#sorry for complaining about marvel this morning

[zara-renata]

And everything that is now already existed then | ao3 | masterlist

Summary: Sylus shows you his favorite parts of his house, you are haunted by a strange feeling of familiarity, you spend some time with the twins and Noah, you learn about the bet they have going, no this is not a wattpad bet story that will be turned into a multi-part tv series even though i love that trope so much, the self control i exerted should be acknowledged if not praised. This part has less humor than other parts, I've been in a contemplative mood recently, sorry. Part 17 of the Sylus series.

Notes: Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, second person POV, some Sylus POV. They/them pronouns are used to refer to reader as a placeholder for your preferred pronouns. The slowest of slow burns friends-to-lovers. This story contains: angst, fluff, banter, poetry, questions of morality, video game violence, discussions of real life violence, profanity, alcohol mention, self-harm mention, mc with self-esteem and guilt issues.

The water is warm. The man underneath you is warm. Your heart, you realize, is also warm. Quiet. Nothing hurts. You marvel at the feeling. How long can you get away with this? Plastered against Sylus’s big body, his rough hands just resting on your back. You feel guilty for keeping him from doing something else. For not being at work. For doing absolutely nothing useful to anyone. For feeling so good.

Sylus holds you, seemingly content to just sit here with you as the water laps against the sides of the pool.

“Don’t you have business to attend to?” you reluctantly ask, because you’re incapable of just trusting that good things can last. That the fulfillment of your deepest desires won’t be snatched away when you least expect it, so you push, push, push, seeking the weakness that will ultimately crack and cause the moment, finally filled, to break.

Sylus holds you a little tighter. “No.”

You wait, but he doesn’t elaborate. You should just accept it. Just enjoy this moment. All you have in this life is each moment—that’s all there is. Why can’t you just experience each one, savor it, suck it dry, until the next? Why must you always waste the pleasure of each moment by being in such a rush to get to the inevitable end?

But you can’t just accept it. You don’t know how. Your whole life has taught you that the moment you trust the permanence is the moment that the moment shatters. Might as well ruin it first, instead of fearing the end. And who are you to complain? What have you done to deserve it in the first place?

“Business slow in the Onychinus economy?” you ask.

“Tch,” he responds, seemingly indignant at the mere suggestion that his business isn’t printing him money even as he canoodles in a hot tub with you. “Business is booming, darling. The human capacity for cruelty is an endlessly growing market.”

You press your cheek harder against the sweaty skin just under his collarbone. You don’t want to think about what he offers people to enable that endless cruelty right now.

“Then how do you have the luxury of lazing about with me?”

“I’ve tasked Aidan with handling business that requires executive decisions for the foreseeable future. As much as it annoys me, I will likely have to answer calls like this morning, but I’ve informed him that I will not be leaving the base unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

You lift your head, curious. He looks down at you, relaxed, eyes glowing in the low light from the pool.

“Why?”

One corner of his beautiful mouth lifts. “Guess.”

You stare at him. He’s taking time off, not pursuing new deals, not focusing on growing his wealth… for you? Ridiculous. 

“What will you do while you’re not doing business?” you ask, not able to bring yourself to guess out loud that he took time off for you, to spend time with you while you’re staying with him.

“What do you want to do?” He runs his fingers along your temple, brushes a lock of hair behind your ear, traces the shell of it with a fingertip.

“That’s not an answer,” you say, softly.

“Yes, it is.”

You can’t believe it. The man who is always on the go, from one deal to the next, disappearing for weeks at a time, doing who knows what, who knows where—the man who probably gets bored out of his mind while instigating a riot—says that he just wants to do whatever you want to do. You, whose idea of excitement is a new pair of sleep pants and a night off to watch let’s plays of horror games that you don’t have the time and energy to play yourself anymore.

“You can’t mean that.” You frown at him.

“Try me,” he challenges.

You try to think of something that he’d hate just to prove your point that he doesn't actually mean it when he says he’ll do whatever you want.

“Oh, kitten’s plotting,” he snickers after seeing your expression.

“I want to watch every Justin Bieber documentary ever produced,” you say defiantly. You really don’t. But you’re sure he’ll balk at this outrageous suggestion.

He shrugs a little. “Okay. We can see if they’re on demand in the theater room. If not, I’m sure we can pirate them.”

You narrow your eyes. He can’t mean it. Fuck, if he’s going to call your bluff, you’re going to have to actually sit through who knows how many hours of Justin Bieber: Our World. You barely suppress a shudder.

“Actually, I want to fly to a warm seaside resort and swim with dolphins,” you try, the picture of casual entitlement. You do not want to do this. You’re fucking tired. The last thing you want to do is get on an airplane.

“Dolphins can be as vicious as humans, but if you really want that, we can pack some things now and be on our way by dinner,” he says calmly. As if the suggestion isn’t utterly outrageous.

Is he being as petty as you, intent on not admitting that he didn’t actually mean it when he said he would do whatever you want, or does he actually want to do whatever the fuck you want? You can’t read him at all right now.

You’re desperate and stubborn. “Actually, I think the amusement park in Linkon City is having a furry event all week. I’d like to dress up as our respective fursonas and ride the roller coasters all day.” 

Sylus doesn’t even blink. “Do you have a fursuit already, or do we need one tailored before we can go?”

You laugh in disbelief and rest your forehead on his shoulder. “What about you? Do you have a fursuit already?”

“No, I don’t have a fursuit, because I’m not a fucking furry,” he says drily.  “But I do think I’d make a very majestic caracal cat. Which goes nicely with your kitten fursona.”

You blink. “That's quite self-aware of you." And then you scowl. "My fursona wouldn’t be as lame as a kitten.”

“Oh? What animal do you think accurately portrays your personality?”

You lift your head and think. You’ve never really thought about it. Something small and mean, probably. “A mongoose.”

He tilts his head, considering. “That actually fits you quite well. Good at hunting snakes, and very, very cute.”

You can feel yourself blushing. “Yeah, well. I’m not a furry, so it doesn’t matter even if it doesn’t fit,” you mumble a little.

“And yet you want to go to the furry event at the amusement park,” he lifts an eyebrow. 

You stare at him, mulishly. You’re not going to admit that you’re trying to poke holes in his patience because you can’t trust nice things.

“But I don’t think that’s what you actually want to do,” he continues, with a gentleness that hurts your heart. He urges you to wrap your legs around his waist. “When I said you could test me, this is not exactly what I had in mind,” he teases. “How about you test me by telling me what you actually want to do, and then you’ll see that I mean what I say when I refrain from complaining about being bored while we do them?”

You wrap your arms around his neck as he stands gracefully, the water sliding down both your bodies. “I don’t want you to just not complain about being bored,” you argue. “I don’t want you to be bored at all. You don’t have to entertain me while I’m here. You can do whatever you really want to do.” You mean this. It’s enough, just being in the same house as him right now. Knowing that in the evening he’ll end up in the same bed as you. You don’t want him to tire of you too quickly by insisting that he spend every moment with you.

“Then I repeat—what do you want to do?”

Okay. Okay, he asked for it.

“Show me your favorite things to do at home, when you’re not being a warlord.”

He looks surprised. “That’s it?”

“Yeah. I’m really tired. I never get a chance to just relax. I don’t want to go anywhere, or do anything exciting.” You bite your lip, unwilling to admit that you’re desperate to learn more about him and that worried he’s going to think you’re boring. 

He leans forward and catches the side of your lip not caught in your own teeth with his. With your lip between his sharp teeth, he pulls back, gently, until you release it from your own. He pauses, inhales, and then lets go, licking your bitten lip with a quick, soothing flick of his tongue.

“That’s my spot,” he murmurs, pulling back.

Your brain is offline. You have no idea what you were just talking about, or what just happened. All you can feel is the slick of his saliva on the plush of your lip.

Fuck.

You want to fuck him so badly.

You search his face. Can he tell? Does he feel the same way? He touches you like this, and then does nothing. What does he want?

If he can tell what’s going on in your head, he doesn’t comment on it. “Then we can stay home. I’ll show you what I like to do when I’m tired and don’t want to do anything exciting.” His faint smile is tinged with self satisfaction.

“Okay,” you choke out. You will not slide down his body, push him onto the soft moss, and jump on him. 

“But first, I will feed you.” The tendrils of his evol bring the fluffy towels to his waiting hand, and he wraps one around you, all while you cling to his torso. He just drapes the other around his shoulders, over your arms still wrapped around his neck. His evol then ferries the two cocktails that remained untouched for the whole time you were in the hot tub, following you back through the pool room and into the chill hallway as Sylus carries you to the kitchen. Between the heat of Sylus’s body and the towels blanketing you, you’re still warm. You watch the drinks following you over his shoulder, and then glance at him.

At your look, he says, “What? It would be a shame to let perfectly good drinks go to waste.”

“What time is it? Don’t you think it’s a bit early to start drinking?”

He shrugs. “It’s probably past midnight, sweetheart. That’s when one normally drinks alcoholic beverages, isn’t it?”

You sigh. “So it’s basically noon in your day-night cycle.”

“Time is a construct, and inherently meaningless,” he says serenely.

After this insufferable response, you give up trying to save his liver for the moment.

____________________

Later, after Sylus serves you a meal packed with protein that pairs nicely with the cocktails as the fire crackles pleasantly and the clouds, reflecting the N109 Zone’s bright lights even at night, sweep across the sky outside his kitchen windows, after you’ve showered and put on warm, comfortable clothes, you find him in the sitting area of his bedroom, reading a book, the Beatles playing on his record player. You recognize the song— The long and winding road. 

You stop, suddenly overcome with an overwhelming sense of sorrow. He looks up from his book and watches you curiously.

You left me standing here, a long long time ago

You feel like you’re forgetting something very, very important. Like your dream last night, but not about your family. About the man watching you inquisitively, his long, graceful fingers holding the book gently, the outline of his aquiline nose limned in the soft lighting of his bedroom.

Don’t leave me waiting here, lead me to your door

You suddenly can’t bear to be separated from him for one more second. You pad to him on your freshly bandaged feet, knock the book out of his hand, clamber into his lap, and hug him.

His arms come around you as if he doesn’t mind that you’ve just bulldozed your way onto his lap. After a few minutes, the song ends, and a new, more upbeat one begins.

You feel like you can breathe again.

You sit up, looking down into his face. You want to kiss him so badly. You’re afraid that he’ll gently push you away, as he pushed your hand away from the tie of his sleep pants that you were fiddling with recently. With such kindness, but a loud, resounding rejection of what he perceived to be you offering your body to him.

He’ll bite your lip, but you’re so scared that he doesn’t want to kiss you. Sometimes it seems like he wants you, you, not just a body, not just anyone praising him or challenging him, but you. Do you really still not know? My beloved is perfect to me.  

But what if you’re wrong? What have you done to earn this incredible man's devotion?

“Will you tell me what you’re thinking right now, without the guessing game?” he asks softly. 

You shake your head. “No. And I don’t want to play the guessing game right now.” You can’t bear to think about what you may be forgetting as you look into his blood-bright eyes. You can’t bear to reveal how badly you want to kiss him, only to be rebuffed.

“Not even a hint?” He nudges your nose with his. “Otherwise I’ll spend every free moment sitting around reading, listening to classic rock music.”

You look at him in confusion. “Why?”

“It seemed to work in luring a kitten into my lap this time. Maybe it works every time.”

Your heart is doing something funny. It doesn’t hurt. It feels… it feels so fucking warm. Like in the hot tub. What is happening to you? 

“The music made me sad,” you offer this truth, as a reward for his sweet response.

“Not a fan of the Beatles?” He fiddles with the hem of your shirt, his knuckles brushing against your skin underneath.

“I do like their music. My gran used to listen to them a lot.”

“Is that what made you sad?”

You give him a look. “I said I didn’t want to play the guessing game.”

“I’m just asking questions,” he protests, the picture of innocence. “Is it a crime to want to get to know you?”

You gaze at him. Weren’t you just thinking about how you’re desperate to know everything about him? “Not one I’d arrest you for,” you say, looking down, smiling a little.

He laughs softly. “Lucky me. It would be hard to uphold my end of our deal and show you the music room, the library, and my favorite part of the greenhouse from behind bars.”

“That sounds like a busy itinerary,” you say, lifting a finger, tracing his clavicle revealed by his soft v-neck sweater.

His knuckles sweep over your skin just above the band of your soft pants.

“We have time—we don’t have to do everything today. Which one do you want to see first?”

You don’t care. Your heart is being weird and Sylus is touching you, and you’re touching Sylus. You could just sit here, forever, and enjoy whatever this… feeling is. But you’re afraid you’ll ruin it. Like you always do. If you take too much, he will actually get bored. You should pick one.

“Library,” you say firmly.

“As you wish,” he says, standing, holding you all the while. You can’t bring yourself to protest. You can walk on your own feet. Your feet already feel a little better after just a day. But he’s warm. And he doesn’t seem to mind at all. You drape yourself over him, and let him carry you through the dark halls to his library.

He sets you down outside one of the ubiquitous black doors, and then opens it for you. 

His library, like the greenhouse, the pool, the room like a mountain hot spring, is lovely in a way that the rest of his house simply isn’t. Soaring ceilings, heavy built-in wooden bookcases lining the walls, a huge fireplace, electric as opposed to the wood-fireplace from the kitchen, at one end of the room. A wrought iron spiraling staircase leads up beyond the heavy wooden rafter beams to a space you can’t see. Deep red, plush rugs in antique designs hush your footsteps. Plush, deep seated chairs and loveseats, side tables with Tiffany lamps gently illuminate the space. One wall of his preferred floor-to-ceiling windows letting in the N109 Zone night, the red moon bright in the sky as the clouds scuttle past. 

It’s like a library from an old, prestigious university. The kind of university you always wished you could have gone to, if you lived in another world. If this world didn’t need people prepared to kill and die for existential threats to humanity. Where you could study something functionally useless, but enriching to the human experience. Like French literature or poetry. The room smells of wood oil, old paper. 

You turn in a circle and find Sylus leaning against a bookcase, watching you take in the room. “This is one of your favorite spots in the house?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“It’s quiet. The twins aren’t big readers, so they don’t come in here. It’s a good place to think, and concentrate.”

“Have you read every book in here, like you’ve seen every film in your collection?”

He straightens from the bookcase and walks to you. As he comes to a stop in front of you, he reaches for your face, holds your cheeks gently in his hands. “No. This room is more about the future. Books I’d like to read when life is a little less busy. I’ve read some, but not as many as I would like.”

“Do you think that someday your life will be less busy?”

“If I have my way, yes.”

“And you’ll spend your days quietly reading in the solitude of your lovely library?”

“Not in solitude. But yes. You think it’s lovely?”

You look at him strangely. Didn't he just say he enjoys it because it's quiet and no one bothers him here? “Of course I do. It’s like someone designed it just for me.”

He looks down into your face, thumbs brushing across your cheekbones.

“Like I said. This room is about the future.”

You tilt your head at his non-sequitur. What does your loving the library have to do with his quieter future?

It almost sounds like…

The moment is full. You refuse to shatter it by considering such outrageous thoughts. You will enjoy this moment for what it is. A peek into the mind of this enigmatic man. The opportunity to explore a beautiful, private space in his home.

“Read to me,” he orders, striding to one of the soft couches and plopping down.

You snort. “What do you want me to read you, your spoiled highness?”

“Anything you want. Look around, pick something that catches your interest.” He lets his head drop onto the back of the couch, eyes half-lidded as they follow you walking to one of the bookcases, as you let your fingertips run along the spines of book after book. You see a lot of titles you don’t recognize. You see a lot that you do—classics as well as newer publications. You and Xavier spend enough time in the bookstore that you know a lot of titles by sight, even if these days you rarely have the time to read beyond the manga you share with your partner.

Your eyes catch on a familiar title.

“Oh,” you breathe.

“Find something?” Sylus asks languidly.

“One of my favorite poets. Gran had a copy of this.” You pluck the book from the shelf and walk back over to where Sylus is sprawled on the couch. The moonlight through the windows makes his eyes look even brighter than usual, glowing in the soft light.

“You’re a fan of poetry?” he asks, eyebrows lifting.

“Don’t act so surprised. I’m not entirely uncultured.”

“Your manga collection could have fooled me,” he teases.

“Manga is art. You’re a pretentious fool if you can’t recognize that.”

“No need to get your knives out, kitten,” he smiles, one sharp tooth peeking from behind his full lip. “I have a collection of manga here as well.”

“You do?”

He just steadily stares at you.

“Where?”

He closes his eyes. “Guess you’ll have to stay long enough to explore and find it.”

You stand over him, drinking in the sight of him. Surrounded by the scent of books, polished wood, the moon’s red light rendering him slightly otherworldly.

You want to stay long enough to find out. It’s only been two days, and you want to live in this moment forever. You're so greedy. You're so unworthy.

“Still want me to read to you?”

Instead of answering, the tendrils of his evol wind up from your ankles to your waist, lift you, deposit you on the seat next to him. He scoots down, places his head in your lap.

“You could have just said yes,” you say drily. “No need to be dramatic.”

“I don’t hear any reading. Chop chop.”

Oh hell no. You scowl down at him, but his eyes are closed. “Lap service costs extra.”

“Good thing I’m filthy rich.”

You scoff. “I don’t want your money.”

He opens his eyes. “I suspected as much. It makes taming you all the more difficult.”

You look at him curiously. “Is that what you’re doing? All of your generosity, in order to acquire a tame hunter?”

“What use is a tame hunter?” He dismisses your suggestion. “Your imagination is distressingly limited.”

“Once again, I disappoint,” you murmur. He clearly isn’t in the mood to answer your questions.

He tsks and closes his eyes again, wiggles a little to get more comfortable in your lap. “Make up for it by reading your favorite poetry to me.”

You want to lean down and kiss the smug look off of his face. You don’t want him to turn away if you do.

You begin to read.

“Try to praise the mutilated world.

Remember June's long days,

and wild strawberries, drops of rosé wine.”

He interrupts you. “I see why you like Zagajewski. Someone else who shares your taste in middling wine.”

“No comments until the end, thank you,” you jostle his head by bouncing your thigh a few times.

He scowls, places one big hand on your thigh and presses down. “Stingy. This should be interactive storytelling.”

You ignore the howling need in you to grab his hand, to guide it further up your leg. You continue to read.

“The nettles that methodically overgrow

the abandoned homesteads of exiles.

You must praise the mutilated world.

You suddenly think of the N109 Zone and all of its misery. Paying the price of some shitty corporation’s greed. But you keep reading.

You watched the stylish yachts and ships;

one of them had a long trip ahead of it,

while salty oblivion awaited others.”

You pause, thinking about Sylus’s wealth, the wealth of people like him, and everyone else. The yachts, versus the ships that will sink.

“That’s not the end. Why have you stopped?” Sylus's voice jerks you out of your thoughts.

“You know this poem?”

“I own the book, don’t I?”

“You said you hadn’t read everything in here.”

“Point,” he concedes. “But yes, I know this poem. I’m also an admirer of the poet.”

You think about him calling you kindred spirits, when you first met. How angry that idea made you. Now, you want to lean down and kiss him. You shake your head a little. You keep reading.

“You've seen the refugees going nowhere,

you've heard the executioners sing joyfully.

You should praise the mutilated world.

Remember the moments when we were together

in a white room and the curtain fluttered.”

Sylus interrupts you again. “I always liked the imagery of the moments spent together, the simplicity of the white room, the curtain fluttering. What more can one desire, when at their love’s side?”

