just check on her—you guys can check on her from time to time." Taking a sip on the beer she got from the fridge, she averted her gaze to look by the living room, her gaze immediately falling down on the young woman laying on the couch.

With a still frown, Maria couldn't help but notice how the atmosphere had shifted, now taking notice that there was something up with her friend. She know her too well not to notice it, but seeing how tensed Natasha was, she chose not to question. Questions that are already piling up after the things she had witnessed and learned today.

"Well, then, I should go now. The files are by the living room..." Turning, Maria gathered her things she left on the kitchen counter earlier.

"Thank you, Maria." Natasha said with a monotone, acknowledging the effort that was made by the woman.

With a nod, Maria walked towards the exit, but her movements faltering as she turned her head to look at Natasha who was still looking ahead. "She cooked for you..." Even with her face in a stone cold feature, Maria could see right through her. "She was waiting for you to come back."

Receiving no reply, Maria headed off, leaving Natasha in her own bubble that seemed to be going off in any moment.

As soon as the sound of the door closing in, she swallowed a heavy lump that formed in her throat, her facade falling into pieces as she took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she let it out.

As soon as she opened it, she saw a movement by the living room. Taking a large swig of the beer, she watched as the figure took notice of her presence. Those eyes that haunted her in her sleep, the same ones she craved as soon as she wakes up. Natasha made no effort in resolving her facade, watching as the young woman marched forward in the kitchen, strands of hair falling into place as she took careful steps just like what she always do, as if worrying that she might trip.

Natasha learned all her habits, the way she would tuck her hair behind her ear, how she would fiddle the ends of her sleeve as she tried to cover up her hands as if she was not covered enough with those sweaters and cardigans along with leggings and pants that seemed to be countless. The way her eyes would move everywhere when she's nervous and couldn't seemed to hold an eye contact. Many more she could not even begin to explain, and many more she could not stop thinking about.

She was held captive, and she knows it. Especially, after tonight. It was a hard pill to swallow, finally realizing that she was capable of doing something she grew up thinking she was not able to do so.

"You're home." Home. Natasha's gaze felt like she was burning holes into Y/n's eyes. "Do you wanna eat? Wait, let me just reheat it. Maria was here earlier, she got your files by the living room—oh, I also made a dessert for us, thankfully Maria did not see it inside the fridge, she would eat it all for sure." A giggle passed her soft lips, even though she was not in Natasha's view, the red head could see the smile she wanted so badly to keep from the world and own it to herself.

So that she could only see it.

So that she could only smile for her.

She was not supposed to feel like this, and that was what makes it more a bitter thing to taste.

"She's just simply the paper in between their business, Natasha. After the marriage, you and I both know she's nothing to father..."

Her facade hardened at the voice of her sister from earlier, receiving the truthful message that made everything clear for her.

She was not supposed to feel like this because that smile was never meant to be hers.

She has a mission to do, a mission for herself.

"...and you and I both know she means nothing to you..."

Standing up, everything seemed to be closing in around her. Gulping down the beer while her eyes strayed away from the one's who's trying to catch it with a confused and worrying gaze.

"I'm not hungry. You should also clean that mess up... can't have my house piling up with childish things." Pointing briefly on the art material she knew clearly well was meant to be given to her.

She was met with silence, and it was almost deafening. Walking away, her insides screamed to her the giggle earlier, craving to hear her voice filling up the air as she bid her goodnight.

Once again, a lump started to form in her throat, but this time, she can't find the strength to swallow.

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Author's note: Hope you liked it! I tried my best, really ಠ⁠︵⁠ಠ I'll do better on the next one! More angst piling up in the corner, I know this seemed to be in a rush but I promise to give more on the next ones! Many peeps keeps on messaging me and piling up my asks so I just did what I can do at the moment ಠ⁠ ⁠೧⁠ ⁠ಠ thank you for reading, until next time!

