#its been asked before and i will patiently answer it every time

[thatdeaffeel]

genuine question— why is the “d” in D/deaf sometimes capitalized? i’ve seen people say Deaf but i’ve never seen like any explanation as to why so i’m just curious

deaf is the condition

Deaf is the community

coda (child of deaf adult) often speak sign as a first language and consider themselves as culturally deaf so a lot of them use big D only because they aren't hearing impaired in any sense

in general i think it's a word game that i dont take part in largely, i say deaf and i write deaf and i specify deaf community when i need to, specifically to avoid this confusion

[parfaitblogs]

(totally not based on my day) but a simple request for spencer helping reader out with a bunch of chores bc she's overwhelmed with life and she decides to thank him with like the quote "best head of his life" and he's like "its okay you dont have to do that" and she's responds "but i am anyways"

it will come back ❀ s. reid x reader

in which spencer reid helps you when you're (very) overwhelmed, and you might need to return the favour.  pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: comfort & smut (18+ mdni) tags: oral (m receiving). praise. established relationship. reader's overwhelmed overstimulated overworked... very enthusiastic head giver!reader. use of honey and angel. they love each other a lot. i love them a lot. i don’t think there’s d/s dynamics but if there are it’s soft dom spencer (nobody’s shocked). word count: 3.1k a/n: thank u sooo much for reading my brain ily i need to give spencer reid head asap. new format/layout for requests sort of its the same as my normal post layout... do we like... i sure freaking hope so. as always lmk if u liked this or even if u didn't but preferably if u did!!

You were exhausted. For three weeks straight, you had been working nonstop, with a wondrous total of eight hours in between shifts. You were hardly sleeping, you had hardly had a social life, hell, you never even had time to enjoy the simple pleasures of an everything shower. You felt groggy, and cramped, and everyday felt like an awful repeat of the last. A nightmare that never ended. 

Never mind the fact that you hadn't seen your boyfriend.

Always home too late to be with him in the evenings, and up too early to get coffee with him before your days started. Spencer was so patient with you, regardless. He knew it would end eventually, and he would get his girlfriend back. It was just for the month, was what you would text each other whenever the other began feeling particularly lonely. He didn't even like texting, but the time for a simple phone call wasn't available to you anymore. 

And your apartment. Every time you stepped into it you swore a new dirty dish materialised in your sink, or a new pile of clothes sat themselves in your bedroom floor. Which was odd, because you had rotated between the same two outfits for the last eighteen days — your work uniform, or your pyjamas. 

You were overwhelmed with it all. Even as your hectic work life came to an end, and you were waking up to the sunlight pouring into your room, instead of an alarm clock while the moon was still up. You were acutely aware of the mess of your apartment, and just the thought of it all left you lying motionless in your bed, staring up at the ceiling. 

Tears stung your vision as you felt the seconds tick into minutes, and nothing happened. Attempting to will yourself to get up, and yet you simply couldn't. Exhausted beyond belief, with limbs sinking into the mattress and melding to the sheets. 

You faintly heard the click of your front door lock, and if you had any more motivation in you, you'd probably get up to double check it was the only other person who had a key to your apartment, and not a burglar. Thankfully, you didn't have to, for Spencer was calling out your name, gently.

Too exhausted to even reply and alert him of where you were, you lay still until he had found you in your bedroom, his bad dropping by the doorway, feet shuffling against the rug. 

"Good afternoon," he said, finding a seat on the edge of your bed, hand resting atop your thigh, gentle circles being rubbed into the skin. 

"Is it already afternoon?" you asked him, voice quiet. 

"Yeah. How long have you been awake in bed?" 

"I don't know," you answered, voice awfully small as you felt the thick weight of frustration with yourself blanket over you. "I need to get up. The apartment's a mess."

"It's allowed to be," he said. "You've been doing sixteen hour days."

"Yeah, but I'm not today. I have the day off."

"Your first day off in weeks. I'd be concerned if you'd spent it productively."

You stared at him, unsure if the irritation that settled in your bones was because of his insistence that you not doing a thing was okay, or your exhaustion. Logically, it would be the latter. You did know that, deep down. 

Upon seeing your eyes delve into something a little more desperate, he sighed, hand sliding up to your own, gently tugging you up into a seated position. His eyebrows knitted together at your exhausted look, and you could see his brain ticking behind his eyes.

"Do you want to split the tasks?" he finally asked.

"You don't have to," you shrugged your shoulders. "It's my mess."

"Honey, you're already overwhelmed, and all you've done is wake up," he answered, thumb drawing circles on the top of your hand that he still seemed to have clasped within his own. "Let me help."

"It's really gross."

"I've seen mutilated dead bodies."

"I'd argue my kitchen sink is worse."

"Oh would you?" his eyebrows shot up, lips twitching in amusement, that you found solace in, distracting you slightly from your overstimulated mind. "Do you want to have a shower?"

"Yes," you nodded your head, brain ticking over all the personal hygiene tasks you had been neglecting over the past few weeks. 

"How about you go shower, I'll start cleaning up, and you come join me when you're feeling better?"

Despite your aversion to anybody but yourself tackling the mess of your apartment, you knew better than to deny Spencer any further — he had set his mind on helping you. 

Sighing, you nodded your head in defeat. He had coaxed you up off the bed, gotten you to the bathroom, even found you a fresh set of clothes to wear, and waited with you for the water to warm up. It was really only once he was absolutely sure you had gotten into the shower, did he leave you be, and disappeared from the bathroom. 

Eventually, the apartment had been cleaned, with efforts from the both of you getting it to where it now was. 

You were a lot less exhausted, and your brain was a lot less fried now that you didn't have a million tasks catalogued within it to get done. 

You were lying in your freshly made bed — courtesy of Spencer. Your head on his chest, fidgeting with one of his hands as he used the other to wave around as he rambled about something you were no longer following. It had started as a simple explanation for why you had been so overwhelmed in the first place. Which you had asked as a rhetoric, but didn't have the heart to stop him when he began explaining. 

"You're not listening, are you?" he asked, free hand poking your side and emitting an involuntary laugh from you at the feeling. 

"I am, I am! I'm just not following anymore."

"Sorry."

"It's okay," you replied, turning and poking your head up to be level with his. "I like hearing you speak, anyways. Doesn't matter if I don't understand."

He only hummed as a response, and the two of you stared at each other for a beat, before you were breaking out into a smile. 

"Hi," you chirped. 

"Hello," he answered, perhaps a little too amused by your sudden energy. "Would you like something?"

"A kiss?"

"After all that labour I just put in for you?" he mused, but he was already lifting his head to brush his lips against yours, and was most certainly not pulling away when you eagerly connected them properly. 

You pulled back after a few moments, searching his face. "Do you want something for all that labour?"

His hand trailed up your spine, fingertips triggering a shiver to run up your back. "What do you have in mind?"

"I could give you the best head of your life."

He was clearly not expecting that as an offer, perhaps because you never had offered such a thing before. It wasn't even something you had talked about, which was bizarre (in your mind), considering he was quite enthusiastic about using his mouth on you. 

"You don't need to do that," he shook his head, but with how close your faces were, you could see the instant dilation in his pupils. 

"What if I want to?" 

"Then that's very nice of you, but my point still stands," he replied.

"Spencer, let me do something in return," your voice was nothing short of a whine, and if he was any less turned on, maybe it wouldn't have made his firm footed denial falter. Maybe you knew that.

"You could do anything but that."

"So a handjob?"

"Or that."

"You're such an awful liar," you huffed. "I can see your pupils dilating. I know you're turned on by the thought of it."

"It could just be because I'm looking at you," he answered, voice hoarse, no doubt from the arousal he was attempting to deny was there. "Romantic attraction triggers the same response in our hormones."

"But it's not."

He fell silent for a few moments, before he allowed his resolve to slip, shaking his head in agreement with you. "No. It's not."

"See! It's okay if you want it. I'm quite literally offering myself to you," you spouted. 

His eyes fluttered shut, and he exhaled through his nose, words coming out through almost gritted teeth. "That's not a sentence you should be saying."

"Why not?"

His only response was to say your name chidingly, and when he reopened his eyes, he was met with the shit-eating grin on your face. 

"Brat," he mumbled, lips seeking yours once again.

"Who gives really good head," you hummed against his mouth. "And would really love to show you."

"If you're insisting—"

"Which I am," you quickly interjected, staring back at him as yet another amused smile stretched across his lips. Then, he was nodding his head, and you were quite cheerfully kissing him all over again.

It wasn't that you kissed him with much fever at all — in fact, you were melting into his lips with a gentle hum. It was simply that he was kissing you back with a desperation you should be accustomed to. You weren't. 

Every kiss you received from him always felt like he was chipping away at your soul, claiming a piece of it. Maybe he was.

You mewled when his teeth nipped at your lower lip, and he was quick to take the opportunity of slipping his tongue into your mouth. Though, alerted by his sudden control over the situation between you two, you reluctantly pulled your face away from his before it could go much further. 

"Excuse me," he breathed out, scoldingly, only to be met with your hundredth grin of the day as you descended down his body. He'd take it — you smiling, albeit cockily, was much more rewarding than the concerned look you had been sporting for the majority of the afternoon. 

"I don't do this very often," you told him as you lifted your gaze to his, absentmindedly tugging his pants down his legs. 

"I hope not. You've never done it for me, and we've been together for quite a while."

"You know what I mean," you grumbled, and he was forced to poke his tongue into the inside of his cheek to keep the smile off his face. 

"Is this comfortable for you?" he then asked, having noticed your constant adjustments of your positioning between his legs. From nerves or comfortability, he didn't know. 

"Um. I guess so," you replied. "I've never done it lying down."

"We can do it however you prefer to do it, angel."

"Oh. Okay. Cool," you mumbled, sitting up straight and grabbing his hands within your own, tugging him over towards the edge of the bed. 

You sank to your knees on the rug, tapping his knees with your hands to part them so you could situate yourself comfortably between them. 

You were a vision if he'd ever seen one, and you weren't even doing anything. Perhaps you had noticed the effect you had on him, or maybe you were just largely enthusiastic about doing something for him, and only him. 

Your tongue darted out to lick your lips, eyes flickering up to meet his face, and if this was the last sight he saw before he died, he would have no complaints. 

"Have you ever gotten head before?" you mumbled, eyes fixated on him as your hands trailed up the sides of his thighs, resting at the waistband of his boxers. 

"Yes."

"Okay," you whispered, quietly, tapping his hips so he could lift them, and you rolled his boxers down his skin.

"Okay?" he parroted. 

"Okay," you confirmed with a nod of your head. "I just wanted to know if this is going to be completely new for you or not."

As you spoke, your fingertips dragged along his inner thighs, lips following soon after, kissing up the skin. 

"I don't think that's going to matter, honey," he answered, voice breathless. 

You smiled, not needing to ask what he meant. You lifted your head back up, studying his face. He gave you a nod, a silent confirmation to allow you to go further, and you took a beat to compose yourself. It's not like he would be mad at you if it sucked, but you had had a far too awful day to not do something good. 

You hadn't done this in a while, it was true. So your hesitance came more from your brain figuring out what it actually needed to do, than your insecurities (they were there too). 

Insecurities that melted away within an instant, for Spencer's thighs tensed beneath your hands that were now holding them apart the second your lips made contact with his cock, and through your lashes you could see his head tipping back. 

Your cheeks warmed at how easy it was to get him to respond, and you wondered if the satisfaction settled in your chest was anything similar to how he felt when he did this to you. 

You started hesitant. Gentle kitten licks at his tip that probably shouldn't have been garnering such a large reaction from him. But it was, and you had to preoccupy your mouth to keep the smug smile off of it. 

Wrapping your lips around the head, he lets out the breathiest moan you think you've ever heard come from him, and your mind goes hazy. Newfound blind confidence wills you to take more of him in your mouth, and it's a quiet 'Fuck' that compels you even further. 

In hindsight, he knew he'd enjoy it. It was you after all. He knew from the world shattering arousal that the simple sight of you on your knees was. He had, in a few short seconds, mentally prepared to enjoy this.

But not this much, and certainly not this quickly. 

"I've been too selfless," he muttered as you lifted your head back up, tongue licking a stripe up the underside of him as you did. When you met his gaze in question, he added, "I mean never asking you for this. I should've."

You hummed as a response (it was all you really could do), and the gentle vibrations shot heat throughout his body. A shuddering moan rocked through his body, and if not for your quick response time in pushing his hips down, they would've knocked against your face when he bucked them up.

You hollowed your cheeks, lowering your head back down, and emitting the loveliest of moans from Spencer, whose hand found its way to your hair. Upon the lack of your protests, he made a loose ponytail with his fist, gently tugging on it upwards so you could lift your head. 

You flattened your tongue on your ascend, successfully making his already weak grip on your hair go slack, within only seconds of him having grabbed it. Swirling your tongue around the tip of his cock, his hips bucked up again, and you flinched. 

"Jesus—fuck, sorry, honey," he rasped, though his guilt was quick to dissipate as he saw your thumbs up against his thigh. Your movements weren't hesitant, anymore. Just slow. Tortuously slow. "Can I..." he trailed off, seemingly becoming unsure of what it was he was asking of you within seconds, but the retightening of his hand in your hair gave you all you needed to know. 

You nodded your head the best you could, and he mumbled a quiet 'thank you', allowing you to set a base pace, before taking over. 

"So good. Jesus Christ, angel. Where did you learn this? Don't answer that. Don't tell me. Shit." 

His rambling was sharp sentences, that didn't really sound like they belonged together, and certainly didn't sound like they should be coming out of his mouth. They weren't the most articulately structured phrases he's ever come up with. A thought that comforted you, because you were doing that to him. 

"Fuck," he breathed out, once more, and you came to the mental conclusion you've never heard him swear so much in his life. The thought made your stomach flip.

Fingers dug into your scalp, though not too harshly to hurt. In fact, you were letting out a quiet moan of your own at the feeling, hips wiggling. Even in his state, Spencer noticed, and he smiled.

"You—ah—okay, angel?" he asked you, and you relished in the fact that he couldn't get out sentences without moaning. 

Your response was yet another hum, and he was bucking his hips. Again.

You knew he was close for a multitude of reasons; the fact that he had quickened his gentle-turned-firm guidance of your head, his fingers tugging on your hair a little harsher than before, and the ever so lovely, "Jesus Christ—please—oh," leaving his lips, breathlessly.

It was a few more moments of that, before the fingers in your hair went impossibly tight, and the muscles in his thighs locked beneath your hands. 

The fact you had never discussed doing this, meant neither of you knew the other's stance on what to do. Thankfully, Spencer was rendered so frenzied that he couldn't do anything. 

It was a sickeningly lovely sight; you pulling back and swallowing, some of his come painting your bottom lip. His fingers twitched, before they dropped back to the mattress on either side of his body, his chest heaving just as much as your own. 

Lightheaded, you slowly brought yourself back up to your feet, and Spencer's arms were quick to wrap around the backs of your thighs, pulling you into him. 

"Best head of your life?" you asked, lowering your lips to brush against his. 

"By a mile," he replied. 

"Just one mile?" 

"Maybe two."

Shooting him a glare, you huffed, and he laughed. "You're never getting head again, then."

He nipped your lower lip. "Okay."

"I'm putting my foot down," you retorted, disliking his lack of belief in your words. "Never again."

"I believe that."

"You should."

"Oh, I do," he hummed, sarcasm in his words making you frown. "Are your knees okay?" 

If his goal was to distract you, he succeeded, for your eyes were instantly dropping to your knees, indents from the threads of the rug evident. 

"They're okay," you confirmed, squirming as his thumbs rubbed circles into the skin on your thighs. 

"Tell me if they're not," he instructed, and you nodded. He stood up, hands sliding up to your waist. "Shower?"

"Shower," you confirmed with a nod, despite the fact that you had showered only a few hours prior. "Can we watch a movie after?"

"Yes."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[luveline]

Ooo can we have a blurb where bombshell! R and Spence were either on a date or were about to have their first time but got called into work? They both look a little annoyed at being interrupted. The bombshell reader series has my heart 🥺

im picturing boyband reid here maybe <3 fem

cw suggestive content

“These are trick buttons,” you accuse. 

Spencer laughs for the tenth time in as many minutes, perhaps tickled under your hands, more likely that he’s just feeling the same rush of hormones (namely adrenaline) as you are. “They’re not trick buttons, it’s ‘cos your hands are shaking.” 

He takes your poor hands in his. “It’s okay,” he adds softly, “I can do it.” 

“I’m not nervous, I’m excited,” you say, less soft, more desperate than he is, or at least on the surface. 

“I know, I know–” He catches your lips in a sudden eager kiss, a hand jumping to your cheek to ferry you closer, the other sewing down between your two chests to work open his fiendish buttons. 

“See,” he says between kissing, “easy.” 

“I’d like to see this level of dexterity when you unclasp my bra,” you mumble, kissing with every bit of hunger and love you have for him, lips drifting to his cheek, and then down to his jaw. Your mouth opens of its own accord. Spencer lets a breath slip from him coloured with wanting, the most amorous sound he’s ever made under your hands as you kiss, and nip, and—

Your phone rings from the nightstand, a heavy, repetitive vibration. 

“Ignore it,” you say easily, climbing up over Spencer’s lap, hand to the side of his face and rubbing tenderly. 

“I was planning on it,” he says. He was shy at first, those first few kisses, but Spencer’s a person like any other and he squeezes your hips closer to his without further argument. 

Your phone stops ringing a half a minute later. You smile into his mouth, even more when his fingers climb the length of your spine to slip playfully under the clasp of your bra. “How many tries do I get?” he asks. 

You sit back just a touch to meet his charming gaze. “As many as you need, handsome… I’m very patient.” 

He pulls you in to kiss your neck just as his phone begins to ring. 

“It’s work,” he guesses, paused regretfully under your chin. 

“We don’t know that.” 

“That’s my ringtone for work.” 

You breathe heavily atop him. “Can’t we be late?” 

He smiles at you gently. “I’m sorry, angel. If we’re late again this week he might actually bite your head off.”

Things were so perfect. This was it, this was the moment you finally knew each other to the very core, and your stomach aches with how badly you want him. You're startled at the heat behind your eyes knowing it’s not gonna happen. 

“Not tonight,” Spencer says, like he can read your mind. Maybe he’d been thinking a similar thing. “But soon, okay?”

You wrap your arms around his neck. 

His phone stops ringing before he can catch it. Both of your phones ping with simultaneous text messages quickly afterward, before your ringtone begins again in earnest. 

He leans graciously toward the nightstand, allowing you to continue hugging him while also answering the phone. “Hello?” you ask. 

“Agent Hotchner’s calling you in.” 

You press your nose to Spencer’s shoulder. “Okay. I have Dr. Reid with me too. Please stop calling, we’ll be there as soon as possible,” you say, flustered. You hang up quick. 

Spencer pats your back with his fingers, palm flat to your shoulder, apparently the less gutted of the both of you at your missed moment. “Let me get you dressed, okay?” he says. “You’re too sulky. It wouldn’t have even been that good.” 

“How rude.” 

His teasing continues. “I’m serious. I haven’t been with anyone since that girl in Vegas–”

“What girl in Vegas?” 

“–and anyways,” he says, tilting your head back, his smile both playful and adoring at once, “you shouldn’t have been on top.” 

“Spencer,” you laugh, pressing your hand to your eyes. 

“I have a head full of statistics on female pleasure and I don’t need them to know you should be laying down when we–”

You kiss him. “That’s enough,” you say, pressing the tips of your noses together. “I get the picture.” Your arm curled around his neck feels right, and you’re heartbroken to let it slink back to your side, but you do. “I love you. I wish we’d chosen different careers.” 

“I love you, too, but I don’t. Then we never would’ve met,” he says simply.

You let out a happy breath. “I guess not.” 

Spencer hoists you off of his lap in an impressive show of strength, but then he dumps you in the mess of sheets, which is less lovely. “What do you want to wear?” he asks, springing up, heading straight for his closet. “I pressed your pinstriped dress yesterday, that would look cute with your stockings. And you won’t need a jacket, it’s hotter out there than it is in here. Why are you looking at me like that? We literally don’t have time for this.” 

You love him. You’re gonna rock his world when you get home. “The dress is fine.” You put your arms up in the air. “I’m waiting. And look! We’re half undressed already. How convenient.” 

[dollgxtz]

Ok a fic where reader and sylus are at a business meeting, she “offers” herself as payment (maybe as a joke or just to rile sylus idk) and he makes sure to remind her who she belongs to? Please???

Kindred Spirits

Word Count: 5.1k

Tags: sylus x fem!reader, possessiveness, ownership, spanking, hitting, slight blood mention, pet names like kitten & sweetie, creampie, rough sex, crying, slight fluff at the end :3

AN: Anon ur a literal genius. This has Sylus written all over it. Im so happy to be back posting another story for you all! Also happy to announce my masterlist is now complete and can be found in my pinned! Ty all! Enjoy and remember, my asks are open for any character, Sylus is just my husband LOL. Remember to read my pinned before requesting please! This is a bit tamer than my other stories but trust I am cooking up some deviant content as soon as I publish this one :33

“Finally…”

You nearly collapse near your front door. A whole week of your life. Gone. To what you ask? Dealing with wanderers on a special aid mission. Sure sure, the job paid well but it had been weeks since your last off day. Every time it seemed like one was around the corner here they go with some emergency call and a spill about how some rich politician needed help or something.

You were starting to get tired of cleaning up other people’s mistakes.

You fumbled with your keys, fingers numb from the biting cold. The wind whipped around you, making you shiver as you tried to fit the right key into the lock. Your breath came out in visible puffs, and you could feel the frustration building with each failed attempt. Finally, with a relieved sigh, you heard the click of the lock turning.

The still warm air is such a welcoming contrast to the wind and biting cold outside. You quickly shut your door and melt to the floor, your feet aching with relief as the pressure you had been putting on them subsided. Peace at last. Time for a hot shower an-

Your peace was cut short with the distinct tone of your phone ringing. And not just any ring tone. The one you had set specifically for a certain white haired man that only ever brought trouble. Wondering if you should even pick up, you bring the phone to your face, knowing that you were going to answer regardless.

“Sylus…I’m really tired. Can we talk lat-"

“Long time no see kitten. You should stop by for a bit, hm?”

You roll your eyes, suppressing the urge to scoff out loud. Arrogant prick, you think, irritated by his inability to let you finish a sentence without interrupting. How did he even know you were home now?

You sigh deeply, feeling the tension building, and rub your temples to alleviate the mounting frustration. No, you tell yourself firmly. You wouldn’t put up with this today. Maybe another day, but definitely not today.

"Actually, no. I just returned from a week-long aid mission. Not today," you say firmly, aiming to be clear and resolute in your decision to stay put. Sylus however, seems to sense the cracks in your resolve and only responds with a chuckle.

“I want to see you. I’ll have Luke and Kieran come get you since you’re so tired”.

“Hu-”

“See you soon. They’re en route. Ciao”

The phone clicks, signaling the end of the call. For whatever reason, your ever growing frustration simply dissipates, defeat taking its place. You should be used to this by now. Sylus always gets what he wants. And you always let him. It goes without saying that it’s the same way for you as well. At least, Sylus always gives you what you want if it doesn’t interfere with his need to lay his eyes on you at least once in awhile. He knew that you wouldn’t push this though. You both knew.

Deep down, you wanted to see him too.

You asked Luke and Kieran to wait outside for a bit while you took a brisk shower and freshened up. Those two had always been very patient and understanding. You felt bad “bossing” them around, and yet they always insisted that you could. Though Luke had admitted on one occasion that he never expected to be helping a girl find hair ties or carrying shopping bags while working for Onychinus.

The statement had made you laugh a bit. You finally finish dressing in some plain sweats and rush to the car. Luke and Kieran are waiting outside of a dark colored jeep. Not too flashy as to not draw attention, but it was still clearly very expensive.

“Actually miss, Boss wanted you to wear these” Luke says, holding out an expensive looking dress. Clearly designed by hand and tailored to your measurements. Kieran follows his lead, holding out a box containing a pair of earrings and a lavish looking necklace.

“Huh? What’s this for? A date?”

“Business. That’s all he said” Kieran chimed in. Although you couldn’t see their faces, you knew they had no reason to lie to you about this.

“Ah. Dragging me into more trouble. Got it”.

When the three of you finally arrived to the location, the sun had already set for the day. You darted your eyes back and forth, squinting above at the bright neon sign of the establishment.

“We’re not going to the N109 Zone? This is a nightclub…” you mutter, taken aback by the unfamiliar surroundings. When did this even get here? There were plenty of clubs in Linkon of course, but you never seemed to notice this one. Not that you knew much about the night life to begin with. People were lined up at the entrance, chatting, fixing makeup, or texting.

“Boss wants you here. He’s waiting inside. Enjoy your time miss” Luke said, amusement written all over his tone. He gets out of the passenger seat to open the door and lend you a hand. You rolled your eyes, not wanting to appear shaken up by the situation. Sylus was always full of surprises. This was no different, act confident.

At least, that’s what you tried to tell yourself. After getting almost immediate entrance into the club with just a simple nod from the guard, you enter. As you walk inside the club, Luke and Kieran not far behind you, you can tell this was no ordinary night club. Everyone here was dressed lavishly and sharp, clearly possessing power and ulterior motives. A few eyes lay on you as you walk in, and you feel your hands start to sweat.

Keep cool. This isn’t the first time you’ve been around high ranking individuals. This is probably some test he set up…right? Or some kind of joke to get a laugh?

Clenching your fists, your eyes dart and search for a tall figure with white hair, feeling more nervous by the second that you don’t see him. You’re about to turn around and ask one of the twins, but at last your gaze settles on him, sipping on a glass of Gin Fizz. He’s sitting in a velvety booth by himself, people watching. He’s wearing his black button up with red streaks across it, coat hanging on his shoulders per usual. As if he felt you staring, his eyes shift to meet yours. He sets down his glass, giving you you a small smirk. His eyes narrow, sending a very clear message.

Come here.

As if you were suddenly possessed, your feet seem to start moving on their own. You weren’t sure if you were relieved to see him or if it was just the relief of seeing a familiar face in an unfamiliar place. You take a few deep breaths as you approach, readying your witful replies to any of his attempts to make fun of you. Without making any sound or looking at him, you quietly slide in next to him.

“You look nice. Seems I was right about this look on you” Sylus says, taking another sip of his drink. His eyes wander up and down behind the glass, seemingly devouring you. You squirm under his gaze.

“Hm. Thanks. This gift is the least you can do after dragging me to do whatever you want on a whim once again” you scoff, eyeing the full glass that sits on the table. It’s another glass of Gin Fizz, probably for Sylus. There’s three other very empty glasses on the table.

This man can definitely hold his alcohol.

He chuckles, taking a finger and pushing the glass of Gin closer to you.

“Don’t be like that sweetie. Loosen up a bit, you’ll need it”

“For what exactly? Business?” you mock, picking up the Gin. You didn’t exactly like the taste of this particular alcohol of choice but Sylus was right about one thing. Some liquid courage was definitely needed for whatever shenanigans he was dragging you into tonight.

“Yeah. Figured I could use Linkon’s darling Miss Hunter as backup” Sylus chuckles, watching you nearly choke as you take three big gulps of the drink. You squeeze your eyes in disgust as you finish the rest of the glass, shooting a death glare in his direction as you set it down.

“You’re perfectly capable. Don’t mock me Sylus”. You grit your teeth in irritation, almost ready to rip him to shreds with your words. Clearly your tone has no effect on him though, as all you get in return is a soft smile. Sylus places a hand on your upper leg, slowing sliding his fingers under your dress. You gasp, the coldness of his fingers making you twitch a bit. The warmness of your skin mixed with his cold touch makes the sensation feel like icy fire.

“Or what? You’ll use this on me?” he smirks, tugging on the concealed gun strapped under your dress. “I’m all for it honestly”

You slap his hand away, the woozy feeling from the Gin Fizz starting to kick in. What was in this drink? It was strong. Too strong.

“Pervert. Always touching me, making fun of me. Maybe I will shoot you. Again.” you growl, turning your head away from him. You attempt to scoot away as well, but are met with a strong grip around your waist as you’re pulled into closer proximity with him. Sylus grabs your chin and lifts it towards his face. He leans down a bit, the smell of alcohol and his bourbon vanilla cologne making you feel even more dizzy.

“You can put your claws away now kitten. Don’t make me have to melt your little tantrum away” he coos, gently caressing your face with his thumb.

You stare at him, dumbfounded, desperately searching your sluggish brain for a comeback but finding yourself too flustered to form any words. The look in Sylus’s eyes shifts from a smug expression to a much softer, almost tender gaze, and you wonder what his next move will be. Your face starts to burn as you feel heat rising in your core, your heart pounding in your chest. Panic sets in as you consider the possibilities, your mind racing with the fear of what might come next.

Don’t tell me he’s going to…?!

"You're so...confusing" you mutter.

You’re just about to try and squirm from his grip, when Luke and Kieran tap on the table, catching yalls attention.

“Boss man, Val says he’s ready for ya” Luke says, nonchalantly ignoring the scene that’s displayed in front of him. Sylus releases your face, his face going serious again. He gets up, reaching out a hand to help you out of the booth.

“Time for business, sweetie”

You’re guided by the twins and Sylus past the sweaty bodies on the dance floor to a somewhat hidden room located downstairs. The area the stairs led to was blocked off by a singular rope, clearly only meant for a select crowd.

In the room there’s a long black table, cards and chips all over it. There’s a few prominent figures already seated, along with a few bodyguards standing near the door. Sylus pulls a seat out for you, before taking his own. You study the figure that’s sitting at the head of the table as you sit. He’s short, a bit chubby, dark hair, smoking a cigar. A scar sits angrily on his forehead and you wonder what kinda grudges led to such an injury. He notices you looking at him, and gives you a devilish grin. Some of his teeth are crooked or missing.

All that money and he can't fix his smile?

You shudder. Sylus looks over at you, and back to the man at the head of the table. He’s reading you, clearly sensing your nervousness. He says nothing, simply reaching a hand over to rest on your thigh.

“Was starting to think you were going to keep me waiting Sylus. Seems you didn’t run after all” he laughs, wheezing a bit as he takes another puff of his cigar. You wrinkle your nose a bit as the potent smell hits your senses.

“I couldn’t turn down a game of cards with my dear old friend” Sylus says, irritation coating the last word. “Let’s keep things civil this time, hm Valentino?”