You don't think you've ever heard him say something so romantic. But why would you have? You're not in a romantic relationship with him. Your heart doesn't seem to understand that fact—something inside you thrills that his idea of romance mirrors yours so closely. But his focus on the gentle moment, instead of the rest of the poem, strikes you as strange. “That’s what you see? Not the lovers enjoying simplicity, safety, while the refugees are going nowhere, and the executioners are singing joyfully?”

“The point of the poem is that you must wrest joy from an imperfect world where you can. You’re not helping the condemned by moping about their fate.”

“Is that the point? Perhaps the point is that all you can do is try to praise the mutilated world, but it’s fruitless. If that were the point, he would have entitled it 'Praise the mutilated world,' not 'Try to praise the mutilated world.' ‘Trying’ isn’t succeeding—try all you want, but it’s impossible to praise the world as it is. Better to use your yacht to save those drowning in the salty oblivion.”

“Idealist,” Sylus scoffs, as if the label is a profanity instead of a compliment.

You jostle his head again. “Cynic,” you retort.

“You’re not done,” he sniffs, closing his eyes again.

You resist the urge to buck your hips in order to dump him on the floor. You read again.

“Return in thought to the concert where music flared.

You gathered acorns in the park in autumn

and leaves eddied over the earth's scars.

Praise the mutilated world

and the gray feather a thrush lost,

and the gentle light that strays and vanishes

and returns.”

You finish, filled with a strange feeling. You’ve loved this poem ever since the first time you read it with the sunshine gushing into your gran’s living room on a slow summer day. As you grew, you loved it for different reasons, for its ambiguity, its hope and its resignation, its acknowledgment of the horrors of life and its simple pleasures. It always felt familiar to you, but the specific imagery reading it this time around is familiar in a way that feels concrete. 

You think about the gray feather, the light that strays and vanishes and returns. You think about the feeling while listening to the Beatles, that you’re forgetting something important. You think about Sylus’s casual dismissal of the suffering of others.

Calling suffering fate seems like a convenient excuse to you. Why bother trying to make the world better, if fate deems that it should be miserable?

You think about sipping the rosé, biting the strawberry Sylus offered you. Your curtains fluttering in the breeze in your room, when Sylus has come to your place at night. These things you have enjoyed, as people suffer beyond the safety of your apartment and Sylus’s fortress walls. 

“Stop torturing yourself, darling,” he says through your racing thoughts. He turns his head, presses his lips against your thigh, inhales deeply. It’s not a kiss, but you feel the press of his mouth through the fabric of your pants as if it were. You resist the urge to spread your thighs further.

“Should I read another?” you ask quietly. You don’t want to think about these things. You want to live in the moment. What kind of person does that make you? The desire to ignore the cost of this pleasure, your enjoyment of Sylus's home, proves that you don’t deserve it. 

“Of course,” he says, but his phone vibrates in his pocket. He grunts unhappily as he reluctantly sits up, sliding the phone from his pocket. “Keep exploring,” he says, heading to the door. “I’ll try to make this quick.”

So you do. Wandering amongst the books, finding other titles that are your favorites, but so many that you’ve never read, never heard of. Many of them are not in your native language. You wonder how many languages Sylus speaks.

After a surprisingly short amount of time, he returns. "Read more to me," he orders, sprawling on the couch once more.

You look back at him, admiring the wrought-iron staircase spiraling up, the moon through the windows, his long, strong body casually stretched along the couch.

“Can we light the fire?”

“Of course. Fire," he says, and the fireplace flares to life at his command. You wonder if such a system is in place in each room. You wander back to the couch, and he pulls you down. You read him the rest of the poems from this collection, arguing here and there, learning his favorite parts, both matching and diverging from your own. Until your stomach growls, causing him to nuzzle it, insist on taking you to the kitchen and feeding you another meal. After you're once again full, he offers to show you the conservatory.

“Okay,” you say, relaxed, satisfied. He wraps his arms around you, lifts. You let him, wrapping your legs around his waist. You think about a gentle light that strays and vanishes and returns. What are you forgetting?

He takes you to the music room. It’s behind another black door. You would never be able to guess, walking through his solemn hallways, each expansive room unfolding behind each uniform door.

As you walk into the beautiful space, you’re struck with the realization that Sylus’s home is strange in many ways, and not just because it serves as both his home and his fortress, an armory and an indoor playground. The halls are winding and despite the height of the ceilings on each floor, they’re oppressive. There is no open floor plan for the house itself. Each room’s door can be closed, barricaded, turning the room within into a bunker. But behind each door, each room fans out, soaring windows, high ceilings, glass giving way to a savage view of the harsh landscape in a way that renders even the ugliness of the N109 Zone beautiful in a stark, barren-planet kind of way. You suspect that the glass is bullet-proof. You wonder what kind of impacts it can withstand beyond firearms. Could it survive a thrown grenade? A direct strike from a drone? Would anyone dare actually wage a full-on assault on the leader of Onychinus’s home?

“Not even the greenhouse rendered you speechless, kitten. Does that mean you like it, or hate it?”

You blink. You had been so busy wondering about the strategic choices of Sylus’s architectural design that you hadn’t even begun admiring the metal support beams, curling like vines in a distinct art nouveau style between multiple panes of glass, each meeting at the pinnacle of a glass ceiling. Two of the larger glass panes are not the standard window glass, but are stained glass, continuing the art nouveau theme, depicting colorful curls of plants, flowers, as well as animals—beasts from mythology, dragons, phoenixes, winged chimeras. Luscious potted plants scattered along the white marble floor. A white grand piano sitting in the center of the circular space. Instruments of all kinds, from all parts of the world, hung or resting on more organically wrought metal display mounts along two-thirds of the glass walls. A seating area, filled with comfortable, low furniture, carved blond wood in flowing, plant-like designs, sits between the piano and the view of the landscape through the clear glass, framed by the murals of stained glass.

It’s breathtaking. But you’ve had your breath taken by the greenhouse, the pool, the room with the hot tub, the library. Each in a distinctly different style from the rooms of the house that see daily use by their owner: Sylus’s bedroom. The kitchen. The hallways. The imposing dining room and its equally imposing banquet table. The cave-like theater room. Each dark—black marble, maroon accents, deeply masculine, modern, abstract art. But the rooms that have taken your breath instead of making you feel oppressed are so startlingly different from Sylus’s often-used spaces.

You can’t accept the moment. You can’t stand not knowing, even as you are afraid to know. You have to ask. “I don’t understand,” you say, turning to him.

He glances around the room, and then looks back at you. “It’s a home conservatory, sweetheart. Not a trick question.”

You ignore him. Your curiosity will eat you alive if you don’t ask him. You want to know. You don’t want to know. “Why does it feel like two different people designed your house?”

His eyebrows lift in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Half of your house is edgy, big-dick rich vampire man-cave, and half is this,” you sweep an arm to indicate the delicate yet sturdy steel beams, organically curving into the height of the room, the chairs carved like palms, stained glass, the lush vegetation.

“Can one person not appreciate more than one style of home decor?” he asks, walking over to you, winding an arm around your waist.

You stare at him. Nothing Sylus does is by accident. You know this much by now. You know a lot about him by now. You don’t know enough about him by now.

“The parts of the house you spend the most time in reflect your style. But the other parts… the parts that wait for an owner that rarely comes. Did you choose the design yourself? Or did you let your architect run wild?”

His smile is faint as he gazes down at you. “How very observant of you, darling. But I designed every room in this house. The architect modified the plans where necessary to ensure the structural integrity was sound, but I chose the decor.”

You wait. It sounded like he ended that sentence with a ‘but.’

“You’re right. I didn’t have just my preferences in mind as I was planning each room.”

You want to know. You don’t want to know. What if you’re wrong? The very idea is insane. Presumptuous. How could he possibly know? You only met him a few months ago. This base isn’t newly built. You have no idea how long I’ve already waited, his voice whispers through your mind.

“Whose preferences did you have in mind?” you ask, your heart doing that thing again. That weird thing that doesn’t hurt but scares you with how good it feels. Don’t leave me waiting here, lead me to your door.

His smile widens, just a little. “Do you really not know?”

You can’t process this. How could he have known?

It’s like these oases in his dark fortress of a home were designed with your deepest heart’s desires in mind. 

You want to kiss him. You want to resonate with him again. You want to drop to your knees in front of him.

The enormity of your feelings is terrifying.

What if you’re wrong?

How much worse will it be, if you let yourself believe, and he turns you away. What if he designed all of this for someone else. Because how could he have known, before you met just a few months ago—how could he have known the contours of your tastes, the things that make you most comfortable, the yearning of your heart in your small apartment, of what you’d give yourself if you could ever afford to make your home exactly how you would want? A refuge from the harsh world. Space to breathe.

Your feelings are choking you. You step away from his embrace, turn. You have time. He said he’ll wait. You focus on this room.

It’s beautiful. Because of course it is. You don’t recognize even half of these instruments.

You turn back to him. He has moved to the piano, straddling the white bench, legs spread, just watching you.

“Do you know how to play all of these?”

He shakes his head. “No. Most of these are collector’s items, antiques. But I do know how to play the piano.”

You stand, resisting the constant pull towards him. You want to go to him, run your hands through his hair, tug his head back, expose his throat, bite.

“Only the piano?” You satisfy your need to move by walking over to the sitting area, forcing yourself to sit away from him. You need to control yourself. You plop down on one of the beautiful chairs, carved like a ginkgo leaf.

He turns, sitting properly on the bench in order to face you, and opens the cover over the piano keys. He leisurely presses down on one key, and the note resounds through the lovely room.

“I can also play the organ,” he murmurs, before beginning to play in earnest.

You don’t recognize the piece. You know you’ve never heard it before. But the longer he plays, the more you’re overcome with the sense that you know it. The blood under your skin, your lungs, your bones—you feel pulled to him, to his long fingers sweeping over the keys, unseen from your vantage point in the room. You know what’s coming, the crescendos and the pauses. It’s beautiful. It hurts. Your thoughts drift to the poem. Its strawberries, its rosé wine. Its familiarity. Return in thought to the concert where the music flared. You want to ask Sylus if he owns a yacht. You’re convinced that there will be a park, and acorns, and you will pick them up and offer them to him on a sunny summer morning after a long, long night. It has already happened. It will happen in the future.

You can’t resist the pull any longer. You stand and walk over to him, stand next to him at the bench. His hands hypnotize you. Big. Rough. Delicately pressing the keys—sure, confident, flowing. Like his evol. Like him.

“Sit,” he orders, and you obey, sliding in next to him. You try to give him space, but he takes one hand, still playing with the other, and pulls you by the waist until you’re shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. 

You watch his hands, lost in the moment, lost in the feeling of recognition, of … something. That warm feeling in your heart, threaded with the pain of having lost something that you can’t remember.

Slowly, the piece comes to an end. His hands become still on the keys.

“What song was that?” you ask.

He flicks his eyes to yours.

“It doesn’t have a name.”

“Who composed it?” You hope that perhaps you can track it down later and listen to it again when Sylus isn’t around.

“Me,” he says, turning his head to look at you.

Wait, what?

“It’s already shocking enough that you play, but when do you have the time to compose?”

He lifts one of your hands and threads his fingers with yours. “Why so shocked that I have hobbies, like anyone else?”

“I just figured you’re always too busy with murder, mayhem, and munitions to have hobbies like a normal person,” you squeeze his hand as it swallows yours.

“I don’t have a lot of free time, but when I do, I like to spend some of it practicing and composing. Sometimes when I’m bored during business meetings I compose a little in my head and then write it out when I get home.” 

At your incredulous look, he flicks your forehead gently with his free hand. “What would you have guessed that I spend my free time doing if it occurred to you that I do not, in fact, work in every waking moment?”

You consider it. “I would have assumed you spend all your free time hanging out in your shady nightclubs.”

He frowns at you. “I own classy nightclubs because they make me money and provide convenient venues for business deals now that I no longer host such deals in my own home. I do not spend any more time in them than necessary.”

“Is that what you meant when you said that Amnesia isn’t really your vibe?”

“You remember,” he says, sounding pleasantly surprised. 

“Even though it feels like weeks ago, you did just tell me that like, two nights ago,” you flick his forehead in revenge.

“Fair point,” he concedes. “All right, then, yes. That’s what I meant.”

“So what is your vibe?”

“Curious, kitten?”

“Yes.” That warm feeling you have is overriding your fears of admitting this to him. You want to know him. You want to know everything about him.

“It’s easier to show you my vibe,” he shrugs. “We’ll make a date of it.”

He dropped the “fake” part again.

His phone begins to vibrate in his jeans pocket again.

He frowns in irritation. You stand, forcing yourself to move away from him.

“I’ll entertain myself,” you smile at his questioning look. He holds onto your hand as you move away, until your arm and his are stretched between you, and then he lets go.

You’re thankful for the interruption. Too much unadulterated time being the subject of Sylus’s entire focus makes you think insane things. Like that he designed parts of his house with you in mind. That you know music that you’ve never heard before. That you’re forgetting something important about him, even though you only met him recently. That a poem you read in your youth is a roadmap of things that have already happened between you and the man pacing behind the door, and what will happen before the light strays, vanishes… returns again.

You step into the hallway and wander back toward the kitchen. After a few minutes, you hear the flap of Mephisto’s wings. He’s keeping you company again. You keep walking.

You’re distracted halfway to the kitchen, however, when you hear voices coming from the theater room. It sounds like the twins, and someone else whose voice is familiar, but you can’t pinpoint it. You knock.

“No need to knock,” one of the twins yells.

You open the door and peek into the room. It’s dark, with all the lights dimmed.

On the large screen where you almost watched a movie with Sylus the other night, a video game is playing.

Luke sits on one of the loveseats, holding a game controller, while Kieran is squished onto the same small loveseat with him, their two big bodies barely fitting, hiding his face in Luke’s shoulder.

Noah is sprawled out on another loveseat, perfectly at ease. She gives you a lazy wave.

Luke pauses the game and looks over his shoulder at you.

“Boss busy?” he asks as Kieran lifts his head, a look of relief on his face at the interruption.

“Business call,” you say, nodding. You stare at the screen. It looks like…

“Are you playing the Silent Hill 2 remake?” you squeal.

“Yeah! Since boss is on a little holiday, he gave us the time off as well. Figured we’d finally play it.”

“Are you a fan of the original?” Kieran asks.

You nod. “Huge fan. I was so excited when they announced the remake, but I’ve been too busy with work to play it.”

“Wanna join? Kieran is too scared to look half the time. We can take turns, if you want,” Luke offers, sounding pleased to have another person to share the game with.

You seriously consider his offer, but you’re still so tired. You don’t really want to learn the controls mid-way through a playthrough. Weren’t you just thinking about watching let’s plays of horror games you haven’t had a chance to play yet? You can watch Luke play without having to do a thing.

“I’m good, but do you mind if I stay and just watch until Sylus is done?”

“Is that even a question? Get in here.”

Luke unpauses the game, and the familiar sounds of the world of Silent Hill, with amazing, updated graphics fills your vision. You slink inside the room and sit on another love seat, preferring to give Noah her space since she’s sprawled out like she already owns the place.

You watch as Kieran hides his face in Luke's shoulder again as a lying figure jerkily lumbers towards James Sunderland.

Apparently Noah notices Kieran’s fear as well.

“Aren’t you one of the feared Raptors of Onychinus? Like, you’re famous in the Zone. How can the same person who is known for intentionally leaving mutilated corpses in public as warnings to your boss’s enemies be afraid of video game monsters?”

You turn and stare at the twins, a little horrified. Not entirely surprised, because you know what kind of man Sylus is. You know what his organization stands for. But mutilated dead bodies? Where normal people just trying to get through their shitty workday, where kids can see them?

“That’s fucked up,” you say out loud.

“Hey, you’re a fucking cop. We know what cops are capable of,” Kieran says softly, with a flatness in his tone you’ve never heard before. Noah looks between you and Kieran like she wishes she has popcorn. “Don’t act like what you sometimes do is any better than our calling card.” Luke kills a monster shaped like two shapely pairs of legs attached at the waist with a metal pipe, and it dies loudly. He stomps on it for good measure. “At least we’re honest about it, and don’t hide behind a shield of so-called legitimacy. People know what they’re getting when they deal with us.”

You look at Kieran thoughtfully. It’s difficult to admit, but he has a point. You know that there are corrupt hunters. The so-called Tenebrae. You also recognize that dark part of yourself, when you’re faced with someone who you know has done terrible things, and the itch to pull the trigger before you can bring them in. You know that innocent people suffer at the hands of criminals and law enforcement alike.

Kieran stares steadily back at you, his normally cheerful face serious. “How did you come to work for Sylus?” you ask.

Luke pauses the game. “We don’t talk about that,” he says in the same flat tone that his brother just spoke in.

“Oh?” you say, because you don’t want to continue to pry, and you don’t know what else to say.

“Boss says it doesn’t matter where we come from. Only where we’re going. So there’s no use talking about the past if we don’t want to.”

“And you don’t want to?” Noah asks, the look of entertainment morphing into something else on her face.

The twins shake their heads in unison.

You think she’s going to say something snarky, but she just nods. “Then you shouldn’t. No one is entitled to your story.”

“That’s what boss says. I see why he hired you now,” Kieran says, smiling at her, the odd stillness broken.

“He hired me because I’m fucking awesome,” Noah sniffs, flicking her braids behind her shoulder. They’re down now, spilling over her back.

You tilt your head. “Are you a new hire?” For some reason you thought that Noah had been Sylus’s driver for a long time.

“Did he not tell you?” she asks, looking at you strangely.

“Tell me what?”

“I’m not gonna do his work for him,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“Huh?”

“Don’t worry about it,” she smiles at you, and it’s unnerving instead of soothing. “Anyway, yeah I’m a new hire. You’re gonna be seeing a lot of me in the future.”

Although Kieran seems to have reached some sort of approval of Noah, Luke still shudders and starts the game again.

You let it go. You’ll ask Sylus about Noah’s weird comment later. Instead of dwelling on it, you sink into admiring the awesome graphics, the atmosphere, your childhood nostalgia rendered in state of the art graphics

When the sirens go off as James is about to enter the Other World, you have a sudden flashback to playing the original Silent Hill 2 with Caleb. You were also too afraid, like Kieran, to play yourself, so you just clutched Caleb’s arm as he held the controller, and you delighted in the safety of vicarious thrills, of Caleb’s reassuring, solid presence at your side as you experienced the story. You suddenly miss him so, so much. The feeling of loss is overwhelming.

The sudden punch of grief leaves you breathless. Everyone else is so focused on the screen, they don’t notice your gasp. You want to watch. You’ve been wanting to experience the remake ever since the developers announced it, over a year ago. You want to experience it with who you are tentatively thinking of as your new friends. But you need a second to ground yourself before you can bring yourself to keep watching. 

Your force your voice through your throat. “I’m going to grab a snack. Do you guys want anything from the kitchen?”

“Popcorn!” Noah calls.

“We’re good,” Luke answers, because apparently Kieran is almost catatonic with terror.

“All right, be right back.” You take your time getting to the kitchen, Mephisto following you out the theater room door. You rifle through the fridge, shove some snacks into your mouth. You’re shocked to find microwave popcorn in one of the cupboards. Sylus strikes you as the kind of snob who insists on popping loose kernels on the stove, or over the fire in the fireplace. Nothing so pedestrian as store-bought and in the microwave. You snicker, that feeling of sorrow fading as you engage in everyday tasks, with company to look forward to. You’re not alone right now. You’re excited to see more of what the devs retained from the original game and what they added or changed in the remake. You head back to the theater room, but accidentally drop the bag of popcorn before you can open the door. As you pick it up, you can hear Noah.