[daisymbin]

https://www.tumblr.com/daisymbin/767035170329149440/2104-kim-mingyu-warnings-fwb-angst can you make a part 2? 🥺

a/n: thank you for requesting a part2 🥹 I was debating between keeping it the way it is at angst or happy ending but....here we are with both. whichever fits your cup of tea, I hope you enjoy it!! (I'll admit my heart hurt a little when writing the angst one)

check out my masterlist! // read part1 here

v.1_angst ending

warnings: angst!!!

it’s been a month since mingyu walked out of your life and everything feels like its crumbling. food tastes like ash, laughter sounds like echoes of something you used to know, and the world continues to spin while you feel like you’re standing still, trapped in the wreckage of a person that used to feel so safe, like they'd never hurt you.

you find yourself wandering the streets today, hoping that moving through the city might make you feel alive again. but your heart sinks when you see him, mingyu, standing outside a small bar, the neon lights painting his silhouette with colors too bright for the pain you feel. he’s there, a girl tucked under his arm, her laughter ringing out clear, sweet, & god, she’s beautiful, she's so beautiful that it twists the knife deeper.

you should look away. you should. but you don’t. you can’t. instead, your feet root to the spot as your heart crumbles, the wound you thought was starting to scab over splitting wide open again. you watch mingyu’s eyes flicker over to you, and time slows.

he sees you. he sees you, and for a heartbeat, you think you catch a glimpse of something—regret? sorrow? but then his lips curl into a smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes, and whatever hope you clung to evaporates. because he just looks so cold.

the girl beside him tilts her head up, oblivious, and mingyu’s hands starts to roam, sliding slowly down her back, to her waist, lingering in a way that makes your insides churn. & then, he pulls her impossibly closer by her waist as he presses slow kisses along her neck. you watch as he darts his tongue out and lightly drags it across her skin, deliberate and intimate, and the worst part? he does it while looking straight at you. his eyes never leaving yours, holding you in place, they burn into yours, dark and defiant, and it feels like he’s taunting you, as if daring you to do something about it, but really, its almost as if he's challenging himself to break you apart; like how fast he can do it? how many times he can break you? just how many times?

it’s sick. cruel. a sinister, sadistic challenge, and you don’t know if this version of mingyu is someone he’s always been, hidden beneath the boy who used to hold you so tenderly, or if he’s became this monster just to twist the knife a little deeper. either way, it doesn’t matter. the pain is real, and it’s yours.

you clench your fists, your nails digging into your palms threatening to draw blood as you try to steady your breathing. every cell in your body screams at you to do something, to scream, to demand answers, to yell that this isn’t fair. but you can’t. you won’t give him the satisfaction. instead, you force yourself to stand there, swallowing the anguish that rises like bile in your throat.

the girl giggles again, tilting her head to give mingyu more access, and your vision blurs as your tears threaten to spill. he’s touching her the way he used to touch you, and it feels like he’s shattering your memories one by one, tainting all of them, taking everything beautiful you once shared and warping it into something twisted and unrecognizable.

mingyu keeps his eyes on you, and for a moment, you think he might smirk. there’s something almost victorious in his gaze, and you wonder if this has been his plan all along—to break you until there’s nothing left.

you tear your gaze away and force yourself to move, each step feeling heavier than the last. your chest aches, and your breath comes out in short, jagged bursts, but you refuse to let him see you break down. not here. not in front of him.

the tears spill over as you walk away, hot and unrelenting. your whole world feels fractured, like a puzzle missing its most important piece, and the realization hits you like a freight train: mingyu has moved on, and he did it in a way that leaves no room for doubt. he’s not coming back, and even if he did, the person he used to be is gone.

you turn a corner, wiping at your eyes with trembling hands, and wonder if you’ll ever be whole again. life continues to pass you by, indifferent to the destruction left in mingyu’s wake, and all you’re left with is the hope that, maybe one day, this pain will dull. that one day, you’ll find a way to start living again instead of merely surviving.

but today is not that day. and mingyu’s laughter echoes behind you, a sound that will haunt you for as long as you let it.

you don’t look back no matter how much it feels like the echo of his laughter is calling you back because you can’t bear to see how easily he’s replaced you. and maybe that’s the final, bitter lesson: some people don’t just break you—they ruin the way you see love, the way you see yourself. and mingyu? he’s done both.

v.2_happy ending

warnings: slight angst with happy ending?

here’s how it feels to be without mingyu: like the world has lost its color. every day bleeds into the next, a monotonous blend of grays and shadows that never seem to lift. it’s like the sun has stopped trying, its warmth gone with the person who used to bring light to even your darkest moments.