Valentino bursts into laughter, clearly amused. Despite his laughter, you couldn’t ignore the murderous tension in the air. Something tells you this isn’t any regular game of cards. You gulp, trying to force yourself to look at everyone at the table and smile.

“Well hello little lady. Sylus, you didn’t tell me you kept such gorgeous company…” Val says, his eyes snaking all over your body. You feel Sylus squeeze your thigh, clearly irritated. He pulls out a coin from his coat pocket, seemingly trying to channel his frustrations into something else.

“You know I’m not really the type to share, Val. She’s all mine. Down to every single strand of hair”. Sylus ends, catching the coin and shooting a glare in the man’s direction. It was plain, but conveyed a message very well.

You feel your palms start to sweat. Was he being serious right now?? You side eye him, trying to piece out whether or not this was some kind of facade you’re supposed to play into. Valentino clearly takes Sylus’s words as a challenge.

“I’ll give you twenty million for her. Maybe fifty million if you make her give us a little strip show. What do ya say? She looks so soft. Probably makes cute noises too…~” he chuckles, likely enjoying the look of surprise that washes across your face.

Sylus remains quiet, his face unmoving, frozen in a pissed glare. You don’t know if it was the alcohol you drank earlier, or if it was some inkling of an attempt to dissipate the tension, but you clear your throat and begin to speak.

“Well Sylus? You can share can’t you? It’s quite the generous offer Mr. Valentino. I’m quite flattered actually.” you express, putting on your best smug look. Sylus stiffens, a somewhat shocked expression washing over him. Valentino erupts into yet another fit of laughter, seemingly unable to contain himself. Turning to look back at Sylus, you see it in his face briefly. An uncaged look of rage before it quickly dissipates.

Shit. Shouldn’t have said that.

Far too late to stop now though.

“You heard the lady Sylus. Why don’t you try sharing just this once? What I would give to taste that sweet little body of he-”

Sylus slams a revolver on the table, then calmly starts picking up cards from the deck.

"I'd suggest you stop talking and start playing the game, Mr. Valentino," Sylus snarls, his words dripping with venom. The fury in his voice is palpable, and it's clear he's reached the end of his patience.

You give Val a sly look, feigning pity. “Ah, sorry Valentino. Seems this one can’t quite let me go yet”. You don’t know what you were trying to achieve, but it’s certainly not working to dissipate any tension. Val doesn’t respond to you though, all his focus on Sylus now.

“My dear friend. You should know me by now. There’s something I’m much more interested in now than some money. Now I want the girl, or nothing”.

Valentino wears a shit eating grin on his face, soaking in the fact that he thinks he’s gained some control of the situation, unaffected by the gun on the table. Sylus simply sighs, rubbing his fingers against the temple of his forehead.

“I see where this is going then”.

You barely process what’s happening before everything and everyone starts moving. As soon as Sylus begins to stand, Valentinos guards start shooting. Sylus wastes no time flipping the large table, sending the cards and game chips flying everywhere. You yelp as he yanks you towards him using his body and the table to shield the oncoming attack of bullets. You hear Luke and Kieran joining in the frenzy, yelling obscenities as they begin shooting their own hidden weapons.

You swiftly reach for the weapon concealed beneath your dress, your fingers brushing against the cool metal as you draw it out. Turning to face Sylus, you ready yourself for his instructions, your body tense with anticipation. Instead of giving you orders, he locks eyes with you, his gaze piercing through you with an intensity that feels like it's reaching into your very soul. The silence is heavy, charged with unspoken tension as bullets whip past the both of you, and you can feel your heartbeat quicken in response.

“I need you alive for what’s coming sweetie. Pay attention, stay close”

You blink. Twice. Unable to process his words before he yanks you both up, one hand using his evol to send the table crashing into several bodyguards. The four of you fight your way through the onslaught of people coming into the door, before eventually dashing up the stairs. People are running in all directions, seemingly caught up in the chaos of everything. You all manage to make it out the door and into the brisk cold air, the twins quickly hopping into the car to whisk you away.

“Go on, I’ll catch up soon” Sylus states, hurriedly pushing you into the car and slamming the door before you could protest. He signals Kieran to drive off, and that he does.

“He’s…going to level the building. Isn’t he?” you sigh, sighing at the fact that Sylus seemed to conveniently forget that this was in fact not the lawless land of the N109 Zone. No doubt the Hunter’s Association would have to investigate for potential wanderer activity, and that would be a lot of paperwork.

"It's fine. He owned that place anyway. He'll just build another," Luke says, his voice calm and unbothered. Just as the words leave his mouth, a deafening boom erupts behind the car, shaking the ground beneath yall. The explosion's shockwave rattles the windows, and the sky lights up with a fiery glow, cutting off Luke's next sentence mid-breath.

You groan.

The twins did drive you to the N109 this time, swiftly helping you out the car and into Sylus’s private villa. When you entered the front door, a nightgown and lacy underwear were laid neatly out for you in his room, your arrival clearly anticipated.

It wasn’t more than an hour before Sylus waltzed in the front door, eyeing your slouching figure on the couch. You sit up as soon as you see him, still somewhat annoyed.

“What took you so damn long? Also do you have to level every building you come across?” you spat, glaring at him. He says nothing though, walking straight past you and into his room.

“Huh? Sylus?? What the hell…”

Not liking the feeling of being ignored, you hurriedly chased after him. You had never really been uncomfortable barging into his room. You had done it plenty of times at this point, the first time being when he had challenged you to steal the brooch from him. No point in being shy now. He’s fumbling with something in his drawer when you reach up to tap his shoulder.

“Sylus! Don’t ignore me, I know you ca-”

He swiftly turns around, grabbing your wrist before you can touch him. His gaze is unreadable, cold even. You start to sweat, trying to take your arm back. But he only squeezes tighter.

"I was hoping you'd leave me be so I could calm down. But of course you're as petulant as ever" he says.

"Let go! What's wrong with you!?" You attempt to remove his hand from your wrist but he doesn't budge.

“Go to the bed. Place your hands on it” he says, face unchanging.

“Huh??”

“I don’t like to repeat myself”.

You freeze for only a moment before quickly moving to the bed. You meticulously put your hands where instructed, something deep in your core telling you that it’s likely best to listen for now. However, you can’t help to look over your should to quip at Sylus. You’re slightly bent at an angle, trying your best to keep your balance.

“What’s this about? I’m not that upset that you reduced the building to rubble”

Sylus snakes his way behind you, quietly, as if thinking of what to say. He reaches out a hand, grabbing the ends of your nightgown and moving the soft fabric around in his fingers. You feel the heat rise to your face, the skin of your ass feeling a slight gush of cold air.

“You like playing games with me, don’t you? Testing me” he says coldly, fingers trailing up the back of your legs slowly. You shiver, attempting to squirm away. His evol appears around you, its tight grip making you cry out.

Oh. This was about that.

“Huh?? No, I was just playing along. Just friendly banter yknow?” you say, voice wavering. You’ve clearly pissed him off. A part of you knows it’s a slight lie. You didn’t want to admit it out loud but it was kind of amusing to see Sylus get so riled up over something. Over you especially. But you hadn’t exactly done it fully on purpose. It was the alcohol.

But you knew he wasn’t buying it, as observant as he was.

“Sure. You were just pretending to act like a stray kitten trying to find a new owner?” he smirks, his fingers beginning to trace circles over the cloth of your panties. You let out a small whine, his touch just barely grazing your already wet cunt.

“Owner? I don’t belong to you. Or anyone” you scoff, the resolve in your voice wavering with every little circle he completes on your skin. You almost whine in disappointment when he pulls away.

“And yet…” Sylus trails off, leaving you with aching curiosity before you’re met with stinging pain on your ass. You cry out, unable to move with his evol still snaked around you. “You did exactly what I told you to do just now, wear the clothes I leave out for you, and practically melt everytime I even barely touch you”.

“Sylus?! What the hell was that…?!” you exclaim, trying your hardest to process his words and the situation at hand. He doesn’t respond, proceeding to gently caress the spot where he smacked you. The stinging pain gently eases away, and you feel yourself relaxing with his touch once again. He once again trails his fingers down to your clothed pussy, rubbing slow and meticulous circles around it. You start to whine, attempting to push yourself into his fingers for more friction. He pulls his hand away, making a disapproving sigh.

“Acting like you’re in heat per usual” he chuckles, watching as you wiggle around under the grip of his evol. “This is a punishment”.

“For what? Cause I let some sick and ugly looking crime boss think he had a chance with me?”

Sylus wastes no time bringing his hand to your ass again, earning another painful whine out of you. You feel tears forming in your eyes that you can’t wipe away. He’s certainly not holding back his strength, and yet you know this isn’t even a third of the force he could use on you.

“For entertaining him” he says plainly.

Another smack.

“Another for stupidly handing over your life, body and soul for a measly twenty million”

An even harder hit, this one fueled by rage.

“And lastly…”

You nearly choke as he delivers the final blow, your ass definitely bruising by now. Sylus offers no comfort this time, instead leaning down next to your crying face, breath hot against your ear.

“For forgetting that you belong to me, just as much as I belong to you. Kindred spirits remember?”

You have no chance to respond before he’s flipping you on your back, your nightgown flying up to reveal your wet panties.

“I-im sorry, Sy” you choke, tears blurring your vision.

“Show me then, sweetie. Spread your legs. Wide” he instructs, reaching up to brush your tears away. This isn’t done lovingly, more like calculated and cold.

This is far from over.

You silently but shakingly open your legs, your ass still painfully aching from his assault. You’re surprised when he doesn’t rip your underwear in two, choosing to rather peel them off your legs slowly. You notice the hunger in his eyes as he does so, as if savoring the view of your cunt at his fingertips. A small drop of arousal pools down your ass, and Sylus scoops it up with one finger.

You watch as he puts his finger in his mouth, savoring the drop of you with swiftness. His piercing gaze never leaves yours though, and you want to suddenly run away and hide. This is beyond thrilling, but you try your best to remain as still as possible, scared that he’ll think you’re enjoying it too much and punish you accordingly.

You suddenly can’t take the tension anymore, and close your eyes. You hear the sound of Sylus removing his belt from its loops, then the loud clang as it hits the floor. You feel the bed shift as he lowers himself over you, his face stopping just inches over yours, indicated by the sudden feel and warmth of his breath. He grabs your face in his hand and squeezes your jaw. Hard.

“Look at me kitten” he commands, his tone filled with unkempt rage and anger. Your eyes fly open, terrified.

“I’m the only one that will ever taste you. Repeat it” he says. Before you can get a word out, he’s pushing the fat tip of his cock in your entrance. You cry out in agony, nowhere near ready to have been penetrated. But he doesn’t stop filling you.

“Repeat it. Or I’ll hit you again. Do you want that?”

“You’re t-the…ah!” you whine, his cock halfway inside you at this point. Your poor cunt feels like it’s being impaled, splitting pain soaring through your core.

“Try again”

You let out a whimper, trying your best to push through the pain and put thoughts into words.

“You’re the oh-only one that gets to taste me” you choke out, voice wavering and your eyes teary. Sylus gives a hard thrust, pushing the rest of his length inside you. You cry out again, feeling like you’re on the verge of passing out. Sylus seems unmoved by your outbursts though.

“And?”

You stare at him, barely able to see his face through the tears. What? What does he mean and? He didn’t say anything else did he?

“Hu-what?”

You hear him sigh with disapproval, giving you yet another hard thrust. And another. And another. You’re clinging onto his back now, nails digging into his skin as the sound of the bed creaking and your pants fill the room. Blood has probably been drawn on his back, not that he’d even notice. You can hear him grunting in your ear, clearly enjoying the feeling of you tightening around him when you tense from the pain. Although it still hurts, you can feel yourself accumulating to the shape and size of his length, and the pain lessons a bit more with each thrust. He stops once again, tilting your face in his grip.

“What did I say you forgot? Or is this kitten filled with too much cock to think straight now?” he mocks. You can hear the smile on his face despite not being able to see him clearly. Heat creeps up on your cheeks as you wrack your brain for answers.

“I-you…we’re kindred spirits?”

“Before that sweetie”

You blink the tears on your face away, your vision becoming a bit more clear. Although he’s still gazing down at you, his expression is not as angry as before. Seems he’s gotten a bit of his pent up anger out now.

“I belong to you, Sylus” you say, voice small and whiny from crying. That’s definitely what he wanted to hear, as he began to pepper kisses on your neck, on your cheek, and eventually resting on your lips. You greedily return his affection, leaning into this feverish kiss, the both of you only periodically stopping to pant for air between kisses. He stops, resting his forehead with yours, gazing into your eyes once more.

“And I belong to you. What’s mine is yours. All of it”

You don’t get a chance to respond before he’s thrusting again, this time with a continuous and steady pace. You cling onto him, the exchange of flowery words and rigorous thrusting already bringing you on the verge of ecstasy. Sylus already noticed long before you did though, as he brought his hand between the two of you, circling your clit further your stimulation.

“Go ahead, come undone for me” he whispers, voice strained for nearly being at his end too. Your body obeys, unraveling and writhing with pleasure as Sylus continues to pound into you. You ride your orgasm to its end, till the touching of your clit becomes too much and you whine from overstimulation.

“Sylus…!” you moan, and he stops, already at the start of his own climax. You shudder as you feel him spill into you, his seed immediately beginning to pool down your cunt and to your ass. He pulls his heavy cock out of you, a feeling of emptiness taking its place. For a moment nothing is said, just the sound of the both of you catching your breath.

You decide to break the silence.

“Sylus…I’m really sorry” you start, looking up at him. He simply chuckles, placing a kiss on your cheek before getting up to grab a rag from the bathroom.

“You’ve taken your punishment quite well, why are you apologizing again sweetie?” he says from the bathroom, coming back to wipe you clean. You scoff, slightly tensing from the coldness of the cloth.

“Hmph. Fine, I take it back then. I’m holding a grudge anyways for how hard you hit me”

He simply sighs as he finishes wiping you up. “Back with the infamous wit already? Can’t a man catch a break?”

You sit up, feeling emboldened once more.

“Nope. Maybe don’t hit me with the strength of a thousand suns next time and we’ll see”

Sylus tosses the rag in a laundry basket, making his way back to your side. He pulls you into his arms, embracing you in his warmth. You can’t help but smile against his chest.

“Well, good thing I have all night to make it up to you”

You lightly pinch his side, giggling into his embrace. A question crosses your mind.

"Did you mean it Sylus? We belong to each other?"

Sylus took your face in his hand, giving you a slight smile.

"I don't say stuff I don't mean. You know this"

That's the furthest he was willing to explain it. At least for now. Who knows what kind of power trip would ensue if you truly knew how much you had the big bad leader of Onychinus wrapped around your finger.

[scarletcomalies]

Imagine Natasha, your mom's best friend, who accepted the task of teaching you self-defense classes. However, in just a few sessions, she was also able to tame your arrogant attitude.

Word count: 1,483

Warnings: Theft, mention of knives and guns, brat reader. 18+ content, degrading, restraint, slight bit of dub-con, Nat has a penis, daddy kink, unprotected sex, breeding.

A/N: Not sure how drabbles work, but I was bored at a birthday party, and I felt like writing a little something hehe.

It all started when a thief had taken your handpurse from you and ran away quickly.

You barely felt it being snatched from you, and as you turned around, you realized that the thief was already at a considerable distance, so you opted to simply mutter a curse under your breath and continue on your way.

The thief was going to be disappointed when he sees its contents anyway, and you weren't going to run in heels for lipstick, a crumpled five dollar bill and your student ID.

Although it wasn't a particularly shocking event, your mother, with her tendency toward overprotectiveness, was convinced that this event had irreversibly scarred you. As a result, she decided to ask her best friend, Natasha Romanoff, to teach you self-defense classes.

From the beginning, you made clear your disinterest in attending. You arrived intentionally late for every session, and at the redhead's scoldings, you would simply roll your eyes and dismiss her words with disdain. During training, you often interrupted her instructions with snide remarks, and refused to follow her directions, preferring to improvise moves that lacked technique. There was something magnetic in her determination and in the way her green eyes flashed with frustration that made you purposefully act even more insufferable than usual. You loved to see it.

During lessons, there were times when she would restrain you from behind so that you would repeat the technique she had taught you, and you could feel a bulge in her pants rubbing against your ass. It was such a yearning feeling, that you would pretend to do it all wrong, so that she would make you repeat it, and in that way, prolong the contact.

"Your mom just wants to protect you, you know?" Natasha remarked, once another not-so-successful session was over.

You were so exhausted, you preferred to sit on the floor with your legs crossed rather than even get up to help Natasha put the equipment away.

"Come on," you scoffed from your spot. "The thief barely touched me. He just took my handpurse and left."

"Fortunately," Natasha replied. "Imagine if he'd had a knife, or worse, a gun. Imagine if you had been alone, at night."

She took your silence as if you didn't really care to understand your mother's point of view, but in reality, you were reflecting. She just wanted you to know how to take care of yourself, in case something worse than that happened. And Natasha had been so nice and patient to you.

But before you could respond, she spoke up, "What am I bothering to convince you for? You probably are so selfish, that you'd let someone stab you just to worry your poor mother."

You weren't sure if her words had hurt or offended you, as perhaps you had taken your attitude to such an extreme that you had actually caused her to have a twisted perception of you. It was true that you possessed certain difficult qualities, but you were not evil. Sometimes you simply felt that your mother's overprotection was excessive, and that made you more irritable than usual.

What you said next was the result of not having slept at all the night before, for you had been studying intensely for an exam. Despite all the sleeplessness, you didn't manage to answer it as you expected, leaving many questions blank. All that you had accumulated, added to her hurtful words, led you to say the following...

"And you probably have a tiny dick," you snapped. "And maybe that's why you're bitter and miserable, because no one wants you."

Natasha was silent for a moment, too peacefully that it was scary, but her intense, darkened eyes were the only thing that allowed you to realize that she was indeed impacted by your words.

"Dare to say that again?" She challenged you, the tension in the atmosphere becoming more palpable every second.

"No one wants a woman with a small dick," you crossed your arms over your chest, arching your eyebrow in that defiant manner she was already more than sick of.

Natasha began to laugh, but it wasn't the sarcastic kind of laugh, no, it was one that was beginning to terrify you and hindering your ability to maintain your composure.

Natasha approached you with firm steps, her commanding presence filling the space between you both. She was so close that you could watch her green orbes, deep and piercing, burning with such intensity that you felt that at any moment, she was going to set the whole room on fire.

She simply pulled down her pants and boxers at the same time, at the level of her thighs, and seeing the massive size of her member, made you swallow your words.

"Is this a small dick for you?" She asked, seemingly satisfied at your shocked expression.

And as if the situation wasn't humiliating enough, Natasha used a quick and precise maneuver, where she grabbed your shoulders and, in an instant, had you face down on the floor. She proceeded to restrain your wrists against the small of your back, and by straddling the back of your legs, she prevented any movement from them as well.

"Come on, defend yourself like I taught you," she groaned, pressing you harder against the cold floor.

You tried to free yourself from her grip, but every move you made only brought you more pain, because Natasha, with her keen perception, detected every attempt to escape and prevented it with ease, adjusting her grip to make you feel even more trapped.

The whimpers you emanated were so delightful to her ears, making her cock grow more erect. She didn't know who was suffering the most, whether she for not filling your bratty hole right there, or you, who were being physically and verbally degraded.

"That's what I thought," she chuckled, grabbing the shaft of her cock and smacking it softly against your covered ass.

With one hand, albeit clumsily, she managed to pull down your pants and panties just like she did a few moments ago, and released your wrists so that, with her two hands, she held your waist and positioned you on all fours so firmly that you felt as if you had no control over your own body.

"Don't think I haven't noticed how you pretend to be dumber than you are, just to feel my cock against you," she remarked. Obviously, she was able to understand the workings of incredibly complex, criminal and dangerous minds, how could she not detect yours? A clueless, spoiled, college student. "You probably said that just so you could see it, hm? So desperate for Daddy's cock."

But it was very double standards on her part, calling you desperate when she always ended up in the training facility bathrooms after you left, grunting your name between longing gasps as she pleasured herself.

She ran the tip over your awaiting hole, but as she noticed how it contracted in anticipation, almost imploring to be filled, the last ounce of reason left her body, letting her full length inside you. And better than she had imagined, your warm, wet pussy welcomed her deliciously.

In unison, you let out a prolongued moan of pleasure, both of you mitigating that unspoken desire that had become so unbearable.

Her movements began slow and safe, intending to feel for as long as possible how tight you felt around her, and to hear those low moans you vocalized every time she entered and exited you, complemented by the sloshing sound your hole made in consequence.

But that same action was what provoked her breath to quicken, and along with it, her rythm. Her hips were working overtime to match her cock's desperate needs, but it was impossible when said needs increased every passing second with the way you were whimpering, now high pitched and more frequent.

"Can a small dick fill your hole this good, hm?" She groaned, tilting her head back as she felt her climax approaching.

"No! No!" You cried out, and just like her, you could feel it coming. Your head was growing fuzzy for the pleasure altering every fiber of your being, like the most powerful drug ever made. "I'm sorry, Daddy! I lied! I love your big, fat cock! Please!"

She swore to herself that she was going to be strong and proud enough to stop when you admitted it, having already achieved her goal, but your words made her cum involuntarily erupt inside of you.

That sensation of being completely filled with her seed made your orgasm follow hers a little later, yours and her release leaving her cock shiny and dripping with your mixed juices.

Natasha was aware that even the most intense masturbation would not match how wonderfully your pussy embraced her cock, and how mesmerizing was the sight of your ass bouncing whenever your bodies clashed together.

Imagination was not going to overcome reality, in this case.

So she preferred, just this once, not to be frustrated by her loss of control.

[gojonanami]

THE DOCTOR IS IN - SATORU GOJO

✴︎ summary: aka medical intern / doctor in training gojo. when you go to your annual check-up, you didn't think you'd be crushing on your doctor - or that he's conduct such an in-depth examination - in more than one way. ✴︎ contents: 18+, a lot of smut, implied cheating (but there's no cheating), improper use of a medical questioning and an exam room, improper use of a tongue depressor, panty sniffing, semi-exhibitionism (but not really), fingering (f!receiving), oral (f! receiving), semi-public sex, sex in an exam room ✴︎ wc: 2,573

It was just a checkup. 

You sit, using your phone as you wait for the doctor, squirming on the uncomfortable exam paper drawn over the patient bed — so why were you so nervous? 

And then there’s a knock at the door, and he walks in — but it’s not your usual doctor. 

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” the white haired man grins widely, and you’re taken aback by how good he looks dressed in his white coat — if he had been your doctor before, you never would have missed a single one of your appointments, “My name is Satoru Gojo, and I’m a medical student that’ll be helping out today,” he offers his hand, and you take it, shaking his hand. 

“It’s nice to meet you too,” you smile, introducing yourself by name, and he sits on the chair in front of you. Without his white coat and stethoscope around his neck, he could have looked more like a model than a medical student. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had been offered gigs modeling for his medical school’s brochures — hell, you were regretting not going to medical school right now. 

He’s right down to business, crossing his leg over the other, “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions about you, what brings you here, and your personal and medical history?” he asks, clipboard and pen in hand, lips curling. 

“Not at all, Doctor,” 

“Call me Satoru,” he smiles, and you can’t help but smile back. And then he’s running through the usual list of questions — name, occupation, date of birth, smoking status, drugs, prescription list, and all the other questions medical providers need to ask patients, “and sexual history?” 

You tilt your head, flushing, “Can you be more specific?” 

And he’s leaning back, pen pausing in its scribbling, as he glances up to clarify, “Are you sexually active?” 

You lick your dry lips, squirming under his gaze that suddenly feels heavier than before, “Yes, I am,” and he nods.

“Do you have a partner?” 

You nod, “I have a boyfriend,”

His eyes rake over you discreetly, “Must be pretty handsome to date a woman like you,” he remarks, — did he always flirt with his patients? Because he certainly will have good patient retention at that rate.  

“He’s also a little full of himself,” and you see a slight purse of his lips, as he raises an eyebrow, “but he’s very, very cute,” 

“Oh is he? Good to know,” he sighs, pressing the top of the pen to his lips, drawing your eyes to his lips, “and how often do you engage in sexual activity?” 

You have to pause before you answer — god, when were you going to move off this topic? “Pretty often, almost every day, usually,” you clear your throat, unable to meet his gaze, as he nods. 

“And are you satisfied?” 

And you raise an eyebrow, “is that relevant?” 

“Oh, this is a physical, we like to be very thorough,” and you swallow thickly — well this was uncomfortable — but he only looked…almost amused, “Well?” 

“Most of the time,” you shrug.

“Most of the time?” he repeats, placing his clipboard lower, clearly far too interested. 

“My boyfriend has been pretty busy with work lately, it’s been pretty lonely,” your eyes finally finding his own, deep blues darkening a shade. 

And his lips quirk, “Oh I see, I’m sorry to hear that, but I won’t be leaving you alone anytime soon,” he winks, and he’s rising to his feet, as he draws slower, “I think we can move onto the actual physical exam now,” and he’s pulling his stethoscope out as he draws near, kneeling instead of standing — because what else can you do beside a couch instead of a hospital bed — “I’m going to listen to your heartbeat,” 

God, he smells good. 

You try not to bite your lip at him — he was so pretty, up close even more so, his long snow white eyelashes fluttering and his perfect pink lips so kissable — but no, no, this was inappropriate. This was a doctor’s office. 

And he’s putting the stethoscope in his ears, pressing the metal diaphragm to your chest, “Oh, your heart’s racing,” he murmurs, leaning in even closer, warm breath warming your skin, “wonder why that is — this may call for further examination,” 

“Is this concerning?” and he’s tilting your chin up, far too close to your face. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, you’re in good hands,” he’s moving the stethoscope to your back, pressing the metal end to listen to your lungs, “please take deep breaths for me,” and you do, biting your lip, as he leans against you as he moves the diaphragm to four different points, his chest brushing against your shoulder, “I see,” he murmurs, “have you been experiencing any aches or pains anywhere?” 

You swallow, “My throat has been hurting a little,” and he nods, grabbing a tongue depressor. 

“Let me take a look, now stick out your tongue and say ‘ah,’” and you do as he says as he presses the tongue depressor down, “good girl,” he murmurs, making your cheeks warm at his words — fuck. 

His eyes scan your mouth, pressing against your tongue harder, “I don’t see anything unusual,” as he pulls the depressor back, skimming your tongue teasingly, but still, his face is so close to yours, and he notices your breath catching, “but I may need to do a closer examination if you…consent,” 

“If I consent?” You ask slowly, his lips a breath away, and his thumb drags down your lips, “Satoru—“ 

“Do you consent?” And he’s leaning even closer, noses brushing, and you only can manage a nod, “use your words, Princess,” 

“Yes, please,” and he only smirks, as his lips brush yours — so soft and teasing, his fingers cup along your jaw. He tastes of sugar and warmth, his tongue teasing your lips, until they part, dragging over your tongue, the very same he had just examined. He draws easy moans from you, one after another, before he pulls away, a string of spit connecting your lips. 

“I didn’t see any issues, but I am concerned about your throat,” and he’s kissing a burning trail down your jaw to the hollow of your throat, “feels a little swollen here—“ and his teeth grazes the soft skin there, “it may need a closer look,” and he’s licking and sucking, dragging his tongue over your sweet skin. 

And you’re nearly panting at this point, as he smiles at you, pressing another kiss to your lips, and you raise an eyebrow, “was that you checking again?” And he laughs, lips curling, as his fingers slide to the small of your back. 

“You can be too sure,” and he’s kissing you again, and he doesn’t miss the way your thighs press together, “think the problem may lie elsewhere,” and his hands drag down your sides before finding your thighs, and you gasp, as he parts them, your fingers pressing into your soft flesh, “feels very warm here, and almost irritated — it may be an infection,” he hums, as his thumbs toy with the waistband of your shorts, “I may need to get a closer look,” 

“Satoru—” you whine, and pulling at your shorts now, and he’s looking up at you with lidded, lustful eyes. 

“Would the patient like some help removing her clothes for the examination?” and you only can manage a nod, and he accepts it this time, pulling your shorts down, “don’t worry, I’m a medical professional, I know just what treatments are acceptable in cases such as these,” and your shorts pool around your ankles, before you’re kicking them off. 

And his eyes linger on the damp, dark patch on your underwear, “oh? I see the problem,” you gasp as he presses his thumb against your puffy clit through the thin fabric, “it’s so swollen, so warm — I’m going to have to do a very thorough exam of this area,” and he’s snapping the fabric against your skin, making your squirm, “so sensitive,” he hums as he tugs down your underwear, sniffing your panties, before pocketing them, “a sample, I’ll keep it for further testing,” he winks, before he unbuttons his cuffs, rolling up the sleeves of his light blue button up. 

His eyes darken as his eyes rake over your exposed cunt, “are you ready to begin?” And he waits for your nod, before his fingers part your messy folds, as his arms pin your thighs in place, “so wet, do you hear that, sweetheart?” And his finger sinks into your needy pussy, squelching, “practically swallowing me in,” he grunts, licking his lips, “gonna need to probe a little deeper,” and a second finger is joining the first, fucking you open in earnest, as he pulls another moan from your lips, “s’good for me, but still I can’t figure out what’s wrong, maybe I just need to inspect this area further,” his hands sliding your thighs over his shoulders, pressing a languid kiss to your inner thigh. 

And then his lips brush against your clit, making you squirm, his tongue darting out to drag lazy circles around it. God, you were so close, “don’t be so loud, there are other patients who might hear you — they might wonder what kind of exam I’m doing,” and you’re holding back your cries, biting your bottom lip. as his fingers and tongue bully your insides, “so tight, think I need to loosen you up before the final test,” 

“I’m, ngh, close—“ and his lips close over your clit, sucking hard, and that’s enough for you to fall over the edge. You’re moaning, walls twitching around his fingers, your thighs, as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, lapping up every bit of your release. Your cunt twitches as you come down from your pleasure high, as you look down at him with half lidded eyes, gaze deep and dark, laced with lust as you watch him lick your release from his lips and chin. 

“Such a good baby, you did so good,” he’s pressing sweet kisses to your neck and face, until he’s letting you taste yourself on his lips, swallowing your moans eagerly, “haven’t even figured out what’s wrong and look at the state you’re in now,” he tsks, as he rubs the length of your cheek with his thumb, before kissing your jaw, “we still have more work to do,” as he eases your quivering legs off his shoulders. 

And he’s undoing his belt, the clink of the buckle drawing your eyes to his thighs, as he tugs down his slacks and boxers, as it slaps against your stomach. Your lips part at the sight of him, thick and long — a white head of precum, dripping from the engorged tip. 