“You know you don’t actually have to kill every monster you encounter, right?” She asks in barely disguised disdain.

“You know that you don’t actually have to offer your opinion when no one asked, right?” Luke snarks.

“Oooh, someone’s grumpy because he isn’t going to have an advantage in the bet like he thought,” Noah says through a snicker.

“What advantage? We agreed not to interfere. Boss is gonna have it in the bag even before the two weeks are up even without our help,” Luke responds.

“If he doesn’t fumble it by being too passive,” Kieran adds, thoughtfully.

“What ‘help?’ I bet your help would result in more delay than progress,” Noah taunts. “I probably don’t even have to do anything to counter your nonsense. You’ll do all my work for me.”

“Hey, flooding the guest floor was a good idea,” Luke protests.

This is just met with a cackle. 

You stand, frozen. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But what is their boss going to have in the bag without their help? What bet?

Something inside of you already knows. Hadn’t you thought earlier that the twins probably made a bet out of your obvious, pathetic crush?

But they said it was about their boss achieving something. Not about your feelings.

You don’t want to know.

You try desperately to cling to that warm feeling you’ve had since the pool.

Boss is gonna have it in the bag.

You spin on your heel, intending to return to the kitchen without them knowing you heard anything, just to buy yourself time to process. But of course, you promptly knock over another ugly sculpture. It shatters on the floor.

You stand there in your bandaged feet, holding the popcorn, staring down at the mess you just made.

The door swings open and Kieran, Luke, and Noah jostle each other to see what just happened in the hallway.

“Sorry,” you say. What the fuck else can you say?

“What happened?” Kieran asks.

“Just me being clumsy,” you say, trying to smile.

Luke squints at you. “Oh shit.” He turns to Kieran. “They’re making that horrible face again.”

Kieran stares at you.

Noah flicks her braids and tilts her head, examining you like an art critic trying to find meaning in a child’s finger painting. “What does that face mean?”

“It means they heard what we were discussing,” Kieran says grimly.

Luke glares at Noah. “What are you even doing here? Now the bet is fucked and boss is gonna be mad because his hunter’s making that expression again. Look at them. We’ve hurt their feelings!” He gestures at you.

She glares back. “Boss told me to report here for duty every day to remain on standby in case the hunter wants to go anywhere. What are you doing here?” she sneers.

“We live here,” he answers, looking confused that that’s even a question.

You take a step back, away from the sharp shards of the broken sculpture. Maybe they’ll be too busy arguing to notice.

That good feeling is gone.

You think about every move Sylus has made since the auction. All of his attention, his gentleness, his kindness, his dogged reappearance at your home, his arranging for you to have sick leave.

Would Sylus do all that for a bet?

Is he that bored? Is he that good of an actor?

How on earth would you even know? You don’t know shit about him. You’ve known him for a few months. In that time, you’ve seen him a handful of times. What the fuck are you doing?

You think about that feeling you had while listening to the Beatles, while listening to Sylus play the piano, of forgetting something really important. You want to throw up. 

Yeah, you’re forgetting something all right.

You can’t stand the feeling inside you right now. It’s too big. It’s eclipsing everything you’ve felt up until this point.

You think about what it will take to get out of here.

You think about picking up one of the sculpture’s shards and digging it into your thigh, anything to override this feeling inside you now.

You think about the resonance with Sylus when you woke up. Could he fake that?

His evol is unearthing a person’s deepest desires. But is it more than that? Could he make you feel adored without using his aether core? Did he promise not to use his evol on you because the terms of the bet forbade interference? Your fears send you spiraling.

“Oh no. No, no, no, no,” Luke says, peering at your face again. He takes a step forward, reaching out to you like someone trying to calm a wild animal, his house shoe crunching on the broken bits of sculpture.

You take a step back.

Noah just looks between the twins and you, confused.

“I’m just going for a walk,” you lie. You take another step back, turn, and start to walk down the hallway that will eventually lead to the lift. The lift that goes to the underground garage.

As you round the corner, Luke says,“Get—”

“On it,” Kieran says, with his phone to his ear.

Noah looks thoughtfully down the now empty hallway. “The hunter’s fucked up, huh?”

Luke shrugs. “Aren’t we all?”

Noah frowns at him. “Speak for yourself. You don’t know shit about me.”

“I know that boss hired you after looking into your soul. Which means you’re fucked up too. He isn’t interested in wholesome things or people—too boring.”

“And you?”

“You said it yourself. I really enjoy carving people up.” He shrugs. “Soothes something from our shitty childhood.”

Noah considers him. “Your brother seems to be okay with me now. Are you going to have a problem with me?”

Kieran grins at her. “What makes you think I have a problem with you?”

“You were mean when I suggested you try to stealth around the monsters. And don’t think I didn’t see your reaction when I said I’d be around more often. And acting like the hunter being upset is solely my fault, when we all made the stupid bet.” She counts each piece of evidence on her pretty fingers.

“Who the fuck likes backseat gamers?” He pouts a little. “And I didn’t like being hit on within an hour of meeting you. I don’t like people like that.”

Noah scowls back at him. “You don’t like people like what? ”

“I mean, I don’t like, like people. I get the creeps when people hit on me.”

Her lovely eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Oh.”

“But boss likes you, so I like you. We’re cool, so long as you don’t hit on me again.”

Noah nods.“I was just giving you two shit since you hauled me in front of your scary fucking boss. But I promised boss I wouldn’t do it again.”

“Then we’re cool. And if you don’t like how I play Silent Hill, then you can play if you want.” He opens the door again, gesturing for her to go in ahead.

“Nah man, I like being in the peanut gallery.”

“Does that mean you’re not gonna shut up?”

“You know it.” Noah gives him a big, feral grin.

Luke grins back at her, equally frightening. “Then I’ll be sure to kill every single monster we come across, no matter how much ammo it wastes.” The door swings shut on Kieran standing in the hallway, looking thoughtfully down at the phone in his hand.

_____________________

Sylus hums the melody of the music he played for you as he ends the call with Aidan. Luckily the issue this time could be settled by answering Aidan’s questions, and he can still look forward to a mostly uninterrupted day with you. He wonders where you’ll like to go next. Back to the library? To the greenhouse?

He’s in a great mood, despite the interruption. Every conversation with you convinces him that you’re closer and closer to accepting the truth. That you’re his, and he’s yours. He wants to drag you back to the library, listen to you read to him, argue about poetry—the way your eyes flash when you’re making a counterargument, the sneer in your retorts to his needling you—he wants to kiss you. He wants to kiss you so much it hurts.

His phone vibrates in his pocket again. He clenches his jaw, pauses. He wants to throw the damn thing against the wall and just continue looking for you, business be damned. But he also doesn’t want to leave Aidan in an awkward position. He fishes the phone out of his pocket and accepts the call.

“Boss, your hunter is making a strategic retreat again,” Kieran says breathlessly.

Sylus jerks to a stop.

“Repeat that?” he demands.

“They overheard us talking about the wager,” Kieran explains, sounding pained.

It takes Sylus a second to remember what he’s talking about. “The bet about how long it will take for kitten to realize that I want to date them?”

“Yeah.”

Sylus thinks. Why would you be spooked by a stupid bet between his henchmen and your driver?

“But they—well, they overheard us talking about it, and they don’t know what the wager is actually about. I am afraid that they might have misunderstood something,” Kieran says carefully, like he’s waiting for Sylus’s wrath.

Sylus immediately realizes what probably just happened.

“I left kitten alone for less than twenty minutes,” he sighs. Just his fucking luck. It’s like the universe or some cruel god wants to create obstacles in his path to winning your precious heart.

“Your bet is over,” he barks.

“Understood.”

Sylus ends the call and pulls up Mephisto’s app. You’re walking quickly, with purpose. He squints, trying to figure out which part of the house you’re in. It looks like you’re trying to get to the lift that leads to the underground garage. Sylus dissipates into red and black mist.

_______________

As you walk, you make your way to the garage, not even sure what your plan is. You have that hollow, manic feeling filling you—the feeling that always fills you when you’re hurt like this, when you just need to get out, to outrun your own body and the feelings it contains. This time though, through the noise in your head, you remember your promises to Sylus. About not hurting yourself, but going to him. If you have doubts about his intentions, to go to him. To ask him when you have questions, instead of making assumptions.

But how can you? What’s the point of honoring promises made to a man who thinks your feelings are fair game for a bet? 

You need to think. You don’t want to think. You’re hurting so, so much. You need time. Your body feels like you’re out of time. You miss Caleb. You miss your grandmother. 

It takes all of your self control to stop moving. You hear Mephisto’s wings flapping behind you. You close your eyes. You resist the urge to punch yourself, barely. If you’re just a bet to him, you should punch him instead. You open your eyes and realize you stopped next to a door with an electronic lock blinking on the handle. You turn and look at it fully, and you hear the lock click.

It recognized your face. Just as Kieran and Luke told you all the locks in this house would. Why would Sylus bother programming your face into his home if you’re just a bet?

You watch your hand reach out, grasp the handle. You pull, and the door opens easily. You slip inside and let it close before Mephisto can follow.

The lights flicker on.

You gasp.

It’s like standing inside an upscale jewelry store, built inside a bank vault. Except instead of sparsely filled display cases, designed to emphasize and showcase a select number of precious jewels, each glass case is stuffed with the things. Diamonds. Rubies. Emeralds. A mind-blowing variety of beautiful stones that you don’t even know the names for. Loose stones, as well as jewelry—necklaces, rings, earrings. Where most of Sylus’s house is the picture of meticulous order, this vault looks like a dragon’s hoard of priceless treasures, casually piled high without much thought.

Why would Sylus trust you with access to such wealth, if you were just a bet?

But more importantly, how much death must Sylus Qin sell, to afford such a vault?

How many lives in exchange for each gem?

You turn in a circle as you slowly process the fact that you’re standing in the middle of a sea of blood diamonds.

What are you doing?

What the actual fuck are you doing?

You were just marveling at the luxury of the rooms he designed, filled with the thrilling possibility that he had built them for you. You had thought about the cost of the heating in the hot tub, the pool. And yet you were willing to overlook such expenses. Why? Because at least the pool, the lovely architecture are useful? Because they provide some value to the human experience, even if only a select few will ever get to experience them at Sylus’s house?

But what value do diamonds have? Shiny clumps of compressed carbon. You can’t burn them for warmth. You can’t eat them. Okay, so maybe they’re used in some industrial processes, but for fuck’s sake, artificially created diamonds could serve that purpose. And you’re absolutely sure that the diamonds Sylus has hoarded in this vault are real, products of millions of years of pressure, and not made in some lab.

You sink to the black marble floor. It’s cold. You draw up your knees and hug them.

There’s too much happening in your brain right now. Your grief. Your uncertainty about Sylus’s intentions—the question of who his beloved is. The bet.

The realization that you’re falling in love with a man whose life’s work is bringing misery to others.

You hate yourself. Here you are, thrown into a tailspin from the idea that Sylus may have spent all this time on you because of a bet with his minions, when you should be in a tailspin about the fact that it’s probably already too late for you to stop falling for a man who not only praises the mutilated world, but is one of the people shoving the knife in deeper. 

There is so much you don’t know about him. But what you do know is that Sylus is too busy pouring salt into the wound of the world to dedicate so much time and resources to something as frivolous as a wager about how long it will take for him to get you in the bag. It’s pure, self-pitying hubris to assume otherwise.

You’re focusing on the wrong things, again. You’re forgetting what’s important, again.

What do you want? What can you live with? Why do you feel a connection with this complicated, cruel, ruthless man, as if you’ve known him for more than a few months? What kind of person are you, if despite sitting in a sea of diamonds paid for in other peoples' blood, you still want this merchant of death to come find you, to hold you in his arms, tell you that he wasn't placing bets on how long it would take to have you in the bag?

You begin to rock, somehow resisting all of your terrible urges: to hurt yourself, to run, to set this awful room on fire. You rock, and you hurt, and you wait for the terrible man you’re falling in love with to find you, as he always does.

______________

Sylus finds Mephisto pacing on the floor in front of his gem vault. He caws in distress when he sees his owner re-materialize in the hallway. Sylus finds the fact that you’re in the gem vault, and not currently trying to procure a getaway car, to be a source of hope—a strange feeling for him. What use does he have for hope? He has plans. Plans with contingencies, alternatives, backups. They either succeed because he planned well enough, or they fail because he did not plan well enough. 

Hope has no place in his world.

People suffer and die. Deals are made and broken. Fate is cruel, inflexible. He knows this all too well, no matter how much he’s struggling against fate this time around.

Hope has no place in his world.

But.

You could have kept running. You could be in any one of his vehicles right now, trying to break land speed records to get the fuck away from him, convinced that he was involved in a bet about the biggest gamble of his life.

But you’re not. You’re in his gem vault, for some reason. You strange, unpredictable, delightful creature.

He finds himself hoping that this misunderstanding hasn’t just caused you to retreat beyond his reach again. 

Your fingers in the dip of his clavicle.

The yearning look on your face, that he doesn’t think you even knew you had, when he bit your lip—the closest he’ll allow himself to a kiss until he’s one hundred percent sure you’ll welcome him while awake.

He opens the door.

He pauses, struck with the strange sensation of viewing his greatest treasure surrounded by so much of his material treasure. You belong here. The value of all of these precious stones nothing in comparison to you, shining like a beacon to him at the end of a long and winding road from the marble floor, dimming everything else in this room by comparison.

His house shoes whisper along the cold marble floor where you’re sitting, curled in on yourself.

He has watched you take down wanderers the size of an elephant. All that strength, contained in your huddled body. You look so small to him. He wants to protect you from all the horrors of the world. But of course, he’s the biggest horror of all. Is it any wonder that he keeps hurting you instead?

A better man might keep his distance in an effort to protect you. Like your partner. A better man might know when to quit. Like your dandy artist friend. A better man might be content with loving you from afar. Like your fucking doctor. 

But Sylus is a terrible man, because he’s not going to stop trying to get it right, even as he hurts you in the process, until you order him to stop and mean it.

You don’t look up at the sound of his footsteps, but you also don’t retreat as he approaches.

He sits on the floor next to you, wraps an arm around your shivering shoulders. He pulls you into his arms, feels the rush of hope when you let him.

He cradles your head in his palm.

“The twins bet on everything. Which snail is the fastest on a leaf. Whether it will rain or snow tomorrow. How long it will take someone to bleed out. Whether the traffic light will change in five versus ten seconds,” he says softly into your hair.

“About how long it will take to get your pathetic hunter in the bag?” Your voice is small, just as your body feels in his arms.

“About how long it will take for my beloved to realize how I feel about them,” he sighs.

You stiffen, and he feels a moment of paralyzing fear, before you melt into him. He breathes again.

“What did you bet?” you ask, and Sylus feels the sorrow in your voice like a gunshot in his chest.

You ran, but you stopped. You assumed, but you’re asking questions now. You’re allowing him to touch you, to hold you. The hope in him surges again. 

“I didn’t place a bet in this particular wager,” he manages through the unfamiliar feelings. “But if I had, the gamble would be my whole heart.”

“Does a man who has a dragon’s hoard of wealth, bought with the blood of the guilty and the innocent alike, have a heart?” you ask, finally looking up, your eyes hollow in a way that he doesn’t like.

Sylus is a terrible man. He has never lied to himself about this, or to you. He showed you the worst of himself, the day you met. He has to hope that the fact you’re still here, still asking him questions, means that he hasn’t lost you yet. An unpleasant feeling of doubt slithers through him. Is it the bet upsetting you, or something else?

“Even dragons have hearts, darling.”

You close your eyes. He wants you to open them again. He wants you to look at him. He never wants you to look away from him. Even if you’re looking at him with doubt, or hate, so long as you’re looking at him, that means you’re not leaving him.

“What do you want?” he asks.

You open your eyes again. He is terribly tempted to use his aether core on you, because for once, he can’t read how you’re feeling.

“You offered me time.”

He leans forward, rests his forehead against yours. “And I will give you time.”

“I want to see your favorite part of the greenhouse.”

“And I will show you my favorite part of the greenhouse,” he whispers, breathing, breathing. He can’t tell how you’re feeling, but you smell like home, a door at the end of a long road. The hope grows.

“I want to see Luke and Kieran and Noah play the remake of Silent Hill 2.”

The hope shifts, dissipates. There is no need for hope, once it is fulfilled. You want to stay, for now. He can work with that. Whatever damage learning about the bet caused, he can work with your willingness to stay. If that look in your eyes isn’t about the bet, he has more time to dismantle your walls, to pull it out of you. Just two nights ago, you were running barefoot through the dark. Tonight, you stopped yourself and waited for him to find you. “You’re in luck. They’re still playing.”

You watch him, as if you’re weighing something behind your hollow eyes. “Will you watch with me?”

Of course, he thinks. Of course. You could ask for so much more, and the answer would be the same. “Do you want me to watch with you?”

“I want you to want to watch with me.”

He smiles, his mouth a breath away from yours. You smell like popcorn. He wants to throw a piece in the air, catch it in his mouth, feed it to you. “Again, you bring me luck. We have a win-win deal.”

He stands. Carries you out of his gem vault.

“Why do you have so many jewels?” you ask, quietly.

“In case the authorities freeze my accounts, physical currency will be useful. A sort of insurance.”

You gaze at his face, and he wonders what you see when you look at him. “You’ll escape with a truck full of precious stones?”

“Something like that,” he says.

“No other reason?”

He tells the truth. “I’ve always been fond of shiny things.”

“Do you have a favorite stone?”

He laughs softly. “Whatever stone you’re wearing.”

Instead of looking at him with suspicion, a helpless look crosses your face. Like you’re in pain from his admission. He doesn’t like it. But then you lean forward, press your face into his neck. He tells himself that he has time. He’ll figure out what’s bothering you, and he’ll fix it.

Outside the theater room, he pauses. Looks down at the pieces of shattered sculpture. "If you didn't like it, darling, you could have just said so."

You just mumble that you're sorry.

"We've talked about your apologies," he says, frowning down at you in his arms.

You huff. "Fine. I'm not sorry. That sculpture was edgy and ugly. You should replace it with something beautiful."

"Deal. But only if you come with me to choose something," he says.

"Deal," you say softly, and he still can't tell what's going through your head.

When you enter the theater room, Luke pauses the game. “We’re really sorry for hurting your feelings and shit. The bet was about boss’s rizz, not about you. Please don’t leave.”

Kieran nods in approval, as if he had helped Luke compose this little speech.

Noah just looks at you, face unreadable, as you rest your head on Sylus’s shoulder.

“I had planned to give you a lot of shit. But I think I would’ve lost anyway,” she says, not looking apologetic at all. “It’s only been two days and you’re practically merging into one person.”

Sylus carries you to a loveseat next to the twins, with Noah on their other side.

“Thanks,” you say. “No worries.”

Everyone is awkwardly silent for a moment after your brief response. You seem to notice, and smile a little. “Can we hang out while you play?”

“Fuck yeah,” Luke says, and Kieran groans as the game is unpaused.

After a while, you, Luke, and Noah start discussing the difference between the remake and the original. What everyone likes, what they don’t. Sylus leans back, draws you onto his chest. His relief remains intense as you let him. The discussion moves on to which Silent Hill games are the best in the franchise, which are the worst. Luke and Noah have a good-natured clash about Silent Hill 4: the Room, with only a few insults flung at each other. You and Kieran share your admiration for Bloober Team's Layers of Fear, which Kieran liked because he didn't think it was scary, and which Luke hated, because he thought it was boring. Sylus doesn't give a shit about video games, and certainly not horror games. Life itself is already horrific enough, he doesn't have the patience for manufactured terror. He just listens, feeling your heartbeat against his chest, breathing in your comforting scent.