you sit at the small table by the window of the coffee shop, the one you and mingyu used to claim as your own. it’s where you’d both spend hours talking, laughing, and holding hands over cups of lukewarm coffee. now, the memories feel like ghosts, haunting every corner of this place.

your fingers trace the rim of your mug, cold and forgotten. your mind is elsewhere, trapped in the past, replaying the way mingyu used to smile at you like you were his whole world. the tears you thought had dried a long time ago threaten to return, but you push them down, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“mind if i sit here?” a unwelcomed voice asks, and it startles you. you barely register the question, lost in the echo of mingyu’s last words to you.

you give a distracted nod, not even looking up. your gaze stays fixed on the steam rising from your mug, your thoughts heavy.

you don’t realize who it is until you feel a warm hand cover yours, gently but firmly. the touch shocks you, the heat of it burning into your skin and making you jolt slightly. you almost pull away, but then you hear it.

“it’s me,” the voice says, soft, familiar, and full of something that sounds like regret. “it’s mingyu.”

your head snaps up, and for a moment, you don’t believe it. it can’t be. but it is. he’s sitting there, eyes wide and filled with emotion, holding your cold hands between his.

“mingyu?” you breathe out, the name coming out cracked and broken, like a plea.

his grip tightens, desperation in the way he clings to you. “i'm here,” he says, voice trembling, “i'm sorry I took so long."

your chest tightens, and you try to pull your hands away, but he doesn’t let you, his hold on your wrist tighter than ever. “what are you doing here?” you manage, your voice barely steady.

“i couldn’t stay away,” he admits, and there’s so much pain in his eyes that it makes your own heart ache. “i missed you. i tried to let go, but i can’t. i’m so sorry.”

you swallow hard, shaking your head. “you left,” you whisper, the words heavy with all the hurt you’ve been carrying. “you said you couldn’t love me the way i wanted you to.”

his face crumples, and he looks at you like he’s been shattered, like every piece of him is breaking right in front of you. “i was wrong,” he says, his voice cracking. “i thought… i thought it was the right thing to do, to protect you from me, from all the things i thought i wasn’t good enough for. but god, i was so wrong. i hurt you, i-i made you cry and i hate myself for it.”

you bite your lip, tears welling up in your eyes. “you don’t get to come back and say that,” you choke out. “you don’t get to just… show up and expect everything to be okay.”

“i know,” he says quickly, his eyes pleading. “i know, and i don’t expect anything. but please, let me explain. let me make it right.”

you stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest. it feels too much, too sudden, like the wound he left behind is being ripped open all over again. “what’s there to explain?” you ask, your voice thick with tears. “you made your choice.”

“i thought it was for the best,” he says, his voice breaking. “i thought you’d be happier without me holding you back. but I.. I can't stop thinking about you and how I hurt you and it’s killing me.”

the confession doesn’t bring relief. it only makes the pain sharper, deeper. “well, congratulations,” you say, your voice shaking. “because it did kill me, mingyu. it broke me. and now you’re here, expecting what? me to run back into your arms as if nothing happened?"

his hands squeeze yours, and you feel the tremble in his grip. “i was scared,” he confesses. “scared of not being enough for you, of ruining what we had. but being without you—” his voice breaks, and he takes a shaky breath. “being without you is the worst thing i’ve ever done. i can’t breathe without you.”

you can’t hold back the tears anymore. they spill over, and you look down, not wanting him to see you break. “you hurt me,” you whisper, "you hurt me so bad, gyu." and the pain in those words makes him flinch.

“i know,” he says, his own voice thick with emotion. “and i’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make up for it if you let me. please.”

you finally look at him, and he’s staring at you with so much desperation, so much fondness & adoration, that it almost makes you believe him. almost.