Fuck, he’s huge, and he chuckles at your expression, “Like what you see, sweetheart?” As he drags his weeping erection along your sensitive pussy, “so messy, gonna have to see what’s going on inside, I have a feeling it’s very deep,” his fingers lift one of your legs over his shoulder, “are you ready?” 

And you’re nodding, “please, I need—“ and he’s parting your folds, past that delicious ring of muscle, kissing the deepest part of you with his tip, as your lips part in a groan, “Toru—“ 

“That’s it, s’good for me,” he’s grunting, as he pulls out only to slam back in, “best little patient, aren’t you? With your perfect princess cunt, made just for me,” 

“Figure out the — ngh — the problem yet?” You tease. 

He only grins, as he gives a nasty thrust of his hips, wiping all sense from your head, “Filthy case of pretty Princess cunt — PPC — and it’s a particularly bad one,” he’s slowing down to stretch out the wet squelch of your cunt, “hear that? It’s the sound of your pussy latching onto me, practically strangling my cock,” and he’s picking up speed, as he lifts your other leg over his shoulder and — fuck how is he going deeper? 

“Gonna come in for all your appointments and let me fuck you, right? Gonna fill you right, you have just what you need, the perfect medicine is this dick in this cunt, and the prescription is for every day, sweetheart,” he’s pistoning in and out of you, “pretty baby keeps pulling me back in, it may be incurable,” but he’s only fucking you harder, “but I’m going to try.” 

The hospital bed is certainly ruined by now, from the creaks and groans it’s giving, it’s nearly as close to breaking as you are. Just a little deeper, a little more. 

“Taking me so well, such a good girl,” his cock is twitching inside you, “fuck, s’good f’me, just for me,” 

“Toru, ‘m close,” and his hips are stuttering, as he groans your name. 

“Cum f’me, sweetheart,” and you do — your orgasm has you gripping him tight, as he continues to fuck you through it, rough thrusts that has you moaning far too loud, “close, gonna cum—where—“ 

“Inside, please,” and your eyes find his, lust blown out, as your hips grind against his, “I need my medicine,” 

And he only groans in reply, sinking his cock as deep as he can before cumming, his warm seed filling you up, as his hips jerk against yours once, twice, before he’s easing your legs down, to lay on top of you. 

Both of your heavy pants fill the room, as his face rests nestled in your chest, his lips pressing sweet kisses to the skin, “I am definitely not helping you sanitize this room, Toru,” 

He pouts, “Oh c’mon it’s half of your mess, most of your mess — you were soaking me—“ 

“I did you a favor by coming to help you practice conducting an intake and diagnosing a patient, I’m not cleaning up this mess too,” you sigh, as he relents, leaning up to kiss your lips.

“Well you did cum a lot I’ll give you that,” and you push his face away, but he only drags his tongue up your fingers. You flush, “you’re the worst doctor,” you grumble. 

“But I’m your favorite one, after all,” he grins, easing himself out, as you gasp, watching your mixed releases leak from your cunt, “I’m the only one who can give you your medicine.” 

A few hours before….

“C’mon, baby, I need to practice,” your boyfriend curled his arms around you, burying his face in your neck, trying to pull your attention from the book your nose was buried in currently, “i need to practice,” 

“I don’t think practicing is what’s on your mind right now, Toru,” you roll your eyes as he presses wet kisses up your neck, “you’re being distracting,” 

“You distract me just by existing,” he pouts, and you roll your eyes, “at least if I practice with you, I can do something,” and you can’t say no to him, could you? 

“Fine but why can’t we practice here?” And he’s shrugging, only grinning in reply. 

“I can get more into the mindset of a doctor at the clinic,” he’s holding up the key he had sweet talked out of the security guard, “it’s a chance for me to get some practical experience. No one else will be around. Just you and me. Please?” 

“…fine,” you sigh, as he kisses you again, “but you’ll behave?” 

“Promise,” he grins — but you knew Satoru Gojo never behaved - especially when it came to you. 

✴︎ a/n: my sister's practice asking me medical questions for an intake finally came in handy.

✴︎ taglist: @mwtsxri, @buttercupmuffins, @sinnerstardoll, @ziieanna12, @capitana18girl, @musababy, @miacakess, @secretmoneybearvoid, @sincerelyyrosemary, @dazailover1900, @maybe-a-bi-witch, @mnare, @kiyoomis-side, @complexivelovely, @imjustmememe, @pandaluvr, @affendy86, @scarlet-kazuha, @peachedtv, @spooky-nanners, @runmeoverkth, @nicobicobee, @kvroshit, @superluver, @paperairplanescanfly, @professorweezy, @i-literally-cant-with-this, @sachirobabe, @aothotties, @naughteehee, @ohphi, @roanryan16, @happyface002, @starrylibras, @sxatorugojoswife, @unamilanesa, @lycheeclare, @oreo-bozado, @yeehawslap, @hidanleftoe, @reaperxdeath

[manikas-whims]

the fake dating u did was so good, like, ate and left no crumbs?? and i feel like its so spot on?? you did amazing thank you so much for ur writing

could u do a follow up on it?? i need to see the angst and confusion of the reader and the fluff at the end 🥹🥹

have a good day!!

OMG thank you for the shower of compliments 🫶😭

As i said in another ask, i wrote those HCs as a one shot thingy, and i’m still shocked so many wanted a part 2 so here it is!..FINALLY!

with a dash of misunderstandings, a sprinkling of pent-up desires and a spoonful of angst with a happy ending.

APOLOGIES FOR THE LONG WAIT. HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE IT! ♡

Fake Dating the Love and Deepspace men but you catch feelings pt. 2

new readers make sure to read [PART 1] before you read this..

ZAYNE

❄️ You know you crossed a line when you requested Zayne to kiss you.

❄️ That one kiss led to the start of many more. Now Zayne kisses you whenever he drops you off at work and whenever he comes by to pick you up. And before you can even realize, they've become a part of your normal routine.

❄️ Speaking of kisses, they aren't merely innocent pecks anymore. Now they feel passionate and longer, involve a little tease of the tongue here and there, and always leave you weak in the knees.

❄️ But this controlled manner of feeding off of his generosity is proving to be quite difficult for you. If anything, the kisses have made you greedier. Every time his lips touch you, you hope that it doesn't simply end there. That he doesn't stop. You desire more than you should out of this fake relationship. You desire more than you deserve.

❄️ But before this desire of yours can take over and make you do something you can never take back, you decide to end things with Zayne.

❄️ It's a normal evening in his office. He's sorting through his patients’ files when you call out to him.

❄️ He looks up and patiently awaits whatever it is you have to tell him.

❄️ You feel your lips quiver.

❄️ Zayne may have agreed to be your fake boyfriend because you had practically begged him to but he isn't obligated to give you anything that isn't needed. Him picking and dropping you to and from work, sharing meals together and kissing you in front of others is already so generous of him.

❄️ That is all it should've been. Only you ended up developing real feelings.

❄️ But if you let this farce run any longer, you'll end up mistaking his kindness for genuine affection. You'll end up fooling yourself into thinking its real. Not just for you but him as well. That your feelings are reciprocated.

❄️ Your mouth opens and shuts, as you try to muster the courage before softly murmuring. “I think we should stop.”

❄️ For a moment, he stares at you, unmoving as ice. Then his mouth motions but you don't hear word. You run away.

❄️ Days pass with you ignoring Zayne's calls and texts. You skip work as well in order to avoid him.

❄️ Your doorbell rings one night and you almost jump. Dread instantly begins pooling in your belly. What if it's Zayne?

❄️ With anxious limbs, you answer the door only to find your friend Tara.

❄️ Tara tells you that she was only trying to set you up on dates because she hasn't seen you genuinely whole ever since you lost your family. That she wanted you to have someone who could complete you. But now that she's seen you with Zayne, her worries have faded into thin air. She is happy for you two. She is happy to see you happy after so long.

❄️ Though her words may have been supportive and full of warmth, they only make you feel worse. You end up crying and spilling the truth– the entire truth about the fake dating arrangement.

❄️ To your surprise, Tara is as kind as Zayne and instantly empathizes with you. She understands. And she apologizes for being so forceful in her attempts to look out for you by finding you dates.

❄️ Tara comforts you for a while but before departing, she suggests you come clean to Zayne and confess. She believes that it will all turn out fine in the end.

❄️ Well, its easier for her to say that. You're the one who actually grew up with Zayne. You know he's always been an honest man and how much it will hurt him when he learns that you've been taking advantage of your arrangement to enjoy his affectionate gestures. That after a while, you began deliberately prolonging the kisses in hopes of getting something more..

❄️ You wake up the next morning to incessant knocking at your door, and wonder if it's Tara again, come all this to check up on you.

❄️ Sleepily you answer the door. And the drowsiness dissipates from your eyes the moment you find the familiar tall figure of your childhood friend clad in his tight black shirt and dark trousers.

❄️ Dread seeps into your being once more and you lower your head in shame. If Zayne is here then it can only mean one thing. You knew this was bound to happen. But you are a coward nonetheless, and you can't bear to look at him as he breaks your heart.

❄️ Zayne let's out a breath and speaks. “That evening in my office..I’m sorry if its because of something I did..”

❄️ His apology makes you feel sick. You will not let him take the blame for your own misdeeds.

❄️ “No Zayne, I’m the one who asked for your help. And I didn't even consider the fact that I might catch feelings for you.” You pause to collect your thoughts. “But I know how wrong and stupid I was for it. And that is why I ended things between us. Before I could do something worse and spoil our—”

❄️ You stop abruptly as Zayne pushes the door further open and steps up on the threshold, hovering intimidatingly over you. He tilts his head low and speaks. “The arrangement wasn't just yours. Any decisions related to it should be reached only after proper discussion between the parties involved.”

❄️ His statement takes you by surprise and you finally move your lashes to hesitantly look up at his face. “I didn't think it mattered to you. I thought you were merely being kind and helpful..like always.”

❄️ “On the contrary, I was enjoying our little arrangement. After all,” Zayne inches even closer, his voice an octave lower. “it allowed me to spend more time in the company of the person I yearn for.”

❄️ It isn't his statement but the intensity of his gaze that arouses a tiny flicker of hope within you. “Zayne..you..I thought..I was the only one taking advantage of the situation..”

❄️ He chuckles lightly. “Apparently we both were. It seems our arrangement stopped being fake the moment we kissed.”

❄️ That tiny flicker of hope bursts into a lively flame of desire. “Then, you also wanted it to be real?”

❄️ He gives no verbal response but his lips quirk up into the barest hint of a smile as he nods.

❄️ For a moment, you stare at each other, processing all the words exchanged; the next, Zayne takes off his glasses and and tucks them in his pocket. And your lips find his, like many times this past week. Only now, neither of you stop just there for this isn’t pretense anymore. It's mutual, and it's real.

❄️ His hands slip beneath your shirt, cold fingers leaving a trail of warmth along every inch they touch.

❄️ And he kisses you harder, his tongue prying your lips apart as he pushes you inside the house and shuts the door behind him.

XAVIER

⭐ Things have been going pretty well ever since that “incident” in front of your apartment door. The creepy resident has stopped showing up.

⭐ You can freely enjoy the gym and pool in your apartment complex and everything else without the constant intrusion of that weirdo.

⭐ And although Xavier still goes out for morning laps and evening walks with you, accompanies you for the exercise sessions and even checks up on you at your apartment, he has cut-down on everything else. He is holding your hand a lot less and doesn't slip his arms around your waist as much.

⭐ It’s only fair though. Since the strange man isn't hitting on you anymore, there isn't much need for Xavier to act either.

⭐ You can live with it. Bear with him not engaging in any sort of skinship anymore. But your mind simply cannot forget the way his lips had felt against your own.

⭐ In the loneliness of the moonlit nights, you often find your fingers tracing the same spot his lips had sucked on your neck. You close your eyes and revisit the memory of his lips pressed gently upon yours. The memory of him kissing you a second time but with much more impatience and fervor. And you wish he'd do it all again.

⭐ It's not even surprising that you like Xavier. The guy has been nothing but helpful, protective and co-operative. And he indulges all your requests– from hanging out at the claw machine or playing kitty cards to something as unnecessary as a late night walk– when he could be spending that time reading a book or dozing-off.

⭐ You have found Xavier attractive ever since your first encounter. It's just that only now his searing kisses have left a mark upon your heart. Made you realise that you harbor an emotion far deeper than mere attraction for this man. And it's quite vexing how quickly he seems to have moved on from those shared kisses.

⭐ How can he smile at you with the same lips that nearly stole your breath away? How can he simply go on with his life while you lie awake in bed at nights, reminiscing those moments over and over?

⭐ Xavier has completely ruined you.

⭐ You can neither focus on work nor are you interested in gossiping with Tara and Nero. And to make matters worse, you get assigned to a mission with the last person you wanna face right now— the eccentric, silver-haired neighbor who claims to have killed more than 70,000 wanderers. The same man who had you pinned against a door just a week ago.

⭐ The mission starts smoothly. You and Xavier arrive at the location of a forest with high protofield fluctuations. You are synced as ever, efficiently taking down wave after wave of wanderers.

⭐ But there's a tension radiating between the two of you. It distracts you momentarily, resulting in you almost getting struck by a wanderer swerving it's blade towards you.

⭐ Fortunately, Xavier steps in at the last instant, slips an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. With his other arm, he effortlessly swings his blade and deflects the wanderer's blows.

⭐ He is saying something now, his expression full of concern. But you can barely hear a thing due to the loud drumming of your heart. You are too lost in the sensation of his strong arm firmly holding you in place.

⭐ When you give no response, he tilts his head adorably in confusion and stares at you. And for the briefest of moments, his eyelids lower, his gaze seemingly lingering upon your lips before he licks his own and lets go of your waist, flexing his gloved fingers as he does so.

⭐ He clears his throat, tightens his grip around his sword and resumes his battle stance.

⭐ By the time you've cleared out the wanderers, you want nothing more than to go home. However, Xavier is already approaching you.

⭐ “You seem a little preoccupied. Is that creep bothering you again? Do you need me to beat him up?” He asks.

⭐ “What!?— No! I told you that you can't beat him up!” You wave your hands frantically.

⭐ “Then,” He pauses, his eyes narrowing. “it’s that kiss, isn't it?”

⭐ Your face instantly heats up at his direct mention of the kiss. You aren't good with confrontations, especially not when they involve the very man responsible for the sickness of your heart. So you bite your bottom lip and and try leaving again, hoping this is enough of a response.

⭐ But if there's one thing you've come to learn about Xavier, its that he can be very assertive when he wants to be. And right now he's unrelenting. He grabs you by the wrist, gently making you face him again. “I went a little too far, didn't I? I should've asked you before doing something like that. Let me make up for it.”

⭐ The sincerity in his eyes melts your heart. You're the one who had come to him with such an unusual request. You're the one who said he wasn't convincing enough, so he tried to make it feel more genuine. And yet here he is, not even questioning you for a second but already striving to make up for it.

⭐ You can't let him punish himself for it, especially since he didn't hurt you at all. Only left you wanting for more. “Xavier, you didn't go too far. And I don't want you to make up for it.”

⭐ His thumb runs over the back of your hand. “What do you want then?”

⭐ There's a conviction in his eyes– the same one he has before promising he'll win all the plushies for you at the claw machine, the same one he has when slaying wanderers. And you can't help but be honest with him. “I..I want you to kiss me like that..again..”

⭐ There! You've said it now. To hell with shame! And to hell with frustration! You're too tired to hide your feelings any longer.

⭐ Yet at the same time, the anticipation of his response is stressful. You try to pry your hand free of his hold but it only grows tighter now.

⭐ “You– You didn't mind it?” Xavier's eyes darken. So does his demeanor. He takes a step forward, and you take two back. “You’ve been wanting me..to do it again?”

⭐ You nod slightly, and he exhales a breath.

⭐ Xavier draws you closer, his eyes wordlessly asking permission this time. You nod again.

⭐ The next moment, his lips press softly against yours. And for the first time this week, you feel a little sated. It's not all you have ever wished for. Barely anything at all. But it gives you enough strength to live with your feelings for him.

⭐ The kiss deepens as he pushes you against the nearest tree branch, his lips parting your own. You gasp and turn your face away.

⭐ “Xavier, you don't need to do more.” You whisper breathily. “This is enough.”

⭐ He leans his face down, lips moving along your neck. “It’s hardly enough.”

⭐ Even with the pleasure clouding your thoughts, you remind yourself that you can't keep taking his willingness for granted. You can't let him go on. “Xavier, you don't need to pretend for my sake.”

⭐ “I’m not pretending. I want this too.” His response is immediate. “I’ve been wanting this for a very long time.”

⭐ His words hold weight, unlike any declaration made in the heat of the moment. So you give in. Let his hand guide your thigh around his waist as he kisses you again, under the evening quite of the forest.

RAFAYEL

🌊 “Keep up the act for some more time?” Rafayel asks, surprised.

🌊 It's the day after you'd attended that fancy gala with him. You're both sitting on the couch in his studio and you're the one who give this lame suggestion.

🌊 He rests his chin on the back of his palm and smiles mischievously, a twinkle in his eyes. “Don’t tell me, Miss Bodyguard..have you caught feelings for me?”

🌊 If you were drinking something, you would've probably sputtered it all over by now. But thankfully, there are no refreshments in your hands, and you will not embarass yourself by admitting how accurate he is in his guess (even if made only in jest).

🌊 You school your face into a stern expression as you look back at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. If we break up right now, after you've been parading me around in everyone's faces, then people will talk. Critics will latch onto this opportunity to write think pieces in hopes of sullying your name. I'm only being cautious as your bodyguard.”

🌊 Rafayel puts a hand over his heart and feigns a hurt expression. “And here I thought you've finally fallen for my irresistible charm.”

🌊 You scoff and roll your eyes. “Don’t think so highly of yourself.”

🌊 “I don't need to think so because its a fact. I am amazing.” He sits up straight. “Anyways I don't care much for critics. I don't care if people misunderstand or hate my art. But I know Thomas will be pulling his hair out if I get a bad name right now.”

🌊 “So,” He pauses for effect as you edge closer to him in anticipation. “I guess we'll keep running this charade for some more time.”

🌊 Before you can even realize, your lips are stretching up into a small smile. You know this is a foolish arrangement. One that is bound to end in nothing but pure agony for you. Yet you insist on dragging this along because you are desperate for a little more time with him. You cannot imagine going back to simply being Rafayel the painter's “bodyguard”.

🌊 You may have developed feelings for him a long time ago but its that kiss that made you realize how far gone you are for this man.

🌊 And you foolishly hope and believe that not all of it had been a mere act for him either. That there's a possibility of him liking you just a teensy bit. And this crazy belief has deluded you into entertaining fantasies you should not.

🌊 Now that you've had a taste of what it's like to have him as your lover, it's impossible for you to settle for anything less. You want him, and you wish for him to want you too.

🌊 The snap of a finger in front of your face draws you out of your juvenile daydreams. Rafayel is assessing your face. “Where are you? Come back to the real world, Miss Bodyguard. We're discussing some important things here.”

🌊 Your cheeks heat up and you apologize for getting distracted. “Yes, I'm listening. What is it?”

🌊 Rafayel shakes his head but begins explaining. “I’m saying that since we can't break up abruptly, then let's do it,” He pauses again, spreading his arms out and staring up at the high ceiling dramatically. “publicly.”

🌊 Your hear a crumbling sound and feel an ache in your heart. “What does that mean?”

🌊 He grins excitedly. “If we break up publicly, in the presence of a huge crowd with big names and paparazzis around, then surely it will leave little to no room for speculation and criticism.”

🌊 You feel fissures steadily forming on your heart. This isn't what you had expected when you had suggested him to continue on with this charade. A sinking feeling looms over you yet despite that you try your best to force a smile upon your face. “That..seems like an interesting idea.”

🌊 From that point onwards, any time to you meet Rafayel, the passionate kiss you had shared at the gala plays in the back of your mind. And you wonder if you'll ever get to kiss him again, even if only for the sake of this temporary farce.

🌊 Now every time Rafayel steps even an inch closer to you or lowers his head, you find yourself expecting– and hoping for– a kiss. A kiss that sadly never comes.

🌊 And the worst part is that you can't get mad at him. He merely asked you to play pretend. He never asked you to catch feelings. If anything, you should've been just as professional as he is. At least it would've saved you from experiencing the heaviness you feel within your chest.

🌊 But lets ignore all that because today you are at Rafayel’s place to discuss how the two of you will publicly carry out a fake break-up of your fake relationship during an upcoming exhibition.

🌊 Rafayel explains how you are supposed to yell at him during the exhibition, and make sure everyone around hears how difficult it is for you to date someone well-known. That it is becoming impossible for the two of you to make time for each other.

🌊 You scoff. “And then what? You'll say how I've always been nothing but a gold digger, chasing after you for your money and fame?”

🌊 Rafayel claps his hands. “Actually not bad. And then you can say how I am just as rotten as the rest of the celebrities.”

🌊 You can't help but laugh despite the ache in your heart. “This is so trope-y and predictable. No one will buy it.”

🌊 “Oh trust me they will. Everyone loves a little drama.” Rafayel tries convincing you. “You can add a few more insults and break my heart. And I can dedicate my next art piece to you, my cute but cruel ex.”

🌊 You laugh some more and he laughs with you.

🌊 Rafayel may act a little arrogant and childish at times but he is a good person by nature. Whether intentional or not, he always makes you laugh. The time spent in his company may not always be relaxing but it is certainly always entertaining.

🌊 And you realize how these moments will be gone forever after this so-called “break-up”, and how truly unprepared you are to endure it.

🌊 The eve of the exhibition finally arrives.

🌊 Rafayel keeps repeating the things you are supposed to say and do if you are to end this arrangement tonight. But you can only focus on the unease bubbling within your belly.

🌊 He quirks his chin, signaling for you to begin but you find yourself rooted in spot, unable to utter a single word. The unease in your belly grows and you take a deep breath before finally speaking.

🌊 “I’m..I’m getting tired of this.” You mumble softly. You aren't sure if anyone heard that but you continue. “You’re the one who asked me out yet now I feel as if you don't even care.”

🌊 Your voice is shaky now. You're taking in more breaths with every word you speak. Rafayel's calm expression falters as he watches the way you ball your palms into tight fists. “I..I don't think I can go on any longer!”

🌊 Your words resonate with your actual feelings. You really cannot go on like this much longer. You will miss the silly moments spent with him. You will be unable to genuinely smile with him after this. It will become impossible for you to even be his bodyguard. And you don't want that. You don't want any of it!

🌊 The unease in your belly spreads all over your skin like a wildfire. You feel tears streaming down your cheeks as you shake your head at him. “I can't do this.” You choke out before running off, the crowd of people around gasping in shock.

🌊 Rafayel follows right on your heels, grabbing you by the waist before you can trip on the stairs and fall.

🌊 “Let me go!” You yell but he's pulling you into a secluded room.

🌊 “Hey..calm down.” He tucks the loose strands of your hair behind your ears and gently wipes your tears with his thumb.

🌊 But you can't do this. You can't tolerate him being so tender with you right before he mercilessly breaks your heart. You step away from him and his eyes widen, a hint of anguish now swimming in them.

🌊 “What's wrong, Y/N?” He asks, calling you by your actual name instead of the nickname he loves so much.

🌊 And you actually respond, words flooding out of your mouth like a crumbling damn. “Rafayel, I can't do this. I am drowning in my feelings for you. And I know it's not your responsibility to feel the same way just cause I do but I..” You sob, unable to say anymore.

🌊 He stares at you for a moment, an unknown emotion alight in his eyes. Then he breaks into a shrill laugh, the sound of it echoing loudly in the silent room. And he wraps his arms around you in an embrace, his shoulders shaking as he laughs some more.

🌊 “Look at you, falling for me just when I try to distance myself from you.” He strokes soothing circles on your back. “When I try to end all this to run away from my own feelings for you..”

🌊 Your own eyes widen now and you pull away to look at him, waiting for him to affirm what he just said. He chuckles, wiping your tear-stained face before leaning in to rest his forehead against yours.

🌊 “Yeah yeah I'm madly in love with. And it seems you did, after all, fall for my irresistible charms.” He drawls out as if talking about something insignificant.

🌊 Then he leans closer, his breath tickling your lips. “If you wanted us to date for real, you should've simply asked. Instead you made me chase after you like some besotted prince in a fairy tale.”

🌊 You find yourself laughing at that and he lets out a breath.

🌊 “There’s the laugh.” He murmurs, sealing his lips with yours, his fingers carding through your hair as he tilts your head and deepens the kiss.

Hope it was upto your expectations or atleast as enjoyable as part 1 of this ♡ It's unedited so i apologise for any errors (i'm a little sleepy and will edit later). And thank you for all the love and support on all my LADS headcanons so far 🥹🫶

SEND ME REQUESTS FOR LOVE & DEEPSPACE HEADCANONS VIA ASKS.

» MASTERLIST «

[dreaming-medium]

Watch Your Six

Stray Kids Kinktober Masterlist

Sensory Deprivation - Han Jisung

Pairing: Han Jisung x Reader

Word Count: 14.8k

Summary: After training for years, you finally become a full fledged agent for KDOI, the Korean Division of Intelligence. Over time, each and every agent becomes something like a family member, including the high-tech nerd who has managed to put a smile on your face since day one. What happens when he's sent with you on his first field mission?

Warnings: Violence, smut (18+) MDNI

A/N: Kinktober is a state of mind. I know its January idc lol I will finish the list of prompts even if it kills me

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

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. 

The sound your sneakers make on the treadmill reverberates through the gym. The expensive, high tech plastic mask strapped to your face fogs up with each exhale and clears with each inhale. 

To your right, a man holds a clipboard, glasses covered eyes watching your vitals displayed on the monitor hooked up to the mask and other various wires clipped to your body. 

You’ve been running for about an hour straight, but your breathing is still even; and just by glancing down at the screen, your heart rate looks the same. 

For months, you’ve been training with the federal agency to be one of their field agents. Countless nights were spent pushing yourself to the limit, physically and mentally. 

Today was your final evaluation before becoming a full-fledged agent. You were selected out of the hundreds of trainees to test to move on. 

It was a great honor, all your hard work was finally paying off. 

Maybe you’ll get your first mission after this! 

If you pass. 

A small bead of sweat drops down the side of your face. 

Bored, your eyes wander over to the man studying your every heartbeat. 

The thick rimmed glasses that sat on his face have slid down his nose a bit. His lips seem to sit in a constant pout thanks to those pudgy cheeks of his. 

Choppy, fluffy brown hair sits on his head like a mop. You can tell he’s run his fingers through it more than a handful of times to get it out of his eyes. 

A crisp white lab coat rests over a hoodie and khaki pants. A few different pens and instruments sit in the pocket under an embroidered ‘J’ .

You’ve seen him around the trainees once or twice in the years you’ve been here. From what you’ve gathered, he was one of the technical experts, providing countless gadgets and gizmos for the field agents to use. 

The guy that would give the secret agent a lipstick taser before embarking on their world class espionage mission. 

He’s pretty and smart— what a lethal combination. 

When the man looks back up at the treadmill, your eyes flick back to dead ahead of you. 

Reaching forward, he hits the stop button on the treadmill and jots down a few notes on his clipboard, a tiny smile pulls at his handsome face. 

The treadmill comes to a gradual stop and so do your legs. One hour exactly sits on the clock. 

Nervously, you look down at the screens, to his monitor, looking at anything you can. 

“You did extremely well, 586.” There’s a happy tilt to his tone while he scribbles down some more notes, flipping the page, then writing some more. “You can take the mask off now.”

Nodding, you gently take the mask off your face and drape it over the top of the treadmill. 

“I have one more examination for you.” He clicks a few buttons on the computer to the side.

Patiently, you stand there waiting for instruction. 

He looks up at you with amusement glinting in his big, brown eyes. “You don’t need to be so stiff with me, 586, that’s not part of the tests.”

Your shoulders relax and sag forward a bit. “Sorry, I’m just a bit nervous.”

“Understandable.” He grabs a hold of the cart with the machines on it and rolls it to the side. “Most, if not all, trainees are during their examination. I can’t remember a trainee that wasn’t nervous— well, maybe M, but he’s a special case.”

“Are you J?” you ask, looking down at his lab coat. 

“I am,” he answers and steps closer to the treadmill.

He reaches forward and unsnaps the wires hooked onto the leads on your chest. The sticker part stays on, but the wires are removed. Which means you’ll probably be hooked up to another machine soon. 

“I’ve seen you around before,” you say to him, studying his face up close. 

“I’m always around everywhere,” he jokes, unhooking more wires. “I don’t think there’s a square inch of this agency I haven’t seen.”

“Are you a field agent?”

He scoffs. “No, not me. I could never handle that.”

“But you’re an agent.”

He moves his head side to side. “Of sorts, yeah. B needed a tech guy, so technically I’m an agent. But if you were to send me on a mission, I might cry. I leave those sorts of things up to C or S, or any one of the other agents. Just not me.”

You nod with a small smile of your own. 

“Follow me.”

Following his orders, you step off the treadmill and follow after him out of the gym. 

“Is there only one of each letter?” you ask.

J laughs. “Actually, yeah.” He leads you towards a side room, it looks like an interrogation room with a large contraption on the center of the table. “It’s easier that way.”

He motions for you to take a seat across the table. 

“And unless you fail this psych evaluation, I believe we’re going to be back to 26 again.” J starts fiddling with the machine, pulling wires and leads off the top. 

A happy pang goes through your heart. Thank god he hasn’t hooked up the heart monitor yet, he would’ve seen it skyrocket. 

“You think?” Nervously, you shift around in the chair. 

J chuckles. “I do. I haven’t seen a perfect exam like this in a while. Plus, we saw all the extra training you were putting in.”

Your mouth opens a bit in shock. J looks over at you, holding the wires ready to snap to the leads on your chest. 

“We have eyes everywhere, 586. Did you really think we didn’t see that?”

An embarrassed flush crawls on your neck and turns your ears red. “Of course, I know that.” 

Again, he chuckles and snaps all the wires to the leads. His fingers are warm in contrast with the cold air of the exam room. Each time his knuckles brush against your skin the feeling lingers. 

He places a strap around your head that has two metal leads pressing into your forehead. Even more wires from that strap lead down to the detector. 

J looks down at the wires and then turns on the machine. It whirrs to life and a needle starts scribbling out your heart rate on the top. 

It’s a lie detector. Of sorts. It looks like more than that. 