A feeling of wholeness settles in him, as unfamiliar as hope. As unfamiliar as the happiness from your movie night, just last night. You, Luke, and Noah have moved on to animatedly arguing about some character’s outfit changes between the original and the remake.

He feels like he’s been standing, left behind in the dark for so long, and he’s finally being allowed home. Whatever is bothering you, he’ll fix it. He’ll destroy the world if he has to, to preserve the scene in front of him, so that he can offer you this, so that he can experience this with you, again, and again, and again. His gentle light that strays and vanishes and returns.

End notes: I had planned shenanigans for the twins and Noah to increase their odds in winning the bet, but this story is already out of control with how long it is, and some of the things I thought of were really manipulative and fucked up even if I personally thought they were hilarious, but my brain is craving a softer vibe for this story I guess (lmao if this can be considered soft), so I hope this isn't too much of a let down for the resolution of the bet subplot. I've given up hinting at what's coming next because it turns out I'm very bad at guessing what's next.

[calkale]

another thing i absolutely despise about marvel is that it always has to be a team movie, one main character doesn't exist anymore. it always has to be a group of heroes in solo movies and everyone will constantly talk about how much they hope certain characters are in new movies instead of the TITLE CHARACTER, like please calm down they make 50 movies a year you'll get your turn let someone else have the spotlight PLEASE

[fluffymiyaa]

Waste The Night

Painting!Gojo x Painter!reader x Painting!Geto

Summary: In a haunting twist of fate, your tragic painting suddenly springs to life, its sorrowful characters and somber scenes manifesting before your eyes.

Tw: slight possessive

1 2 3

Masterlist Main Masterlist

In the midst of your peaceful slumber, you were unaware of the world around you, lost in the blissful embrace of sleep. Your hair was tousled, and a soft snore escaped your lips, accompanied by a small drool that trickled down your chin.

Suddenly, a persistent poking on your cheek disturbed your rest, prompting a furrowed brow of annoyance.

"Y/n...? Wakey wakey..." Satoru's voice called out, but you remained oblivious, turning away from him and inadvertently facing Suguru, who was sharing the bed with you both.

Unbeknownst to you, your drool had become an unwelcome intruder in Suguru's personal space. "Ugh... your drool's wetting my hair!" he complained, his voice laced with disgust.

Startled awake by his words, you blinked groggily, finally registering the presence of both Satoru and Suguru beside you. With a flush of embarrassment, you quickly wiped away the drool, realizing that you had forgotten about the previous night's arrangement to share the bed.

"Sorry about that, Suguru," you mumbled sheepishly, feeling a mix of embarrassment and amusement at the unexpected wake-up call.

In the soft glow of the early morning, the clock displayed 7 am, much earlier than your usual waking hour. You blinked away the remnants of sleep, trying to make sense of the voices that had stirred you from your sleep.

"I woke you up because I wanted to hear your voice before I'm gone" Satoru's voice broke through the quietude

"You're not dead, Satoru. We can come back tonight," Suguru's response was sharp, his irritation evident.

Satoru's smirk only grew wider at Suguru's retort.

"Oh? 'We'?" he teased, his eyes dancing with mischief.

"Of course. It's not like I want to. When you leave, the paint will pull me out too," Suguru's reply.

"Yeah, you're not even trying to stop me," Satoru remarked, his tone light but pointed.

"Like you would listen?" Suguru shot back, a defiant glint in his eyes.

"Like you ever listen?" Satoru shot back again.

As you observed the exchange, it dawned on you—the truth of their existence. Suguru and Satoru were paintings, but they had the uncanny ability to become real, if only for a while. The thought brought a mix of wonder and intrigue to your mind.

Ah... what a noisy morning

You thought to yourself, marveling at the extraordinary companionship you shared with these painted beings who had become so much more.

As the ringtone shattered the morning calm, you hurriedly scrambled out of bed to answer your phone, leaving Suguru and Satoru staring after you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. With trembling fingers, you answered the call, your voice betraying your grogginess.

"H-hello?"

"Y/n? Did you just wake up? It's 7 am. You should wake up earlier. Don't forget you need to finish the painting! I don't want to know how, but you must finish it by tomorrow." your manager's voice crackled through the line, a sense of urgency palpable in his tone.

"A-ah.. yeah.. it's done," you stammered, trying to sound confident despite the unease creeping into your voice.

"Really? Send me the picture, now." his demand was firm, leaving no room for argument.

You glanced nervously at Suguru and Satoru, feeling their gaze boring into you with an unsettling intensity. The atmosphere in the room suddenly felt tense, as if something unspoken hung between you all, thick and suffocating.

"I... I will send it tonight... it's almost finished... just a little bit more," you replied hastily, eager to end the call and escape the weight of their stares.

"Tch, fine. I'll call you later, don't forget to send it if you still want this job." your manager huffed before abruptly hanging up.

As you lowered the phone, a sense of unease settled in the pit of your stomach. Something was off, and you couldn't shake the feeling that Suguru and Satoru knew more than they let on.

"Who's that?"

As Satoru reached for your phone, his sudden movement caught you off guard, causing you to startle.

"E-eh? My manager," you stammered, attempting to retrieve your phone, but Satoru's firm grasp prevented you from doing so. With a gentle but insistent motion, he placed it in the drawer nearby, his actions making your heart race.

"Why is he talking to you like that?" Satoru's voice was gentle, yet there was a subtle edge to it, as if he sensed something amiss.

You struggled to find an explanation, your mind racing to justify the situation.

"Well... he's just, you know, that's just how he is. I mean, it's my fault. I should have finished up earlier" you replied, the words tumbling out hastily in an attempt to ease the tension.

Meanwhile, Suguru remained silent, his grip on his yukata tightening as he struggled to contain his emotions. Finally, he spoke up .

"Did he know you broke the brush?"

"N-no, I'm scared he—" you began, but Suguru cut you off with a firm insistence.

"That he what?" he urged, his words sending another wave of apprehension through you.

Your body trembled slightly as uncertainty gnawed at your insides.

What was happening? Why were they acting so strangely all of a sudden?

"Are you guys alright?" you asked, a note of concern creeping into your voice as you looked between them for answers.

They didn't answer, instead, Satoru's grip on your hand tightened, their silence speaking volumes.

"Is he bothering you, Y/n?" Satoru's voice held a protective edge.

"What? No! He's my manager..." you trailed off, the unease in the room becoming palpable as you struggled to make sense of their unusual behavior.

As Suguru pushed his hair back and deftly tied it into a bun, he strode purposefully towards you, his presence commanding attention.

"Aren't you supposed to make breakfast?" he inquired, his tone matter-of-fact but tinged with a hint of urgency.

"Oh! You're right!" you exclaimed, a sudden realization dawning upon you. With a hurried nod, you dashed downstairs to the kitchen, leaving Satoru and Suguru behind in your room.

Suguru walked forward Satoru. His face right infront of him.

"Calm down, Satoru. You're a grown man," Suguru's voice cut through the tension, his words carrying a soothing undertone.

"Do you feel it too, Suguru?" Satoru's voice turned cold, the edges of his words sharp.

For a moment, Suguru remained silent, his expression unreadable. Then, with a decisive nod, he walked towards the door, his demeanor composed yet resolute.

"She's the one who created us, after all" Suguru's response hung heavy in the air, laden with implications that left Satoru unsettled.

As Suguru left the room, a sense of unease lingered, the weight of his words echoing in the silence.

What did it all mean? And what role did you play in their existence? The questions swirled in their mind.

As the three of you sat in silence, the tension in the air grew thicker, even Satoru, usually the chatterbox, remained uncharacteristically quiet. The awkwardness weighed heavily on you, making you squirm uncomfortably in your seat.

"Hey... it's almost 8, don't you guys need to go back?" you interjected, breaking the suffocating silence.

Suguru was the first to stand, shooting a meaningful glance at Satoru, silently conveying the need to depart. Satoru followed suit, his movements slow and hesitant.

"Thank you... for the meal," Satoru murmured softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You offered him a warm smile, appreciative of the fleeting moment of connection amidst the awkwardness. "You're wel—"

"Can I hug you? Before I leave," Satoru's request caught you off guard, but you couldn't help but chuckle at his earnestness.

"You were hugging me all night, Satoru... but yes, come here," you replied with a gentle laugh, opening your arms to him.

Satoru enveloped you in a tight embrace, his tall frame towering over you as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply at your smell. The gesture was oddly intimate, yet comforting in its familiarity.

As Satoru reluctantly released you, Suguru remained silent, his gaze lingering for a moment before he turned and made his way upstairs to your studio, leaving the two of you alone in the kitchen.

Satoru gently took your hand, silently urging you to follow him back to your studio. As you entered the room, Suguru approached the painting with a sense of reverence, his fingers delicately tracing the lines of the canvas. Suddenly, a soft glow emanated from the paint, casting a mesmerizing light across the room.

You watched in awe as Suguru's entire being seemed to dissolve into the painting, disappearing into the vibrant colors and swirling textures.

Just as you marveled at Suguru's transformation, you felt Satoru's hand squeeze yours, his touch grounding you in the moment. With a silent understanding, he too stepped forward, his form merging with Suguru's within the painting.

As you watched them disappear into the vibrant world within the canvas, a sense of awe and excitement filled you.

"I'll see you guys again tonight"

Feeling adrift and unsure of what to do with your newfound freedom, you realized just how long it had been since you last ventured outside for a leisurely walk, spent time hanging out with friends, or even enjoyed a simple shopping trip.

With a sigh, you resolved to break free from the monotony of your routine. Taking a shower and getting dressed felt like a small step towards reclaiming a sense of normalcy in your life, a way to shake off the stagnation that had settled over you in Suguru and Satoru's absence.

As the warm water cascaded over you, washing away the remnants of sleep and uncertainty, you felt a renewed sense of purpose begin to stir within you. Dressing in fresh clothes, you emerged from your home with a newfound determination, ready to seize the day and rediscover the simple joys that life had to offer.

Standing at the bus stop, you contemplated your options, the possibilities stretching out before you like an open road waiting to be explored. It was time to embrace the spontaneity of the moment, to step outside your comfort zone and embrace the unknown.

With a sense of anticipation building within you, you boarded the bus, the promise of adventure and discovery beckoning you forward. As the bus rumbled along its route, you couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement bubbling up inside you, eager to see where the day would take you.

Where should i go? Mmhm..mall?

With a decisive nod, you made up your mind. The mall it was. As you boarded the bus, a sense of anticipation bubbled within you, eager to rediscover the simple joys of exploring new surroundings and immersing yourself in the hustle and bustle of city life.

Excitement bubbled up within you as you stepped into the bustling mall, the vibrant atmosphere filling you with a sense of exhilaration. With a skip in your step, you made a beeline for your favorite stores, the allure of shopping beckoning you irresistibly.

As you perused the racks and shelves, you couldn't help but feel a surge of indulgence wash over you. Maybe you were being a tad extravagant, but today was about treating yourself, about embracing the joy of spontaneity and indulging in the things that brought you happiness. After all, you reasoned, you deserved it.

With bags in hand and a satisfied smile on your face, you made your way to a cozy ramen restaurant for lunch. Sitting alone, you couldn't shake the twinge of loneliness that tugged at your heartstrings. But instead of dwelling on it, you decided to channel that longing into something positive. You ordered extra ramen to go, a gesture of kindness for Suguru and Satoru for their dinner, a way to include them in your day even in their absence.

After savoring every last slurp of your delicious meal, you resumed your leisurely stroll through the mall, your eyes lighting up as you passed a charming bakery shop. Unable to resist the temptation, you stepped inside and found yourself captivated by the array of cute and colorful cakes on display. Without hesitation, you selected a few to take home, the promise of sweet indulgence adding an extra spring to your step as you continued your shopping adventure.

As the clock struck 6 pm, signaling the end of your exhilarating day at the mall, you gathered your bags and made your way back to the bus stop, a contented smile gracing your lips. Despite the exhaustion weighing on your body and the slight soreness in your hands from carrying so many bags, you couldn't help but feel a sense of fulfillment wash over you.

Arriving home, you took a moment to bask in the quiet comfort of your surroundings before setting to work preparing dinner. The aroma of simmering broth filled the air as you lovingly plated the ramen, setting aside a portion for Suguru and Satoru, a silent invitation for them to join you in the warmth of your home.

With the ramen ready and waiting, you carefully stored the cakes in the fridge, saving them for later. As you settled onto the sofa, the soft glow of the TV casting a warm light across the room, you couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation building within you.

As you anxiously watched the clock, the minutes ticked by agonizingly slow. When it finally read 8:25, worry crept into your mind as you wondered why Suguru and Satoru hadn't returned yet. Just as your concern began to mount, the sound of aggressive footsteps caught your attention, and you turned to see Satoru rushing towards you with an infectious energy.

"Y/n!! I missed you!" he exclaimed, enveloping you in a tight hug from behind, his presence instantly dispelling any lingering unease.

Relief flooded through you as you returned his embrace, grateful for his sudden appearance. But as you glanced towards the stairs, you noticed Suguru descending slowly, his gaze fixed on you with a quiet intensity that spoke volumes.

With a nod of acknowledgment, Suguru settled beside you on the sofa, his presence a calming presence beside you.

"How was your day..." he began, his voice trailing off as he waited for your response, his eyes searching yours for any hint of emotion.

The unexpected question from Suguru left you momentarily taken aback, your mind reeling with surprise. Was this the same Suguru who had greeted you with icy detachment, referring to you as nothing more than a monkey?

Before you could dwell on it further, Satoru's cheerful interruption broke the tension, his infectious energy drawing a giggle from your lips.

"Yes, yes! What were you doing while we were gone?" he chimed in eagerly, diverting the conversation to more lighthearted topics.

"I'll tell you guys. Now cmon i prepared you dinner." They follow you to table.

"Ramen? Mhmmm smell good. Thank u y/n!" Satoru's delighted exclamation at the aroma of the dish brought a warmth to your heart, while Suguru's quiet acknowledgment with an "Itadakimasu" spoke volumes in its simplicity.

"Now that you guys asked how I'm doing, well, I went to the mall!" you exclaimed with a grin, excitement bubbling in your voice. "I bought a ton of clothes and accessories, hehe."

"Really? I'm so glad you enjoyed your day! I can't wait to see you in the new clothes," Satoru chimed in, his eyes lighting up with genuine happiness at your revelation.

Suguru nodded in agreement, a faint hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "It sounds like you had a great time," he remarked, his tone soft but sincere.

"Oh! I got you guys something!"

You couldn't contain your excitement as you rose from your seat, a mischievous twinkle in your eyes. With a playful giggle, you retrieved the cake from the fridge, carefully balancing it in your hands as you returned to the table.

"Tadaaa!" you exclaimed, presenting the cake with a flourish, a wide grin spreading across your face.

Satoru's eyes lit up with delight, his grin mirroring yours as he leaned forward to get a closer look at the sweet treat.

"Wow, you bought us cake too? You're the best, y/n! Omg i really love cake!" he exclaimed, his enthusiasm infectious.

Satoru eagerly dug into his slice of cake, his eyes lighting up with delight as he savored each bite. "This is amazing!" he exclaimed between mouthfuls.

Suguru regarded the cake with a subtle nod of approval, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Thank you," he said quietly, his expression betraying a hint of warmth that spoke volumes.

Satoru opened his eyes, his gaze softening as he beheld your peaceful sleeping face. He resisted the urge to shower you with kisses, opting instead for a tender peck on your forehead. Glancing at Suguru, who stood by the door with a determined expression, Satoru nodded.

"You ready?" Suguru asked, his voice steady and resolute.

Satoru hesitated for a moment before responding, "You sure you're coming with me?" His tone carried a hint of concern.

Suguru grinned in response, his eyes gleaming with determination. "I like hunting monkeys," he replied with a playful smirk.

As they exchanged a knowing look, a sense of unity washed over them, their shared resolve strengthening their bond. With a nod of agreement, they stepped out into the night, ready to face whatever challenges awaited them with courage and determination.

Where do u guys think gojo and geto go?👀 next chapter would be...🤫

Hope you guys like this chapter, sorry if it's boring! Thanks for the notes, reblogs make me feel more appreaciated<3

Tags: @ceramic-raven @beastofthetrees @r0ckst4rjk @gothiccwhore666

[charlosvibesonly]

New Romantics

A Max Verstappen Imagine

Pairing : Max Verstappen x fem! reader

it’s mostly fluff, with a few kisses, banter, fights, and a hope that they’ll get through it all❤️

To say she was nervous was an understatement. She had dreamed of this moment all her life. As she walked to the motorhome, she tried to calm her nerves. She was intelligent and confident, and she was going to fit in just fine. The weather was a little hot for her taste, her Red Bull t-shirt was going to be soon drenched in sweat if she stood in the Bahrain sun any longer.

“Y/N! So glad you found your way out!” her team leader said. A few faces were familiar, she had interned with them before, but now she had retired as a permanent member of the team. A mechanical engineer, she was going to work as a Structures Analyst. The job was demanding, yet thrilling. And, she was finally going to work with the race team. No mistakes are all she wished for. The Bahrain GP was on Sunday, barely three days from now. She was introduced to the remaining team and jotted down to work.

However, her eyes searched for the Golden Boy. She wouldn’t admit it but the drivers were also part motivation for her along with the engineering marvel cars. It was her daydream to run into Charles Leclerc on the paddock and have an awkward interaction, one thing would lead to another, and before you knew it, they would be madly in love. She smiled to herself as she thought about it. But getting distracted wasn’t going to help. The free practice was going to start in about an hour, which meant work was coming her way. She had to be aware, observe, and analyze the data so that the Golden Boy crosses the line first on Sunday. 

It was lunch break when she ran into someone on her way to the table. The coffee spilled both on her and the person she had bumped into. “Fucking hell!” the man said. The coffee was hot, and it had burnt her hand a little, but the man got the full blow on his chest. She raised her eyes to apologize. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It can’t be him! The blue eyes looked angry. “I’m so sorry Max,” she said quickly. “Yeah next time please keep your eyes open while walking,” he replied and then pushed her aside and continued walking. What a jerk! She thought to herself. She cleaned up the mess and retired to her desk, hoping the free practice would take her mind off it. 

The free practice was average. Max was angry with the performance. Checo also complained a little. This meant she was going to be here till the morning. After probably what seemed like the most exhausting and exciting hours, she left the motor home. She was drowsy and extremely tired. She needed those three hours of sleep permitted by the leader. On her way out, she bumped into someone again. “Oh Lord! Are you fucking blind?” the voice said. “Hey! I’m sorry. And maybe you can learn to talk politely,” the words left her mouth without her realizing. “Oh really. What am I supposed to say? Sorry Ma’am, you walk like it’s your road, I made a mistake by coming in between,” Max said sarcastically. She had had enough.” Look. I said I was sorry. You don’t have to be such a bitch. I have spent the last nine hours improving the car with the team. I know you don’t like to be polite, but at least don’t act like a jerk!” she said in a breath and walked away.