“how am i supposed to trust you again?” you ask, your voice small.

he lets out a shaky exhale, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles. “i’ll prove it,” he says, his eyes locked onto yours. “however long it takes, whatever it takes. whatever you want. just… give me a chance..teach me how to love you the way you want to be loved, the way you need to be loved."

you close your eyes, the weight of his words pressing down on you, suffocating. you don’t know if you can trust him, if you can ever let him back in. but the way he’s looking at you, the way his hands hold yours like he’s terrified if he lets go, you will really be gone for good, makes your heart falter.

but for now, all you can do is breathe. breathe and try to make sense of the chaos he’s brought back into your life. because love isn’t simple, and heartbreak never truly heals. and mingyu — mingyu is both the hurt and the cure.

[frudoo]

Husband Kyle has my heart

Warnings: Baby is sick (teething). Heavy topics: postpartum depression, allusions to self-harm/suicidal ideation (but none actually). Smut at the end—cunnilingus. Tagging as DDDNE although it’s not a dark!fic. Fem!Reader.

MDNI

Baby boy has not stopped screaming since he woke up at the crack of dawn this morning. The fever and runny nose are making him miserable, and you’re positive he’s trying to cut a tooth with how much he’s been gnawing on your fingers. Kyle, bless him, has been called away to the base since early yesterday, leaving you to care for the unwell infant in your arms all alone. It’s uncertain when he’ll return home. Usually, the work of being a stay-at-home-mom doesn’t bother you, but today just feels overwhelming.

Postpartum hasn’t been the best experience for you and without the usual support from your husband, it feels like your world is caving in and you and the baby you’re supposed to feel an abundance of empathy for are buried beneath the rubble. It makes you feel terrible, because you do love your baby, but every piercing little screech that leaves his tiny throat makes you want to rip your ears out. Setting him down only makes him fussier but your arms are exhausted and your head is pounding.

Defeatedly and with much guilt, you carefully set the fragile boy into his bassinet and shut the door to your bedroom. You turn on the baby monitor but lower the volume so you can make sure he’s alright without having to hear the shrieks. As you sit on the couch, the weight of your stress finally gets to you in the form of an ache in your chest and an abundance of tears bursting from your waterline. Burying your head in your hands, you can’t stop the sobs that escape you. In your grief you don’t hear the front door open or Kyle step inside.

“Fuck, dove, wha’ ‘appened?” Your husband is frantic, tossing aside his duffel bag and rushing to kneel where you sit on the couch.

The sound of his voice startles you, making you jump. Kyle steadies you with two strong hands on your waist, keeping you sat and encouraging you to explain the situation.

“I-I didn’t know what else to do,” you weep, and he cups your face with shaking palms.

“Baby, baby, talk t’me. Wha’s goin’ on?” You know your husband, and you know he’s thinking the absolute worst—it’s evident by the tremble in his voice and the way he yanks up your sleeves to check for injury.

“Did y’take summat? Dove, y’gotta tell me if y’did, now.”

You shake your head vigorously, trying to calm his nerves. It does little to help.

“N-no! The baby, Ky, he hates me!” You wail, grabbing the monitor and shoving it into Kyle’s hand. “I’ve tried- tried everything! Teething gel, Tylenol, d-decongestant salve… he just won’t calm down and I-I know it’s because I-I’m a- I’m a bad mom.”

Kyle’s heart aches at your words, and he makes sure to keep one of your hands in his as he looks down at the screen. The three-month-old is sleeping peacefully, sucking on his thumb without a care in the world. Your husband smiles a little, turning the monitor over to allow you to see the once screeching babe now at peace in his crib. Your eyebrows furrow and you take the device from his hand, raising the volume. Sure enough, tiny snores sound through the speaker and it makes you gasp slightly.

“H-he’s been…” you trail off, not wanting to seem crazy to the man you love. “I swear, he’s been inconsolable-”

“I believe ya, dove. Little guy was jus’ sleepy, yeah?” Kyle softly interrupts, stroking his thumb over the swell of your cheekbone. “He doesn’t hate ya, swee’heart, and you’re sure as hell no’ a bad mum.”

Your husband stands from the floor, carefully helping you off the couch so you stand as well. He nuzzles his nose against yours sweetly but lets you make the first move, chapped lips meeting full, pillowy ones. He allows you to take the lead, never going too far or holding back too much—just giving you the exact amount of comfort you need from him for as long as you desire. He massages your shoulders when you pull away from the kiss with a wet click, rich molasses eyes boring into yours.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, but Kyle shakes his head, swiping your bottom lip with his thumb.