You’re not going to pretend to understand anything, though. That’s his job. 

His eyes watch the needle, he then reaches forward and clips a small cuff on your finger— a steady beeping follows it. 

“There we go,” he mutters to himself and takes a seat across from you. 

J shuffles papers around on the clipboard to rearrange them. 

A large mirror sat on the wall behind him. There’s no way that’s not one way glass. Is there anyone on the other side watching your evaluation? Or is it just the two of you? Is there another higherup keeping track of your answers? Maybe it’s B? Or maybe other agents are spectating to see how you are. 

You would be working closely with them, after all. If the roles were reversed, you’re sure you would watch. 

“Ready?” J’s voice interrupts your thoughts. 

Your eyes snap to him and you nod. 

“Is your name Y/N L/N?” he asks, looking down at the clipboard. 

It’s been so long since you’ve heard your real name. Two years? Yeah, two years. You’ve only been referred to as 586 since you joined. 

“Yes.” 

J looks at the contraption for a few seconds, taking note of the way it moves. He makes a small tick on the paper. 

“Can you verify your date of birth for me?”

You do as he says, saying it like second nature. Again, he repeats the same motion of watching your heart rate and making a small tick. 

The questions start out simple. Where were you born? What are your parent’s names? Do you have any siblings? All questions that you would make a security question for your bank. 

“Now, let’s get to the real questions. Just answer honestly and you have nothing to worry about, okay, 586?” J’s voice is calm and smooth. 

Something about this guy makes you want to tell him everything regardless of if you’re hooked up to several machines. 

“Have you ever been contacted by an external government agency prior to enlisting in KDOI?”

KDOI: The Korean Division of Intelligence. Your dream job since you were a young girl. 

“No.”

After your answer, J watches your heart rate for even longer than before. He makes a tick on the clipboard. 

“Have you ever been contacted by an external government agency after enlisting in KDOI?”

“No.”

Another tick. 

“Have you ever participated in an organized event that openly opposed KDOI?”

“No.”

Tick. 

“Have you ever had malicious thoughts about KDOI or the agents working within it?”

“No, quite the opposite. I admire KDOI.” You add the last part with a sheepish smile. 

J grins when he makes the next tick on the paper. 

“Next section…” he murmurs. “Have you recently had thoughts of suicide?”

“No.”

Tick. 

Question after question comes from his mouth. You answer honestly to each of them, not even hesitating to let the reply leave your lips. 

“Did you have thoughts of suicide prior to enlisting in KDOI?”

“No.”

Tick. 

“Do you ever have thoughts of harming others?”

“No.”

Tick. 

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“N- what?” Your eyes widen and you stare at him incredulously. There’s no way that’s on the evaluation. 

J feigns ignorance and points down to the clipboard. In exaggerated movements, he motions down to it and shrugs, puffing air in his cheeks and just making a meal out of this fake performance. 

“I can’t believe it either but there it is. ‘Do you have a boyfriend?’” 

You tongue your cheek and smirk a bit. “No, J, I do not.”

J nods and scribbles down more than just a tick while looking at the heart monitor. “Interesting…” 

He makes a few last notes before his eyes widen and he looks up at you, pointing his pen in your direction. “No girlfriend either, right?”

You roll your eyes, “No, no girlfriend either.”

Isn’t this an official evaluation? For a government official secret organization that grants people a license to kill? 

He asked you if you were single immediately after asking if you’ve had thoughts of suicide. Is this guy for real?

You slow blink at him while he finishes up the form on his end. 

“Well!” he exclaims happily, hitting the clipboard on the metal table. You don’t even flinch. “I believe we’re all finished here.”

Your heart squeezes with nerves. 

J stands up from the table and rounds the table towards you. 

So badly you want to ask for the results of your exam. Are you in? Did you pass? Are you an agent?

“B needs to sign off on all the paperwork,” J trails off, his hands reaching forward to unhook all the wires from the leads stuck to your skin. “But… I don’t think there’s any issue with me welcoming you to the agency. Officially.”

Since the heart monitor was still hooked up, you can hear the needle suddenly spike and scribble large peaks on the paper. 

J turns his head to look at it. An amused smirk crosses his face and a chuckle huffs through his chest. “Funny,” he says to himself and then turns back to you. 

Sheepishly, you look away from him. 

“That’s what gets your heart rate to spike?” J sits on the corner of the table and folds his arms across his chest. 

You bite your cheek and avoid his eyes. “Well, this has been my dream job since I was a young girl; so, yes, you alluding to me becoming an official agent would raise my heart rate.”

J scoffs. His warm fingers suddenly grab your face, thumb on one cheek and his middle and pointer finger on the other. He turns your head to face him.

When your gaze snaps to his face, you see that there’s a cocky smirk on his face but his eyes are focused down on the heart monitor. The needle stays steady much to his obvious distaste. 

He sucks teeth in disbelief. “Really?”

“Is this another test?” your voice comes out muffled due to him holding your cheeks. 

J rolls his eyes with a frown. “Yeah, let’s go with that.” He releases your face and slides the strap off your head.

The leads on your chest are soon to come off after that. J is careful not to rip the sticky pads off your skin too fast so that it doesn’t sting. He rubs the site with a bit of rubbing alcohol afterwards to get rid of the residue. 

“How long have you been at the agency?” you ask. You’re curious about him. 

He defeats all the ‘Secret Agent’ stereotypes. He’s personable and warm— and a bit flirtatious. He’s not at all the cold, all-business type you were used to. That’s how more than half the trainees were. 

It’s not that you were cold, no. You just kept to yourself and worked hard. 

And you made sure your personality didn’t fade during that time either. 

J’s nose crinkles up while he thinks. His hands slow down in the process. “Hmm,” he hums. “Maybe four years now? Yeah, sounds about right.”

Your eyes widen. “Four years? How old are you?”

He smirks. “Don’t you know never to ask a young man his age.”

“I guess if you’re not going to tell me…” you trail off. “I’ll just say twenty eight then.”

“Twenty ei—!” he stammers and takes the last lead off your chest. “I’m twenty two!”

“Wasn’t so hard was it?”

J grumbles and turns around to finish putting the machine away. But there’s an amused tilt to the corner of his puffy lips and a playful glint in his eye. 

“So you started when you were eighteen?”

“Yep.”

“Child prodigy?”

“Taken right from high school.”

“Impressive.”

J laughs under his breath. “Everyone seems to think so.”

“You don’t?”

“Eh.” He shrugs. “Everyone here is a prodigy of some sort. It’s easy to blend in and somehow appear mediocre when surrounded by Korea’s most elite minds and bodies.”

“I don’t think you’re mediocre.”

“You haven’t met everyone else yet.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to answer again. J grabs your clipboard and takes the papers off it, handing them to you. 

“Bring these to B, he has to sign off on the final enlistment.” You take the stack from him. “The guard outside the door will bring you up to his office.”

You look down at the papers, your heart rate picking up faster and faster the more you think about it.

J puts his hand on your lower back and ushers you towards the door. It tingles at the base of your spine. He reaches in front of you and opens the door, motioning for you to exit first. The hand on your lower back twitches and it feels like he almost scratches it twice before urging you forward and dropping it. 

It’s weirdly comforting. 

It doesn’t feel weird at all. 

You turn back to look at him, “Thank you, J.”

He smiles. Those round cheeks get even bigger when it happens. 

“Welcome to KDOI, X .”

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

Two years goes by in the blink of an eye when working with a government agency. Especially when a majority of your assignments can take anywhere from a week to two months at a time. 

The agents you work with are the only constant in your life. Other faces flitter in and out of your life like leaves falling off trees. You don’t grow attached to anyone outside of this organization, you can’t afford to. 

You’re not complaining, not at all. You love the life you have now. It’s everything you ever wanted. 

Everyone at KDOI is a family, you’re all each other has. It’s an unspoken, special bond. 

When you first started, you were welcomed in with open arms. Obviously, some agents were warmer than others at first— or maybe it’s just that some were better at first impressions than others. 

Maybe other people would have been upset with M’s standoffishness when you first introduced yourself. But, after a hot coffee appeared on your desk not even five minutes after complaining about being cold to him and only him, you knew he wasn’t detached and icy at all. 

Other agents, like F, have been nothing but a ball of sunshine. He was the one you ate lunch with every single day while you were at the agency. Whilst sitting by yourself in the cafeteria on day one, he took it upon himself to plop himself in the seat right across from you. 

H is your favorite agent to go on long assignments with. He never fails to be a constant source of entertainment and intelligent conversation— with the occasional stupid ass comment that makes you question where the man you were just talking to went. 

Slowly but surely, you’ve also started learning their real names. Learning someone’s real name was apparently the equivalent of leaving you in their will around here. 

There was a time and place to refer to them as their real name. It was a line you tiptoed constantly. 

Surprisingly, it was M who told you his name first: Minho. It was completely unprompted too. It was in the jet returning from a three week mission where you had saved him from at least five different gunshot wounds by tackling him to the ground. 

The others trickled in afterwards. 

Y, or Jeongin, was shocked when you didn’t know his name. And immediately told you afterwards with a cute, wide smile on his face. 

Even though every single agent has become a part of you, one particular agent seems to have captured a larger part of your soul than the others. 

“J,” you say casually, slipping behind him to stand on the other side of his cluttered workbench. 

Jisung. He had told you his name when you had lingered in his workshop late one night, not wanting to go back to your dorm quite yet. 

“Hello, X,” he grins without looking up at you. The glasses on his nose have fallen forward.

His laptop is his primary focus, several wires are running from the computer to a tiny little gadget that looks no bigger than a cell phone. It has a small LED screen with different colored pixels bouncing around it. 

Jisung’s workshop was one of your favorite places in the agency. There was always music playing, a computer always had some sort of TV on silent with the subtitles on, and there were always snacks everywhere. 

You consider it a second dorm, really. As soon as you’re done training for the day, you usually find yourself here.

“When did you get back?” he asks, clicking a few keys and looking over at the gadget, then back to his computer. 

“Maybe two hours ago?”

“And it took you this long to come say hi?”

“I had to shower.”

“ And you didn’t invite��me?” his cheeky smile gets bigger. 

You smack the back of his head, the glasses fall even more. You’re surprised they don’t tumble off his face.

If one thing has remained constant since your exam day, it’s the relentless flirting. The guy can’t go more than five minutes without saying some sort of teasing comment. 

It should bother you. 

But it doesn’t. 

At this point, you’ve gotten quite used to it. If he ever stopped, then you might be a bit concerned. You might even miss it. 

But you would never tell him that. 

Jisung makes a tiny ‘gah’ noise and rubs the back of his head in fake pain. He pushes his glasses up his nose and looks over at you. 

“I missed you so much and the first thing you do is hurt me,” he whines. 

“I wasn’t gone that long.”

“Two long months without my girlfriend.”

“ Not your girlfriend.”

He clutched his chest through his baggy black hoodie. “Another wound.”

You cross your arms and giggle a bit. “Well get used to me not being here. B is sending me on another assignment tomorrow.”

Jisung frowns. “I know, he asked me to be at your debrief tomorrow morning.” He lets out a whine. “You just got back! Usually you’re around for at least two weeks in between missions.”

Shrugging, you look around the room. The digital clock on the wall read 10:29 PM. He’s usually the only one in here past 5:30, he tends to lose track of time easily when working on projects. 

“It’s part of the job,” you say casually. 

Jisung grumbles again, looking down at his laptop once more. “Yeah, well it sucks. Everyone’s always coming and going. Meanwhile I’m stuck here all day every day.”

“I thought you didn’t do field work.”

“I don’t . I just also hate that I’m trapped here while everyone gets to travel with one another.”

You narrow your eyes. “You do know we’re not sightseeing, right?”

Jisung balks. “Of course I know that.” He pauses. “But I did see that picture that you and Changbin took at Buckingham Palace.”

You bite your lip to stop the smile. “Not my fault it just so happened to be by our hotel.”

“Bang said if we had a Christmas card he would use that picture.”

The smile you’re fighting gets even bigger. You hesitate before speaking up again. “It’s a good picture.”

Jisung’s head drops and he places both of his hands on the table. “See what I mean?” he groans. 

“Just tell Bang that you want field work.”

Jisung’s head shoots up and he stares at you with wide eyes. “I would die in the field!”

“You would not. One of us would be there to save your hide. You really think Minho would let you die?”

“I think he would load the gun himself.”

A laugh bubbles up in your chest. Uncrossing your arms, you turn around and lean against the table. 

“Ji, we would make sure you were safe if you were to come out in the field with us. It’s our job.”

“Your job is to carry out the mission.”

“I wouldn’t give a damn about the mission if your life was on the line.”

Jisung’s mouth snaps shut. His eyebrows fly up his forehead. 

The two of you stare at each other for a long moment. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his knuckles turn white from gripping the counter so hard. 

His Adam’s Apple bobs with a gulp. 

You shouldn’t have said something like that, shouldn’t you? Your job is to carry out government missions. Personal feelings should never be put first, you know that. 

So why did you say that?

Fuck, you shouldn’t have said that. 

The shock on Jisung’s face quickly morphs into a cocky smirk. It’s a mask. You can see in his eyes he’s still a bit shocked. 

“I knew you were in love with me.”

Groaning, you roll your eyes and push off the table. “I’m going back to my dorm to sleep. Goodnight, J.”

Your hand slides to his lower back and you scratch twice over his lab coat and hoodie. 

Ever since your exam day, the two of you do this small gesture to each other all the time. It could be when he passes behind you in the cafe line or comes up behind you in the training room. It’s such a tiny, personal gesture. 

Sometimes on the coldest nights in the field, you’ll find yourself aching for that small touch.

“You’re so head over heels in love with me, X!” he calls after you, again, clutching at his heart and overacting like he’s swooning. 

“I’m leaving!”

“You just got here!” he whines. 

“Bye.”

“I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you walk away, X!”

“Night!” you repeat, letting the door shut after you. 

You walk down the hallway of the agency with a goofy smile on your face. 

“Idiot,” you mumble to yourself. 

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

B’s office was at the very top of the large building, the windows overlooked the entirety of Seoul. Everything inside the office exuded money and power. The wood of the bookshelves was black and sleek and always dust free. 

Inside the office was so large there was an entire sitting area with two sofas and two loveseats around a coffee table. 

There was always a bergamot candle burning on a side table there. 

It was just about 10 AM when you stepped inside. 

“Ah, X, thank you so much for coming in.” B stands up from his large desk chair to welcome you in. 

Bang Chan, the leader of KDOI, and the most unassuming man you’ve ever met. When you brought him your final exam paperwork that fateful day you thought you were in the wrong office. 

This whole time you were expecting a wrinkly old man, not a twenty-something with dimples. 

But, at this point, you’ve learned to not be surprised by anything anymore. 

Maybe you were surprised at the fact that the other man in the room made no move to even look at you. 

Jisung sat in the other chair in front of the desk, his face sheet white. Both of his hands are gripped in tight fists on top of his pants. 

Your warm smile fades from your face as you take in his ghastly expression. 

“What’s going on?” you ask. 

Chan’s lips form a tight line as he motions to the chair for you to sit in. “I was going over your next assignment with J before you got here.”

“Apologies, am I late?”

“No, not at all. I had J come in a little early to talk to him one on one.”

You glance over at Jisung who looks like he hasn’t even blinked. Alarm bells are going off inside your head. Not even a nod in your direction?

“What’s this assignment about, B?” You look back to your boss. 

He slides a manilla envelope across the desk to you, you take it without a second thought. Chan picks up a tiny remote off his desk and presses a button. Shades slowly come down over the window, bathing the room in darkness. Another beep on the remote and a holographic screen projects from the floor next to the desk. 

Both you and Chan turn your chairs to go over the debrief, Jisung stays still. Part of you wants to snap your fingers in front of his face to see if he’s still alive or not. 

Instead, you focus on your job. 

“I know you’re used to more recoup time, but I’m afraid this assignment is pretty urgent.” Chan clicks the remote. A grainy CCTV picture is displayed on the screen. “The international gang you’ve been dealing with lately, the Ice Crows, have shown their face again.”

Chan zooms in on the image. Several higher ups of the gang are getting out of a black SUV. They’re all dressed in fancy suits smoking cigars. 

The last time you dealt with them was about five months ago when their trail had gone cold over in Canada. 

“When and where was this taken?” you ask. 

“Yesterday. Paris. Where you and J will be headed after this.”

Your head snaps over to look at Chan. 

With Jisung? No wonder the guy looked like he was eight inches from death!

Your eyes slide to the engineer, he’s still staring forward. A cold sweat on his brow. 

“J is coming with me?”

Chan points your attention back to the debrief. “Allow me to continue.”

You spare one last look Jisung. The poor guy is shaking in his boots. Your hands itch to reach out and comfort him, but you have to remain professional. 

That’s for after the debrief. 

“There’s an auction being held at the Palais des Congrès. Several large and important pieces are being shown there. Including…” Bang switches the slides and displays an expensive painting. “The Refuge, which was stolen no more than two months ago by the Ice Crows. They’re putting it up for auction when it belongs back in Korea.”

Your eyes narrow. “This seems like a pretty rookie cut and dry assignment, B. You need me to get the painting back. I don’t understand why J has to come with me, he doesn’t do field work.”

The conversation the two of you had the previous night echoes in your mind. 

B nods. “I know. Let me get there, X.” He switches the slide to display the floor plan of the museum. “This convention center is rather high tech, as you can see. It’s equipped with blockers that don’t allow any outside waves to make it past their walls. Any and all technical communication has to come within the building.”

“So, you’re sending J with me because he’s the only one that can operate field equipment? S can operate simple transmitters and trackers.”

“It’s more than that, X. The painting will be behind several different firewalls and security systems that not even S can hack through. J needs to be with you and he needs to be in that building.”

You take a deep breath and look over at Jisung. His hundred yard stare has moved from the window and is now focused down on his lap. 

“He’ll be in your hotel room the entire time. You’ll be doing the recon and walking through the convention center to get where you need to be.”

Jisung pulls his lips between his teeth. His body finally came back to life. “I won’t need to leave the room?” His voice is hoarse. 

“No,” Chan answers quickly. “Not until you’re leaving to come back home.”

Jisung shifts on his chair, unfurling his fists and swallowing thickly. 

“I understand your apprehension, J, I do. But I need you on this.”

Jisung watches him closely and then offers a weak nod. He glanced over at you. 

“I wouldn’t put you with X unless I was sure that she would watch your six.”

You nod and steel your expression. “I won’t let anything happen to you, J.”

Color returns to J’s cheeks at your words. He gulps and takes a deep breath, his shoulders rolling back and remaining stiff.

“Okay,” he says softly. “Okay, I’ll do it.” He’s more confident the second time. 

“Good.” Chan clasps his hands together. “Stay safe, agents. Amusez vouis bien!”

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

You and Jisung were the only ones inside the cabin of the agency’s private jet. It took off the runway only about four minutes ago. 

The brunette sat across from you, his eyes focused out the window at the clouds below. His posture is anything but relaxed. He’s sitting ramrod straight in the large cushioned chair. 

You don’t think his muscles have released since you both were in Chan’s office. Even through the thick layers of his comfortable traveling clothes you can clearly read his uneasy body language. 

“You okay?” you ask gently.

“No,” he mutters back. Duh.

You bite the inside of your cheek, completely unsure of what to do or say. This was never a part of your training. Maybe you should’ve picked up a copy of ‘ Comforting Friends for Dummies ’ when you had the chance. 

Killing targets? Easy! 

Provide detailed surveillance on a suspicious person? Done! 

Soothe an anxious friend? Not so simple. 

Jisung’s cheeks seem even puffier than usual, lips pursed in a pout. There’s no sparkle to his eyes like you’re used to. 

Taking a deep breath, you lean back in your seat and look around the plane. You crack your knuckles, displaying your own nerves. 

“Do you know the best part of staying at hotels during missions?” you ask him to break the silence.

Jisung hums in acknowledgement, he continues to watch the clouds below. 

“You get to order all the room service you want— it comes out of the agency’s card.” You smirk. 

He shifts around in his seat. His hands that were tightly gripping the armrests relax a bit. 

“Last assignment I was on with Hyunjin, we were in a seaport town, the hotel made these bacon wrapped scallops… man… I ate so many I thought I was going to explode.” You pat your stomach. 

Jisung finally looks at you. “Bacon wrapped scallops?”

You nod and smile at him. “You’ll be in the room the entire time. Think of all the room service you’ll get to order.”

“I’ve never had bacon wrapped scallops.”

“It’s Paris, who knows what they’ll offer there. And it all goes on Bang’s card.”

Jisung finally smiles. It wavers for a second, like he’s sheepish to do it. It’s paired with a breathy chuckle. He looks down at his lap and lets his body fall forward a bit, elbows resting on his knees. 

His knee bounces anxiously and the exhales he lets out are shaky. 

“God, Y/N,” he sighs, rubbing his face. “I can’t help but freak out.”

“Understandable.”

“It’s my first time out in the field.” 

“I know.”

“What if something happens?”

You roll your eyes. “I would be more surprised if something didn’t happen, Jisung.”

His head shoots up. The color drains from his face. His pouty lips part a few times like he’s trying to find the right words to say. 

“But I’m prepared for it, Jisung.” You lean forward, mirroring his posture and take his hands between yours. “I’m prepared to take care of whatever pops up to keep you safe, okay?”

His jaw clenches and he stares deeply into his eyes. The hands in yours are so warm in stark contrast to your always-cold ones. 

“And if anything terrible happens then I’ll do whatever it takes to get you out of it. Trust in me, okay? I have to take care of KDOI’s resident nerd, after all.”

“Resident nerd…” he scoffs.

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Did I ever tell you what happened on my first mission with Minho?”

Jisung shakes his head. 

“It was supposed to be easy! The intel that KDOI had gotten was that there was going to be a large drug exchange somewhere in the States, Minho was sent with me. And my lord, our intel was off.”

Thinking about the memory makes you giggle to this day. 

“It was an international, high profile cartel that Bang has been trying to nail down for years. Well, during a small scout, I got my ass captured. I wasn’t watching my six like I should’ve.”

Jisung’s eyes widen. Obviously, he wasn’t told about this. It’s not like you enjoy flaunting the story around. 

“I had a gun to the back of my head, the leader of the cartel was screaming for Minho to come out from where he was hiding or he’d kill me. God, I’ve never been so afraid in my life. My first assignment and I already had a gun to my skull.

“Minho, being the amazing agent he is, found the right vantage point and took the guy out. I was able to evade the crossfire after that, but honestly those bullets weren’t what scared me, it was the idea that Minho was disappointed in me.”

He was the agent you looked up to the most after all. He was the one that all these great stories and tales were all about. Minho was the harrowing hero of KDOI who was able to ace every mission handed to him. 

“But he didn’t even say anything about it. Even when I apologized over and over again, he just shrugged and said it was part of the job. And I get it now. It is just part of the job. So don’t worry, okay?”

Jisung swallows once, chin dipping down with a stiff nod. He turns his hands around in yours to grasp your fingers. 

A playful smirk creeps up on his face. “I can’t believe it…”

Your head cocks to the side and you watch him closely. He’s studying your manicured nails, his thumbs swipe over the digits softly. It’s a tender movement. 

“What?” you ask. 

“I can’t believe how in love with me you are.”

You rip your hands out of his and swat forward just as fast. 

With a barking laugh, he moves out of the way of your slap. You swing again and again, each time his laughter gets louder and louder. 

“First last night, now this? Are you going to propose to me next?”

You know this is just his way of evading thinking about how scared he is, but if that’s what it takes to make him feel better, you’ll allow it. If a distraction is what he needs, then you’ll give it to him. 

“Love hurts!” he cries out when you land a solid smack on his arm. “They were right!”

“It’s going to kill you, that’s what it’s going to do.”

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

By the time you and Jisung get to the convention center and check into the hotel it’s nearing seven at night. The gala isn’t being held until tomorrow, so you both have some time to relax and settle in. 

It leaves Jisung plenty of time to set up everything he needs inside your hotel room.

You both checked in without a hitch, getting your keys and practically falling into the room. Jet Lag is pulling your eyelids shut and weighing down on your chest like an elephant.

Flicking the lights on, you blink your bleary eyes a few times, staring down at the large bed sitting in the middle of your hotel room. 

One king sized bed.

You’d love to say this hasn’t happened before but you never know what to expect on missions. There have been places where there’s been one bed, two beds, bunk beds , and even separate bedrooms once or twice. 

On one occasion Hyunjin slept on the floor since you were only given one twin sized bed and you were not about to share that tiny space with the man who likes to spread out all of his limbs and hog the blanket at the same time.

So, at this point, you don’t even care if there’s only one bed.

You shrug it off and plop your bag next to the dresser and let your body fall back onto the plush mattress with an ‘oof!’

Jisung, on the other hand, hovers around the doorway, both hands still gripping the two rolling suitcases full of his equipment. “I can sleep on the pull out couch,” he says thickly.

“Ji, it’s fine, we can share a bed, we’re both adults here,” you tease him. “As long as you don’t put your cold feet on me, I don’t care.”

“I don’t have cold feet,” he grumbles and wheels his suitcases towards the small table on the other side of the room. 

You let your eyes slide shut on the bed. The gentle hum of the air conditioner already lulling your brain to sleep. With how exhausted you are, it wouldn’t take much for you to give into the pull anyway. 

Jisung opens up the suitcases and starts unloading every piece of technology that he has brought with him. Various wires and computer parts thud against the wood of the table. 

He stops for a second.

“And how would you know if I did have cold feet?”

A laugh is punched from your chest at the abrupt question. It’s a deep belly laugh. “Let’s just say there is a loose lipped agent among us.”

Jisung pauses. “Minho said he wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“He wasn’t going to until I started teasing him about his purchase of fuzzy socks.”

“You were with him when he bought those?”

“I helped him choose between two different pairs.” You crack one eye open to look at him. “The purple pair was my idea.”

Jisung groans and slides his laptop open, the typing on his keys is a lot more aggressive. You giggle again at his outward display of frustration.  

You let your eyes close again, listening to him shuffle his things around the wooden table muttering in between movements about how his feet aren’t that cold, they’re just colder than the rest of his body. 

An easy smile finds its way on your face and you listen to his quiet ramblings until sleep finally washes over your tired mind. 

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

“You were right,” Jisungs voice says in your earpiece. “Room service is fucking awesome.”

A waiter with a tray full of champagne flutes passes by, you grab one as he strides by your side. 

“I told you,” you say quietly while bringing the glass up to your lips to take a sip. “What did you order?”

“I think the better question is what didn’t I order.” His mouth sounds full when he answers you. 

He’s up on the 14th floor of the convention hall while you’re downstairs at the gala in a sleek, red silk dress. Your hair and makeup done exquisitely well, beautiful silver heels match the diamond jewelry adorning your skin. 

You blend right in to everyone around you. 

“I heard that their oysters are fantastic.”

“I think that’s part of what I ordered.” You can hear several dishes being pushed around. “Yep, right here. Although, they don’t look as appetizing as I thought.”

“They’re not really a lounge snack.”

“For rich people they are.”

The mission started about an hour ago when you made your way into the main event hall. The auction for the painting is going to begin in about another hour. 

Your first task of the night is to locate the painting before the auction and place a minuscule tracking device on it to locate later once it’s sold. 

There was only one way you knew to get close enough to The Refuge. 

“Oh. Three tables back to your 8 is your first target of the night, X.”

Paternino ‘Pink Panther’ Cardi. One of the Ice Crows inner circle members. He can’t resist swiping whatever paintings he can get his grimy fingers on; but, he also can’t resist bragging to an attractive woman. 

You turn nonchalantly to find him already eyeing you up with dark eyes. 

He’s your typical mafia member. In fact, if you had to draw a cartoon of a mobster, it would look like Paternino. 

You hold his searing eye contact while taking another sip from your champagne. The mobster lowers his chin and lets his tongue dart out to lick his lips. 

At first, seduction wasn’t a part of the job you particularly excelled at. But after doing it for so long, it comes naturally. 

Batting your lashes, you smirk at him and then turn to walk towards his table, your hips swaying in the process. Maybe you exaggerate your movements a bit, but it has the exact effect you need on Paternino. 

He’s sitting at a large round booth all by himself, legs spread wide in a show-of-power manner. A large swig of whiskey is taken out of his glass before you get to him. 

“Don’t you know that a beautiful woman such as yourself deserves a better drink than the venue provided champagne?” He motions to the booth seat next to him. 

You place your glass on the table and slide gracefully next to him. The effort you put into this is going to need to be quick, you don’t have long to locate the painting. 

“And I suppose a handsome man like yourself knows just what to order a woman like me?” Your voice is coy and seductively low. 

In your ear, you hear Jisung take a tiny, shaky breath. Does he know the intercom is still activated on his end?

Paternino slides towards you a bit more so now you can smell the expensive cologne wafting off him. It’s almost too overpowering. 

“A woman like you, hm?” He rests his arm on the booth behind your shoulders, lifting one hand to signal a waiter to come by. “Look into my eyes, let me see if I can guess your drink of choice.”

You rest your chin on top of your folded hands, your elbows resting on the table. His eye contact is intense and vivid, it makes your skin crawl. 

Paternino hums again. “A sapphire martini.”

“Nope,” Jisung says with a chuckle. 

You give a tiny, fake gasp. “How did you know?”

“I know a woman with taste when I see her.” He takes another swig of his whiskey while staring at you. “A sapphire martini for the lady.”

There must have been a waiter next to the table. You fight the urge to turn and look, instead opting to look at Paternino through your lashes. 

“Your turn, Beautiful. Why don’t you make an assumption about me?”

“I assume you’re an asshole with a tiny dick.”

Humming, you scoot even closer to Paternino, your fingers come up and walk up his chest to come around his tie. 

“I think,” you whisper lowly, coming closer to his own face, forcing your eyes to look down at his lips for a split second then back up at his eyes. “That you’re a powerful man around here, and that you don’t take no for an answer.”

His lips curl up in a cocky smirk. The arm that was previously on the booth, comes around your shoulders. His fingers feel clammy on your exposed skin. 

“Very observant, my lady. Anything else?”

The sound of a glass being delicately placed reaches your ears. You reach out and grab the martini glass without looking, bringing it closer to you.

“No, no, it’s your turn.”

He smiles. You’re so close to his face you can hear his exhales, smell the whiskey on his breath. 

You sip your own martini. God, it’s awful. You hate martinis. 

Paternino slides a finger underneath the spaghetti strap of your dress. “I think you would look gorgeous without this in the way.” He tugs on the strap. 

“Zero out of ten. Horrible pick up line. Try again.”