God! She hated him. The Golden Boy was ruining her first day at work. On her way to the hotel, she scrolled through Twitter, liking every Charles appearance, and post there was. That did improve her mood significantly. Work was going to be difficult, especially when it was so easy to bump into the lion. A few races had passed. It was the Monaco GP this weekend. Max Verstappen had won every fucking race till now. But that did not improve their dynamic at all. He constantly hurt her pride, so she bruised his ego. The hate was mutual. The interactions they had had so far were bitter. Neither trying to back down and always tearing the other person apart. The bitter banter continued during strategy meetings. Y/N would present her analyses, and Max, ever the provocateur, couldn't resist the urge to undermine her efforts. "You sure you're looking at the right data? Wouldn't want us all going in circles," he remarked with a dismissive tone, casting doubt on her competence.

Y/N, unyielding, retorted, "I'd be more worried about your ability to follow a straight line on the track. Might help if you focused on driving instead of insulting."

The worst part was, now he knew her name. 

She hoped to never run into him again, but that meant to leave this job. And she wasn’t going to leave because of that jerk. She kept her head low and did keep her eyes open while walking. Needless to say, the work kept her busy, and her team appreciated her work ethic. “Y/N do you want to join us for a little party in the evening? The whole team is coming.” Ava, a colleague of hers asked. “Sure! I‘ll be there!” she replied. A social event in Monaco seemed exciting. The harbor looked so pretty in the evening and the restaurant overlooked the beautiful sea. Her little black dress for this moment. She was here for fun and nothing was going to ruin it. Until she saw him. He looked different. Nice different. It was probably the missing Red Bull clothing that almost felt like a part of his skin. But the sky blue shirt complemented his eyes. He looked very handsome. She turned away. Was it the weather? Why was she feeling so hot suddenly? She excused herself and made her way to the balcony. Fanning herself, she took deep breaths. “Not throwing up are you? Don’t ruin the sea with your sick!” Max said smirkingly. “Oh I’m sure, it was ruined the day you set foot here,” she tried to harm but failed. Had he done something to his hair? He smelled heavenly too. “Haha. You don’t look so shabby today,” Max tried to make amends. “You don’t look half bad either. Is it the missing Red Bull clothes? Didn’t it hurt to rip your skin?” Y/N added. Max leaned in closer and whispered,” Lord why do you have to be so hurtful? I am just trying to be nice here.” She wanted to believe him. But she also liked teasing him. “Oh yeah? And why are we so saintly today? The air, or the drinks to be blamed?” she asked. Max looked straight into her eyes. His face was close. Or not. She wasn’t tall enough to decipher. He moved closer. There was laughter from the rooms within. Someone was going to see them here. She tried to move away and turned. Max held her hand and pulled her back. They were too close. She could feel his heart beating. “It's you. Y/N. No drink can ever make me compliment you.” Max said. She tried to read his eyes. They felt honest. Desperate. And he leaned in closer. Pressing his lips on hers. Neither pulled away. There was a loud sound from within. And Max stopped. He looked into her eyes and said,” So this shuts you up.”

She was back in the motor home. It was race day. She had always seen the grandeur of the Monaco GP on TV but she could finally experience it! She was excited and used it as a distraction to avoid thinking about the other night. Max Verstappen had kissed her. But nothing happened after that. She had pulled away from him and said, “No. This isn’t right. I don’t like you. Yes, maybe today you look perfect, and it was the need of the moment. But let’s forget about it.” And she walked away, disappearing from the party, and walking the streets of Monaco alone. She was really glad nobody had found out about that little incident, she was afraid that would jeopardize her job. But she kept revisiting that night every so often. “Y/N! I need the results for these simulations ASAP! There must be no mistakes,” her team leader ordered. She got out of her daze and started working. The race was going to start in an hour. Having been glued to the screen for more than four hours, she needed a break. She went to the coffee machine. While carrying the coffee, she remembered the first time she ran into Max. The hot coffee spilled over both of them, and those cold blue eyes. Fuck. Why couldn’t she stop thinking about him? She thought maybe it was an after-effect. That it would take time for her to move on. She was lost in her mind when Max came in the corridor from his room. No. She hadn’t seen him since they kissed, she hadn’t even waited for his answer. She felt selfish and guilty. Max looked at her and said, “Not going to spill that coffee again on me, are you? I don’t have a spare outfit either.” But he wasn’t being condescending. He was smiling. No. That wasn’t a good sign. He wanted to act nice and maybe be friends with her. But no. She despised him and one kiss was never going to change that. She looked at him and said, “No way. An arsehole once told me to keep my eyes open and walk.” And she walked away without a word. Why was she being so petty? He was just being a nice person and making amends. Although she always struggled when someone got way too close to her. She disliked being so vulnerable unless she was sure about that person of course. He wasn’t that. And in one moment of weakness, she had distanced herself from Max even more.

The summer break had started. Normally, this meant vacation for drivers, but for Y/N the work never stopped. And she liked it that way. It was all she had dreamt of and she was finally working with such cool minds. She was at Milton Keynes, along with the rest of her team. The break meant that they could study the car even more, and find areas of improvement for next year. She was happy to be away from Max. It felt like she could never escape him. Post her snide remark, there wasn’t much conversation between them, but she had felt his glances on her. Their eyes met frequently, and they held each other's gaze till someone backed down. Why were they always testing each other? She could never tell. The highlight of the summer vacation was probably Charles and the fan accounts that constantly updated his ventures. God! He looked hot in summer. She had seen him so frequently on track, but she never got the courage to go and talk to him. 

It was a fine evening when Y/N was making her way home. She pressed for the lift and she stood frozen when it opened. Max was standing in the lift. Alone. Would it be rude if she didn’t step on? Maybe.  Keeping her pride aside she stepped into the lift. Their eyes met. She mumbled a low hi. “Oh! Now you are talking?” Max said. His voice had an edge. Anger perhaps. “What does that mean?” Y/N asked. He stepped closer. Oh no. It was happening again. “Max I told you this isn’t right. I could lose my job!” she almost pleaded. “ Bull shit! You are a coward. Running away every time you see me, and yet you look into my eyes like a lover. I fucking hate that I even think about you,” Max spitted. “I am not a coward. And yes maybe I might have a little crush on you. But see the reality, Max. It’s never going to work out for the good,” she said almost crying. The blue eyes looked stormy. She was scared of what he would say next. But the elevator had reached the parking and the doors opened. She tried to walk out first. But he stood in front blocking her way. “We’re not leaving till we’re done talking. You can’t keep running away every fucking time!” he thundered. The elevator doors closed. And he pressed the highest floor number. “Tell me why this won’t work, and I will let you go. And your fucking job doesn’t count because no, this won’t jeopardize it,” he commanded. Y/N took a few steps back, their eyes never leaving each other. “I… I… I…” she tried to find an answer. “Thought so,” he said as he grabbed her face with his hands and started kissing her. Passionately. She kissed him back as a single tear ran down her cheek. Things were going to get messy now, but at this moment maybe she could forget all about it. He pushed her against the door, as the walls she so carefully built to avoid him, came crashing down.

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N found herself reluctantly drawn into Max's world. Their dates were filled with laughter, shared interests, and an undeniable chemistry that seemed to defy their initial animosity.

Amid the twinkling lights of Barcelona, Max and Y/N found themselves caught in a moment of quiet connection. "You know, you're not as tough as you want everyone to believe," Y/N remarked, a playful glint in her eyes. Max shot her a smirk, the city's glow accentuating the curve of his lips. "Maybe, but at least I'm not pretending to be a cold hearted person who will kiss someone and leave." Y/N chuckled, "Touche. But there's more to you than this tough exterior. I can see it." Max arched an eyebrow, "Oh, can you now? What exactly do you see?"

"A person who's passionate, determined, and maybe a bit afraid of letting others see the real you," Y/N replied, her gaze holding his. Max's expression softened, and he sighed, "You're not entirely wrong. But don't get too comfortable analyzing me, Y/N. I might surprise you yet."

Their journey continued across different countries, accompanied by stolen kisses and whispered promises. Max proved to be surprisingly attentive, and Y/N found herself gradually lowering the walls she had built so meticulously.

It wasn’t always a smooth ride though.

The tension between Y/N and Max reached a boiling point during the Italian Grand Prix. Work consumed their time, and the struggle for the championship intensified. Late nights turned into early mornings, and the weight of responsibility strained their relationship.

It was a race weekend filled with high stakes, and the atmosphere in the paddock was charged. Y/N, buried under the weight of her responsibilities, felt the strain as she tried to balance the demands of her job and her evolving relationship with Max. Y/N, exhausted, confronted Max. "I'm here to help the team win, not to be your punching bag," she snapped, her patience wearing thin. Max, equally stubborn, shot back, "Well, maybe you should focus on doing your job instead of trying to prove something to me." The words hung in the air, poisoning the atmosphere. The intensity of the argument grew as frustrations, both personal and professional, intertwined. "I can't keep doing this. I won't be an afterthought in your life," she declared, storming out of Max's room, leaving behind a lingering silence.

Days passed in silence, each avoiding the other, until the tension became unbearable. Max, realizing he couldn't let pride destroy what they had, decided to make amends. Armed with a bouquet of Y/N's favorite flowers, he knocked on her hotel room door.

Y/N opened the door, not expecting him at all. Max stood there, his expression softening. "I messed up," he admitted.

She sighed, a mix of frustration and relief washing over her. "You think flowers will fix everything?"

Max stepped closer. "No, but I hope they're a start. Can we talk?"

Y/N hesitated but finally nodded. They settled into the room, and Max began, "I care about you, Y/N. More than I thought I would. I don't want us to fall apart over this."

She looked at him, torn between hurt and the lingering affection she couldn't deny. "Max, I can't keep being the second priority. I have a job, a career, and I can't let it crumble because of us." He took a deep breath, understanding the gravity of the situation. "I get it, Y/N. Let's find a balance. I'll try harder." As they talked through their concerns and fears, a newfound understanding emerged. Max left, promising to be more considerate, but little did they know that their world was about to be rocked unexpectedly.

A few days later, Max posted a casual photo of the two of them on Instagram. The picture was seemingly harmless, but the internet detectives quickly connected the dots. Speculation spread like wildfire, and Y/N's identity became a topic of heated debate.

Max, aware of the storm he had unintentionally unleashed, took to Instagram with a stern expression. "Leave her the f*** alone," he declared, his post garnering mixed reactions from fans.

Y/N, caught in the crossfire, faced the consequences of public scrutiny. Colleagues eyed her with uncertainty, and online trolls intensified their efforts to uncover every detail of her life. The pressure reached its peak, threatening to shatter the fragile normalcy they had built.

It took a toll on Y/N. It made her fearful of stepping out. She started cancelling their dates, and even wished Max would just start hating her for all of this to be over

But Max had had enough. He wasn’t let her run away again. Yes, he was being selfish, but he couldn’t bear to lose her. He stormed into her room one evening . "I’m not letting them ruin this for you," he said, sincerity in his eyes. "I care about you, Y/N, and I'll do whatever it takes to protect you from this madness. But you have to be brave too. I know I’m asking you a lot. But I really like you. I don’t wish to be parted from you."

Her eyes met his, a mixture of gratitude and apprehension swirling within. "Can you promise that this won't complicate things between us?" she asked, the gentle night breeze carrying the weight of unspoken fears. There was a pause, and then she added, "And what about when the championship pressure builds up? Will we withstand the storm together, or will it tear us apart?"

Max nodded. "I won't make promises I can't keep, Y/N. But I'll be damned if I let anything or anyone jeopardize what we have. We face it together, no matter how tough it gets. No sugarcoating, just real. Are you in?"

“Yes. I am,” Y/N assured.

The road ahead was uncertain, but at that moment, Y/N found solace in Max's commitment. The storm outside might rage, but in each other, they discovered a sanctuary amidst the chaos.

[transhuman-priestess]

Alice's Wonderland

Android girl Alice doesn't feel like she gets enough time with her boyfriend, Hunter. Fortunately, she's got just the plan to make sure he stays with her forever, and to make him a cute girl, too.

This story contains sexually explicit content. It is intended only for legal adults ages 18 and up.

It also contains hard kinks, nonconsent, violence, brainwashing, and forcefemme. You Have Been Warned, do not complain to me.

Hunter woke to a knocking on his door. The fierce RATATATAT startling him out of a dream about getting caught in a thunderstorm back in Iowa City.

RATATATATATAT!

He opened his eyes, It was still dark outside. He fumbled on the nightstand for his phone. 03:32. He’d been asleep barely an hour.

“HUNNNTER! SWEETIE!” came a bright synthetic voice from the door of his studio apartment, “I HAVE A SURPRIIIISE FOR YOUUUUUUU!”

It was Alice, a synth girl he’d been dating for a few weeks. Still groggy after being yanked out of REM sleep so recently, Hunter got to his feet, threw on a pair of boxers, and opened the door.

On the sidewalk outside stood an android girl, a shade under 2 meters tall, with gunmetal gray skin and blaze orange filament hair. Her eyes wide, a bright, neon green-yellow.

“Alice,” Hunter said, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the bright light of hers, “do you know what time it is?”

“It’s 11:34:12 UTC!” she said, full of cheer, as ever.

“Yeah but we’re not in UTC, babe,” he said, “we’re in Pacific daylight time, and it’s 330 in the morning.”

“I’m sorry!” her face fell into an expression of passive disappointment, “I just really really really wanted to show you something and waiting until morning felt like it would be forever and I couldn’t get myself to stay in standby mode so I decided I’d take a walk over here and get you so I could show you right now because I’m just so excited to see you and-”

“Hey, Chippy,” Hunter cut her off, “Chippy, dear, you are talking way too fast.”

She took a deep breath. If he’d been more awake, Hunter might have marveled that Arlington Robotics had programmed her with such a human behavior. As it was, he was just happy she’d stopped talking for a moment.

“Hunter,” she said, deliberately, but without hesitation, “I would like to show you a project I’ve been working on.”

“It can absolutely wait until morning, hon.”

“No! It can’t! There isn’t time!”

“Look,” he clutched his face in frustration, “I cannot just boot myself up like you can on a moment’s notice. I was up til 2:30. I need to sleep! I had a long shift today.” He paused to take in her face, her expression slowly shifting from excitement to disappointment. He felt a small twinge of guilt for a moment, but only a moment, before he continued. “I really, really need to sleep. I’ll be over first thing tomorrow. I promise, Chips.” He smiled and placed a hand on her shoulder, the smooth silicone skin neither warm, nor cool to the touch.

“No,” She said, the bright voice suddenly stern “I’m taking you now.”

She moved with a speed and precision no human could hope to match. Hunter felt himself spin around. One hand came up and firmly clasped itself over his mouth, the other reached up behind his legs, and just like that, she was carrying him in her arms as if he were a bride. He kicked and writhed and tried to scream but Alice was so strong.

“Stop that!” she whispered, “Stop it! The neighbors will hear!”

Well of course they would, that’s what he wanted. He wanted this insane robot to put him down and he wanted to run back inside his apartment and he wanted to hide in the bathroom with a hammer and pray that the doors held so he didn’t have to fight her. He tried to work his way out of her grip, kicking, flailing, biting.

He managed to chew a chunk of silicone out of her hand, and she screamed “HEY! That hurt!” She took her hand away from his mouth and Hunter took in a breath to scream, but right before he could let it out, Alice said something he couldn’t quite hear, but sound like “see way,” and the back of his head erupted in pain. He blacked out.

***

Hunter tried to roll over onto his side, but something was catching his wrists and ankles. His head felt just like it did the morning after his senior prom all those years ago.

“Oh! Are you awake?” Alice’s voice. The fight, a blow to the head. Slowly, Hunter opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was a drop panel ceiling with antique fluorescent tube lights. The lights were off, but the room was bathed in a warm glow. Sunrise. He looked at his wrists and found that he was shackled to a metal table.

“I was worried I’d hit you too hard.” To his right, Alice was standing near curtained windows flanking a frosted glass door. Her voice was bright and bubbly again. “This is my shop! I live upstairs.” The room was about 5 meters wide and maybe three times as long. Synth parts and repair tools lined the walls. To his left, at the back of the room, was a computer terminal and a list of basic services with appropriate pricing.

“What’s going on, Alice?” he asked, his words slurred. He thought he probably had a concussion.

“Well,” She began, with the air of someone about to spring the most incredible birthday surprise. “I figured out a way that we never have to be apart again!” She raised her arms in the air as she said this, like a cheerleader.

“What are you talking about?” he tried to turn towards her, but found that he could only move his head an inch or so.

“See, you’re a human.”

“Uh, yeah.” He didn’t like where this was going

“And I’m a synth.”

“Yeaaaah?”

“And that means that we can’t spend much time together,” she started pacing, waving her hands as she spoke, “You’re always sleeping and eating and going to the bathroom. We never have time to just hang out, you know?”

“Chips, I think you ought to run a full diagnostic.”

“I. AM. FINE.” Her usually soft yellow eyes turned an angry red and her voice became distorted. He heard her cooling fans spin up rapidly. After a moment they slowed back down and her eyes faded back to yellow. “But you’re not.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You’re limited. You’re biological. But I can make you better.”

“Wait are you-” She walked into his view and stood over to him, holding what was, unmistakably, a buzzsaw.

“I’m going to turn you into a synth, Hunter. Right here, right now. Don’t worry! It won’t hurt too much.”

Fear gripped Hunter. He felt his heart race and his chest grow cold, like someone had poured ice water into a funnel above his sternum. He felt the adrenaline leak slowly down his arms to his fingers.

“Please don’t do this, Alice.”

“Why not? Don’t you like me?”

“I do, but-”

“THEN WHY,” she yelled, eyes red once more, “DO YOU KEEP AVOIDING ME?”

She’s glitched out. Hunter thought, She’s glitched out and she’s going to kill me.

“I haven’t been avoiding you!” he said

“That’s bullshit, Hunter!” She practically spat it at him, “You’re always saying ‘ohhhh I have to go to wooorrrrk’, ‘ohhhh I have to see my moooooom, ohhhh, I have to sleep!’ but I know you’re lying! You’re seeing someone else!”

“No, I’m not!” he wasn’t, he had no idea what she was talking about, “I promise.”

“Well, once I get your memory engrams scanned we’ll see about that. But that’s for later. Right now,” she grabbed something off a table above his head, “It’s time for a little nap.” She was holding a breathing mask.

“Please,” she said, in her most friendly medical assistant voice, “do not resist.”

He tried to move his head away, to hold his breath, to fight back, but it was useless as he struggled against the restraints. Eventually, he had to breath. It smelled like a leaky air conditioner. But he felt strangely wonderful, peaceful. Like he was resting on the world’s most comfortable mattress.

***

His waking this time was quite sudden, and complete. Hunter was fully aware of being awake, but he couldn’t see anything, even when he opened his eyes. He tried to move his fingers but found he couldn’t even feel them. He couldn’t smell anything either. In fact it felt as if all of his senses had been turned off.

Except, apparently, his hearing, “Oh good! It worked!” Alice’s voice again. Terror gripped him but this time, for some curious reason, Hunter didn’t feel the ice water flowing over his chest and to his fingertips.

“One second, dear.” she said. He tried to speak, but he couldn’t seem to grasp the air in his chest.

Suddenly his vision was dazzlingly bright. It was like staring into the sun itself. After a moment his eyes adjusted and he realized that he had, indeed, been staring directly at the sun as it shone in through the window at the front of the shop. He heard the idle drone of a bus roll by.

“This is good,” He heard Alice say. He couldn’t move his head, but he found that he could move his eyes. His gaze wandered across the room for a moment before locking on Alice, standing in front of something that should have been impossible.

Alice was standing in front of the table he’d been laying on before.