“None o’tha’. Bein’ a mum is ‘ard work and you’re doin’ a bloody brilliant job. M’jus’ sorry I can’t be ‘ere with ya f’all of it.” Kyle whispers, wiping away the fresh tears that spill down your cheeks. “I love y’so much. I don’t tell ya tha’ enough.”

“You do,” you assure him, leaning in for another tender kiss. “I love you, too, Ky.”

“I’m so proud o’ya, dove.”

A kiss…

“My strong, beautiful wife.”

And another.

“Fuckin’ hell of a woman.”

Kyle’s fingertips dance along the sides of your neck, dimpling the flesh just enough to make you gasp.

“Gonna le’ me show ya ‘ow much I appreciate ya?”

Wandering hands move down to grope your full breasts over the milk-stained jumper you wear. You can feel their warmth even through the fabric layer separating skin from skin, and it makes you shudder. His eyes scan your face for any signs of discomfort and you realize you never answered him. Nodding, your fingers tangle into the hem of his shirt, still smelling like heavy machinery and day-old sweat—to you, it smells like heaven. Kyle chuckles, the pads of his thumbs rubbing circles over your pebbled nipples.

“Back on the couch, dove,” he instructs with a grunt, walking you backwards until the insides of your knees hit the cushion.

Instantly he’s on his knees once more, taking his time to push up your sweatshirt and tug off your panties, biting his lip at the sight of your cunt already glistening. Your husband leans in to take a whiff before pressing a long kiss to your labia. His stubble is dewy with your arousal when he pulls back to look up at you.

“Poor thing, so stressed. M’gonna help y’relax, swee’heart.”

Dexterous thumbs spread you open for his enjoyment. At the first lick from your entrance to your throbbing clit the two of you moan in sync. Your fingernails scratch at his scalp as Kyle wraps his lips around your sensitive nub, suckling softly, but the feeling sends electric sparks shooting throughout your body. His hands travel to your thighs and hoist them over his shoulders so that he’s entirely surrounded by you.

“S’fuckin’ sweet,” his voice rumbles against your pussy, the vibrations damn near making you wail.

His hot tongue dips into your clenching hole, gathering your slick to swallow down like honey. You’re already right on the precipice, grinding your hips against his pretty face, and it only encourages him to quicken his ministrations. Kyle drags his slippery tongue back up to your clit, giving it tight circles as he sucks it into his mouth once again. Chocolate eyes stare up at you in a silent plea to give him his fill, let him take you over the edge.

Your thighs tremble uncontrollably, violently, when you cum, heady rasps of pleasure leaving you as you squeeze your eyes shut. He works you through your high, licking and humming and savoring every little tremor that rocks through you. He only stops once your body goes limp, pressing a plethora of kisses along your spent seam as he gently removes your thighs from his shoulders. Kyle stands and carefully guides you to lay on the couch, your head resting on a pillow as he covers you with the blanket that was draped along the back of the furniture.

As if right on cue, the colicky infant starts to cry as soon as you get comfortable. Your heart races as you move to stand, but your husband stops you with a palm on your chest.

“No, dove, y’need ta get some sleep. Stay righ’ ‘ere, and I’ll take care o’the little guy,” Kyle leaves no room for argument, leaning down to press a prolonged kiss to your forehead. “I love ya.”

“I love you, Kyle.”

Sleep comes easy.

[fujoshirat]

When the Shouto Todoroki saves you and your kindergarten students at the aquarium during a villain attack, you can't seem to get him out of your head. Bonus: you're quirkless and he's a pro hero, so you live in two different worlds. The glue? His cute nephew that's obsessed with rocks and that just so happens to be in your kindergarten class.

In short: You've become obsessed, you suppose. But that's all right, you're not the only one that's obsessed.

WARNING: infatuated Shouto = a ditz who embarrasses himself in front of his crush <3; female reader (srry I forgot to add this to the first part but you can choose the gender^^); Shouto and Kaoru bonding!!

Part 1 here!

2 - You're Obsessed With Me

Shouto has never seen a woman so perfect.

He had heard of you before. Every so often, when Shouto would take Kaoru out on a playdate or visit Natsuo, his nephew would casually bring you up.