Jisung’s snarky words in your ear are oddly calming to your racing heart. He keeps bringing you down to Earth.

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing about your clothes.” You tug his tie. “The auction doesn’t start for some time. How about you show me somewhere private we can go and we can see if both of us are right.”

“Uuuuggghhhhhhh…”  

“I like that idea, I know just the place, Beautiful.” Paternino slides out of the booth and holds out his hand, which you grab a hold of gingerly to stand up and be led away from the main gala floor. 

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

It takes five minutes for Paternino to lead you to the room where The Refuge is being stored. It only takes you ten seconds to knock him out cold with one solid hit to the back of the head. 

His body hits the ground like a sack of potatoes in the dark storage room. 

“Fucking finally,” Jisung groans in your ear. 

“Sorry, it was the only way I knew to get back here.”

“That was torture, X. I’m never doing this again.”

You roll your eyes and pick up Paternino’s ragdolling body under the arms, dragging him across the room and stuffing him inside a storage closet with his arms and legs tied together and duct tape over his mouth. 

“Now, which one is The Refuge?” you mutter looking around at all the art around the room. There’s sculptures, painting, glass blown pieces, everything you would see in a museum. 

“I wonder if The Refuge is the only stolen thing in here?” 

Sighing, you walk around the room, trying to recognize anything. “Probably not. But it’s the only one we know about.”

You find the painting eventually sitting at the very back of the room covered by a large sheet. When you walk up to it, you take your earring out of your ear and slide the back off— which is where you were keeping the tracker. 

You tuck the tracker in the back of the painting between the canvas in the wood. It wouldn’t slip out nor would anyone notice. 

“Perfect.”

“I can see it on the map still, you’re all good. Now get out of there.”

“Anyone coming on the cams?”

“No, you’re clear.”

You take your other earring out and throw it in the garbage can by the door. They were fake anyway and you don’t feel like looking like a freak with one in. 

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

When you returned to the event hall, people were taking their seats for the auction, so you followed suit. Grabbing another drink from the bar before you sat down. 

“Vodka tonic?”

“Always,” you say under your breath. 

You watch the bartender make your drink with close eyes. 

Now you just needed to wait until the auction was over to get the painting back. Your job was half over. 

Through the earpiece, you can hear knocks on Jisung’s hotel room door. 

“More room service?”

“I… I didn’t order anything.”

Alarm bells go off in your mind. “Don’t answer it.”

Jisung stays silent for a few moments. You’re no longer watching the bartender, you’re focusing intently on what you can hear in your ear. 

“J.” You state, trying to get an update from him. 

“I think they’re gone.”

Before you can even think about being relaxed there’s a loud bang on the other side of the intercom and Jisung shrieks from surprise. 

“X! X, they’re in the room! X!” His voice shouts into your ear. 

You’re already running out of the event hall, your dress hiked up in your hands.

“J, there’s a gun strapped to the bottom of the table, use it!”

You can hear gruff voices screaming at Jisung not to move, that they’d kill him if he even twitched a muscle. 

“X, there’s five of them.” He whispers quietly. 

“J, listen to me, stay calm, I’ll be there in five minutes.” You burst through the stairwell and start climbing two at a time, even in your heels. The elevator would’ve taken too long. “Do what you need to stay alive, fuck the assignment. Stay alive.”

“X.” It’s a whimper and it stabs you through the heart. The yelling gets louder and louder. 

Jisung begs for mercy. You can hear the desperation in his voice, it pushes your legs to move faster and faster up the stairs. 

“Si—“

The earpiece goes dead after a gunshot. 

Your knees wobble and you lose your momentum. 

Oh my god, no, fuck, please. 

Reaching out, you grab the railing to keep your balance on one of the landings. 

“J?” you scream. “J, can you hear me?”

Nothing. Not a single voice comes through. Not even static.

Maybe they just shot the equipment. That has to be it. They didn’t shoot him. They wouldn’t. Right?

You steel your nerves and launch yourself up the remaining steps. By the time you reach the 14th floor, you’re not even winded. 

The long hallway is colder than the stairwell. You take off sprinting towards your room, sharply rounding the few corners that you come across. Right before your own stretch of hallway, you slow down to a walk. It kills you but you have to do it. 

In the distance, right in front of your room, you see two large men in black suits standing guard. They take notice of you immediately. 

“What are you doing up here, ma’am?” One asks as you walk closer. 

“My room is up here, honey.” 

He looks to his partner and then back at you. “Turn around and walk the other way.”

“Why?” you ask, only about ten feet away. 

“Just do it, sweet cheeks.”

Your eyebrow cocks and before he can react, you walk up and throw a sharp right hook into his jaw. The bone in his face cracks and he stumbles down onto the ground. 

His partner yells in surprise and starts fumbling for his gun. When his hand raises to shoot you, you grab his arm and aim his weapon down so when he discharges it, it shoots right into his partner. 

Then, you pull his arm so he falls forward into you. You swing the heel of your palm upwards right into his nose. With your free hand, you reach down and grab the tiny pistol that was strapped to your thigh. 

Before the second goon could recover, you shoot him right in the head. 

The sound of gunshots obviously alerted the remaining three gang members in the room. Two of them come barreling out into the hallway with their weapons drawn. 

Immediately, you shoot the first one in the head, he hits the ground before he even knows what hit him. The other gang member yelps in shock before you shoot him too. 

Within two minutes there are four bodies in the hallway.

Carefully, you walk into your hotel room, keeping your back against the wall and your gun cocked.

“Shut the fuck up,” a gruff voice says roughly. 

Jisung said there were five of them. The fifth must be the one holding him hostage.

Quietly, you inch closer and closer to the corner of the wall. Once you turn around, he’ll be right in front of you. 

You gulp and take one deep breath before coming around the corner, gun pointed forward. 

“I wouldn’t if I were you.” That same deep voice calls out. 

Your heart drops. 

Another typical looking crook is pointing his gun at the closed wardrobe doors in the corner of the room. 

Where is Jisung? Where is he? Is he in the wardrobe? He has to be inside the wardrobe. 

“Why don’t you drop the gun, sweetie.” The mobster says darkly. 

You stay still with the gun pointed at him despite his words. The trigger seems to burn your finger. It's aching to be pulled. 

Is Jisung in the wardrobe? Is he in there and you can’t see him?

Or is this guy trying to pull a fast one on you to get you to drop your weapon? 

Fuck, is Jisung in the wardrobe?

“I said drop the fucking gun.” He moves to pull the hammer back of his own pistol and you don’t hesitate even for a second. 

You pull your own trigger. 

He drops to the ground with a bullet wound directly in his head. 

You sprint across the room and rip open the wardrobe doors. 

Empty. 

It’s empty. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you repeat under your breath frantically. You blink your eyes over and over again hoping that he would suddenly appear. 

You even go so far as to open and close the wardrobe door three more times, each time more frantic. 

“Fuck!”

Where the fuck is he if he’s not inside this room? 

The equipment on the table has a bullet hole through Jisung’s main laptop but no blood anywhere near it. But his glasses are. They’re lying on the floor with a crack through one of the lenses. 

Did they move him to another location? He doesn’t have a tracker on him like you do.

With a yell of anguish, you turn and kick the dead mobster at your feet. His limp body rolls over and his jacket pocket falls open. 

A hotel room key tucked inside the pocket catches your attention. You crouch down and pick it up.

‘1833’ is written on the back of the key.

It’s not a great lead, but your legs are running out of your hotel room before you even think twice. Obviously they moved him somewhere else to lead you into their trap and it didn’t work. Not with how well you were trained. 

You burst through the door leading to the 18th floor, heeled shoes sprinting down the hallway towards where room 1833 would be.

As soon as you’re in front of the door, you click the hammer back of your gun and hold it out in front of you, swiping the key in the handle with your free hand.

The lock clicks open and you push the handle down slowly, trying to cause the least amount of noise as possible. All of the lights are off inside of the hotel room, save for one lamp. The yellow glow radiates on the wall.

There’s no noise.

Everything is completely silent save for the quiet hum of the air conditioning pumping through the room.

Until you hear a sniffle, a huff, and then another sniffle. 

Inching across the floor, you slide your back against the wall like you did previously, listening for any more key sounds that would alert you that there are more people inside the room.

Taking one last deep breath, you round the corner and point your gun forward.

Even in the dark you know exactly what you’re seeing. 

In the middle of the room stood Han Jisung; his hands tied together with a rope coming from the ceiling, a blindfold around his eyes and earplugs shoved into his ears. From here you can see the wetness from his tears being absorbed by the blindfold. There’s a gag tied around his mouth muffling tiny sobs.

You don’t allow yourself to fall victim to false security, you look around the room closely, making sure no one else is lying in wait for you to fall into yet another trap. 

No other soul is inside this hotel room with you.

Dropping the gun onto the bed, you cross the room towards Jisung as quickly as possible.

He must sense another presence in front of him, his entire body stiffens and another louder sob is swallowed by the gag. He backs up away from you as much as his restraints allowed– which was next to nothing.

“Jisung,” you say in relief. “Oh god.”

Without thinking twice about it, you reach around and brush your hand on his lower back, scratching twice. 

Jisung’s chest heaves with another sob, even through the gag in his mouth, you can hear him whimper your name. His entire body relaxes and he falls towards you, the ties on his hands tugging even more. 

You reach up and yank the gag out of his mouth. 

“X,” he rasps with a dry tongue. “Oh my god please say it’s you. I-I can’t hear anything— fuck, Jesus. Thank god you’re alive, oh god.”

You scratch his lower back again, looking at the restraints. How the fuck were you going to untie that knot? 

Jisung’s tongue darts out to lick at his dry lips. His weight leans into you as much as he can. It must’ve been horrifying to be tied up like this, he couldn't hear or see or scream for help. 

Gingerly, you reach up and cup both of his cheeks so as not to startle him. Even with how gentle you were, he still jumps in shock. 

“Everything happened so fast,” he rambled. “They shot out the laptop so the communicator was fried. Next thing I knew I had a bag over my head and I was being tied up.”

Using your fingers, you push the blindfold up his face to rest around his forehead. 

Jisung’s big, brown eyes blink and squint a bit before focusing on you. He searches all over your face, taking in every detail as if you’re a glass of water and he’s been crawling through the desert. 

His eyebrows pinch together and he gulps. 

“God, I’m always glad to see you, but now I’m really glad.”

You laugh under your breath, the stress from just the last thirty minutes alone lifting off your shoulders. 

He’s okay. 

Jisung is okay. 

Using your hands, you wipe the tear tracks off his puffy cheeks. God, he must’ve been horrified.��

He’s probably never going to go out into the field again. You look up at the restraints, analyzing the knot closely. You’re going to have to cut him down, there’s no way you’re untying that. He’s secured to a pipe that runs across the entirety of the ceiling. 

“You know,” Jisung starts. His voice already has that teasing tilt to it. “If you wanted me tied up this badly, all you had to do was ask, baby.”

Your eyebrows twitches. Mr. Humor-Is-My-Coping-Mechanism decides to show his face now of all times, huh? 

Slowly, you look down from his restrained wrists to his dark eyes. A smirk is already plastered on his face, his lips still wet from licking them.

“You must want me so bad, hm?”

With your own crooked smile, you tongue your cheek and make a ‘huh’ noise, it puffs through your chest. That’s how he wants to be, huh?

He can stay tied up for a little longer then. It’s not like anyone’s coming into this room nor do you have anything to do until after the auction. 

Really, you have nothing but time to kill!

You take a step backwards away from him and cross your arms over your chest.

His eyes widen when you distance yourself from him. “Wh…” His cheeks puff a bit as his lips purse in confusion. Jisung tugs on the rope still around his wrists. 

You cock your head to the side and stare at him with one lifted brow. 

The bed behind you dips down under your weight as you sit down on the edge. It gives you a perfect vantage point to watch Jisung grow more and more confused as to why you’re not cutting him down yet. 

Slowly, his ears start turning red, the flush crawls across his face and down his neck, disappearing into his black hoodie. 

“X,” he says hoarsely. “Aren’t you going to cut me down?”

You shrug, knowing no matter what you say, he’s not going to hear you. If he wants to tease you, you can tease right back. 

The gun on the bed beside you is picked up in your hand. You nonchalantly click the safety on and toss it to the side again.

He tugs even harder, the ropes chafing his wrists a bit. You watch as JIsung’s Adam’s Apple bobs with a gulp. The blindfold is pushing his bangs up in wild directions.

The helpless look on his face shouldn’t be making your blood pump this way. Excitement shouldn’t be tingling at the base of your spine from the power trip you’re getting from this. This is only teasing between two best friends, nothing more. 

It’s just teasing, right?

Right?

You cross one leg over the other, leaning back on your hands. The plush blanket underneath your fingertips feels cool and soft. It’s a complete contrast to the way your skin is heating up under Jisung’s desperate gaze.

“Aren’t you going to…” he trails off. Several times his eyes flick from yours down to your exposed leg. When you had crossed them, due to the slit up your dress, the entirety of your leg was exposed to the cool hotel room air.

“Going to what?” you ask him, exaggerating the movements of your mouth for him to understand. 

Jisung gulps again while watching your lips. He squints his eyes closed and tries to take a steadying breath in through his nose, his chin tilts back a bit.

You allow your gaze to wander down his body a bit. He’s always in relaxed clothing, including now. An oversized black hoodie draped over his shoulders with gray sweatpants on his bottom half.

Gray sweatpants that you now notice seem a little… tight .

Oh.

It seems as though you’re not the only one whose thoughts seem to be a bit… derailed. 

When you look back up at Jisung, he’s staring at you with slightly glassy eyes and a heaving chest. Nervously, his tongue comes out to lick his drying lips again. 

A tight band of tension stretches between the two of you; you can practically feel it connecting your bodies together. The hair on the back of your neck stands up.

Is he thinking the same thing you are? Is he allowing his mind to wander the way that yours is?

Slowly, you uncross your legs and stand up from the edge of the bed. 

Big brown eyes flick down to watch the movement absentmindedly, his lips part and a shaky exhale leaves them. 

Your hips sway from side to side with each slow step you take towards Jisung. 

The eye contact he makes with you is sharp; his thoughts being conveyed through them. He wants you, and he wants you bad. It’s like he’s practically begging for it with those brown puppy dog eyes. 

And you’ll be damned because you want it just as bad. 

There’s only so much of his teasing that you can take. Only so much desire the dam within your heart can take before it bursts. And right now, with how high your adrenaline has spiked, nothing is stopping you.

The last two years of nonstop flirting is taking its toll on your self control.

Licking your own lips, you look up at Jisung, a shaky breath coming out afterwards.

Your fingers come up and grab the blindfold that’s still around his forehead and tug it back down over his eyes.

“ Fuck, ” Jisung murmurs. Your face is so close to his you can physically feel the words splay out onto your own lips. 

With the gentleness of a butterfly landing on a flower, you brush your lips against his. Jisung immediately brings his face closer to yours, smashing your mouths together even more. 

A sensation you can’t quite describe washes over you. It has the same level of completeness that you had felt when you became a full-fledged agent; like you just did something that the universe has been waiting for you to do.

His pouty lips start moving against yours faster and faster with more urgency, like he can’t get enough of you, like he’s experiencing the same emotions that you are. Were you the piece he always needed too?

Both of your hands begin to explore. You cup his cheek with one while the other grabs at the front of his hoodie. He’s leaning into you so much that the ropes holding his wrists squeak as they tighten and rub.

With a teasing smirk against his mouth, you take a tiny step back. This way he wasn’t able to reach your lips but could still feel the heat from your body in front of him. 

A tiny whine leaves his throat as soon as you pull away. You watch as his lips chase after you just to be stopped by the ropes.

“Y/N,” he whispers, pleading. You lightly tap his cheek twice.

Pulling the collar of his hoodie to the side, you let your mouth hover over his neck. 

Since he doesn’t have sight or hearing, all of his other senses are on high alert. Jisung feels your warm exhales so close to his skin and squirms around, little noises leaving the back of his throat. 

You tease him more and more by letting your deep breaths fan over his flushed skin but never actually letting your lips actually meet with his neck.

Jisung pulls and pulls on the restraints, each exhale driving him insane. 

When your lips finally meet his neck, a long mewl exits his own wet mouth. His head tilts to the side to give you more access. Greedily, you let your mouth explore his soft skin. 

His hips buck forward into yours, his hard length grinding into your hip to bring himself some relief. Jisung whines again at the sensation.

At the same time, you open your mouth and suck down where his shoulder meets his neck. His body tenses up and his head tilts back in pleasure.

“Jesus, fuck,” he curses, grinding into your hip once again. “Oh, god. Shit– please, fuck, Y/N.” His incoherent babbling only increases in pitch and frequency the more you run your tongue up and down his neck, never going lower than the collar of his hoodie would pull or higher than his jawline. 

You let your free hand travel up to thread in his soft, chocolate brown locks of hair. You scratch at his scalp a few times, letting your nails drag along his head. A low moan emanates deep within Jisung’s chest, it almost sounds like a purr. His head leans back into your touch. 

“Oh my god,” he murmurs. Every noise that comes out of his mouth is louder than you expect thanks to the earplugs. “Y/N, please– oh fuck , kiss me again, please, oh my god, please, Y/N.”

Pulling away from his neck, you capture his lips in the middle of his babbling. The rest of his words are swallowed by your own mouth. His tongue darts out from his mouth to lick at your lips and coax yours forward.

Your own moans slip between kisses, Jisung can feel the vibrations against his mouth and they drive him absolutely wild. His hands ball up into fists; he wants to touch you so bad. 

“Y/N,” he says your name in between kisses. “Please, c-cut me down.” Your kisses travel down to his jawline. “I want to– Fu-huh-huck! ” You bite down on his neck harshly, sucking a bright purple hickey underneath it. 

Jisung rolls his hips into yours. You can feel how absolutely rock hard his cock is through his sweats. 

“N-Need to touch you. Hah! I’m going insane, Y/N.”

Begs sound so good coming from his lips. 

You run your hands down his chest to tease at the hem of his hoodie before sliding them underneath the fabric and up his bare chest. The muscle that greets you underneath it is a pleasant surprise.

The hard lines of his abs and chest run along the pads of your fingertips. He flexes and tenses under your touch.

Jisung throws his head back with a groan, his weight shifts around on his feet. It feels so fucking good . Every single touch to his body is heaven sent. 

At the top of his chest, you curl your fingers and rake your nails down his skin.

The wail that tears from his throat makes your heart rate pick up ten fold. It sends a lightning bolt of pleasure through your body. 

“Oh my god, please do that again! ” Jisung begs, his mouth hanging open as he pants over and over again. It seems like he can’t catch his breath. 

Who were you to deny him?

With a featherlight touch, you let your fingers trail up, up, up his body. The closer you got to the top, the faster Jisung’s breathing picks up. 

Right before you curled your fingers again, you smash your lips together in another searing kiss. When you claw down his quickly reddening skin, his cry is swallowed up by your own mouth.

You don’t stop your fingers on their downward descent, you tease the waistband of his sweats, letting your fingers curl around the top of the band and touching the taut skin underneath.

“Ah, hah.” Jisung pants into your mouth. He leans forward and sucks on your bottom lip, pulling it back for it to snap against your teeth. “I want to touch you so bad, Y/N, please .”

“Be patient,” you say against his lips. He doesn’t hear it, but he feels it. A pathetic whine responds to your words. 

You kiss his lips a few more times before dropping down to your knees in front of him. 

“Holy shit,” he breathes out. “Oh god, oh my god.”

You grab his legs with both of your hands starting at the knees and run them up his thighs, taking your time on your ascent. 

“Fuck, fuck , this is really happening.” Jisung gulps. He pulls harder and harder on the ropes. 

When your hands reach the top of his thighs, you run one closer and palm his erection over the top of his sweats. A deep, guttural moan is Jisung’s only response. Even through his sweats you can feel how his cock twitches in your grasp.

His hips buck into your hand when you squeeze him. “F-Fuck, I– Oh god– This is really happening and I can’t even fucking see it .”

You smirk. Maybe you should show him a small bit of mercy. Just a small amount. 

Leaning forward, you kiss his cock over his sweatpants. Jisung gasps and twitches again.

You stand up quickly, coming nose to nose with him. Your hands come up to cup his cheeks, they’re so warm from his flushed face.

“Y-Y/N,” he gasps. You peck his lips, letting them linger on his while your hands come up to his ears to take the plugs out. “Y/N,” he repeats on your lips.

“Hi, Jisung,” you breathe against his mouth before kissing him again, letting the earplugs drop to the ground.

You don’t linger for too long, you kiss down his face, down his neck, and then you fall to your knees once more.

“Jesus, Y/N.” 

You don’t tease him too much this time, you grab the waistband of his pants and tug them down, his rock hard cock finally coming out. His tip is red and angry. God, how can a dick look so pretty? 

Just as quickly as you got his cock out of his pants, you wrap your hand around him, pumping your hand up and down slowly. 

“Ohhhh my goood,” Jisung mewls. His thighs tense up and flex each time you stroke up and down. “Fuck yeah, Y/N. God, your hands are so fucking soft.”

You tighten your grip and Jisung whines. 

“Yeah? Does that feel good, baby?”

His cock twitches in your hand at the nickname at the same time a tiny whine escapes his throat.

“Does it?”

“Y-Yes,” he answers shyly.

“Louder, Jisung.”

“Yes, it feels good!”

“Good boy.” Without warning, you lean forward and take the entirety of him inside your mouth.

You can feel his knees buckle and if it wasn’t for the restraints keeping him suspended from the ceiling, he probably would’ve fallen to the ground. 

“Oh, oh m-my, f-fuck, Y/N!”

You’re relentless. You bob your head back and forth on his dick, letting your tongue swirl around the tip when you come up just to go back down and swallow him completely. Jisung’s hands are balled into such tight fists that his knuckles are turning white.

So many different pitches of whines, moans, and groans fall so easily from his lips. Compliments come out in between each one. 

“So good,” he cries. “I can’t fucking– holy shit.”

In some part of your mind, you always knew he would be vocal during sex– but never this vocal. He hasn’t shut up once. Not that you’re complaining, quite the opposite really. You fucking love every single noise that he makes. Each one sends a shock down between your legs. 

Too often you’ve been with partners that conceal how you’re making them feel, but not anymore. Jisung is making sure you know exactly how well you’re doing. 

“Such a perfect mouth, oh god. So fucking warm.”

You let your hand travel up his hoodie again, his abs are clenching and releasing over and over again with how hard he’s panting, you can feel each one under your hands. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” he pants as your hand goes up. “Fucking hurt me, yeah, please, scratch me, Y/N.”

God, the way he’s talking to you is fucking sinful. It’s perfect .

You scratch down his chest just as harshly as you did twice previously. 

Again, Jisung lets out a wail, his hips bucking and fucking his cock down your throat. You gag around him but keep him down your throat regardless.

“I-I-I’m gunna, holy shit, Y/N, I’m g’na– g’na—”

Now, you can’t have that yet, can you?

Quickly, you pull off his cock, letting yourself take a gulp of air. 

Jisung cries out from his ruined orgasm. “No! Shit! Fuck! Why?”

You look around the room while he throws his mini temper tantrum. There’s a small kitchen off to the side of the suite. 

As if you have nothing better to do, you meander over to it, looking around. 

“Y/N?” Jisung asks, hearing you walk away.

“Hm?” you respond.

“W-Where did you go?”

“Still here, baby, why?”

He shifts around, pulling on the ropes. The red color on his ears is getting deeper and deeper. “Just um– Why did you leave?”

You giggle. “Looking for something.”

You open one of the drawers, close it, then open another until you find what you’re looking for. It glints and catches your eye in the third drawer you check. You pick up the knife that was inside the drawer.

You’re walking back in his direction with the knife in your hand.

“D-Did you find what you needed?”

“Yep.”

With frightening grace, you reach up and slice the ropes holding his wrists in the air.

He almost drops to the ground, but you grab a hold of him before he has a chance to fall into the carpet. 

Jisung wastes no time, he grabs at your waist with both of his hands. Through the silk fabric of your dress, you feel the heat of his touch. It scorches into your skin and you wish he would brand his very handprints there.

His lips are already on yours again, feverishly kissing you as if you would disappear if he stopped even for a moment. He takes one second to rip the blindfold off his eyes and then he’s back on your mouth.

The hands on your waist don’t stay there long. They run all along your figure, up in your hair, over your neck, grabbing your ass, gripping your hips, he’s everywhere. 

You back up a bit, pulling Jisung with you until the back of your legs are about to hit the bed. Quickly, you spin the two of you around, pushing his chest so that he falls back onto the bed. 

When Jisung finally blinks the confusion from his eyes, his breath catches in his throat at the sight of you at the foot of the bed. 

You’re looking at him like you’re about to devour his very soul. Your hair is frizzy and tousled, the straps of your dress falling off your shoulders, your lipstick smudged over your puffy, kiss swollen lips.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he murmurs. His fingers curl into the blanket.

You straddle his legs and crawl onto the bed, hiking the skirt of your dress up enough for Jisung to see the strong muscle of your thighs. 

“There’s no way I’m awake right now,” he whispers, hands grabbing at your bare legs and running them up to push your dress further up your body. “I must have been shot. I’m in Heaven right now.”

With a sultry chuckle, you cup his cheek and let your thumb swipe over his lips. “I’m real, baby.”

“Oh my god.”

You reach down and take a hold of his cock, pumping him up and down a few more times. Jisung moans and fights for his eyes to stay open, he can’t get enough of the sight of your hand wrapped around him.

With your other hand, you reach down and pull your panties to the side, revealing your dripping cunt. 

“Holy fuck, you’re so wet,” Jisung whines. His fingers run up your folds, collecting your wetness on his digits and bringing them up to his mouth. He moans around his own fingers at your taste, his eyes rolling back in his skull. “Please, I need to–”

You cut him off by squeezing his cock. “Next time. I need you now .”

“Yes, ma’am,” he squeaks out. 

As if he would ever complain.

You line his cock up with your entrance, Jisung grabs your hips with both of his hands, his thumbs pressing against the bone so hard. His breathing is getting faster and faster with each passing second.

Slowly, you sink down on his cock.

Both of you moan out in unison. The stretch feels fucking marvelous inside of you. Jisung’s eyes roll back in his head once more. 

His moans dissolve into silence as his mouth stretches open in an ‘O’. He throbs inside you right before you lift your hips just to drop them again. 

“Oh god,” you moan. “Jisung, you feel so fucking good.”

“Move, please ,” he begs and you bounce up and down again and again. Each time you drop down, it shoots pleasure down through your thighs and into your toes.

You grab his face and smash his lips with yours once more. His tongue immediately finds yours. 

Jisung’s hands wander from your hips all the way around your body to grip your ass while you ride him, his fingers dig into the flesh, kneading it with each bounce. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he murmurs into your mouth. “Pussy so fucking tight.”

“Just for you.”

“O-Oh, fuck yeah . Just like that, baby.”

Jisung pulls away from your lips to kiss down your neck the way you did to him earlier. He takes his hands off your ass to pull the straps of your dress down your arms for your breasts to fall out of the top.

“Shit, baby,” he whines before taking a nipple in his mouth.

Moaning, you pull his hair tighter, keeping his face buried in your chest– not that he seems to mind. His eyebrows pinch together, moans vibrating against your chest as he licks and sucks at your nipple.

His other hand comes up to pinch and pull at the other. Each tweak and flick of his tongue makes your walls clamp down on his cock.

“Your cock feels so good, Jisung,” you moan, clenching on him again. “Stretching me so good, so fucking big.”

He moans, sucking a hickey on the underside of one of your tits. 

The pitch of both of your moans begin to get higher and higher the closer you get to your peaks. Jisung’s heels dig into the carpet and he starts fucking up into you.

“Fuck!” you cry out, holding him tighter. His thrusts are so much wilder than your bounces were. Each one fucks right into your g-spot. “Ji– Jisung, oh god!”

“Yeah?” He pulls away from your chest and looks up at you with half lidded eyes. “Does that feel good? Am I making you feel good?”

“Yes, yes! Keep going, Ji!”

Every single thrust is driving you wild. Everything about him makes you feel crazy, everything down to the sweat beading on his forehead.

He reaches down and presses his thumb against your clit, making you cry out. He rubs circles in the same tempo as his thrusts. 

Closer and closer you approach your own climax, his touch feels too good.

Jisung looks down, watching where his cock disappears inside you over and over again. The very sight of it makes his mouth go dry. 

He groans and falls into your chest. 

“Say it for me, Y/N, say it,” he pants into your neck. “Say you’re close. I-I’m going to fucking bust, say you’re close, I need you to cum on my cock. Need it s-so bad.”

“I am, I am,” you repeat like a mantra. Your own pleasure is making you feel inside, his cock is abusing your walls just right, his thumb on your clit adding an extra level of insanity. 

You pull more at his hair.

Close, close, close. It’s all you can think of. Jisung is enveloping all of your senses. He’s everything in your mind and body and even your soul.

“Gunna cum!” you cry out. “Cumming, cu– cumming!”

With just three more thrusts, your walls clamp down on Jisung’s cock, triggering his own release.

“Jisung, fuck!”

He bites down on your neck, crying out and grabbing you tightly with his free hand. He clings onto you like he would die if he let go.

Hot, sticky cum drips over your walls, leaking out around his cock.

Both of you are panting heavily, unable to move and detangle yourselves from one another. 

Slowly, you release your death grip on his hair, letting your nails drag along his scalp like you did earlier. He hums against your neck, his hands finding your hips again, thumbs massaging you over your dress.

The gentleness of his touch makes you clench around him, your cunt still going through the aftershock of your orgasm.

“Jeeesus…” Jisung moans out, a bit overstimulated. You giggle and pull back to look down at your best friend. He looks up at you with a delighted smile across his face.

You giggle and continue to comb through his hair. 

His eyes fall closed happily and he leans into your touch.

This should feel awkward. You should be having some sort of ‘post-nut clarity’ where you freak out for sleeping with your best friend, but you’re not. 

Right here, right now, you feel safe and content. And your relationship with Jisung feels the same– if not better.

“I knew it,” he hums.

You cock your head to the side. “Knew what?”

“You’re obsessed with me.”

Laughing, you lean forward and press a long kiss to his lips. “Yeah.” You kiss him again. “Maybe I am.”

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

“So J was captured and tied up in another room in the convention center?” Chan asks.

You and Jisung had safely returned to Korea with The Refuge about two hours ago. And, per protocol, you both immediately went to Chan’s office for a debrief.

“Affirmative,” you answer. 