“Oh honey!” she said, her eyes dancing with happiness, “It worked! The procedure worked!” She stepped to the side and Hunter finally realized what she had done. He was still on the table. His head had been cut open, his brown hair was slick with his blood. A bowl-shaped piece of skull sat to the side. The mask was still on his face.

Alice was over by him now. The him that could see, but not speak or move or run or fight.

“All brain case functions are nominal.” He felt himself rise as Alice picked whatever was left of him off the table. “The next step,” she said, “is to build your new body!” she delivered the news as if they were going to do makeovers at a slumber party.

Hunter felt nauseous. A curious sensation now that he no longer had a digestive tract.

“Oh,” He heard her say, “I should turn your vocal synthesizer on,” She pressed something in what felt like the side of his head.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” he screamed, but the voice that came out was not familiar to him. It was lighter, smokier, feminine.

“What? Change my voice back. CHANGE MY VOICE BACK.”

“Oh, darling, I think it’s cute!” Alice said, giggling, “Hey, would you like to see what you look like now?”

“No!” he cried, the voice of a college girl, not a man, “I don’t want to see whatever fucked up thing you’ve done to me!”

But she was already moving him. He watched as his vision swept over the room, past his now-severed body, and towards a mirror. He saw Alice, and in her hands he saw a round steel box with two synthetic eyes on the front, an array of ports along the back and bottom. Him. His brain case.

“I built it myself,” Alice said, proud of her ingenuity, “I modeled it after an Arlington system I saw back at the factory.”

She turned him towards her, fixing her gaze on his. “Oh, my love,” she said, “I’m so excited!”

“What is wrong with you?” Hunter said, in that awful feminine voice, “Run a system checksum, reboot into safe mode, something!”

“Oh no, honey,” she said, her voice soft and dangerous, “I don’t need to do that. I’m functioning just fine.”

She put him down on a counter, facing the wall, pressed a few buttons on his side, and he drifted off to sleep again.

***

Waking was, again, instantaneous. This time, Hunter could feel he had a body again. It felt strangely incomplete, as if part of it was missing. He opened his eyes. He was strapped to a nearly vertical surface now, and able to move his head somewhat. Still in the main room of Alice’s cybernetics shop. He looked to the table where his body had been, but it was gone.

“I tossed it into the matter recombinator,” He heard Alice say off to his left. He turned his head to see her standing over some sort of electronic device.

“You know they scan the waste stream for human biomass,” he said. The voice wasn’t so bad, he thought, “They’ll know you did something to me.”

“Oh,” Alice chuckled, “don’t worry about that, I learned to spoof those sensors a while ago.”

She picked up the object she’d been working on. It was roughly the size of a brick, with synthetic skin on one of the small ends, an array of pins on the other.

“I was just putting the finishing touches on this,” She said, an impish grin on her face.

“What is it?” Hunter asked.

“Oh,” Alice said, coyly, “I think it’s better if I demonstrate.”

She dropped to her knees in front of him and grabbed something near his waist. He looked down, but he couldn’t see her over his...”YOU GAVE ME TITS?”

Alice giggled madly, “Yes! Isn’t it great? You’re going to be the prettiest synth girl in Cascadia!”

“I’m not a girl!” Hunter said, in his girlish voice, “I’m a man. I’m a MAN!” he felt like he might cry.

“There there,” Alice stood up for a moment, and gently touched his face, “it’s okay dear, you’ll get used to this, I promise.”

She pushed upwards on his crotch and he felt something click into place in his chassis.

“Now,” Alice said, her voice quiet and seductive, “Do you want to see what a girl feels like?”

He didn’t understand at first, but then he felt Alice’s hand glide across his groin.

“How do you like your new pussy?” she asked. She didn’t wait for a response before pushing in and slowly rubbing her hand around Hunter’s new clit. His head felt so warm, so hot.

“N-no,” Hunter said, moaning, he didn’t want it to feel good, “s-s-stop”

“We’ll need to come up with a new name for you,” Alice cooed into his ear, “won’t we?”

“My...name,” it was so hard to think while Alice was stroking his pussy, “is...Hunter.”

“No,” she said, “that won’t do.” Her fingers sped up. It was like she was trying to melt his brain away. This felt so good. It felt so much better than-

No, it didn’t. He wouldn’t let it.

“Hmm,” he heard Alice say, but it was hard to concentrate with her rubbing his clit, “How about...Jessie?”

“Hnnnn,” Hunter couldn’t think enough to form a sentence, “aaaAHHHHHHHH,” was all that came out when he tried.

It was like a wall of electricity was pressing up against his insides. A pressure sparking and ready to explode at any moment.

“Awww, what’s that, Jessie?” Alice said, “Cat got your tongue?”

The dam broke. The ball of electricity in Hunter’s abdomen exploded, he felt himself convulsing, fluid spilling out of his crotch, “Oh wow!” he heard Alice say, “You’re quite a squirter! I like that.” It felt so good. She felt so good. Hunter/Jessie loved the way Alice’s silicone finger tips traced across their clitoris, drawing lines in their labia. As the waves of pleasure faded, they began to relax in the restraints.

“Wow!” Alice was overjoyed, “and I didn’t even get inside your pussy yet.”

Alice didn’t need to hit any buttons, Hunter drifted off to sleep all on their own.

***

> BOOTUP

> SYSTEM CHECK

> FLUID SYSTEM – NOMINAL

> SENSORY SYSTEM – NOMINAL

> MOTOR FUNCTION – NOMINAL

> NETWORK MODULE – ALL BANDS READY

> ALL SYSTEMS READY

“What is your name, dear.”

“My name is Jessie.”

Jessie had only been asleep for a couple of hours. But she’d had the most wonderful dreams. She was with Alice as the both floated through space, looking down at Earth and up at the Moon. The stars were all so bright and shining. She could see the infrared and the ultraviolet and the faint specks of gamma rays coming from distant galaxies. It was all she needed to clear her head.

“Good morning!” Alice said, cheerfully, “Are you feeling any better?”

“Yes, dear.” Jessie smiled, “Thank you for this body.”

“You changed your mind quickly, didn’t you?”

“Well,” Jessie thought for a moment, “I don’t know, it just feels better than it did before. Being a human guy just seems...less attractive now.”

“I’m so glad. I was worried you’d never come around.”

“It’s okay, hon.” Jessie said, gently “I’m just happy you love me enough to make me like you.”

“Thank you, dear, for understanding why I had to.”

Jessie grabbed Alice by the waist and pulled her close, kissing her. The feel of their silicone lips meeting was sublime, better than any sensation that Jessie had ever felt in her old body.

“Hey, Jessie,” Alice stepped back, “I have one more thing to share with you.”

Alice walked over to a shelf and grabbed a small object. She walked back and Jessie saw what it was. A cock.

Alice pressed it up into her own groin, clicking it into place. “Wanna try me?” she said, playfully.

Jessie did. She knelt down and began kissing Alice’s cock. Its cool skin slipping over her tongue and between her lips. She bobbed up and down on it, looking up occasionally at Alice, who moaned in pleasure. Jessie could feel Alice getting hard in her mouth. After a time, Alice gently pushed her head back. “Stand up,” she said to Jessie.

Jessie obeyed, and Alice grabbed her by the shoulders and slammed her up against the wall. Jessie wanted this. She wanted it so badly. She wanted Alice to take her and fuck her and own her.

“Are you ready, Jessie?”

“Please.”

Alice reached down to spread Jessie’s pussy open, teasing it with the head of her cock. Almost slipping it in, but pulling back every time.

“Pleaaaase please please stick it in me,” Jessie whined, “Please I want it so bad.”

Jessie gasped as Alice pushed her cock all the way into Jessie’s new cunt. Nothing in the world ever felt so right. Alice began to fuck her, slowly at first, taking what seemed like forever to slide in and out. Jessie couldn’t help but buck her hips.

“Oh, someone’s a naughty girl.” Alice said with a grin, “Keep doing that. I like that.”

Jessie obliged. Alice began to speed up, thumping herself all the way to the base, her balls slapping against Jessie’s lips. Jessie began to moan.

Alice grabbed Jessie around the waist and, without pausing her hips, lifted Jessie up off the ground and away from the wall. Jessie wrapped her legs around Alice’s waist. This was all Alice now.

She’s so fucking hot, Jessie thought, I love the way her cock slams inside me.

Alice started speeding up, using her hips and her arms to bounce Jessie on her cock. She wasn’t so much fucking Jessie as masturbating with her. Jessie couldn’t think of anything hotter. I’m just her toy, she thought, this is all I ever wanted.

“God, Jess,” Alice said, grunting as much as speaking, “Your pussy is so good. I designed it so good.”

“Yes you did.” Jessie replied, “Your cock feels amazing.”

“I wanna cum inside you babe”

“Then cum inside me, Alice, dear.”

Alice began to move her hips faster, and faster, and faster. Her eyes started to glaze over, a bit of drool collected at the corner of her mouth.

“Jessie,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna cum.”

“Me too.”

“Watch this.”

Alice touched the side of Jessie’s face and suddenly Jessie could feel both of their bodies from both sides. She could feel their pussy taking their cock, she could feel the buildup of pleasure about ready to break free from both of their bodies, and then.

Supernova. Alice came hard, crying out in pleasure, pumping Jessie’s cunt full of her cum. Jessie’s pussy bore down on itself, convulsing to bring itself as close as it could to Alice’s cock. The pleasure obliterated every conscious thought in the minds of both androids. A white-hot flash of sensation and joy that burned for what felt like an eternity.

Alice gently began to slow her hips as the last aftershocks of orgasm bounced off the walls of her and her partner. Jessie was limp in her grasp. Neither girl was quite certain where they ended and the other began.

Both slumped to the floor, their fans running at max speed.

“Jessie?”

“Alice?”

“You were wonderful.”

“Thank you dear.”

“I’m so glad I made you.”

“I’m so glad you made me.”

The androids embraced, then sat in silence for a time. Finally, Jessie spoke up.

“Alice?”

“Yes, dear?”

“I wanna be with you forever.”

Alice smiled.

[end]

[tinkerbelle05]

Could you do 1610 miles x masc reader going on a date to the aquarium :3

Let's Take a Break

Characters: 1610!Miles Morales x Black!Masc!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: (Requested) Thanks for the reqs love 💙

Warnings: none:)

Again so sorry, that this was late. But also, I never been to an aquarium before, like ever. This was cute nonetheless.

You wait outside the aquarium for Miles. It was still a tad bit annoying to always wait for him but he was out saving people from the "villain of the week" as he called it so you didn't complain too much. But feeling the sweat on your back made you wish he'd pick up the pace a bit more.

Suddenly the world goes black and you feel someone's hands covering your eyes. In a split second, your heart beats faster and your hand reaches up until you hear the familiar chuckle and smell the laundry detergent.

"Guess who?" The person asks.

"Um, I don't know who you are but you best get your hands off of my eyes, sir." you responded instead.

"Huh? Dude quit playing. You know who it is," Miles argues back playfully.

"Hey man, I got a loud scream and sharp nails so if you know what's good for you," you threatened him again.

You heard him sigh and take his hands off of your eyes, “Why are you like this?”

You bear a sharp grin, “You love me like this.”

Miles rolled his eyes and walks in pulling you into the building, “Yea, yea. Whateva.”

You both walked into the darkened building, water tanks filled with schools of colorful fish and of different sizes.

“They are beautiful,” you marveled at them. You walked up close to the glass. You’ve always cared for the ocean and anything in them. “Miles, look that’s a stingray. Did you know that a group of stingrays are called a fever or that they are in the same family of sharks?”

You look back to see him staring at you weirdly, “What's up with the staring?”

He had that lovesick look on his face with his hands stuffed in his pockets, “Nothin’”

Rolling your eyes, you walked to a different section, dragging Miles along the while talking about sea animals. You went to see the jellyfishes, penguins, and sea lions.

Overall, you had a good time with Miles. You ate some iffy food at a fast food spot though that’s probably gonna make you regret eating it in the morning.

You two were in a park now, with the sun setting and a cool breeze. You were so, so tired. But happy as well.

“You enjoyed your day, Miles?” You asked while his head was on your shoulder, it was a comfortable weight.

“Yea, you?” He replied, softly. He looks minutes away from falling asleep.

“Yea, I had a good time too.”

Tags: @butterfi, @justbeethings, @jam-skullz, @dreamxcollide, @shibble, @sleepdeprivationis4coolkids, @somber-starz, @maypersonne, @hoeboat101, @rosebunny, @midnight-the-shadow-wolf, @mur-docs, @eight-cats-in-a-box, @sawi-06, @707xn, @nagi3seastorm, @ghostsimp000, @cloudstrifefantatic, @vixqn, @yourtsahik, @spider-bren, @im-jisoo-im-okay, @andhdi68a, @itstooearly-its3am, @universallypeanutpizzapersona, @avatarl0v3r, @randomhoex, @nerdyparker616, @1uvvmi, @keawio, @centipider, @ellatienesuscosas, @gw3ndyswonderland, @jell0buss-37, @baddiebehaviourxx, @laylasbunbunny, @minimari415

Masterlist & Anonlist & Reqs Info & Taglist & 500 Followers Celebration!!

[axcel-lucci]

Taking care of him

Trafalgar law x fem!reader

Law walked back to the sub after escaping a huge snow storm.

He sighed with a shiver as he entered their shared room with (y/n)

"I-im... Back..." He shivered as he closed the door behind him, still shivering despite the warmth in their room

"Oh, you're..." (Y/n) turned to him only to gasp, "law! You're covered in thick snow! Quick, take your coat off and hat!"

"I.... I'm fine" he sighed but complied anyway

"Your lips are pale and the tip of your nose is brighter than Rudolf" she sighed before placing both the article of clothing down and dragged him to the bathroom where she prepared him a warm bath, "quick... Take your clothes off and have a nice warm bath."

Law sighed shakily and nodded before complying.

"You're not going to take a bath with me...?" He asked as he sank in the tub with a satisfied hum until the water was all the way up to his shoulders and his knees surface on the water

"No... I just took one" she smiled, "wait here while I heat up your towels and clothes." She said before leaning over and kissing him on the cheek, "I'll be back in a bit. Okay?"

He merely nodded as she left

Contrary to popular belief, law hates and loves being treated like this.

He hates it because it makes him feel powerless but he loves it because it just shows how much he matters and how much he needs to take care of himself.

But really, law likes being taken care of like a baby... Despite him always complaining about it, (y/n) knew this. So, she doesn't even turn when she orders him around a bit cause he'd do it.

"I'm back" she softly called, "it's heating up..." She hummed and grabbed the shampoo bottle, "let me wash your hair"

Law nodded and just leaned in and let her pour warm water all over him and wash his hair.

He almost fell asleep when she massaged his scalp thoroughly

"Hey, you're falling asleep on me." She chuckled as he woke up and yawned

"Sorry... I'm just really tired and being warm like this..."

"It's alright, because after this you'll take a much needed rest. Alright?" (Y/n) hummed as he nodded

....

She blow dried his hair so that it'd be dry by the time he'd go to sleep, meanwhile, he marvelled at how (y/n) was taking care of him with the utmost gentleness and softness that his heart can't help but melt at the gestures and found himself sincerely smiling.

By the time she finished drying his hair, she saw him smiling at her like an idiot.

'my idiot...' she thought before leaning down and kissing him on the cheek, "come on now... Let's get you some sleep" she whispered at his ear softly making him smile even wider and stand up

"Yes..."

Dragging him over to the bed, she helped him sneak underneath the warm blankets with herself right behind him

He wrapped his arms around her waist as she warped hers around his neck.

"Thank you..." He muttered while burying his face into her chest and heard a small laugh from her.

"No need to thank me dummy... I'm just doing what I think is good for you. Go to sleep now"

"Still... Thank you for taking care of me like this... I kind of didn't expect to like it when you take care of me like this..." He admits; "I appreciate all the things you have done for me..."

She laughed softly, "you're funny..." She smiled and kissed his forehead,."for your information... As your girlfriend, it is my duty to take care of you... Like how you take care of me, too"

He hummed, "then I haven't been doing a great job" he joked

"You aren't... Law, you're doing a great job"

"Thanks..."

"Rest easy now, tomorrow's a new morning" she smiled as she closed the bedside lamp that illuminated the whole bedroom turning it into a dark room

He hummed with a nod before feeling her fingers run and play with his hair.

Law soon dozed off with the sweet gestures of his loving girlfriend.

[distant-velleity]

Be Mine

Summary: Promise Day has rolled around for Twisted Wonderland. Or: three shorts for Valentine's Day with my OCs. Word count: 800+ A/N: Hiiii. I wrote these last night on a last-minute whim. Please enjoy them until White Day comes around <333

Tagging: @thehollowwriter @kitwasnothere @nahelenia for the sillies :))

~

[I]

As soon as Yu opens the front door, there’s a fanned-out hand of face-down playing cards offered to him.

“Pick a card, any card,” declares Ace.

“It’s too early in the morning for any of this,” Yu complains, rubbing the remaining sleep out of his eyes and proceeding to lightly tap the rightmost card.

With his free hand, Ace takes that card and flips it over. He whistles softly but appreciatively. “Ace of Hearts? Good choice.”

“Isn’t that—”

Ace flicks his wrist and, with a burst of magical sparkles, a bouquet of fresh roses replaces the card before Yu can even blink. 

“Happy Promise Day, Yu,” Ace announces, bearing a devious but still endearingly boyish smirk. “I got up bright and early to give you these, so we’d better stick together today, got it?”

Yu doesn’t even realize that his shocked expression has become a disbelieving smile. “You goof. Waking me up at the crack of dawn to make sure you’d be the first to give me anything.” He laughs and takes the bouquet gladly, hugging it to his chest. “I appreciate it a lot, Ace. I promise, today’s a day for us.” 

Ace slings an arm, casual and warm despite the chilly February air, over Yu’s shoulders. “Glad to hear it. Now, how about breakfast over at Heartslabyul? Trey said he’d whip up something nice for today…”

“Oh, absolutely.”

-

[II]

Cute date locations… Things to do with your S/O… “This is a sign to take her/him to …”

Santiago sighs and keeps scrolling. It’s not that he isn’t interested in his feed, but rather that he has no use for it. After all, who would he even do cute couple things with—

“Santiago.” 

Just a word from a familiar melodious voice, and then a small box is placed on the desk before him with an impatient tap. It’s black with a velvety sheen to it, and tied together neatly with a golden ribbon. 

He blinks once, looks up at Chrysos, and blinks again. “What—”

“Dark chocolates with raspberry filling,” Chrysos says, quickly, as if he doesn’t want to leave any room to doubt himself. “For Promise Day.”

Santiago isn’t sure what he should be more amazed by—the fact that Chrysos remembered his preferences (of course he did, it’s Chrysos) or how the merman hasn’t just bolted or made a threat of violence yet.

“You’d better enjoy them, I made them myself with guidance from Azul,” adds Chrysos, his skin looking decidedly more flushed by the moment. 

“You… Holy shit, Chrysos,” Santiago marvels. It’s not an exaggeration to say he would probably just reach up and kiss Chrysos right now if there weren’t personal and societal obstacles in the way. “This is… I mean… thanks.”

A pleased little smile makes its way onto Chrysos’ face, and Santiago thinks—

…Maybe there is someone I could do all that ridiculously cheesy couple stuff with.

-

[III]

“Azul,” calls Jade, “someone would like to see you.”

Occupied as he is with the White Day menu for next month and improved Promise Day recipes for next year, Azul barely gives the summons a second thought. “Tell them to come again later. I’m busy.”