"Y/N-sensei let me bring my rock collection for show n' tell."

"Oji-san, Y/N-sensei cuts her apple slices like rabbits. I wan' rabbits too."

"Today was Y/N-sensei's birthday, so I gave her a rock."

In a way, Shouto knew you. He knew about how you loved to take your students on field trips and that you want to travel to Venice someday and that you cry at every little milestone. He knew all of this from the lovely little stories that his lovely little nephew would tell him.

What he did not know was how obsessed he'd be with you once he'd finally met you. That afternoon, about an hour after eating his lunch and about 30 minutes into his patrol, he had received a call from his secretary and the authorities that there was a villain wreaking havoc at the Hosu City Aquarium. That afternoon, when he rushed to the scene with his five-year-old nephew's safety and the safety of others occupying his mind.

That afternoon, you laid there on the tile floor, wrists bound together and arms cut up, with the most beautiful face ever- 'Eugh! Weirdo!' Shouto mentally gives himself a slap to the face while shaking his head, prompting him out of his daydream. He looks down at Kaoru, the little boy holding his uncle's hand and observing the passing cars. Reaching the agency, Shouto types in his password and enters, bringing Kaoru along with him.

"Kaoru-kun, I just need to finish up a report before we can go back to your house, okay?"

"Okay, oji-san." As they approach the elevator, Kaoru looks up at Shouto with puppy eyes, making Shouto chuckle. "Go ahead." The five-year-old cheers and makes a beeline for the elevator, reaching up to press the up button. The elevator arrives, and the white-haired boy leads his uncle inside, also reaching up to press the 4th floor button.

Once they reach Shouto's office floor, Kaoru sits on the couch and looks at Shouto patiently, though his face reflecting expectancy. Shouto quirks a brow and kneels down at his nephew. "Yes, Kaoru-kun?"

"Do you have games on your phone?"

"..."

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

"Kaoru-kun, do you have your subway card?" Turning off the lights, Shouto leads his nephew into the elevator. He observes the little boy nod in response, a pleasant hum escaping him.

"That's good. We'll take the subway back to your house, okay?"

"Okay, oji-san."

Opening the main door for Kaoru, the two exit the agency and head to the nearby subway station. Almost 6:40pm, they board the train and Shouto makes sure that his nephew has a seat. As the subway starts moving, Shouto's thoughts once again wander. 'Does she take the subway home too? How long has she been a teacher for? And she's quirkless too? She's so brave.' Amidst the sound of chattering tracks and pleasant thoughts, the pro hero hears a little rumbling sound and smiles softly.

"Kaoru-kun, are you hungry? I can buy you dinner before we get you home." Kaoru nods shyly. Shouto nods in acknowledgement and helps the little boy find his way to the subway doors before they open. Once the subway stops, they exit it and push past the large herd of people. "Kaoru," Shouto squeezes his nephew's hand comfortingly. "What do you want to eat?" His gaze meets round, doe eyes.

"Salmon onigiri!" Hearing that, the heterochromatic man takes Kaoru to the convenience store and buys him his dinner.

---

"Kaoru! You're safe!" Natsuo envelops his son in a hug, receiving a whine of protest. Shouto laughs at the sight. "I already fed him, Natsu-ani. No injuries and no problems." His elder brother lets out a sigh of relief and looks face-to-face at his son. "Thank goodness... thank you so much, Shouto. I was so worried." The man in question shakes his head. "I'm glad I was there on time, and Kaoru behaved." "Really? That's good." He ruffles Kaoru's hair. "Thank you, kiddo." Looking up at Shouto again, he stands up and offers a smile.

"I made hambugu (hamburg-steak) for dinner, do you wanna stay and eat?" "Thanks for the offer, but I ate already with Kaoru. I'll just head home now." Natsuo nods. "If you're sure, thanks again, Shou." The brothers both bow in respect to each other, Kaoru copying his father. Shouto smiles and gently pats his nephew's head. "Goodnight, Kaoru-kun. Have a good weekend." "You too, oji-san." The pro hero heads back out and walks to the station to return to his own home.