“And you got him back, obviously. No problems after that?”

“No, sir.”

Jisung shifts on his chair next to you.

“Uneventful beyond that one hiccup?”

You tongue your cheek. “Yes, sir.”

Chan eyes the two of you curiously from the other side of his desk. But, the mission was complete and everything was done. There was nothing he needed to be wary of. For now.

“Understood. I’ll read about the mission more in your reports. You’re both dismissed.”

The two of you are leaving Chan’s office with thinly veiled smirks on your faces. Just as you’re about to close the door behind you, he calls out.

“Might want to cover the hickeys next time!”

[barcaatthemoon]

bent || alexia putellas x reader ||

alexia finds you at one of your lowest points.

"(y/n), hold on, i'm coming!" alexia's voice carried throughout your apartment. she had burst through the door in a panic, nearly breaking it off of its hinges as she raced through. she was normally so reserved and careful. you froze from where you stood in your bathroom, previously having been staring at yourself trying to muster the energy to finish getting ready.

it hadn't always been so difficult for you. sure, you had your days where the weight of the world was too much for you to bear, but it had been a long time. things hadn't been bad for you since you came back. barcelona was your home again, and alexia was finally yours in all of the ways that you had once dreamed of.

everything was perfect, and yet, you still had a slip up. you woke up with years of progress undone in a single night. it hadn't been anybody's fault except for your own. alexia had offered to stay with you, as had others, and yet, you declined. you felt like you deserved to be alone, and you woke up in the morning to empty bottles scattered around your living room.

"ale, what are you doing here?" you tilted your head as you looked at your girlfriend curiously. alexia was panting as she leaned against the doorframe. you turned your body around to actually face her instead of staring at her reflection. "d-did you see them? i'm really sorry, i thought i was better. it had been years, all flushed down the drain."

"it's not your fault, mi carina. you had a bad night, it's a setback. i'm just glad that i got here before something bad happened," alexia said. she slowly moved towards you, and it wasn't until her hands clasped around yours and pulled something from your grasp that you realized you had been holding a razor. "i'll take care of you until you learn to take care of yourself."

"i don't deserve that. i'm broken, defective, a fucking mistake. i'll just do it again, and you can't answer every time i'm in hysterics," you tried to tell her. alexia wasn't having any of it, not that you were surprised. she loved you and was stubborn enough to stay with you until you started getting better.

"i will always answer when you call. it might always be immediately, but know that i'll be there for talk to you. sometimes you just have to be patient with me. please, remember to be patient." alexia looked like she wanted to cry, and you felt awful about upsetting her. you knew that wasn't what you were supposed to focus on, but it was all that you could. "you're not broken, and if you are, then i'll sit with you and help you put the pieces back together."

"what did i do to deserve you?"

"you gave me a second chance," alexia told you.

…

"you know, this place is really not big enough for the both of us." you were nervous about where alexia could go with this. you were happy with her around, and the last thing you wanted was for alexia to have realized that you were really too much for her to handle. all of her reassurance that she loved over the past week could have been for show as she waited for the right moment to drop a bomb on you. "i think we should stay at my place for a bit."

"you're leaving?" you asked with an absolutely heartbroken expression. alexia didn't live with you, so you should have seen this coming. silently, you berated yourself for being so stupid.

"only if you're coming with me. i just thought we could stay at my house for a little while. it's closer to the beach, and the tourists are finally starting to leave. oh, and no offense, but my bed is a lot more comfortable than yours. my back kind of hurts, but i didn't want to sound like i was complaining," alexia rambled.

"alexia, you're old," you laughed. alexia scoffed as she turned away from you with her arms crossed over her chest. "it's okay though, your sheets are nicer than mine. i'm honestly surprised you haven't tried replacing my bedding again yet."

"the package hasn't arrived yet. there was a delay in shipping," alexia admitted. you rolled your eyes as you got up from the couch to pack a bag to go to alexia's. "does this mean we're leaving?"

"i heard you stretch this morning. another night here, and you'd need a walker," you teased. alexia huffed and grumbled as you continued making jokes. she could pretend all she wanted that you were annoying her, but you knew how happy she was that you were joking around with her again instead of beating yourself up over the smallest of mistakes. it was a far cry from the woman who had deemed herself as a complete waste of space that alexia had seen just a few weeks ago.

[peachesandfictionalmen]

Jason Todd x best friend!paramedic!reader- gn

You always supposed you and Jason had become so close simply because your schedules synced.

You both occupied so much of the night you were bound to run into each other eventually. Sharing burgers and stories on rooftops with this man who is so gentle yet domineering to most helped to break up the graveyard shifts.

Your shared laughter broke the silence of lonely nights between calls and crimes.

The Red Hood quickly became a familiar face when he had helped you up to a rooftop or carry a patient and saved your life a dozen or so times. But you only got so close after you had to save him, hiding your identity becomes considerably harder when you’ve got a gunshot wound and a nasty concussion.

After that Jason sought out your company freely, and it started a rooftop routine that quickly turned into a friendship. Eventually Jason was cooking meals in your kitchen because he says leftovers are better than ramen every night, and having karaoke dancing parties in your living room. Spontaneous movie nights (more accurately mornings) that have your legs draped across Jason’s lap, him massaging your calves with his restless hands.

At some point Jason started being there all the time, he filled your nights and joined you the mornings that your friends couldn’t make brunch or when you both just needed the company. He became a constant comfort, the man your friends teased you about, a presence you craved when he was gone, and even though his smirk could make your stomach flip, neither of you wanted to risk your friendship to turn it into more.

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

It was one of those nights were you trudge up to your apartment at the end of a draining shift and fall straight into bed, assuming you make it that far. Swinging your front door open after fumbling with the key in the lock, the first thing you notice is the breeze that flows through the apartment. A chill going down your spine as the air hits you, you notice the open living room window. You carefully put down your work duffel, scanning the apartment with the flashlight off your belt, you find the answer to the open window.

A pair of familiar black boots, the same ones that normally end up next to your shoes at the door, give way to the rest of the familiar man, Jason, slumped over your coffee table in his currently disheveled Red Hood suit.

"hey doc" Jason lets out a grumble as he tries to move, the cuts across his body becoming more obvious as he clamors.

"careful, careful" You move to turn on the coffee table lamp before helping him get to the couch "sit, i'll grab my kit" sighing as your body wakes up from its groggy state.

Coming back to the couch you kneel in front of Jason to start with the wounds on his legs after making sure he didn't have any major injuries. "you gonna tell me what happened?" He was fine a couple of hours ago, when he'd brought you coffee between calls.

"Just a few scuffs s' all, i'm okay" He shifts on the couch at the sting of antiseptic.

"it looks like more than a few scuffs to me-" You continue to dab antiseptic into the wounds, noticing that a few might need to be stitched since their open and weeping.

"the guy was fond of knives" Jason shifts again, stiffly reaching over to push the hair out of your face. He hooks his finger behind your ear, lingering longer than necessary before leaning back. "thanks doc, i apologize for the intrusion."

You scoff lightly "Jay, you damn near live here, your hardly intruding." You finish one leg and start carefully looking over the other.

"I love you" He whispers it as casually as if he'd been asking what you wanted for dinner.

You glance up at him, startled, because you've never heard those words come from him, he's never used the word love towards anything. "love you too Jay", you try not to sound too nervous or desperate as your voice warbles with the unfamiliar phase, hands continuing to dab antiseptic at dried blood.

"no", suddenly your being hoisted up from your crouched position and into Jason's wide lap, his gun holsters digging into the side of your thighs. His calloused fingertips incline your chin so you're meeting his eyes. "i mean, I. Love. You." He punctuates each word and you're sure you've never heard him sound so scared.

Your hand settles against his chest and you feel every breath he takes. The familiar scent of leather, cologne and night air envelops you and you blink, finally responding. "I love you too"

His lips meet yours softly, like he's afraid you'll crumble. His grip on you tightens as you respond to the kiss and when your lips part from each other he lays his forehead against yours, repeating himself like the beginning of a mantra, "I love you".

[mariahcarreyyy]

Hi!!! I absolutely adore your writing!!! Could I please request prompt number 8 from the angst dialogue list for Charles Leclerc? Thank you!!!

# prompt no.8, "what do you want from me? to throw away all i've worked for?" // "all i'm asking for is your time."

mariahcarreyyy's 2k celebration announcement post

Change was something you did not lightly graze over or dismiss with a nonchalant wave of your hand. It slowly seeped inside the cracks of your monaco apartment walls, finding solace in your discomfort. But once even a portion of it was there, there was no denying its presence.

Not when the dent of Charles' curves is no longer easy to trace; yours was everpresent, wallowing and growing familiar with the ache in your bones every time you'd wake up to an cold, empty bed.

Not when, despite being allocated time off from work, Charles had let his job consume him. Nipping at his heart and head, wrapped in a frantic worry of not living up to his potential. Lately, it was as if it held greater priority than the peace you'd once been able to bring him.

He's slouched on his chair, fingers tightly wrapped around the wheel of the simulator; his movements are jerky yet cautious, risky, yet he is all but willing. Standing at the burgundy doorframe, you felt like you'd regressed to the age of a toddler—thrashing in your father's hold, begging for an ounce of attention, of care.

"Charles?"

The word drifts away, following the breeze of the opened window, swirling in the starry night sky. He does not answer. That's fine, nothing new. Your lips part to the shape of his name again, timid and picking dutifully at your fingertips. An exhasperated huff escapes his mouth, latching on to the side of his headphones and not-so-lightly placing them on the table.

With gritted teeth and a slight crane to his neck, barely allowing you to enter his peripheral vision, he mutters, "Yes, y/n?"

"Dinner's ready," you house your bottom lip between your teeth, waiting patiently for the dismissive 'not hungry right now' that would roll off his tongue in mere moments.

And Charles does not fail you or your expectations. He motions a hand to his simulator, sending you a pitiful excuse of a sorry smile that makes your palms furl into fists.

"Charles, I said—"

"I know what you said, mon amour," he sighs, and the pet name feels foreign on his tongue and bitter to your ears. "'Can't leave the sim."

Any shame you have left dwindles next to your bruised ego and non-existent dignity.

"One dinner, Charles, 'won't even take twenty minutes out of your day." Your voice is small, directed towards the back of his head, satisfaction pricking at your heart when his hands freeze, sending him crashing through the virtual track.

Desperate, do you even care anymore?

Abruptly, he stands up, arms extended on the table, to steady himself. The shift in atmosphere made you gnaw at your lip harder, and the metallic crimson made you wince. Your feet are glued to the floor.

Charles turns, standing up right to face you. He looks normal, you realize. You've been trying to figure out how to breathewithout him near you, and he looks normal.

"What do you want from me? To throw away all I've worked for?" He raises a predatory brow, malice dripping from his tongue. "Eat, y/n. I'll probably order something later, but I'm not wasting my time with—with."

He makes a vague gesture with his hand.

With you, is left unspoken.

"All I'm asking for is your time." You meet his hard stare and refrain from cowering at the sight. "But it's obvious you don't give a fuck to at least give me that."

You don't run, but you'd never walked so frantically out of a room before. A small part of you is waiting for Charles to scurry behind you, shouting a 'wait! wait, y/n!'. Which would probably not grant him immediate forgiveness but perhaps warm the shivers coursing through your body.

He doesn't.

[supercutszns]

luke castellan comforting his gf?

btw i love ur work 💗💗

wc + pairing: 0.9k, luke castellan x reader

oh i really needed this,,, if i stop writing comfort fics i’m dead i will literally write a thousand of them over and over they could be exact replicas and i would not care. sorry this took such a long time i've been in a big writing slump and i really don't like this but we have to start somewhere <3 every time someone requests a comfort fic i get very happy inside! i know this isn’t my best work like at all but hopefully it’s enough for now

Luke’s good at finding hidden things. A playing card wedged between wooden panels. A camper that always trudges at the back of the line. He can find something at its most sheltered and pluck it right back where it belongs. He’s good at that with you, too. When you wedge yourself somewhere tough, he slips through the cracks every damn time. 

You’re exhausted. You don’t know what time it is, how long you’ve been here, or how you can stop it. You just couldn’t get up this morning and your siblings let you stay sick. You imagine an alternate version of this day over and over, where you’re up and alive and contributing to something. But that’s not today. But it should be. You dream it until tears press against your eyes but you’ve got no energy to push them out. 

Feeling like this isn’t a constant occurrence, but it happens. Luke finds his way in each time, wedging open the slightest crack in your door or coming in through the window. He comes bearing gifts, he jokes. You don’t ask him where he gets the things he brings you—snacks, chocolate, plastic figurines to place on your windowsill. Menial things you like. Luke has his methods, and you know he loves you too much to reveal them. 

“Got some offerings for a goddess here,” he says when he sits down on your bed, knuckles brushing your arm. If you’re too tired to answer he never minds, he just crosses his legs and pulls your head into his lap. He smooths the hair away from your face to massage your scalp, and lets you rest. He doesn’t ask you for anything. Doesn’t force you to speak. You do when you’re ready. 

“I don’t feel good,” you admit hoarsely, blinking back tears. 

“That’s okay.” He leans down to kiss your forehead. “You just rest.”

It almost makes you laugh. “I’ve been in bed all day, Luke.”

“Mm, yeah, but you’re not really resting,” he says without judgement, letting you cling to his body as you pull yourself up to a seated position. “What’s on your mind, baby?”

You press your face into his neck so the warmth can distract you. Sometimes you say a lot, sometimes you say a little, like your mouth has separated from your body. It almost always ends with, “I feel like shit. I don’t know what to do.”

Luke is patient with you, but never overbearing. He knows you shut down when things are laid on too thick. “Want to take a nap?” He offers, threading his hands through your hair. “I can take you to my cabin, it’s cooler.”

He’s right, so you let him, and he steals you away without a fuss. The sheets smell like him, so even if you want to be alone, he still grounds you. When you fall into his bed you curl into a ball like an armadillo, like you can squeeze the rot out of your bones if you compress hard enough. Luke slots himself beside you after confirming it’s what you want, pressing kisses into your shoulder, until you turn into him and starfish over his body. “You let me know if you need anything, angel,” he murmurs, swiping your hair away from your face. “I’ve got you.” 

You manage to doze off, with his arms loose around your back and his chest underneath you. When you wake up later with a kiss of late afternoon breeze, you’re struck with the disorienting feeling of a good sleep. “Luke,” you mutter, digging your nose into his neck. 

He rouses too. “How’re you feeling?”

“Still bad.”

“Mm.” He kisses your forehead, squeezes you against him. “That’s okay. Want me to go grab you some food?” 

“Can we talk a little before?” 

“‘Course,” he says gently. He ghosts a kiss over your jaw. 

Sleep has pieced together some of the words you need, and Luke brings them out of you with hardly any effort. You have what’s probably a fragmented reason at best, but he doesn’t care. He keeps you anchored to him as long as you want him to, rubbing your back and letting you take your time. Once you’re done with the conversation, Luke diligently wipes your tears and kisses you. “Thank you,” you whisper.

“Anytime,” he grins. “I mean, I do love you. Nothing else I’d rather do.”

You let your forehead rest against his. Your throat feels thick but you get the words out, “I’m worried I’m going to feel this way forever.”

It doesn’t feel good to admit. Luke’s face softens, and he presses a kiss between your brows. “You won’t,” he murmurs, wrapping you in his arms. “You’ve got time.”

The length of the day moving around you matters a little less when Luke shields you from it. His knuckles rub across the ridges in your back until you’re sure the texture of his shirt is imprinted on your face. 

After he goes off to bring you some food, you find the strength to go wash your face in the bathroom. It’s practically nothing. Practically. At least you settle back into his bed, the blankets aren’t as heavy as before. You don’t feel better yet, but Luke’s got plenty of time for you. (He’ll pawn his kids off to Chris. None of them need this grilled cheese anyway.)

luke taglist: @sunniskyies @apollos-calliope @lillycore @sunny747 @m00ng4z3r @pabkeh @thaliagracesgf @theadventuresofanartist @bonnie-tz @ash-williamsss @sucker-4-angst @kitkat-writes-stuff @too-deviant @huang-the-geek @daughterofthemoons-stuff @jennapancake @idunnowhattonamethis @jarofshells @the-oracle-at-delphinitely-not @lauraisthebestyapper @nininehaaa

[literaila]

can we get one of those scenarios where gojo does go to reader's dorm at 3am to go get sweets?

before you came to jujutsu high, you were a very patient person.

your temper was long, if anything. a stretchy sort of thing that was folded in the hands of people who didn’t deserve it.

it took a lot to get you worked up—some might even say that you were a people pleaser. if you had a certain… distaste for anyone or anything, well that was between you and your brain.

before you came to jujutsu high, that is.

because now it takes less than a knock on the door for your irritation to rise from your chest into your eyes. stress headaches have become a newfound acquaintance.

“what?” you hiss, opening your door to be met with—to no one’s surprise—a giddy grin and a sliver of eyes so bright it makes you want to puke.

so yeah. things have changed.

it wasn’t even one knock this time, though, but at least four different pounds, each one luring you even further into the cloud of homicidal thoughts.

at least no one will blame you in jail.

“is that how you answer your door?” satoru asks, leaning against the jam, so tall it hurts your soul.

“gojo,” you say, sweetening your rough, still-sleeping voice. “unless you’re here to tell me that someone’s dead, i’m going to break your nose.”

you didn’t used to be this violent, you swear. there’s just something about him—

satoru pinches your cheek fondly. “you’re such a joy to be around. even with your bed head.”

“did someone die?”

“yes,” satoru adjusts your shirt for you, kindness a silly thing he likes to wear occasionally. “my stomach. its rotting away.”

“good for you. goodnight.”

and you move to close the door, but satoru has always been faster than you. his foot is there, and you could break it, but you won’t.

god knows why.

“c’mon, sleeping beauty,” he whines, “i want bad ice cream.”

“then go get some.”

“i want company while i eat it.”

“don’t you have other friends or something? it’s..” you turn, blinking in the dark. “1:34 am.”

gojo grins. “snack time,” he says, simply.

you groan, missing when life was simple and no one talked to you unless you were making a mistake. “i’m tired. you woke me up, and i was having a good dream, too.”

“about me?”

“about something i don’t remember because,” you scowl at him, “you woke me up.”

“i didn’t want you to miss out.”

“if you keep smiling at me like that, i’ll—“

you stop, mostly because you don’t know what you’ll do.

“are you trying to sweet talk me? because it’s working.”

“no.”

gojo laughs. “get dressed. unless you want to wear your… care bear’s shirt.”

“go with geto,” you say, trying to shut the door again. it only succeeds in making satoru flinch just briefly.

which is enough to feed the vicious animal in your head.

“he’s just not as cute as you, though.”

you scoff. “stop trying to manipulate me.”

“but it always works so well.”

and is he wrong?

…no. but who can blame you for falling victim to his whims? satoru has spent his entire life being waited on, being given every little thing he could possibly want.

and he seems to want you.

it’s such a unique, bewildering feeling that you have to follow through. you can’t let something like affection go to waste.

the girl you were a year ago would scream for this very moment. she would be at satoru’s door, hugging his leg like a child.

(and if he’s a little bit… okay to look at. well. at least there’s one plus to this arrangement).

“i’ll even wait for you to get dressed,” satoru says like it’s a generous offer. “can’t you hear the ice cream calling?”

and then he leans in, eyes peering into yours over his ridiculous shades.

his hair is a bit messier than usual this late, his mouth a terrifying pink.

some small part of you wants to desperately to lean a little bit closer. to push this even further. so what if you need more convincing? so what if he owes you something?

so what if you can’t say no to him?

it has nothing to do with the itchy feeling in your chest, or the giddy fog in your brain.

(god, satoru makes you feel… something else. different than a human, but nothing more than a prize. he makes you feel like you are something other—like you’ve been the problem this entire time—but in a good way.

satoru sees you as something to behold.

you’re the god of this small thing.

and it’s wonderful. its infuriating and painful, and still you’d rather die than attempt to let it go.)

so what?

“fine,” you almost gasp. “but you’re buying.”

gojo clasps his hands together in satisfaction. “we’ll see,” he sings.

“ten minutes,” you tell him, trying to shut the door.

“five,” he whispers back, so sweetly.

and then satoru flashes his teeth at you, so different from anything else.

your responding nod is just unconscious at this point.

[zara-renata]

The right hand, the left hand, the heart of Sylus Qin | ao3 | fanfic masterlist

Summary: Sylus meets with his legal counsel while the twins give you a tour of the base, you wake up from a dream, Sylus wastes some eggs, you attempt to get to know Sylus better, and you have your first 'date' with Sylus Qin. Part 16 of the Sylus series.

Notes: Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, second person POV, some Sylus POV They/them pronouns used to describe reader, meant as a placeholder for your preferred pronouns slow-burn friends-to-lovers This story contains: a lot of fluff and patient, tender Sylus, despite the following: MC questioning their sanity, MC with self-esteem issues, MC in the death-throes of fear-driven denial regarding the possibility that maybe, just maybe, Sylus has been interested in them this entire fucking time, Aidan antics, twin antics, a little self-induced MC angst, mentions of violence, profanity, alcohol use, discussions of gray morality

Sylus lets his bedroom door shut behind him, leaving you to dress, preparing to leave you in Luke and Kieran’s hands. His heart—so long an empty cavern, echoing the rapid-fire rhythm of its beat—clenches, jams. You’re just on the other side of the door, and you’re already too far.

The twins are leaning against the hallway wall on either side of the door. As he steps out, their heads snap up.

He pauses. “Show kitten around the base, wherever they want to go. Finish the tour with the guest wing.”

Kieran straightens. “Why the guest wing? Is your hunter not staying in your room?” He’s still hoarse from the previous night, and Sylus makes a mental note to get him some throat lozenges. It was your feral kitten who hurt him, after all, although it’s arguably also Kieran and Luke’s own fault for approaching a seasoned warrior in a notoriously dangerous area like a couple of serial killers. Which the twins are, but not in the typical sense of the term.

“Kitten hasn’t decided where to stay yet,” Sylus answers, secure in the knowledge that you will choose him. But he is serious about wanting to at least offer you the choice—of rooms. Because even if you choose another room to stay in, he intends to find his way there at the end of every day. You sleep much better when he’s around, after all. Even then, you’ll still have a choice—you can always try to kick him off the bed again. He’ll just sleep on the floor.

“Do you want us to fix that?” Luke asks hopefully. “We can flood that floor if you want. Whoops, all the rooms are out of order!” he feigns surprise, poorly. 

Sylus snorts. “I have a feeling that if you tried to flood only the one floor, the whole base will end up underwater.”

“Is that a no?” Luke looks disappointed.

“That’s a no,” Kieran answers for Sylus. “Understood. We’ll show them all the entertainment options we have to incentivize a long stay, before we show them the guest rooms.”

Sylus nods. “Call me, if it looks like kitten is getting overwhelmed. Their last stay here… had unintended consequences.” 

“Oh you mean when you starved them and forced them to resonate with you and threatened to leave them to die?” Luke asks, counting on his fingers and tilting his head.

Sylus sighs. “Yes, Luke. That’s what I mean.”

“Okay, then we’ll tell them all about how awesome you are so that they forget that you can also be a massive asshole,” Luke perks up.

Sylus just looks at him for a moment. Even with his aether core, it took him a while to get used to Luke’s particular brand of practical, blunt straightforwardness. So few people speak to Sylus with such raw honesty and fearlessness that spending time with Luke is always a refreshing palate cleanser after enduring meeting after meeting with intimidated, simpering fools who would turn around and slit Sylus’s throat if given half a chance. He tells himself that’s the only reason he tolerates such insubordination from this half of his right-hand man.

“Oh, that’s a sound plan Luke, well thought!” Kieran agrees, pleased with his other half. 

“Just give them the tour and keep them company until I’m done.” Sylus learned long ago that attempting to corral the twins’ machinations is usually fruitless, but clear instructions tend to keep the fallout from being too disastrous.

The young men nod in unison. Sylus considers continuing to take his sweet time to get to his office, just to further infuriate the undoubtedly seething Aidan who is waiting for him. But then he remembers the last time he had to wade through a bunch of barking human beings at one of Aidan’s munches. He sniffs. He’d much rather get business over with and get back to you as quickly as possible. If Sylus wasn’t already keenly aware of how much your presence in his life is already changing him, he’d realize it now as he swallows his pettiness and teleports to his office, instead of making Aidan wait out of principle.

As he re-materializes in his office, Aidan turns from looking at the wall where a majority of Aidan’s fountain pens have ended up embedded, forming the image of a large happy face.

“How surprising that you didn’t throw them in the pattern of a skull emoji—” Aidan begins, until black-red tendrils materialize around his ankles and sweep him off his feet. They hold him dangling, headfirst. He lets out a little delighted squeal that makes Sylus wince.

“If you’re trying to discourage my insubordination in front of your paramour that you’re undoubtedly about to ream me for, I’m afraid it’s having the opposite effect,” his legal counsel grins happily, wriggling against the evol restraints.

Sylus comes to a stop in front of him so that they’re face to upside-down face, his thumbs hooked casually in his sleep pants pockets.

“Oh, I am aware,”  he says in disgust. “But despite your interrupting a very pleasant moment with kitten, I feel that I owe you an apology for making you miss knitting club. So enjoy my mercy before we get down to business.”  

“And people say you’re a monster,” Aidan continues grinning dopily at him. 

“People are fools,” Sylus tsks. “Oh, before I forget. Speaking of interrupting my moment with kitten… they say that if you ever call them kitten again, they’ll tear out your tongue and make you eat it.”

Aidan’s eyebrows shoot up… or down, depending on your perspective. “They said that?”

Sylus considers lying, but he doesn’t want to mischaracterize you or your words to anyone. “Not the part about forcing you to eat it,” he admits. “But if kitten doesn’t, I’ll make you.”

Aidan just laughs. “I don’t believe your empty threats. My tongue’s too expensive for you to waste like that. Still… removing my tongue, huh,” he continues thoughtfully. “No wonder you’re so obsessed.”

Sylus turns, leisurely making his way to his desk as the evol tendrils bind Aidan’s wrists behind his back, jerk him upright, and then toss him onto one of the black leather couches in the office’s sitting area. They dissipate as Aidan snickers a little breathlessly.

“First the happy face. Now giving me a little treat instead of a lecture. I’ve never seen you in such a good mood.” Instead of sitting up like a proper employee showing deference to his employer, Aidan just stretches languidly across the couch and props his head up on a fist. “Although I’m still pissed that this is how you treat my pens,” he frowns, jerking his head back toward the impaled wall.

“I pay you enough to purchase all the pens you could ever want, plus the factory that makes them.” Sylus sits down at his desk, slouching behind the paperwork still strewn haphazardly over it that he abandoned after receiving the call from Luke informing him that you were running from him again.

“But what you do not pay me enough for is missing knitting club. The grandmas are going to give me hell the next time I go,” Aidan grumbles. 

“I’m sure you can handle it,” Sylus drawls. “Now, if you’re done whining, let’s get through this so that I can get back to kitten.”

Aidan lets out a dramatic sigh and sits up, as if the effort is utterly exhausting. “Have you had a chance to look at the latest draft?”

Sylus flicks the messy stack of papers with his fingers and they go sailing with his evol to Aidan’s lap. Aidan lifts one page, a look of disdain on his face as he holds it so that he can look at Sylus through the neat hole punctured in it as a result of Sylus’s boredom with the pen.

“That’s what I think of the latest draft,” Sylus says.

Aidan tsks. “Good, that was my feeling as well. But you didn’t have to mutilate the damn thing.” He gathers the pages, trying to put them in order. “After I’m finished reprinting it,” he sighs dramatically again. “I’ll redline it and get it to them this week.”

Sylus just nods, staring out into the night through his office’s wall of windows. It’s not too foggy, so the N109 Zone’s skyline glitters menacingly, an undersea predator luring prey in the dark.

“Next order of business: FJB group’s CEO is hounding me again to arrange a face-to-face with you. He’s getting… aggressive.”

“Hardly surprising, considering the type of entitled scumbag he is,” Sylus scoffs. “I’m not interested in his offer. Keep ignoring him.”

“Sylus, I don’t think he’s the type of guy who will simply get the hint and slink back to his hole. Doing nothing will only embolden him.”

“Embolden him to do what? If he doesn’t get the message and tries to approach you directly, just eliminate him. I do not have the patience right now to play games with him.” He has much more interesting things to focus on, now that you’re in his bed, in his home, just down the hall. And this time he’s certain you’re right down the hall, and not sprinting through the night like a panicked deer. A deer capable of taking down wolves, but still, a deer all the same.

“That’s a bad call, and you know it,” Aidan argues. “He is strong enough to have an exclusive grip on the flesh trade. If you remove him, ten other would-be heads of the hydra will sprout and it will destabilize the Zone.That means more collateral damage.”

“An exclusive grip that he has only because I allow it,” Sylus snorts. “And what, more collateral damage than the people he traffics?”

Aidan gapes at him. “What has gotten into you? This is the reality of humanity. People are not going to stop exploiting each other, no matter how much of an iron fist you wield. The only thing you can do is ensure that you think strategically enough to minimize the inevitable harm.”

Sylus frowns. That is indeed what he has always thought. The depravity of humanity is such that eradication of human suffering is impossible, and no one person can save the world. People can  hardly save themselves. Sylus himself has learned that lesson the hard way, over and over. It’s not his responsibility to save everyone. That is something that this version of you simply does not understand, and you’re vulnerable because of it. Someday, if Sylus doesn’t stop you, you’re going to get yourself killed because of your misguided sense of duty to strangers whose fate is being born to suffer. But knowing this version of you… thinking about how hard you take every loss, the way your already broken heart is chiseled further with every person you can’t save… his own assault rifle heart jams again. 

The CEO of the FJB Group is just the type of person Sylus thinks you’d like to bathe your feet in the blood of, even if you hate admitting that to yourself. Sylus would happily string him up, field dress him like the pathetic prey he is, and let his corpse drain for your bathing pleasure.

But since you’re still having a hard time admitting that yourself, he’s worried that if he does, you might get mad. And Aidan’s right. If he kills this fuck, ten others will try to claw their way up to take the empty throne.

“Noted. Just keep ignoring him. If he still won’t take no for an answer, let me know.” Aidan looks relieved, until he continues. “But I’m going to rely on you more for the next few weeks. Handle everything you can without bothering me, unless you want to contact me in a personal capacity. Things are settled enough after cleaning house—I want to focus on personal matters for the foreseeable future.”