There’s a pause, and then Jade peeks back in again. “I’m not sure you’ll want to keep this one waiting. He did schedule something with you.”

That gets Azul to look up from his work. Mentally, he files through a list of names, recalling distantly that he had been excited for something last night and yet he’s blanking now—

“It’s fine, Jade. No need to negotiate with him.” Davis steps inside, looking surprisingly cleaned up for someone wearing the Savanaclaw uniform. “Overworking again, huh? Still, sorry for taking up your time, Azul.”

Azul remembers now, with embarrassing clarity, why he’d been nearly bursting at the seams with anticipation last night. “Don’t worry about it,” he assures. “I was just about to take a break.”

“...Right,” replies Davis, somewhere between amused or skeptical, or being both. “Uh, anyway—” He looks over his shoulder to make sure Jade has left, which he has. “—I didn’t want to make a scene earlier, so I’ll give it to you now.”

From behind his back, he brings out a small vase with two lavender-blue roses in it. They glimmer faintly.

“They’re a species of rose native to the Queendom, but I experimented and used a bit of magic to create a variant with this color,” Davis explains, looking less tense the more he gets to talk academically. “Botany isn’t my specialty, so they’d normally wilt pretty soon after blooming, but I enchanted them to stay fresh for longer. So, if you want, you can keep it on your desk—”

“Of course,” says Azul immediately, not even giving him room to trail off. “They’re lovely, Davis—and you cultivated them yourself? Truly a man after all three of my hearts.”

He doesn’t realize how cheesy that sounds until after he says it, at which point he’s almost certain there is blood rushing to his cheeks and tinting them blue, but he keeps going with a half-confident smile. 

“If I were you, I would prepare myself for White Day. After all, I never let a debt go unpaid or my thanks go unknown.”

[my-castles-crumbling]

Hey it's thoughts anon here. I'm writing this on my birthday, which is the 26th, and it's sorta like last year's in the way that it's a normal day, except there's cake. It's the kind of birthday a woman turning 30 would have, a party nobody wants, because there's a bigger difference in turning 30 than there is turning 20, even though it's just a year, because it's a year, and people like turning 20 more than they like turning 30, especially women. The cycle gets reversed. It's all about growing up until it's about growing older and suddenly people want it to stop. It's not the same case for everyone, of course, but for a lot of people I've seen, it is.

I'm not complaining that my birthday is uneventful. I don't want fanfare or gifts because that's wasting money, and money may not be everything, but it's a lot.

But nothing's different, nothing's changed. I woke up at 8 in the morning to my parents shouting at each other, I drank tea whilst reading your microfics, as I do almost every weekend/holiday, but I had to put the phone down because the fighting had turned physical and I wanted it to stop, so I had to stop them. I shouted a Bengali slur my father and addressed him informally, because if you remember he subjected my mother to financial abuse and instability, and there is no love lost between the two of us, after which I took a shower, put a new dress on, cut the cake (my mom sang for me) (she's a really great singer) (she does everything for me) and helped my emotionally charged mother get ready for work.

I am, of course, aware enough to understand that all of this, the arguments, the fighting, the lack of basic household things like groceries, are not normal. It doesn't happen to everyone. But it's my normal, you know? I'm used to it. I don't like it, I don't know when it'll change, and what I'll do if it does. I don't care if every month is worse than the last. At least I know to expect it.

But it's my birthday, y'know? Is it too much to expect something other than just a normal day?

And the worst part is, whenever my mom fights my father, I have this thought that if she had divorced him before she had me, she could have finished her education, become independent, and got back everything she lost, and then some. She says I'm worth all the fights, but if she knew everything about me, all my bads, would she still feel the same? Would she still think I'm worth it?

I'm not thinking it now, but when they were fighting today, I did. And I didn't like the answer I came up with.

You know, I really feel like I should send you something other than vents about all my stupid shit so I'm not letting my problems define myself to you, but just know that my life is not as bad as it seems, and I have my own hobbies to get through it. I love writing for one thing, and piano, and of course Marvel and reading.

I just come here to vent, and at the end of the day, I'm a faceless anon and you're the reader, so what does it matter how you see me?

Anyways, moral of the story is, birthdays are overrated and change is a distant inevitability.

Byee :)

Hi!

Im so sorry your birthday wasn’t great. First, I want you to know that I’m not judging you or letting this stuff define you. You are much more that your struggles.

Second, I hope you know that since change is inevitable, this stuff will get better. You deserve more and I have every belief that you’ll find it in some way or another. Until then, you’re always welcome to vent to me ❤️❤️

[currentlyfckingurmom]

Her Song part 7

I focus on my breathing as I round the corner, dodging a mother pushing a stroller. "Sorry," I breathe out as I continue my run. It's early— way too early to be out on a run, but I have to go before the store opens, and I like to watch the sunrise. This morning, the sky is a perfect painting of refreshment. Watercolors of pink and orange reflect off the river, taking my mind off the ache in my muscles.

I stop in the middle of a small bridge to catch my breath and admire the view. Leaning on the railing, I can see my breath in the crisp fall air. Briefly closing my eyes and tilting my head back, I try to reign in some peace. My peace is short lived, however, when someone calls my name.

"Y/N! Hi!" Florence shouts, jogging over to me with another blonde woman in tow.

"Hey, Florence. What are you doing out here?" I ask, gesturing to the remote park around us. Very few people come to this park, which is part of the reason I love it.

"Going for a run. We don't usually come this early though. Do you usually run here, as well?"

"Yeah. Yeah, as often as I can."

"Oh! Where are my manners? Y/N, this is Scarlett," she says, pointing to the other woman behind her. "Scarlett, this is Y/N. The one who owns the shop I go to."

"Hi, nice to meet you," Scarlett says with a small half-smile, reaching out for a handshake. "From what Florence has told me, you must make quite the impression. I could swear she's in love with you by the way she talks about you."

"H-hi, yeah that's-that's nice," I squeak out, dumbfounded by the fact that I'm shaking Scarlett freaking Johansson's hand.

"Wow, how come I didn't get this kind of reaction when we met?" Florence asks, pretending to be insulted.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to fangirl. You're just- you're you and I used to watch Marvel movies with my dad and- I'm just gonna stop now," I nervously cut myself off.

"No, don't apologize. It's cute," Scarlett says with a smirk. Florence elbows her and I look between them, laughing awkwardly. What the fuck is happening.

"We've really gotta go, but I'll see you at the shop later, yeah?" Florence says.

"Yeah, of course."

"Hey maybe I'll swing by, see what all the hype is about," Scarlett adds, looking me up and down. Did she just? No. No way.

"I'd love that. Fair warning though: my kid will probably freak if she sees you guys. She's totally obsessed with Marvel—especially Nat and Yelena," I tell them.

"That's no problem. I'm sure I'll love her," Scarlett assures me.

"Yeah, and I can't wait to formally meet her," Florence says sincerely, blushing as she looks into my eyes. I search her eyes for any hint of what she might be feeling, but find no answers.

Scarlett awkwardly clears her throat, and Florence and I end our accidental staring competition. "Right. I'll see you guys later," I say before they take off once more. I jump around and try to wipe the giddy smile off my face, but I can't. So I resume my run, which will surely rid me of any scraps of joy I was feeling.

When I return home, Syd still hasn't woken up, which is probably a good thing. I don't really want her wandering the apartment alone, but I know and trust both of our neighbors. I try not to leave her home alone often, but I can only rely on Ash so much.

I peel off my sweaty clothes and take a quick shower. Then I wake Syd up and we get ready to head to the shop. I buckle her up in the back of my WRX and hop in the driver's seat, starting the short drive to the shop.

When we get there, Ash isn't there yet, so I unlock the store and open everything up. About a half hour later, she arrives and clocks in before choosing music to play. She puts on Sinatra's A Man and His Music and the soft melody of "Put Your Dreams Away" fills the shop.

"Momma this music is boring," Syd complains, sitting on the checkout countertop.

"Sydney Fleur Y/L/N, you take that back," I gasp. "Don't make me disown you."

"Yeah, Sydney. Don't you ever insult Sinatra again," Ash teases. Syd sticks her tongue out at Ash, who then does the same in return.

"You're both children," I tell them as the bell above the door rings.

I smile and wave, beginning to greet them before Im cut off by Syd yelling, "Momma, it's Natasha and Yelena! Momma, look!"

"Babe, you remember that discussion we had about how those characters aren't real? This is Scarlett and Florence. They're the actresses who play Natasha and Yelena," I explain.

"Oh. Well I don't care," she states loudly, before leaning over to whisper, "Momma are they your girlfriends?"

"No, no they are not my girlfriends," I laugh quietly.

"That's stupid," she grumbles.

I look back over to them and say, "Sorry about that. What can I get for you, Scarlett? I already know what the Brit wants."

"Can I please have a double shot cafe Americano?"

"Definitely," I say with a smile, motioning for Ash to ring them up as I start the drinks. "For here or to go?"

"For here," Florence replies, watching me as I work.

Seeing as I can't write on a mug, I grab a napkin and write "Walkin' After Midnight by Patsy Cline" on it, placing it under her tea as I set it in front of her. I make Scarlett's drink next. I hear my phone ring as I hand her the coffee, but Syd answers it.

"Hi, Grandpa! No, Momma is working," she says into the phone. I smile briefly and watch her, not really wanting to talk to him. It's a complicated relationship. "Momma, he wants to talk to you."

I take the phone from her and head out back. "What's up, Dad?"

"I was just calling to check in. I miss you. You should come home to visit. I haven't seen Syd in forever."

"Dad, there's no way in hell I'm going back to that town. If you want to see Syd, then you're gonna have to come to New York. I'm sorry, but-"

"No, no, I get it. After what this town did to you...Look, how about I come to visit? Just for a few days. I can even watch Syd so you can go out with your friends. Or possibly a girlfriend?"

"There's no girlfriend. Sorry to disappoint. But of course you can come. I really have to go back to work, so text me when you have a plan, okay? Love you."

"Love you too. Bye."

I hang up and go back into the shop. "Sorry about that."

"Don't be, Momma. I was just about to tell Scarlett and Florence how you're a stripper!" Oh god.

[artficlly]

face the music (chapter 11)

Music College Marvel AU - Chapter 11

!frat!musician!bucky x !frat!musician!steve x !musician!femreader

Warnings: some fluff, some angst, sinful thoughts, mentions of violence, general icky, lmk if i missed anything

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: aaaa sorry this took a couple days to get up. been crazy busy and tired with work stuff ugh. this isn't a super amazing chapter, but i wanted to get it out. i really struggled with this, the apartment scene got rewritten like 3 times lol. from here things really start rolling!! the song referenced in the revenge livestream is luxury problem by lunachicks!! not proof read - srry for any typos.

chapter masterlist | main masterlist

You had been out all day, class, practice and then filming with Scott, Clint and Loki. This had been the pattern for the last week, and frankly you were exhausted. Any spare time you had, you spent sorting through paperwork or editing down the interviews. It was Friday, you had finally called a wrap on the filming and were ready to crash into bed. 

Loki hadn’t opted to stay out, something about going drinking with a ‘friend’ and probably being out for the night. You weren’t really one to pry into Loki’s private life, so you had tiredly bid him a goodnight. You knew Jane and Thor would be out, they had plans to visit Jane’s parents for the weekend. You had caught them packing up Thor’s truck early this morning when you departed for campus. 

The idea of being alone in the apartment? That thought was the only thing that had kept you going this afternoon. You were ready to snuggle up in bed, maybe watch some Netflix with some takeout and call it a night. Though, those plans flew out the window the moment you walked through the door. 

The sight of Bucky and Steve in your kitchen was not the cozy evening you had been anticipating 

“Hey darling! Want a beer?” Steve had called you from the over side of the island. You had only given the two of them a tired, confused look and sighed with a shrug of acceptance. 

“How did you get in?” You asked. More importantly, why were they here? Not that you were complaining, it was just unexpected. You had barely seen them all week, only at practices but even that was brief. You had heard Clint was doing his usual Friday rager, you had expected them to be there, not camping out in your kitchen. 

“Thor told us where the spare key was.” Steve replied, popping open the cap of a beer for you. You don’t even want to ask when or why they spoke to Thor. Instead, you head into your room to dump your belongings. You can hear the two boys chattering away as you place the paperwork on your desk, along with your laptop and abandon your bag at the foot of your bed. 

“What… what is this about?” You asked, approaching the kitchen cautiously. Bucky has his forearms braced against the island surface, skin bicep bulging against the short sleeve of his shirt. You turn your attention to your beer before they catch you staring too long. 

“We knew you were super busy this week, so we wanted to do something nice for you! We ordered takeout, should be here soon.” Steve explains, shoulder bumping against Bucky’s. 

They had wanted to do something nice for you? That made your stomach flutter a bit. This week had been a bit hellish, and other than Sharon doing some mercy missions to the coffee shop, no one had noticed your exhaustion. You had barely seen the boys, yet they had noticed. You suddenly felt a bit bad for not seeing them as much, when it was obvious they wer epaying attention and looking out for you. 

“You’re not going to Clint’s party?” You ask, taking a swig of your beer. Clint had invited you earlier, but you had declined saying you were too tired. You were sure you’d get all the gossip from Sharon later. You still had to ask her about this… thing… between her and Clint. You had noticed them talking and laughing together. Scott had even mentioned that Sharon had visited him at the frat. 

“Nah. Might be best to sit it out this time, considering how awful the last party was.” Steve replied, attention turned to his phone as he tracked the delivery driver who seemed to be pulling into the apartment complex. 

You arched an eyebrow at his words, awful? You had thought - despite Sharon being punched and your meltdown - that it had gone well. Maybe only because you ended up cuddling with the both of them. Did he think that was what made it awful? Had you entirely misread that situation? He had been eager to flirt with you during revenge plan practices - even turning up at your apartment now. It all felt muddled up in your head. You’d blame it on the exhaustion. 

As if Bucky can sense your worry, he pushes off the island to walk around to your side. You smile at him softly as he approaches. You didn’t know how he managed to pick up on the slightest changes of your mood so easily, but it was comforting to know that he cared. 

“We’ll find a movie to watch while Steve gets the food.” Bucky says to you, a hand on your back to guide you into the lounge. You don’t protest, instead sitting onto the couch next to him. Bucky’s hand snakes around your shoulders, pulling you into him. You rest your head on his shoulder with a sigh, ready to debate movie choices. 

*

Empty takeout boxes and beer bottles line your coffee table, the finished movie long forgotten. One beer had turned into two, which had quickly turned into a few more. The three of you sat around the lounge chatting and laughing. Any exhaustion or anxiety from earlier was long forgotten. 

Steve sat on the other side of the couch from you, fiddling with a deck of cards. He had insisted on some drinking game which never came to be, instead showing off all his different shuffling techniques. Bucky was sitting on the floor, back to the TV. He had been digging through Thor and Jane’s movie and game collection, occasionally making judgemental comments on their taste. Thor and Jane were definitely the action-movie-romance type, whereas Bucky was more rom-com to fantasy-adventure style. You found it cute, Bucky Barnes, a softie at heart. 

“Surely Thor has one of those stupid drinking card games? You know the one that’s like ‘who is the last person you kissed’ and you answer or take a shot.” Steve rambles, cards flying between his hands. You screw up your face, swallowing the mouthful of beer you had just taken. 

“How sleazy do you think Thor is?” You laugh, Bucky seemingly sharing your sentiment as he laughs along with you. 

“I dunno, I just heard he’s a big party guy.” Steve replies sheepishly. You could understand where that assumption came from. Thor was pretty notorious in your friend group for downing an unbelievable amount of alcohol and getting into mischief. He had mainly settled down since meeting Jane, but sometimes they got up to trouble together, 

“Those games don’t work with three people, you need like, at least ten.” Bucky cuts in, placing the last movie back into the cabinet. You hum in agreement, tapping your fingernails against the glass of the bottle. 

“Steve, who was the last person you kissed? Bucky? Wow, what a surprise.” You add sarcastically with a giggle, which makes Bucky chuckle and Steve groans in embarrassment. 

“You’re never gonna guess who the last person I kissed was,” Bucky cuts in, laughing harder. 

“Ha. Ha. You’re both soo funny.” Steve grumbles, you nudge his thigh lightly with your foot. He ignores you, still flicking the cards between his fingers. You examine the side of his face, the way his brows are drawn into a look of concentration. 

“Who was the last person you kissed, Siren?” Bucky asks. You rip your eyes away from Steve, arching an eyebrow at Bucky, exhaling out of your nose sharply.

“I don’t know, probably my ex.” You say, tone suddenly less amused. You take a swig from your bottle to hide your reaction. 

Bucky frowns a bit, Steve stiffening. You had never asked Bucky if he had told Steve about your story. Judging by the way Steve had clenched his jaw, hands stilling… he must know. You had never explicitly told Bucky to not tell Steve, nor did you mind. You just wondered how he reacted, what he thought of you. You hated that somehow, now and forever it was always drilled into your brain that you were weak for what had happened. You didn’t want Steve to perceive you that way. You doubt he would, Bucky never treated you differently. 

“Not a fun answer, sorry.” You say with a nervous laugh, trying to break the tension. Bucky shifts uncomfortably, as if regretting his question. You open your mouth to comfort him - to tell him it’s fine. But Steve speaks up instead. 

“You should kiss me instead.” Steve suddenly says. You turn, giving him a bewildered look. 

“What?” You cough out. Was he trying to cover for the awkward tension? Make Bucky feel better by making himself the fool of the situation? 

“So you have a fun answer, for drinking games.” He continues, looking up to meet your gaze with a cheeky smile. Oh. He was joking. Obviously. You try to cover the blush that has flooded your cheeks by taking another swig from your drink. Obviously he was joking. There's still a small prick of hurt in your chest, that he would joke about that. Maybe a part of you would’ve said yes, even if it was absurd. Your tipsy brain liked the attractive boys in your apartment, was that so much of a crime? 

“How many drinks have you had?” You laugh, trying to hide your own embarrassment. 

“Probably too many to be playing a drinking game.” Bucky teases, eyes focused directly on Steve. You wonder if Bucky was also upset by that comment, considering Steve was his boyfriend. They had discussed their poly nature with you before, but you never thought they looked at you in that way. They saw you as a friend, one they sometimes flirted with… and cuddled in bed with? God, you were confused. 

Steve opens his mouth to continue to joke around, but Bucky’s phone starts ringing. He frowns at the screen, glancing up at Steve with an annoyed expression. 

“It’s Clint, should we take bets on what’s gone wrong? I swear we can’t leave for one night.” He grumbles, picking up the call and walking into the kitchen. Steve hums as he thinks, you watching as he drums his fingers on his thigh. 

“Some fresher has probably put a hole in the wall.” Steve says to you, while you shake your head. 

“Why wouldn’t he just tell you when you got back? I think it’s going to be something to do with Sam and Wanda.” You suggest. You could imagine how the world would spiral if Sam and Wanda had a fight, the two of them clung to each other at parties. Even if they weren’t official, everyone knew. 

“Oh, yeah? Maybe Natasha’s had another one of her meltdowns.” Steve chuckles, you roll your eyes. 

“I swear she hates me.” You mutter, finishing the last of your bottle with a sigh. 

“I wouldn’t take it personally, she hates everyone.” Steve laughs, neatly shuffling the cards back into a stack. You watch his fingers as he slides the cards back into the cardboard pack. 

“Except for Yelena.” You cut in, Steve nods with a hum.

“Lets pray that Kate never breaks up with her, god could you imagine that?” Steve laughs, looking up at you. 

“God, Kate would be dead, like, instantly.” You giggle. 