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

Shouto thinks that the American idea of Manifest Destiny must be true, because here you are, blessing him with your magnificent presence at his local grocery store (SPOILER! Shouto Todoroki is a Japanese citizen for a reason. That is NOT what Manifest Destiny is). You miraculously don't seem to notice his jaw-dropped expression, too busy reaching up to grab the specific brand of honey shampoo that you always buy. You're not wearing anything fancy: comfy sweats and a turtleneck for the slightly chilly weather.

But god, Shouto thinks that you're fine.

And did someone turn up the thermostat? Because suddenly, when you finally notice him and smile, the left side of his face flairs up. Thankfully it's not much, just a few flames that lick his face. Both yours and his eyes widen as Shouto quickly gets rid of the flames, leaving his cheeks dusted pink. "S-sir! Are you alright?" Oh goodness, you're coming closer! The air gets knocked out of Shouto's lungs when you look up at him with those doe eyes and worried expression. Clearing his throat, the pro hero attempts to save his ass.

"Ah, L/N-sensei, I apologize. I'm alright."

"No need to apologize! And no need to call me sensei." Your voice sounds like an angelic choir to Shouto, tone so sweet like candy. The tall man can only hope not to embarrass himself even further.

"Do you live in this area? I've never seen you here before." You nod cheerfully. "Mhm! I actually just moved here a few weeks ago because I got a pay raise. It's a beautiful area, and all the residents that I've met so far are lovely." Shouto likes how you're so cheerful and positive. Your face is welcoming and so far, you always seem to have a smile on your face. His eyes observe your left wrist, recalling the events of the day before. "Is your wrist okay?"

"Yes! I put some ice and it really helped with the swelling. I still try not to use it, but it doesn't hurt as much. Hopefully it will be back to normal soon!" Shouto's gaze softens, a soft smile appearing on his face as he adjusts his shopping bag hanging from his arm.

"That's good." He suddenly remembers something. "If I may ask, how long have you been teaching for?" "Hm..." Shouto can feel his heart do somersaults as he watches her slightly furrow her brows while thinking. 'Cute.' "This is my fourth year teaching. Ever since I started my career, I've been the kindergarten teacher for the school!" You giggle when Shouto's eyes widen. "Teaching young children is my passion. I love my students and want them to succeed. Sometimes it's a little hard when graduation rolls around the corner." He watches you dismiss yourself with a sheepish laugh, impressed at your dedication to teaching. The red- and white-haired man thinks it's absolutely adorable when you gush about teaching and your students. Every word that came out of your mouth, tumbling out of your kissable lips this loser really really really wants to kiss you :(, he becomes even more hooked.

And then, you take his breath away once more when you twirl a strand of your glossy hair and smile.

"You know, it's really nice interacting with a pro hero outside of their 'hero mode.' I've never done this before, and you're really kind, Todoroki-san!" Shouto's cheeks flush even more red at your sentiment. You enjoy talking to him??? Inside, he's mentally cheering screaming, on the outside, he's just looking at you with a shocked expression.

Yeah, you broke him. Yet, you don't seem to notice because instead of teasing him (like what his friends would have probably done), instead your cheeks turn a slight shade of pink like peaches and begin to speak again.

"If you're willing, I'd love to grab coffee with you sometime!" Shouto was definitely broken now, because his left side flares up with small flames again and you panic over him.

"Todoroki-san!?!"

In simple terms, Japan's Hottest Hero, Shouto Himura Todoroki, was definitely a loser boy man in love.

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

A/N: Yayayayay! Part 2 is finally done (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) Thank you all so much for reading and (hopefully) enjoying this part as much as Part 1! I kind of suck at writing POVs for other characters, so I hope that this was still an enjoyable fic >< I love a strong independent hottie but I also love it when that hottie is a loser when in love <33333

On a similar note: THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for all of your amazing, sweet support for Part 1!! I did not expect it to blow up 🥺🥺🥺 and cause my other (old) fics to also receive support! I was very surprised and elated to see my inbox flooded with notifications, so thank you for making my days ♡♡♡ I will take a short break from writing, maybe a week or two depending on how I feel, so I apologize if Part 3 comes out a little late!

Also!! I'm starting a tag list so if u wanna be tagged for the next part, just lmk!!

TAGLIST: ♡ @roseapov