Aidan jerks to his feet but takes a deep breath. He begins to pace, hands folded behind his back. Sylus appreciates his self control, as he knows that his litigator’s instinct is to immediately counter-argue his disagreement.

He stops, turns to Sylus, huffs.

“Speak,” Sylus orders, lifting an eyebrow. Seeing Aidan flustered is always amusing, but Sylus is impatient to get back to you. Maybe he’ll be done quick enough to take over the tour himself.

“Are you sure this is a good idea? The risks…” Aidan begins, uncharacteristically hesitant. 

“Whether it’s a good idea or not, it’s happening. The whole reason I’m here is finally in my bed. Everything else is secondary.”

Aidan looks pained. “I still don’t understand your single-minded fixation on this one person. This one person who happens to be a Deepspace Hunter, whose job mandate is to hunt you, in particular, and bring you down. There are literally thousands of other people in the world who would probably be thrilled to be in your bed. Why limit yourself to one, and to one who poses such a risk to everything you’ve built? To your very life?”

“Not all of us have such a low threshold for amusement that just anyone in their bed will do, like you,” Sylus clicks his tongue.

“It’s not about a low threshold of amusement. It’s being open to the possibility that each person you meet is a gift, containing an entire world, and the pleasure is opening the box to see what’s inside,” Aidan retorts, “You’re just a snob, and refuse to acknowledge that other people have rich inner lives, just like you do.”

“Save me your idealistic speeches about free love and the beauty of the human spirit. How you can come from where you’re from, handle the shit you handle in your line of work, openly acknowledge that humans are scum, and yet still enjoy them like little snowflake gift boxes, is simply beyond me.”

“I’m full of imagination,” Aidan sniffs.

‘You’re full of bullshit. You’re just easily bored and like to fuck,” Sylus baits him, knowing that Aidan is actually sincere.

“Excuse you!” Aidan does not disappoint. “How dare you—and what an accusation, coming from you, the man who can get bored in the middle of murdering someone. How do you even know that your obsession can retain your interest in the long run?” Aidan lobs back.

Sylus just smiles, with teeth. His fascination with you was already gigantic before he laid eyes on you again. It has only grown, the longer he gets to spend time with you. Your mix of strength and fragility. The unpredictability of your pleasure and your anxiety. Your blood thirst and your compassion. How can he ever get bored, when he has no idea what the next expression on your face will be? When he has no idea how you’ll manage to misinterpret the obviousness of his devotion to you, his endless patience, his worship?

“Oh god, never make that face again. I’m going to be sick. You’re so in love and I hate it,” Aidan gags exaggeratedly, like a cat hacking up a hairball.

“Then don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to,” Sylus advises.

Aidan hangs his head for a moment, hands on his hips. When he lifts it, he looks more serious than Sylus has seen him in awhile. “Joking aside, Sylus. How do you know that if things go south between you, the hunter won’t turn on you? This is a huge risk not only to you, but everyone you care about in this organization if you’re taken out.”

Sylus sits heavily back in his chair. He spins it a little, from side to side, as he thinks of how best to answer in a way that Aidan can understand. “I won’t let things go south between us. I will do whatever it takes to make my kitten happy, so that they’re never tempted to turn on me.”

“Even you can’t guarantee that. Love is messy, and it’s so close to hate. Especially when you begin that love with torturing them and using your evol on them without their permission,” Aidan says, wincing, as if he’s regretful about being so brutally honest.

“I have plans in place to protect the people who need protecting, in case I fuck up so badly that my beloved is driven to taking me out. And if it comes to that, I’ll deserve it,” Sylus sighs. He appreciates Aidan’s concern, but every minute he spends expressing that care is another minute that Sylus is kept from being near you. “Let me worry about the risks. Your job is to keep the empire running while I fortify the foundation that will prevent your worries from coming to pass.”

Aidan looks like he wants to say something else, but after a moment, his shoulders slump. “We just got you back. Don’t get yourself in trouble again. And of course. You don’t have to worry about the rest.” He straightens. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some puppy tails to pull.” He flicks a little wave in Sylus’s direction. “I’ll see myself out. Toodaloo!”

Just as he’s reaching the door, Sylus remembers the last thing he wanted to ask of his left hand man.

“Aidan.” Aidan jerks to a halt, and turns around, eyes narrowed, as if he can sense that whatever Sylus is about to ask will be a huge headache. “Set up a meeting with my architect, and get me a list of names.”

Aidan just stares at him for a beat. “Do I even want to know what type of names?”

“Experts in wildlife conservation. Particularly of the sealife variety.”

“You want a meeting with your architect and a sealife conservationist.” Aidan says flatly.

Sylus just stares at him.

“May I ask why?”

Sylus shows his teeth again. “I’ve been informed that the base needs an aquarium for orphaned and injured fish.”

Aidan gapes, but then rolls his eyes so hard that Sylus is worried they’ll get stuck. “I’m thrilled that your hunter makes you so happy. Really. Just thrilled. But I’m starting to get the feeling that they’ll also be the death of me, whether they take my tongue or not.” 

“Spare me your editorializing and just get it done,” Sylus forestalls further whining. He’s getting increasingly impatient to get back to you.

Aidan groans, because he views it as a moral imperative to always make sure that everyone within a five kilometer radius understands the terrible sacrifices he must make as Sylus’s lawyer. “Fine . You’ll have your list by the end of the week. But I’m leaving before you can transmit any more demands from your kitten.” He sweeps out of the room in a huff and the door slams behind him.

Sylus sits for a moment as the door swings shut. He takes Aidan’s concern seriously, but even his furiously spinning mind has a hard time planning for a scenario where you turn on him. Not in this life, at least. He doesn’t want to dwell on the past when the current you, so utterly sweet, so pliant in his arms, all of your spikes withdrawn for him and him alone, is walking around in his lair, with no plans to leave for the foreseeable future. He wants to rest too, while you’re here. He doesn’t want to think about the past, or a future he has yet to secure. He simply wants to be with you.

He doesn’t want to waste another minute. He stands and heads to the door.

* * *

You wake up.

All at once, on a gasp. Your heart is pounding. You’re aching, aching, because you just woke up from a dream you can’t remember and the only things that remain are the feeling of pleasure, of security, of desire reciprocated.

You lie there, eyes still closed, hoping that you’ll be able to re-access the dream—maybe if you can fall back asleep quickly enough, you can pick up the severed thread again, return to whatever was giving you that feeling of a feast when you’re famished, a waterfall when you thirst, the weight of another’s body on you, in you, filling you so completely it eclipses that constant emptiness you carry with you through all of your days.

But despite all of your yearning, all of your effort, you can’t return to whatever you were dreaming about. Only that feeling remains—safety. The certainty that you’re utterly cherished. That all of your worries from last night were simply little nightmares, extinguished upon your waking.

You remember where you are. Who you’re staying with. Who you were anguished about as you imagined him taking another to his bed. It all seems so silly now—you talking yourself into being sad, with no reason at all to believe that he would do so, when you’re the one he has invited into his home, you’re the one he wraps himself around at every opportunity, you’re the one who he insists he wants in his bed.

What a strange sense of double vision, or cognitive dissonance. Wishful thinking. Delusional fantasy. You know that there was a reason you were worried that Sylus would be seeing other people while you stay with him. But you’re now utterly convinced that such a worry is completely unfounded, so absurd as to make you laugh out loud. But you have no idea why you have this certainty now. It feels like someone reached inside your brain and flipped a switch, and though there was a logical reason to worry, you can no longer bring yourself to believe that Sylus would ever want another in his bed.

You feel insane.

You open your eyes, expecting to see the white canopy of the swinging garden fuck-bed above you, but you see the black, ornately carved ceiling of Sylus’s bedroom instead. You are certain you fell asleep in the greenhouse. How the hell did you wind up back in Sylus’s bed? The feeling of unreality intensifies.

You turn your head and feel an immediate sense of calm wash over you as you see Sylus sitting next to you, his glorious chest no longer bare, but clothed in a simple black sweater, his gold-rimmed reading glasses perched on his sexy hooked nose. He has his tablet in one hand. He looks down at you, one corner of his mouth lifted, and you have the most intense sensation that you know what his lips feel like. That you could map his tongue, recognize it by the feel of it in your mouth if you were blindfolded, its heft and insistence between your lips.

You feel insane.

“Finally awake, kitten?” he asks, nonchalantly. He reaches down and brushes his fingertips along your cheek.

“How did I get here?” you ask, trying desperately to push the feeling of being pressed beneath his beautiful body into something soft out of your mind. Of soft silver fur under your hands. His voice— Yes, Beloved?

“The better question is why weren’t you here to begin with?” he snorts softly.

“What?”

He continues to look at you with that amused, barely-there smile. “Not fully awake, huh. Why did you go to the greenhouse when you were tired, when you had assured me that you would stay in my bedroom while you're here?”

You look away, back to his ceiling. The elaborate moulding is as extra as the rest of his place, but it’s so beautiful, you can hardly fault him for his preference for lovely things. If you can afford it, why not surround yourself with beauty? You just wish it wasn’t such an oppressive black. But it belongs to Sylus—he chose it, so you think you could tolerate it forever, given the whisper of a chance.

You don’t want to answer his question. But that sense of security, assurance, safety , remains with you, even as you fail to comprehend where the fuck it could have come from. You feel brave enough to ask the question that was torturing you before you fell asleep. “Can you give me plenty of advance warning if you’re going to invite someone over for…” you hesitate, trying to think of a more mature way of saying “sexy fucking fun times.” Nothing comes. “For fucking? I don’t want to get in the way,” you finish, lamely. But the thought of him actually wanting to fuck anyone else strikes you as so absurd that it doesn’t even hurt to say it out loud. You don’t think you even need to ask this question anymore, because you already know the answer.

But that’s insane. And you’re a lot of fucking things, but you think you’re pretty well-grounded in reality. You’re hyper-aware of reality—the reality of being you, with all of your flaws, your broken pieces barely held together, which is part of your whole goddamn problem. If you were oblivious to your own weaknesses, to the reality of living in such a cruel world while being a walking open wound, you could strut around like a mediocre white man and feel entitled to everything, including Sylus’s exclusive affection.

“Is that why you snuck off to the greenhouse, instead of coming to nap in my bed like we agreed?” He sets his tablet aside. 

“I never agreed,” you mumble, thinking about how he had said that if you found a room you liked better, you had a choice of where to stay. That conversation was left open-ended. There was never a deal.

“A technicality,” he dismisses your protest. “Unless you found a room that you like better?” he asks archly, setting his glasses on top of the tablet and leaning down, running his nose along your cheek. 

Nothing has changed. No room, not even the greenhouse with its life and relief from the oppressive marble halls of his base, is more appealing than any room where Sylus is. You shake your head, and his lips brush the edge of your mouth.

“But you were worried about me bringing other people to my bed, even though I have everything I want right here already,” he murmurs.

You close your eyes against the onslaught of sensations—his warmth, his scent, the feel of his skin on yours. You don’t want to admit it, but now that your bizarre certainty has been confirmed, it feels silly to pretend otherwise. “Yeah. I didn’t want to… I didn’t want to get in the way.”

“So that’s the reason you ran, again?” he asks, sinking lower, getting comfortable on his side facing you.

You just nod instead of answering, and it’s not because you want to feel his lips on your skin again.

“Come to me next time, when you’re worried about something like that,” he demands, but it feels like a plea.

That sense of safety is filling you, making you brave. You want to bottle it so that you can drink it every time you feel insecure in the future, despite how nuts it’s making you feel. “Okay,” you agree quietly.

“Thank you, darling,” he smiles fully, and it’s so soft, you could die.

But hearing him say “darling” is like a gunshot next to your ear while you’re sleeping—you’re slammed into another reality, the sensation of Sylus’s hands on you, gripping your waist—his heavy body pressing yours into warm sand, sucking on his tongue, reveling in the feeling of a part of him filling you up—

You can’t. You can’t. You’re delusional, no matter how real the memory feels.

“Darling,” you choke, trying so hard to sound unaffected. “That’s new.”

“Do you dislike it?” he asks, brushing some hair from your cheek, resting his hand on the side of your head, thumb drifting along the line of your jaw.

You love it. You want him to repeat it, over and over, until you forget your own name. “I suppose it’s better than ‘kitten,’” you grumble.

“But I thought that you were okay with being called kitten, as long as it was me doing the calling,” he teases. 

You scowl at him.

“Then, darling,” he pauses dramatically, like the big drama queen he is. “Was the only reason you ran, again, because you were worried I wouldn’t warn you if I had a guest? Nothing else was distressing you?”

No matter how safe you feel, no matter how assured you are now that for as long as you’re in his home, he doesn’t want anyone else around but you—you can’t bring yourself to admit this to him. You can hardly admit it to yourself. Not wanting him to be with others implies a sense of ownership, and you know that he is not yours. In any way, shape, or form. How can you be possessive of something that doesn’t and never will belong to you? It does not matter how much even thinking that he doesn’t belong to you sends a feeling of wrongness through you that is almost physically painful.

You shake your head.

“No, nothing else was bothering you? Or no, I lose this round of the guessing game?” He watches you for a few moments, the movement of his thumb so soft against your skin. 

“I win,” you say, feeling wobbly, feeling safe, feeling unhinged, feeling invincible. He doesn’t belong to you, he wants you and only you, As if I would ever want anyone else in my bed, now that you’ve been in it. You can hear his voice in your head, saying things that you don’t dare dream of him saying. 

“Not ready yet, then,” he says, and it almost sounds sad. But his face doesn’t change. “Well, there will be other rounds of our game,” he says lightly, a clear transition. He’s letting it go, and you are relieved. “In that case, are you hungry?”

Hell, if you’re in the process of losing your mind, you might as well do it on a full stomach.

“I could eat a horse,” you answer, trying to match his light tone. 

“That can be arranged. But I’m rather attached to the ones in my stables, so we’ll have to outsource your request,” he says, one sharp canine peeking from behind his top lip.

“Sylus!” You’re horrified. “It’s just an expression.”

“I told you that you could have anything. You have only to ask,” he shrugs.

Now you’re horrified and curious. “Have you eaten horse before?” 

The canine gleams in the dim light of the lamp on his nightstand. “There are few things that I haven’t eaten, darling.” His hand moves from the side of your head, down, until he slips one long finger between your throat and his tie still secured there. He tugs, gently. You remember that you don’t have any of your own clothes, and you’re still wearing his. “There are places where eating horse is as customary as eating beef. But I never really cared for it.”

“That’s a relief, somehow,” you say, even though it’s ridiculous to mourn the horses that fed him, when you ate the steak he served you earlier with such enjoyment. It’s all cruel, in the end—the necessity of survival which depends on another’s suffering. Your heart hurts, so you reach up and rub it. His blood-bright eyes follow the movement of your hand.

“My tender-hearted kitten,” he whispers, with that same strange sad tone in his voice. “Sometimes we must do things to survive that deprive another of life. Do you also mourn the wanderers you have to kill?”

You look down at his strong throat, the pale, soft skin there. So thin, fragile, with his fast pulse beating beneath. “Sometimes, when they’re particularly beautiful. When it’s so obvious that they’re only following their nature, and that their violence isn’t a result of cruelty, like people. They’re just made that way.”

“So you don’t regret the people you have to kill?” 

You would like to lie, and say that you regret it deeply. That you’re as generous toward your fellow humans as you are toward wild beasts, to the beef on your plate. But you promised Sylus you’d be honest with him, if to no one else. You shake your head.

“Sometimes, the sense of satisfaction I get when I’m forced to put down someone I know who has done horrible things—” you whisper, closing your eyes. “It’s frightening.”

“Kindred spirits,” Sylus’s deep voice, the warmth of his breath, envelop you. 

Are you and he really so alike? You had snarled at him, when you first met him, that you and he were not the same, that you would never be the same. You had snarled it at yourself, as much as at him. You open your eyes, and his eyes are all you can see. He looks so happy, hearing you admit the worst of yourself. You realize that you hardly know anything about this man. His past. His family. What he was like as a child. His hobbies, if he even has any. All you know is that he is a killer, a businessman. And that he touches you with the tenderness of a man handling something priceless. That’s all. Yet here you are, his hands on you, still gently tugging on a tie wrapped around your throat. Here you are, so attached to him already that the thought of him bedding another feels like your aether core mutilated heart is shredding itself. How did this happen?

You want to know everything about him. You tell yourself that it’s not because you’re ravenous to unravel his mystery, to be sated from the knowing, and cherish him the more for it. You tell yourself that maybe, the more you learn, the more your heart will ease, and familiarity will breed contempt. Maybe you’ll be able to let him go when this is over, if you know all the ugly parts of him, all of his annoying traits like everyone has. You decide to ask him about when the fake dating will start, so that you’ll have an excuse to ask him to share as much as he’s willing about himself with you, as he practices sharing himself with his beloved.

As if I would ever want anyone else in my bed, now that you’ve been in it.

You shake your head. You’re not his beloved. Why wouldn’t he just tell you, if you were?

Would you have believed me, if I had told you that I wasn’t behind your family’s murder?

You close your eyes again. You feel insane.

I expect you to remember what you just said, when this is over.

You can’t. You can’t. If you’re wrong—

You open your eyes again. You’re here now. You’re here now, and he has the tail of the tie clasped softly in his palm, and he’s gently pulling it so that it tightens on your throat, a hair’s breadth, and then releases. It feels good. You want him to pull harder. You want to know everything about him, and forget everything else. You’re in a dream, and you don’t have to wake up yet. You’re not insane. It’s just the certainty one sometimes has in a dream—you know something to be true, even though you don’t know how you know. Sylus wants you, and only you with him right now. You’re going to indulge.

“To be clear, I don’t want you to serve me horse,” you tell him, pulling back a little so that the tie tightens against your throat again. He inhales sharply, but the corner of his mouth lifts.

“As you wish. Let’s go to the kitchen. You can choose something that you do want me to serve you.” He pulls a little harder on the tie and you let out a soft gasp.

You want him to curl it around his fist, pull you to him, devour you in a way you feel like you know, with a strange certainty, that he would. But you can’t tell him that. Not yet. If you’re wrong—

You open your eyes. Sylus’s face is flushed, his bright eyes narrowed on the tie, on your throat.

“I want to go to the kitchen, but I don’t have any of my own clothes,” you say softly, needing desperately to break this spell before you do something that you can’t take back. 

Sylus looks confused for a moment. “Do you need your own clothes?”

“Do you want me to walk around in your oversized clothes the whole time I’m here?”

“I wouldn’t mind at all, but I don’t need it. Did you not find anything to your liking from the selection of clothes in your size in the dressing room?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow. “I know you’re spoiled, but I didn’t realize to this extent,” he says, not sounding displeased at all.

“What clothes?”

Something in Sylus’s face changes. “Did you not… explore the dressing room?”

You shake your head. “Mephisto was watching me, and I didn’t want to upset him by touching anything I shouldn’t,” you shrug. “So I just grabbed what I could see.”

Sylus laughs softly. “Why would Mephisto get upset by you touching anything in this house?”

“Because it’s your house, and I’m an interloper, and he squawked at me when he saw me touching your ties.”

“And yet you’re wearing one.” His eyes flick down to your neck again.

“Okay, so I was being petty after he squawked.”

Sylus pinches the bridge of his nose. “So you thought I didn’t arrange for you to have clothes you’d be comfortable in. And you thought that Mephisto was… surveilling you.”

You’re confused. “Um, is that not the case? And then you sent the twins to show me around to make sure I don’t go anywhere I’m not supposed to.” At his pained look, you rush on. “I get it. You probably have a lot of valuable stuff in here, and just the intel about the layout of your base is probably even more valuable.”

Sylus sighs and drops his hand. “Do you trust me?”

You stare at him. Do you trust him? You let your eyes drift from his beautiful eyes, to his regal nose. His soft silver hair sweeping messily over his forehead. Would you be here, lying in his bed in his criminal headquarters at the pinnacle of the N109 Zone, if you didn’t trust him? He apologized for hurting you when you first met, and promised never to do so again. He’s been nothing but kind to you since those first long days with him. He’s promised never to use his evol on you without your permission. He said that once given, he never breaks a promise. And you believe him. Of course you trust him.

“Yeah, Sylus, I trust you,” you say softly.

“Okay,” he says, sitting up, pulling the tie gently with him so that you come too. You sit, legs tucked under yourself, as Sylus sits on his own knees, and very gently begins to untie the tie. The silk whispers along your skin as it falls away from your throat. He then lifts it slowly, watching your reaction. But you just sit still, letting him sweep it across your eyes as he blindfolds you, securing it at the back of your head. It’s comfortable.

You feel him take your wrist and tug softly, and you go with him. Your feet hit the soft rug, and you follow where he leads, enjoying the warmth of his calloused hand on your wrist, enjoying the mystery of where he’s leading you.

After an unexpectedly short amount of time, he stops. You feel cold as the warmth of his body disappears, and you hear what sounds like doors opening, or cabinets. He returns to you, and his delicious scent fills your senses. He undoes the knot, and the tie falls away.

You’re in his dressing room, towards the back where you didn’t venture earlier. Door after closet door is open, and you see rack after rack, shelf after shelf—clothes that look like the ones you have at home. Athletic wear. Hoodies. Comfortable clothes you would wear on your days off. But also clothing that you don’t have in your own closet—formal wear. Club clothes. Expensive fabrics. Pair after pair of a variety of sneakers, boots, dress shoes.

“New rule. The next time you are faced with two possibilities—when you think that what you perceive could be negative, but could also be positive, try to consider that the positive is true,” he says gently, placing his big hands on your shoulders and leaning down a little to meet your gaze. “I had Luke and Kieran fetch some things from your home that I thought would make you feel at ease here. The earring. The plushie you hug the most often. Your phone charger. Your laptop is in my office. But I didn’t want them to go through all of your things, and they have no interest in invading your privacy. I was hoping you can make do with new clothing that I thought you’d like, as well as your own care products while you’re here. If you’re missing anything, just tell me, and I’ll arrange for it to be sent.”

As he speaks, you feel your eyes getting hot—in dawning horror, you realize that you’ve started to cry. Why the fuck are you crying? You don’t want him to see, but you’re helpless under his big hands keeping you grounded. You take a big, shuddering breath. All of this kindness hurts. But Sylus isn’t done hurting you.

“And Mephisto isn’t following you to surveil you. He’s programmed to greet you, and to follow you in case you need backup and company. If you don’t have your phone on you, you can still reach me, wherever you are in the house, through him. There’s also an app on your phone for you to change his settings if you want. If you don’t like his voice module, you can make him meow.” Sylus slowly pulls you to him, looking down into your face. He thumbs the tears from your cheeks, brings them to his mouth, and rubs the moisture across his bottom lip. He then pulls you closer, hugging you tightly to his chest. “And I sent Luke and Kieran with you to see the house because the last time you were here, you were really scared. Since I had to meet with Aidan, I didn't want you to be alone, but also didn’t want to force you to sit caged in my room until I could show you around.”

You press your face into his chest, breathing against his rapid heartbeat, feeling all the anxiety and sadness of the tour and return to the greenhouse draining out of your body.

He leans down and presses a kiss to your bowed head. “If you’re unsure of my intentions, even after all this—if you consider the positive possibility and can’t quite believe it, then just ask me,”  he says softly into your hair. “There’s no need to torture yourself with me.” He lifts your chin, and his barely there smile lifts his mouth. “That’s my job. And there will be no doubt when I actually intend to torment you.”

You smile through your stupid embarrassing tears, laugh a little wetly. “It’s true. Subtlety isn’t your strong suit.”

“You know that much, at least.”

“How could I miss it?” you ask.

“Good fucking question. How could you possibly miss so much?” he nudges your forehead with his forefinger.

You scowl at him. You feel light. And with the relief, comes the hunger. “Didn’t you promise to feed me? I’m starving,” you gripe, refusing to think about what else you’re missing. 

I can promise you that whomever you’re thinking my 'crush' is, it’s not the person you're thinking of.

The only way he could have promised that is if he knew that you’d never consider yourself a possibility.

And Sylus says he always keeps his promises.

“Well, I can’t let my spoiled kitten get any more hungry,” he interrupts your thoughts.

You shake your head. “It would be terrible if I end up having to eat you because I’m so hungry,” you tease, but he just lifts his eyebrows as if intrigued.

“Would it be so terrible though?” he asks. You pull back and gently push him toward the door.

“Go, make me something delicious while I get dressed,” you order him with a laugh.

“I see how it is— just a little reassurance, and suddenly you’re bold enough to give me orders." He tucks his thumbs into the pockets of his black, worn looking jeans. “Finally,” he says, looking incredibly satisfied, before disappearing in a whoosh of air, scarlet-ink mist, and feathers that float gently toward you before falling to the floor.

You turn, sighing happily at the sight of all of these new clothes stretching before you. You don’t deserve this. You’ve never been a big shopper. Budget too tight, too much ammo and manga to buy instead, when you practically live in your hunter uniform. But you spotted some yoga wear from a brand that is wildly expensive but makes the softest, best fitting shit you’ve ever put on your body. You shake yourself. Indulge. Indulge. Indulge. 

After you’ve checked your bandages and cleaned up a bit in the bathroom, you drift through the base and find Sylus in the kitchen, as promised. Soft lighting from floor lamps and recessed fixtures hold back the N109 Zone’s night stretching beyond the kitchen’s large windows. Soft classical music accompanies the sound of Sylus digging around in the huge fridges, the clatter of a pan placed on the gas burning stove.

“So you’ll be cooking personally for me today? Not your chef?”

“Not my chef,” Sylus confirms. “I’m the the chef today,” he smiles slightly. “Sit.” He points to the bar stool on the other side of the massive kitchen island.

“I can cook,” you protest. At Sylus’s doubtful look, you defend yourself. “It’s true. I can cook. Xavier loves it when I have the time and energy to make something and invite him over, because it’s fucking hard to cook for only one person,” you say mournfully, suddenly worried about how Xavier will feed himself while you’re not there to ensure he eats vegetables along with his ramen. But he survived long before he became your partner. He’s a big boy, you tell yourself. 

“Oh, I bet he does,” Sylus says under his breath. “And I am cooking because I thought you would want to give your abused feet a break.”

You squint at him. “They hurt, but they’re still functioning.”

“Again, just because they’re functioning doesn’t mean you have to use them more than necessary. And I believe you when you say you can cook. But do you actually like to cook? Or do you feel like you have to, because it’s cheaper than delivery?” Sylus asks, breaking an egg into a bowl. “While you’re here, I don’t want you to do anything that you don’t actively enjoy doing. You’re not here to survive. You’re here to recover.”

You’re so touched by his words that it takes a moment for you to get your mouth to answer him. Something’s wrong with your eyes again, and your throat is suddenly tight. You clear it. “Definitely the latter,” you admit, thinking of a million other things that you’d rather be doing than cooking yet another meal. You often wish you could just slurp all your nutrition from a pouch and be done with it. “But I do like baking. That doesn’t count as cooking, because the result is fun.” 

Sylus laughs softly. “Then when you feel up to it, you can teach me how to bake your favorite things, because that’s something I never really do. In the meantime, when chef isn’t here and whatever she’s left behind in the fridge for heating up isn’t to your taste, I’ll cook for you. Deal?”

You watch Sylus’s big hands gently crack more eggs, grind some salt and pepper in the mixture, fling a little bit of butter onto the now hot pan. You could get used to this beautiful creature preparing meals for you. And you could get used to baking delicious things, and feeding each bite to him by hand. You’re here now. You’re going to indulge. “Deal,” you smile. “But while you’re doing that, I need coffee. Can you point me in the direction of your coffee shit, coffee maker, and mugs?”

Sylus pauses. “I don’t have a coffee maker.”

You stare at him. “What do you mean you don’t have a coffee maker.”

“I mean, I have a french press. But I don’t have a drip coffee maker.”

You squint at him. “You have a fucking ice rink in your villain HQ, and you don’t have a coffee maker? You make your coffee, by hand, every morning? Do you also insist on hand grinding the beans with a mortar and pestle every time you want a cup? Are you as much of a coffee snob as a wine snob?”

“Aren’t you sharp-tongued for a kitten who is depending on me for its caffeine fix.” Sylus sounds infinitely amused.

“I’m just consistently in awe of all of this means you have at your disposal, and yet you do nothing with it. And I’m assuming that since you don’t have a normal coffee maker, you’re also too much of a snob to have one of those fancy as fuck espresso machines that can make whipped foam, along with an entire fleet of flavor syrups on tap.” As you talk, you become more distressed. “Oh my god, Sylus. You’re a hipster billionaire. You’re like, the worst of everything wrong with our capitalist society,” you say forlornly. Why can’t you be nuts about a normal man? What’s wrong with a guy with a tidy little flat and a drip coffee maker? A nice accountant whose only crime is jaywalking, maybe a little tax evasion, for a treat, every year when filing. But no, you want to have the stuck up edgelord who can explode people with his mind and who thinks even professional espresso machines are too plebeian for his refined taste buds.

Sylus is just staring at you, an eyebrow lifted. “What I hear you saying is that you want a fancy as fuck espresso machine. Is that correct?”

You sigh in resignation. Your heart wants what it wants. “What you hear me saying is, okay, Sylus, where is the french press, the coffee beans, the grinder I’ll no doubt have to grind them with, and your mugs?”

“The espresso machine will be here when you wake up tomorrow. As for the french press, beans, grinder, and mugs…” he smirks at you as he points to one of the cupboards over the long, black marble kitchen counter.

You slip from the stool and go to open the indicated cabinet, finding the promised french press and tasteful glass jar of whole coffee beans. Of course even his storage containers are fancy and pretty. But you stop short, as you notice Caleb’s gift and the CUNT mug sitting on the shelf next to the coffee supplies.

You blink. You blink, and turn to look at Sylus, who is now busy scrambling the eggs. “You brought Caleb’s mug,” you breathe.

“I told you, I wanted you to have the things here that make you comfortable,” Sylus shrugs, not turning away from the eggs.

You could cry again. The thoughtfulness of this asshole takes you by surprise, every single time. But you don’t want to cry. You want to enjoy. You whip around and march over to Sylus, who is still serenely stirring the eggs. You peek around to catch his eye, ensuring that he knows you’re there. His red gaze flicks to you for a moment, returns to the eggs. You then step behind him and wrap your arms around his waist, resting your head against his broad back.

Your warning must have been successful. He doesn’t throw you to the floor, or even stiffen—his shoulders seem to relax, and he leans back a little, as if trying to sink into your hug. He puts the hand not stirring the eggs on your forearm, as if to hold you there.

“Thank you,” you whisper, squeezing tighter. 

“It’s nothing,” he says, as the scent of butter and eggs, the soft sound of cellos, the dark night and warm lamplight surround the two of you.

“It’s everything,” you counter.

“You deserve to be harder to please,” Sylus grumbles, turning off the burner. He turns, and you try to step away, but he keeps his hold on your forearm until he’s fully facing you. He leans down and scoops you into his arms, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist. He then just stands there, hugging you tightly to him. You hug him back, resting your chin on his shoulder, eyes closed to better soak in the feeling of just holding him, of being held.

“Your eggs will get cold,” he says after a while, regretfully.

You just squeeze him harder. You’ve eaten worse. 

You feel him laugh softly, your chest vibrating with his amusement. “As you wish."

Suddenly, the moment is shattered with a ruckus like a herd of elephants pounding down the hallway, along with a crash, gleeful laughter and yelps.

“Cheater, tripping is cheating, cheater cheater cheater!” Luke roars.

“The first rule of race club is there are no rules in race club,” Kieran bellows, voice closer to the doorway, until suddenly it’s filled with two grown, grappling men, big biceps straining as they each try to prevent the other from entering the kitchen first.

“No… you… don’t!” Luke pants, wrapping his arm around Kieran’s neck in a chokehold and trying to drag him back into the hallway.

“Oww, my throat, Luke, my throat still hurts,” Kieran whines. Luke looks stricken and immediately lets go, only to find himself shoved back further into the hallway as Kieran cackles and comes careening into the kitchen, socked feet sliding along the smooth, marble floor until he crashes into the kitchen island. He lets out a loud whoop, throwing his arms in the air. “Kitchen-race champion, kitchen-race champion,” he chants as Kieran scowls at him from the doorway.

“That was a dirty trick,” he seethes. “You know I wouldn’t ever want to really hurt you.”

“I keep telling you that you’re too gullible,” Kieran smiles at him fondly. “You know all is fair in love and the kitchen race game.”

“Some love,” Luke snorts, and then his eyes widen as he seems to notice you and Sylus behind the kitchen island for the first time. You turn to look at Sylus, but his eyes are on your face, as if he hasn’t stopped looking at you the entire time you’ve taken in the twins’ skirmish, as if what just occurred is daily life at Onychinus HQ and not even worth looking at. You glance back at the twins.

Kieran turns his head to follow Luke’s gaze and then straightens as if at attention. “Oh, apologies boss! We didn’t know you were…” he takes in how you’re attached to Sylus like a koala. “You were preoccupied in here.”

You look back at Sylus, but he just stares at you. Okay, if he’s not going to say anything, you will. “We’re not preoccupied. Sylus was just making eggs.” You cough a little. “Sylus, you can put me down now.”

He just hugs you tighter.

“Eggs? Oh, can we have some? I’m starving after my big stupid cheater of a brother scared the shit out of me by acting hurt,” Luke grumbles, sending Kieran a dirty look. Kieran holds out his hand, and despite his indignation, Luke slides into the kitchen on his socks like an ice skater and takes Kieran’s hand, who then wraps his brother’s arm around his own shoulders. 

“Let that be a lesson. How to fake out your opponent, and how not to be so gullible, even with me.” Kieran reaches over and rubs his fist into Luke’s bouncing curls. Luke ducks his head and sweeps Kieran into a chokehold again, who just laughs. “That’s it,” he crows, and the two tussle like a couple of puppies.

“I can’t make coffee if you won’t let me go,” you say softly to Sylus amidst the racket the twins are making.

“Do you really want to make coffee now?” he asks, turning, setting you on the counter and simply standing between your legs. You’re getting the feeling that he likes this position, because it puts your face a little closer to his if the surface you’re sitting on is high enough.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you ask curiously.

“It’s getting late again. Between the tour and your nap, it’s closer to the time I go to bed now. You’ll be up all night if you have caffeine now.”

“Then why didn’t you say so when I first asked about the coffee?” You tilt your head.

Sylus just looks bored. You’re learning that he does this when he isn’t interested in answering you, when you’re most interested in the answer. Suddenly it dawns on you. “You wanted me to see the mugs.”

He just lifts his hand and fiddles with the hem of the soft long sleeved shirt you’re wearing. “Now you know where they are, in case I’m not around,” he shrugs.

You lean forward, placing both of your palms on his cheeks. He sucks in a breath, but stays still. “Thank you,” you say.

“You’ve already said that, and I’ve already said it’s nothing,” he answers, his stubble shifting under your hands.

“If we’re not going to have coffee, and it’s almost time to go to bed again, what did you have in mind for after we eat?” you ask, running your thumbs under his lovely eyes, indulging, indulging, not worrying about anyone else, not worrying about tomorrow or the day after. There is only today, every day, until this is over.

“What do you want to do?” he asks, leaning in, letting you pet him.

You think about it. You’re still so tired. You think you’ll probably be tired for weeks, until you’ve slept enough to make up for your enormous sleep deficit of the past year, however long that takes. Your feet hurt. You just want to be near Sylus. He’s asking you what you want to do like he intends to do it with you. So instead of worrying if that’s the case, if you’re misunderstanding something, you say what you want.

“I want to start fake dating you,” you say. His eyes widen a little, and then he frowns.

“Fake dating?” Kieran’s voice cuts through your thoughts, and you realize that the twins had stopped roughhousing enough to overhear your conversation.

“What do you mean, fake dating?” Luke asks, looking between the two of you.

“Oh, your boss just asked me to help him practice dating so that he can successfully woo the person he’s in love with,” you say, the picture of cheerful helpfulness. This is already enough. You’re happy to help. And you’re going to indulge the fuck out of pretending that he’s looking at you, instead of imagining the other person he’d like to have in his bed more than you. Because you can’t imagine it’s you. You can’t. Because if you’re wrong—

Kieran and Luke’s mouths drop open. They look at each other, and then look at Sylus.

“What the fuck, boss—” Luke begins, as Kieran says “For someone so intelligent, you can be so stupid—” before Sylus cuts them both off.

“Take some of the prepped meals that chef left in the fridge and then leave us.”

For a second, they both look like they want to argue, but then they dutifully snap their mouths shut in unison, and you get that strange feeling of uncanniness again, like they’re just one person who happens to have two bodies. They efficiently go to the fridge, grab some containers of what must be the prepped meals, and leave you and Sylus alone in the kitchen, now with only classical violin filling the silence.

“Was that a secret?” you ask, feeling bad if you just made Sylus lose face with his employees.

“I have nothing to hide when it comes to you,” he says. “But they don’t need to know every detail of my personal life, even if they may disagree with that statement.”

“Okay,” you say, still feeling bad for some reason. 

He touches your chin, lifts it. “What did you have in mind when you said you want to start fake dating?”

“When we talked about me helping you, you seemed to be okay with the idea of practicing sharing parts of your life with your crush. I was thinking maybe while I’m staying with you, you can already start.” You smile at him, hoping he can’t tell how much you want him to say yes.

“Am I not already doing that?” he asks.

You tilt your head. Okay, so he has invited you into his home, showed you around. But you still know so little about him. “I guess so,” you say. You feel a bit silly now. Maybe you were hoping for too much. Maybe he’d rather get on with his normal routine, and isn’t interested in any usefulness you have to offer at the moment.

You’re suddenly really tired again. You want him to back up, to stop looking so closely at your face. “The eggs are cold now,” you say, trying to keep your hand still, trying to resist the urge to dig your nails into your thigh. He’s right there. He asked you to hurt him instead. You can’t hurt him, so you can’t hurt yourself.

“Then I’ll make new ones,” he says, still watching you like a hawk eyeing a mouse about to bolt from hiding.

You’re not hungry anymore. You hate the yo-yo of your emotions. You want to be as unruffled as the man in front of you. You’re hoping that the more rest you get, the longer you have to recover, you’ll regain some semblance of equilibrium, some resistance to the rawness of the feelings hemorrhaging from your heart. But you know if you won’t eat, your blood sugar will crash and you’ll be left feeling faint.

“No worries. Do you have string cheese or something? Just something to keep me from feeling lightheaded?”

“I'm not feeding you logs of trash cheese while you're a guest in my home," Sylus tsks, probably affronted at the mere suggestion that he would have string cheese in his house. "What else do you want me to share with you about my life?”

“What?” You were just talking about cheese. Now you're being interrogated.

“You said you wanted to start dating. That you were interested in me sharing parts of my life with you. What else do you want me to share with you about my life?” he says slowly.

“Oh. It’s really nothing. You’re right, you are already sharing a lot by having me here.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Huh?”

“I didn’t say I’m already sharing a lot, as if you were asking for too much. I said, ‘Am I not already doing that?’” because I thought I was sharing my life with you by inviting you here and hoping to spend time with you. So now I want to know what else you want me to share.”

“You want to spend time with me?” you ask.

“Why else would I ask you what you would like to do until it’s time for bed?” he asks, gently flicking your forehead.

“Maybe you wanted to occupy me so that you would be free to do whatever you really want to do,” you say, wincing a little.

Sylus hangs his head. Huffs a little laugh. “Your mind is incredible.”

You scowl at the top of his stupid, pretty head. “Okay, if you’re going to mock me—”

“I mean it. Your imagination is impressive if there is any ambiguity in a statement. We've been over this, and you promised to try to choose the positive interpretation over the negative."

You look away, feeling shitty for already breaking your promise. Sylus lifts his head and guides your gaze back to him with his forefinger on your jaw. "Habits are hard to break, I know. So let me rephrase. I would like to spend time with you until bed. How would you like to spend that time?” He places his palms on your thighs and smooths them soothingly up, and down.

The soothing gesture works. You feel the impending withdrawal into yourself, into your protective, sad little shell, reverse at his words, at his touch. You think about all the things you were shown today, and what the two of you could do for a little while together. You’re too tired to read, so the idea of visiting his library is out. You don’t want to work out, obviously, so the gym, the ice skating rink, even the pool—no good. 

“You have a home theater. Do you like movies?”

He perks up. “Yeah, I do.”

“Wanna show me what movies you like? Maybe we can watch one?” You’re casual. The absolute definition of chill.

He eyes you for a moment. “When you say practicing to ‘share my life,’ is this your way of asking to know more about me?”

You shrug like it’s no big deal. Like you’re not terribly eager to know every single thing about him. “If you want.”

“If you wanted to know more about me, you could have just said so. No need to frame it in fake dating.”

“But we made a deal. You wanted to practice—”

He interrupts you. “All right, we can date. But just ask if you have questions. And just assume that I want to spend time with you.”

“Our deal was fake dating,” you try again, because he keeps dropping the ‘fake’ part and it’s doing things to your heart.

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, darling,” he lifts one corner of his mouth.

“But that’s the deal—”

“Uh huh,” he says absently, lifting you from the counter with one arm, turning to the fridge, and rifling through it with his free hand. He manages to agilely balance a stack of containers. “There’s a bar in the theater room, so we can get something to drink there,” he happily informs you.

“Of course you have a bar in there, you alcoholic.”

“Now, now, no need to call names,” he says serenely, carrying you and the food into the hall and heading towards the theater room.

Once there, he tosses you gently on one of the super soft, overstuffed in contrast to other furniture in the house, and of course ubiquitously black, leather couches that sits in front of a huge screen on the far wall. The couch is so soft you hardly bounce, just sinking into the cushion with a laugh. He sets the food containers on the low table positioned in front of the couch, between its two chaise lounge sections that stretch out on either side.

He sits down next to you, so close that his big thigh is squished against yours. “The dvds are in the cabinet over there,” he says as he opens one of the container lids. “You wanted to know what movies I like? Knock yourself out.”

You don’t have to be told twice. You excitedly make your way to where he pointed and throw open a dark paneled cabinet door. Shelf after shelf, going all the way up to the high ceiling where you’re certain Sylus can’t even reach, full of dvd after dvd. You run your fingers along their edges, reading titles silently as you go. 

It appears that Sylus is a fan of classic films. You see titles that you’ve never watched, but have heard in passing from cultural references or watching annual movie awards when you’re lucky enough to not be working through them during a particular year. Black and white films. Foreign films with directors you’ve never heard of. As your gaze drifts over his collection, sounds of cabinet doors opening on the other side of the room serve as background noise. The clink of plates, of glasses, liquid being poured.

You don’t think you see one film from the last decade in his collection. But maybe they’re higher up.

“How do you get up to the top? I don’t see one of those fancy library ladders on a wheeled track anywhere. Does the great Sylus Qin resort to using a step stool?” You ask absently, still scanning the titles. He appears to be a big fan of horror movies. You’re also a huge fan of horror, but you can recognize that you’re a bit of a barbarian in that you’ve never watched the true classics. Maybe you can expand your cultural horizons while you’re here. Knowing more about classic film could come in handy while working undercover at pretentious wealthy bastard functions.

Your thought is interrupted as you yelp, having been lifted into the air by scarlet-ink tendrils and carried swiftly toward the ceiling, where you’re now hovering, eye level with the upper shelves of Sylus’s dvd collection. You look back down at him, where he isn’t even looking at you as he is artfully arranging your movie snacks in little bowls and plates.

“A little warning would be nice,” you say drily. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” he teases. “Can’t have you getting bored with me.”

You snort. “That’s my line.”

One moment you’re floating leisurely near what looks like his Russian film section of his collection, and the next you’re being deposited onto his lap as he sinks back into the soft couch.

“The presumption of people insinuating that even the possibility exists that I could ever be bored with you is astonishing,” he grumbles, and your heart hurts a little. Even other people can see how ill-suited you are for this mercurial, privileged man—a man who could have anything and anyone he wants, and has the propensity for boredom that goes along with it. “I don’t like it.”

You just smile at him, because what can you do? “People are wise.”

Sylus scowls like he just sucked on a lemon. “One other person, and he is a silly deviant and has been corrected, just as I’m correcting you.” He places his hands on your shoulders, thumbs smoothing over the skin of your throat. “In no universe could I ever be bored with you.”

“You don’t even really know me,” you say gently, letting your head fall forward under his soft touch. He slides one hand around and palms the back of your neck, squeezing gently.

“Don’t I?” he asks.

“You may know the ugliest parts of me because of your aether core. But you don’t know my daily habits. My annoying quirks. How I brush my teeth. My favorite foods. My fondest memories. My pet peeves when it comes to lovers.” You lean your head back now, baring your throat to him, letting his big hand keep you upright. “And I don’t know yours, either.”

“I know the most essential parts of you to be assured that I’ll never tire of learning about the details,” Sylus answers, shaking you gently.

You open your eyes, lift your head. “But I don’t know the essential parts of you, let alone the details.”

His wine dark eyes look so soft as they meet your gaze. “Don’t you?”

You remember the feeling when you first met him. The voice in your head, urging you to devour him. Insisting with a violence that scared you that he was yours, to consume, to swallow, to feast. The recognition in you when you resonated the first and only time, when you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began. You might not have an aether core in your eye, but maybe you do know the essentials of him. His cruelty. His violence. His single-minded pursuit of his goals. His steadfastness as he chases you, over and over again, as you run, over and over again.

I expect you to remember what you just said, when this is over.

You do remember what you said at Amnesia. And you remember a kiss that never happened, the taste of his tongue on yours that you can’t possibly know. You feel insane.

“Do I?” you echo him.

“Mmm,” he murmurs his confirmation. “And now we have all the time in the world for you to satisfy your kitten’s curiosity regarding the details.”

Maybe it’s okay to be a little insane in a dream. 

“What movie do you want to watch?” you ask, leaning forward, running your nose along his, inhaling the scent of his skin.

He exhales, his warm breath soft and carrying the scent of some smoky liquor. “Why don’t you choose?”

“What if you’ve seen it before?”

He turns his head a little, so that his lips brush the edges of your mouth. “I’ve seen all of the films I own.”

“Won’t you get bored rewatching?” You resist the urge to turn your own head, to meet his mouth— you can’t, you can’t, not yet. What if you’re wrong—

 “I won’t get bored. I’ll be watching through your eyes this time.”

“You have so many, how can I choose?”

He smiles faintly against your skin. “What kind of movies do you like?”

You think for a moment. “I like all kinds of genres. Horror is probably my favorite, but only when I’m in the mood. I think the movies I like the best tend to be character driven. When I care about what is happening to the people, what choices they’re making—when I want them to prevail over the conflict. Not just gritty and dark for the sake of being edgy. And I like happy endings unless it’s a horror film. Life is hard enough, without spending it watching depressing Russian films,” you smile against his cheek in turn before sinking into him, resting your chest against his, tucking your face into his neck. His hands drift up and slowly caress your back.

“So you like fairy tales,” he says, but not dismissively. An observation.

“No, you’re the one who likes fairy tales—the original versions. Grim, unlikable characters being taught a lesson. Sad stories where no one wins, to confirm your cynical outlook of an unsalvageable world.” You’re teasing him, a little. But you also think it’s true.

He huffs a laugh. “Judging my taste in films, just as you judge my taste in coffee, wine, home decor, occupation—the list goes on. I’m the one who should be worried that my darling will grow bored with me.” He pauses. “You actually know quite a few details about me already, don’t you think?”

Your mind drifts to all the time you’ve shared with him, all the things you already know about him. Maybe he’s right, and you know more than you think. He has been showing you himself, every minute you’re together. Maybe if you manage to stop navel gazing and wallowing in insecurity, you’ll learn even more.

“In no universe could I ever be bored with you,” you echo him again.

“I'll hold you to that promise,” he sighs, wrapping his arms around you, hugging you tightly. You’re getting so sleepy. If you don’t start the movie, you’ll be asleep before the opening credits are over.

“So pick your favorite movie, Sy. I want to watch it through your eyes.”

His arms tighten even further, forcing a puff of breath from your lips. “In a minute, darling. Stay like this, for a little longer.”

You nod, feeling his rapid-fire heartbeat under your own, slower heart. It’s soothing, in a way that firing a real gun no longer is for you. 

“If you don’t start it now, I’m going to fall asleep,” you mumble, sinking further.

“Then sleep,” he says. So you do.

Sylus holds you in his arms, and for once, his mind is quiet—no churning plans, no tweaking the spiderwebs of action and reaction, force and counterforce, push and pull, either for his business or to draw you ever closer to him. He’s just a man, sitting with his heart in his hands—safe and calm. He misses you, as he always does, when you’re so close but asleep. He considers joining you in your dreams again, just to make sure that they’re as peaceful as you deserve, but decides against it. He skirted the edges of his promise to you by doing it once, even though he remains convinced that it was necessary. You were willing to share your fears with him after you woke up—he just mixed up the order a little bit by reassuring you first and then asking questions second. But he’s unwilling to risk it again.

This is enough, for now. He feels the steady beat of your heart against his own submachine gun rhythm, and his pulse slows, slows, until for once, he feels like he can breathe fully without having to check behind himself, check the exits, check contingencies and backups, check the pulse in your throat to make sure you’re still here, you’re still real, you’re still letting him so close he can taste your skin when he inhales the scent of your neck. You’re in his home, and you just had your almost-first, definitely not fake despite what you tell yourself, date. Watching a movie together, the most cliche, boring date of all, and you fell asleep before it even started. You called him something other than his full name for the first time, and not in a teasing way like crow man or good boy—an endearment, something no one else will ever have the privilege of calling him. It takes him a little while to figure out the feeling that has been spreading through him since you hugged him from behind in thanks for the lousy gift of a couple of mugs you already owned—a feeling like how he has always imagined sunshine would feel on a mild summer day for a normal person.

Oh. He laughs a little breathlessly. He’s happy.

If he wasn’t aware of how much you’re already changing him, he’d realize it now, as he hugs you as tightly as he dares without waking you, feeling as foolish as Aidan waxing poetic about every new person being a gift with a surprise inside. Sylus doesn’t need any other people to maintain his attention—you are the gift, a nesting doll puzzle box, a gift within a gift within a gift, and he’s so fucking happy you’re letting him open each of your secrets, one by one, that he’s dizzy with it. The ratatat of his heart fires, and fires, and fires. For the first time that he can remember, he’s looking forward to tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that.

end note: My dear readers, once again I have failed to deliver big toys and action, but the plot has inched along very slightly with Sylus's conversation with Aidan, and hopefully the next part will contain MC having the run of Sylus's place and getting into some trouble with the twins and Noah if I recover from real world events and don't just crawl into a hole and hide for the next four years.

[genderfluid-insomniac]

I have just been going through all of you x reader stuff, and it's amazing! I'm not sure if requests are open or not. (If they're not, you may ignore me), but I was wondering how Macaque would be if his partner was pregnant, specifically with a little baby girl during and after the pregnancy?

I love this idea so much and I may have gotten a bit carried away and I didn't expect this post to be this long lol

Macaque x pregnant!reader

Macaque during the pregnancy:

If you thought he was protective before then get ready for being watched/”guarded” all the time and he’s not going to hide being protective if anything he’s going to be obvious that if anyone dares mess or threatens to hurt you then it’s over for them. He’ll tone it down a tad if you ask him to but he’s not taking any risks since he doesn’t want to lose you in any way nor his child.

He’s patient when you’re dealing with the pregnancy and all its symptoms however every time you get morning sickness his anxiety flares up, worrying about your health and your cubs’. He’s never been happier for his six ears and how sensitive they are because he can hear his cub's heartbeat and every sound they make.

There’s no lying he is going to be a bit judgy when you ask and eat your strange food combinations or cravings but he’ll humor you regardless. Depending on what they are he might try some of them with you and others he will draw a hard no at.

Both of you didn’t want the gender to be revealed at all via the ultrasound or the whispers of the future Macaque hears so you both are very excited to meet your child when they come into the world and grow up with two hopeful loving parents. The later in your pregnancy the more you start to show and the more he is obviously lovestruck but doesn’t seem to care.

At night when you’re resting on the bed or couch your husband will have his head resting on your tummy, smiling softly whenever he feels the baby kick, and use his abilities to perform stories on the walls in front of you. You’re never left feeling helpless or forgotten since he’s so doting on you more than before however don’t think that doesn’t mean that you’re off the hook for his teasing and flirts.

The larger your belly gets and the harder regular chores get the more he’s going to insist and make sure you’re off your feet, helping you to feel comfortable and less stressed. Macaque will let you keep doing regular things if you insist on doing them but the moment you wince or feel discomfort he’s sweeping you off your feet again literally.

Once the day gets here and your water breaks he’s panicking and not hiding it that well since with help from Sandy and the gang had told him the full dos and don’ts of pregnancy. He knows you’re in good hands but seeing you yell in pain and hearing you cry as you’re feeling contractions breaks his heart.

He doesn’t risk using his shadow portals in case it hurts his cub and you and rushes you to the hospital, not taking no for an answer when he’s asked if he’s sure he wants to come in or asks you if you want him in. There isn’t ever a time when he’s not by your side and holding your hand, letting you squeeze it as much as you want, and soothing you with comforting words.

When the time finally happens you’re screaming and gripping his hand like you’re hanging off a cliff for dear life, both apologizing for making his ears hurt and pleading for it to be over. He was frankly a bit disturbed that you apologized for hurting him via your screaming but held you as close as he could until you both heard the cry of your new cub.

Macaque after the pregnancy:

The moment you both heard your child cry everything else no longer mattered and you opened your arms to signal you wanted to hold your child, cradling their sweet baby girl in your arms and crying out of joy. You looked up at Macaque with tears streaming down your face and sobbing happily when you saw the same expression mirror on his face, resting your foreheads against one another and kissing him gently.

His cub had your hair color fur and four lotus-shaped ears like his that twitched and flicked about when you both traced over them with your fingers. Her fists curled up and she rubbed her eyes that slowly opened to show your eye color reflected with gold flecks scattered around the iris.

Macaque couldn’t help the bittersweet feeling that his cub had his ears which you constantly called precious but also worried considering all the hate he got from others for his “freaky” ears. You must’ve seen his conflicted expression because you kissed his cheek and then your cubs who was swaddled in a comfy blanket.

When you moved for him to hold your baby he tensed up at first not wanting to possibly hurt his baby girl in any way but all his worries melted when she looked up at him and wrapped his tail around hers. He made a promise to himself that he’d protect his daughter and lover no matter what.

The days after you gave birth were hard and Macaque was there for all of it, helping you out whenever you could and getting you actual food since both of you agreed the hospital food was disgusting. Your baby was pretty well-behaved and was mostly quiet thanks to a sound-dampening spell your lover placed on her ears, handing her off to one another and to the nurses when they needed to check on her.

When you were finally let out of the hospital he still didn’t use his portal out of concern for his baby and you, calling Sandy to help you both back home with your wheelchair and gratefully accepting the baby gifts he gave you both. While you were still in the hospital Macaque sent a couple of clones back to your apartment to baby-proof everything and also install a lock on the door of his dojo.

The following weeks weren’t pretty since parenting is never easy and you both share the burden of the sleepless nights which doesn’t happen that much since it turns out that your baby was an easy cub just very clingy. Macaque had mixed feelings about that since he liked having you all to himself but now had to share you with his daughter, who he loved more than anything but was also getting used to sharing you.

Macaque was protective during the pregnancy and still remains so as Yingyue grows up, deciding to name their baby girl after how she was just as beautiful as the moon and just as calm and soothing. Every time a picture of the sky was in her view she babbled out excited noises and often would put on special shadow plays for his precious daughter.

He watches everyone like a hawk when the gang meets his daughter specifically Wukong for reasons. Already in advance, he put a sound-dampening spell on her sensitive ears knowing MK and Mei wouldn’t be able to not scream or at least MK would remember after a second or so. They all adored his cub even Wukong who wished him congratulations as Macaque just stared lovingly at his little girl.

[tetzoro]

ENDLESS LOVE — ༉‧₊˚.

ft. kuroo tetsuro !

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : after a steamy night with kuroo, he reflects on how he feels about you. aka the first time you tell each other ‘i love you.’

꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : established relationship, pillow talk, takes place after sex but no smut, tooth rotting fluff — WC : 1k

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : in case you can’t tell, i love him >_< happy valentine’s day tetsu ᰔ dividers by @/cafekitsune

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ! (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ᰔ*.ﾟ

“how do you feel when you’re with me?” you ask, hope filling your eyes as your body is still coming down from the high he gave you only moments ago.

kuroo rolls onto his stomach beside you as he ponders the question for a second.

it’s a good question, one that he has to mull around in his mind a few times. the problem is, the answer isn’t as simple, at least not the one he wants to give you.

because how does he describe how he feels when he’s biting into the sweetest strawberry for the first time, a burst of flavor rushing into his mouth that reminds him of the fondest summer days. the ones he’d spend chasing kenma around with a volleyball, scrapped kneecaps and uncontrollable laughter — endless nights of cherished memories and wanting to stay out long after the sun had set.

or how does he feel when he gets into the shower and feels the warmth of the water soak deep into his bones, washing away all of his negative emotions that flooded his mind — body becoming cleansed after a long, hard day of work. the feeling of coming home and seeking comfort, finding shelter and sanctuary between the slippery tile and the familiar scent of the soap he’s used for years.

or maybe it’s how he feels when he catches a shooting star racing across the clear night sky, making its presence known and allowing the watcher to make its wish — the kind of luck that doesn’t just happen to everyone, a rarity that few get chosen for but here it is unfolding before his very eyes.

those experiences don’t have words to define them, at least not to do them enough justice. they’re just feelings that bubble up inside of him and demand to be savored. it’s the exact same way with you. an entity that mere words couldn’t describe. but he’d try, for you.

“i feel —” he pauses, finger trailing along your jaw. the look in your eye tells him that he’s got your undivided attention, hanging on to every word as you prepare to gauge his response. so he figures he’ll bare it all. “one with the world when i’m with you. like i’m in the exact place i need to be in. i think about how lucky i am. i feel at home.”

you open and close your mouth like a fish and kuroo has to hold himself back from kissing you. the ghost of your lips haunt him for every moment they aren’t on his, never quite getting his fill of you. but he’ll be patient. for now.

“oh.” is all you say, biting your lip to hide that beautiful smile of yours.

“yeah, oh.” he laughs, his finger tucking under your chin and bringing you in for the kiss he’s been waiting for, yearning for, craving.

for a moment, he lets himself savor it, the way your soft lips glide over his, tongue poking out to meet his in an embrace. kuroo thinks he could kiss you forever and it would still never be enough.

kuroo pulls apart, amber eyes meeting yours, naked bodies still pressed up against each other, breathing in sync with one another, heart beating as one.

his finger trailed from your chin, down your neck, into the pools of your collarbones, drinking in every inch of your body. something stirred within him, his mouth having a mind of its own as he replaces his fingers with his tongue.

as kuroo makes his way across your collarbones and over the curve of your shoulder, his tongue turns into lips that press against your skin — soft as rose petals as they make their way down your arm.

every mole, every freckle is adjourned with his lips, kissing each and every mark, covering it with his saliva so a piece of him lays upon you, imbedding himself into your skin.

once he gets to your hands, his eyes find yours again, gently kissing each finger tip before he uses your palm to cradle his own face.

“why do you ask?” kuroo slightly hovers over you now, other elbow holding him up to keep his weight off of you as he kissed his way back into your personal space. like a cat, he tilts his head to the side, leaning into your touch as he waits for your answer.

“well i-“ you pause, eyes averting his sharp gaze. he doesn’t push, doesn’t force you to look back at him. “i asked because…”

“because?” his cheshire cat smile lacing his lips, ready to tease you for whatever answer you throw at him.

“because i love you, tetsu.”

those three words strike him right in the heart, cupid firing off a million arrows a second, cracking open his ribcage and letting his heart spill down into your awaiting hands.

to love and to be loved in return was something he pushed down for a long time, opting to focus on the more practical things in life — school, sports, his career.

but somewhere along the way you popped into his life, quite seamlessly he might add. he realized he loved you long ago but put those feelings on hold because how could someone like you ever feel that for him?

but you do. and nothing has ever sparked a greater joy in his heart, it’s beat thumping so loudly it drowns the rest of the world away, leaving you and him in a place to call your own. a place of belonging, a place full of endless love.

it courses through his body, warmth spreading to every nerve, synapses firing off with pure joy, so much that he almost forgets to repeat it back, the eager look on your face anticipating his reaction.

but you see it in his eyes, in the way they light up like a man who just got everything he’s ever wanted. his soul set aflame as he moves, opting to take your cheek into his palm instead, faces so close together you share the same breath.

“and i love you.” he whispers back, forgoing the ‘too’. for it’s not just a response to you, the word itself leaves a bitter taste in his mouth as it cheapens the value of his words. no, it’s his own declaration to set in stone that he loves you just as you love him — the way it should be and the way it will always be.

thank you for reading ᰔ