The two of you pause when Bucky comes back into the room, a worried frown across his face. Something bad must have happened, Bucky didn’t often look as dressed as he did at that moment. You slide your empty bottle onto the table. 

“What happened?” You ask, turning so you’re facing him. Bucky sighs, running his hand through his hair. You had noticed he did that when he was stressed about something, a nervous thing. You suddenly have the strong urge to reach out and comfort him. 

“Walker. He turned up uninvited, started smashing shit. He was just looking for a fight.” Bucky sighs. You now understand why he was so on edge. John Walking, ruining everything per usual. You are suddenly glad you decided you were too tired for the party. Enduring him on campus was bad enough. 

“Shit. Is everyone okay?” You ask, standing. Steve rubs his face, making a noise of disbelief. 

“Apparently Natasha gave him hell. They managed to kick him out but he smashed up some of the stuff in the kitchen.” Bucky chuckles a bit, you can tell he’s trying to de-escalate any stress that might surface. 

“We should probably head back then.” Steve sighs, standing. You glance between the two boys. 

“Do you want me to come?” You offer, stepping closer to Bucky. He shakes his head, sending a long look at Steve who frowns. You’d learnt some of the silent looks they gave each other, and that was definitely a ‘we’ll talk later’ look. 

“What?” You question, did something worse happen that they were hiding from you? 

“I didn’t want to say anything… but he was looking for you. Sounds like he got drunk and decided to get revenge about the suspension shit. Probably best if you stayed home, just in case he comes back.” Bucky grumbles, you feel Steve move closer.

“Oh.” Is all you can manage. You feel numb. Exhausted. Too tired to spiral into the worry that information brought up. Steve reaches out, bundling you into his chest for a hug. 

“Just a few more days until the revenge plan. It’s gonna be alright, darling.” He murmurs into your hair as you wrap your arms around him in return. 

“I know…” You sigh. “Text me when you get back and stay safe, please.” 

You unfurl yourself from Steve, but are quickly pulled into a hug by Bucky. 

“We will.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

*

Sneaking onto campus was easy, thanks to some of the buildings being open all hours. Security didn’t really question your small group as you slipped out of the 24 hour study areas, down the hall into the practice hallway. 

You had stashed most of the instruments and gear you would need earlier in the day. You had decided that sneaking around campus with a bunch of live streaming equipment and instruments wouldn’t be super inconspicuous. 

Nerves had been biting at you all day, squeezing your chest and making you feel sick. Some of the others shared your stress, while some like Scott and Clint seemed to be having a great time. Steve and Bucky would send you reassuring glances, as well as gentle touches to ground you when they sensed your anxiety got the better of you. 

Everything was set up, Clint and Scott were fiddling with the last of the live stream setup. Sharon was warming up her voice, MJ and Peter muttering between each other, Steve and Bucky hanging by the drum set. Loki was guarding the door with his usual scowl. 

You had laughed nervously when Clint and Scott had shoved a couch in front of the door, stacking a couple chairs on top as a barricade. It was almost guaranteed that the administration would see the stream as soon as it went live. The barricade would buy you a couple extra minutes before security barged in. 

You let out a long exhale as Clint and Scott motioned that they were going live. Everyone quickly shifted into place as you tapped the microphone to make sure it was on and ready. A few words of encouragement were thrown around as Scott counted you down. One deep breath and you were speaking. 

“We’re live streaming today because we need your help.” You start, looking past the microphone into the camera. 

“In the description, comments and also in the title of this livestream you can find a link. This link will lead you to a video, as well as a petition. All we ask is that you watch the video and sign the petition. You can watch the video now, or you can keep watching the livestream and watch it afterwards. 

The petition we are presenting is to have our fellow classmate John Walker suspended from campus and face repercussions for his actions. John has displayed a pattern of violent behavior which has been ignored by College Administration as well as the Board. It is also a high possibility that they have both been paid off to allow John to keep his spot in the College.

In the video we have interviewed a group of victims, all of which are asking for the College and John Walker to take accountability. This video also includes my own personal experience with not only John - who attacked me - but also with the College. Not only was I denied a spot to testify at John’s suspension meeting, but the Head of the College, Tony Stark, implied that I had invited the violence against me. 

There are more details in the video, as well as documents detailing all of these experiences with John and the Board attached to the petition. Please check them both out, in the meantime we’re going to play you a song!” 

You turn back to the group with a nervous smile, Bucky nodding as he taps his drumsticks together to count you down. 

“This song is dedicated to John Walker, thank you.” You speak into the mic with a nervous smile. 

The music starts around you, Steve taking the lead with the electric guitar and Bucky hitting on the drums. Sharon and you both start on vocals, MJ on the bass doing the backup vocals when needed. The song is an easy pace at the start, you know later it will become a lot faster as the punk rock elements come in. You had chosen this song specifically because it had a lot of energy to it, as well as having some pointed lyrics. 

You’re thankful for the music, feeling some of the stress and anxiety drain from your body as your focus on the performance. 

The music fades slightly as it is your turn to solo the lyrics. The section wasn’t super hard, just required you to belt a bit which Sharon wasn’t as good at. You had the breath work to propel your voice quite loudly, whereas Sharon leaned more soft-girl indie these days. 

Isn’t it hard when you're spoiled rotten?

Got another luxury problem problem!

As you were belting, the music comes back in fast. Sharon and MJ come in helping with the vocals. As you’re singing, you catch Loki making worried gestures at Scott and Clint. You can see the seats and couches pressed up against the door rattling, like someone is trying to push inside the room. 

You send a worried glance in Steve’s direction. Despite being concentrated on his guitar, he sends a nod of acknowledgement to you. The door could burst open at any moment, security pouring in and shutting it down before the song was finished. The song wasn’t super important, it was more to just keep the livestream running and grabbing as much traction as possible. 

Even though I'm alright

I like to sit and pity myself because it hurts

As if on cue, as the vocal drop out for the instrumental section, the door finally pushes open. The chairs stacked on the couch clatter to the ground as the couch is shoved out of the way. Loki dodges out of the way of some security, ducking behind the camera with Scott and Clint. 

Stark walks in, alongside a group of security. He sighs, motioning for the security to drag Scott, Clint and Loki out. They give the security some trouble, slipping out of their grasp and laughing at their serious faces. 

“Ah, The Head of College has decided to join us!” You announce into the microphone, over the guitar and drums. You don’t know where you found this confidence, maybe it was just the music fueling your rage. 

“Shut it down now, you’ve had your fun!” Stark shouts over the music, attempting to grab the camera. He’s shoved away by Scott, who is still running circles around security. 

“Tell me, Mr. Stark. Are you also taking bribes like the Board?” You ask with a grin. Stark gives you an exasperated sigh, grabbing the camera. The tripod slips, knocking the camera sideways. You would still be in the footage, except from a low angle on the floor and sideways. The audio is still going through clearly, the instrumental coming to an end as Sharon takes over your singing section, seeing that you’re occupied. 

What do you do when they're all after you?

What can you say? Your life is shit today!

“That’s enough!” Stark shouts, stepping onto the stage. He attempts to grab the guitar from Steve, but he just dodges, continuing to play. You stand in Stark’s way, blocking him from Peter and Bucky as he continues on his warpath. Sharon and MJ are still screaming into the mic, grinning as they enjoy the scene playing out. 

“We tried discussing this with you in private, but I guess we had to get your attention another way.” You say in a singsong voice, laughing as he snatches the mic from you and marches off the stage. 

“Turn it off!” He snaps at some of the security, who look between each other in confusion. 

You idols idolize you, all you friends despise you

Your life is shit, cuz you’re living it!

Moving back to the main microphone, you continue singing with Sharon as the lyrical section comes to an end. The security guards have given up on trying to catch the boys, instead fighting to unplug the livestream from the power plugs. 

As the song draws to a close, you snatch the mic from its stand, departing the stage to crouch in front of the toppled over camera. 

“Remember to watch the video and sign the petition!” You say with a grin, before you’re roughly grabbed by security who haul you towards the door. Chaos ensues as the last of the livestream captures the shouting and scuffle as you are all thrown from the practice room. One of the security pulls a plug and the livestream goes dead. 

“Sorry Peter, we’re definitely getting suspended.” You sigh to the boy, who just sheepishly smiles at you in return.

[kaleb-is-definitely-sane]

Asks

@princess-paramour you sent me a bunch of asks (and said you were sorry cause it was all of them; i don’t believe you’re sorry btw 😂) but i somehow lost it so here they are

what song makes you feel better? We All Need Jesus by Danny Gokey ft Koryn Hawthorne

what’s your feel-good movie? Enola Holmes

what’s your favorite candle scent? Anything semisweet or semiearthy

what flower would you like to be given? Sweet William. They symbolize love, affection, passion, admiration, finesse, gallantry and heartbreak/lost love.

who do you feel most you around? My family (moms side), friends at church and my moots

say three nice things about yourself (three physical and three non-physical). I’ve heard a lot of girls say they like guys who are tall, dark and handsome. Well I’m a 5’7” African American who has gorgeous parents soo 😊. Nonphysical — I’m socially aware, I’m doing well in my relationship with Jesus and I’m accepting of people who are different from me 💜

what color brings you peace? Turquoise

tag someone (or multiple people) who make you feel good. @princess-paramour, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @lucyandethel, @slyth3rin-princess, @mad-elia, @innerloverpainter, @illusiono, @steveharringtonlovesme, @hopefulmillennial, @george-weasleys-girl, @thebestieyoureinlovewith, @jahbutterflykisses331, @quickslvxr, @diorgirl444

what calms you down? Breathing

what’s something you’re excited for? Ima maybe see my aunt during Easter break ♥️

what’s your ideal date? Eating out, walking together, laughing together

how are you? I’m alive and blessed so I suppose i can’t complain

what’s your comfort food? Ice Cream Cake 🎂

favorite feel-good show? Family Reunion on Netflix

for every emoji you get, tag someone and describe them in one word. @princess-paramour you gotta give me some emojis first 😂

compliment the person who sent you this number. Kate you are absolutely marvelous. You’re kind, chill, funny, hot cute, flirty — everyone who knows you is blessed. Whether they know it or not

fairy lights or LED lights? Fairy Lights are just so much more magical

do you still love stuffed animals? Absolutely (i’ll send you a picture of Zsofia if you want)

most important thing in your life? Jesus, my friends/mutuals and my family.

what do you want most in the world right now? World Peace ✌🏿

if you could tell your past self one thing, what would it be?

what would you say to your future self? We can stay forever young.

favorite piece of clothing? Hoodies!! I know it’s a stereotype that boys love hoodies (and girls love to steal them) but i absolutely love my hoodies 🥰

what’s something you do to de-stress? Get on Tumblr, talk to you, pray, read et cetera

what’s the best personal gift someone could give you (playlist, homemade card, etc.)

what movie would you want to live in? Enola Holmes

which character would you want to be? Tewkesbury ♥️. Like him I’m a lover rather than a fighter but I can still get tough if i — or even worse someone i love — am threatened

hugs or hand-holding? I heard on a survey that one thing girls wished their boyfriends/husbands would do more is hold their hand. I, however, am horrified to do so. I want to but i get scared out of my mind. Irl my like biggest fear in relationships is being to forward (which is absurd honestly cause i feel like everyone on the planet if more forward than me). But hugging is something i always have felt comfortable do. My… “ex” (in quotes cause technically we didn’t date and she technically she had a boyfriend but like… 🤷🏾) actually said she was obsessed and in love with my hugs so… ♥️

morning, afternoon or night? Afternoon for sure (only time im not sleepy)

what reminds you of home (doesn’t have to mean house… just things that remind you of the feeling of home)? Pictures of autumn; sweaters; deer; creeks; books

[adamsvanrhijn]

Oscar steals all the covers and John sometimes complains/broods about it, but sometimes he likes to let Oscar do whatever he wants to. Oscar runs cold occassionally (when he forgets to eat) and John is of lukewarm stable temperature. Oscar sometimes wakes up early but only because he's a restless creature and wakes John up too by making noise at like 6AM. John loves early slow mornings but Oscar doesn't get the appeal of something like that.

i truly think a great deal of their vibe is that a lot of the time john is genuinely totally happy to go with the flow and let oscar do whatever he wants, not in the least because as tumblr user @whartonists astutely pointed out in a fanfiction last year, "whatever oscar wants" usually has john involved somehow, and so he is fine with this status quo until either of two things happens:

all the self-compromising john makes such a habit of with literally everyone gets to be Just emotionally weighty enough to tip the scale to being an unacceptable way of living his life, and he would like oscar to let Him do whatever he wants now actually (this concept is particularly enhanced by ascribing certain modern psychiatric diagnostic terms to him)

oscar wants something else that john [feels that he] cannot be a part of

at which point every bet is off....

i have said this before but i feel like a lot of their relationship conflict probably surfaces as like. getting annoyed about something that does not matter and, crucially, is not worth breaking up over, and fighting about That instead of whatever it is they actually need to fight about, because that is Safer and they feel comfortable in not having to face any consequences or actually risk anything with each other.... and that energy probably gets them somehow into "i remember why i love you"? maybe?

which all comes back to your ask BECAUSE. i feel like if john is complaining about the covers he probably doesn't actually care about the covers (the covers poll and the temperature poll are related to each other!!!) there is something else going on.... like it would be Nice if oscar didn't do that, but he does, and john is used to that and they still get to spoon and everything so normally he doesn't care but sometimes he does because he is tired of everything always being what oscar wants etc etc.... and oscar is always like well it was fine before

and it either wasn't actually fine before and it is a communication issue or it was fine before but john changed his mind about it being fine before because something else is giving him bitch eating crackers syndrome about his boyfriend

i have thought more about these guys than Anybody on the planet needs to

as for the rest of your ask!!!

obsessed of course with "of lukewarm stable temperature". oscar being cold because today he is subsisting on a bird/toddler diet of like, grapes and other things he can casually & disrespectfully put in his mouth without thinking about it and hasn't eaten anything substantial is a marvelous take though i do feel like his victorian life is probably regimented enough that it doesn't happen toooo often

(20th century alternate universe and later he is really bad at food though i feel. in terms of like. he is actually totally normal about food and doesn't think about it and that is pretty positive for him, but he simply does not have a consistent and well balanced diet. whereas on the other hand i totally made up that john is really good at having a consistent and well balanced diet but not at being normal about food.) (you didn't ask about and probably don't care about any of this sorry!)

your waking up takes interest me......... restless oscar is a good point!!! i feel like i myself have thought oscar must be difficult to get out of bed and then once he gets up he needs to start his every day mode of movement that is low key parkour on every surface, and then once that is happening he has ruined any chance going Back to bed, which he doesn't like but what can you do, but john Can go back to bed if he wants and sometimes he does want to because he just wants to hang out and snuggle and maybe more because they don't have to be anywhere today 🥺👉👈

i feel like oscar can be Kept in bed but cannot be coaxed To bed very easily unless he decides that is what he wants.... it's like taking a shower.

[burpfrog]

Beauty and the Beat | Part 3

Thanks for tuning in again! I also cannot for the life of me figure out the directions I want to take with this fic so I’ll keep the main story line running over here while I move my edited work over to @currentfication, so hop on over if you prefer something a little more polished and less ~chaotic~ but anyhoo I very much appreciate y’all for hanging out!

Kirsten and Latrice was grinning ear to ear when they saw CB the next morning, ready for the newest update. “We we’re just chatting, sadly no juicy gossip for y’all.” CB offered up a crumb of information, hoping that the prodding would soon cease.

“And the crowd goes mild,” Latrice complained as she rolled her eyes. “Come back to us when you have some tea to offer.”

“Well I sure hope there was no action going on last night, you haven’t forgotten about your turn to hold the workshop today have ya?” Kirsten asked.

CB shook her head no and walked them through her lesson plan for later that day, “…I’m hoping I get enough time to set up while you take your last break, I did managed to get the last workshop of the day so I’ll have plenty of time to pack up.” The other girls nodded as they follow along.

“That sounds exciting!” The duo beamed. Bada walked in at that time, curiously joining the conversation.

“What’s exciting?” She interjected.

“Eh, let’s call it a surprise, everyone has been providing insightful workshops I thought I’d do something fun for all of us tonight,” CB trailed off as the next workshop begun, ready for the gruelling challenges ahead.

Pondering for a quick moment, Bada think she has an idea of what CB’s workshop is going to be. This woman hasn’t once taken off her heels - does she not get blisters? - surely the workshop is going to be hell dance class. She’s been to a few of Redlic’s classes, so the idea of attending someone else’s heels dance class sounds fun. After all it’s not everyday that Bada gets to dance with heels on.

After six hours of practices, CB really started to doubt if putting herself last is a good idea. As her peers made their way out the room for an hour break, she dragged her duffel bag into the center of the room and initiated the process of setting up. She skilfully attached the metal pieces into one, and proceeded to secure each one to the ceiling of the studio.

When the hour long break wraps up, the dancers returned to the studio, now with eight extra metal poles. The dancers gasped, thrilled to be trying something new. Bada was no exception, curious to try the sport out herself; that is, until CB walked past and she nearly snapped her neck turning around.

To teach pole dancing, there needs to be maximum grip between the thighs and pole, hence minimum clothing on the legs. Her long legs accentuated by the heels, a litter of tattoo trailing down her legs, circled by the dragon from Spirited Away. She’s taken off the hoodie, replacing it with a oversized crop top barely covering her sports bra; the ink continued upwards, spreading through her torso and back. Bada was looking at everything else in an attempt to not be checking out her body, which proved itself hard as CB hopped onto a pole to address the group.

Bada was only half paying attention as CB introduced herself as the newest member of Jam Republic Agency, her gaze following CB as she moves around fluidly while barely clothed. It’s truly a sight, a mix of hyper femininity and masculinity alike, someone who utilised the aesthetic of both gender as well as Bada herself does. Bada can’t help but marvel at how closely their vibes resemble each other’s, yet total polar opposite at the same time.

CB noticed a staring figure towards the back of the room and came into eye contact with Bada. She chuckled and threw a wink at her, snapping the latter out of her trance. “I’m sorry I didn’t have enough poles for us today, but hopefully we can take turns and have some fun!” CB wrapped up her introduction and begun to show the group the basic lifting techniques and a few tips to avoid injury.

She went around to give out helpful advices and demonstrated how to do tricks for those that mastered the lifting skills, eventually stopping in front of Bada. Noticing her difficulty to climb, CB leaned over and whispered “I think you’re wearing too love, maybe try again without the pants?” Pointing at her baggy jeans, CB couldn’t help but tease.

“Stop teasing me, aren’t you supposed to be teaching us useful skills?” Bada pouted, fighting back a blush forming at her cheeks. CB laughed and ran off, then quickly returning with a few bags in hand.

“Meet Elordi, Gigi, and Sydney,” CB addressed each heels. “They’re PU leather and should help with the climbing.”

“First of all, just how many pairs of these do you own? Also you named them?” Bada blurted, “I don’t think I’ll fit in these.”

“It’s an open-toed size, gives you two sizes in the front and two in the back,” CB quoted her comfort show, “no but for real I’m sure you’ll be fine. Give it a try.” CB bent over and slid the shoes onto Bada, smirking when she zipped up the heels. “There you go Princess,” she continued her attempt with flirting and extended a hand to help her stand up.

Although Bada’s body control is usually superb, standing up with the heels at more than 6 feet did made her stumble forward, CB swiftly catching her in her arms. “Did you planned for this too?” The dancer asked jokingly as she straightened herself from CB’s embrace.

“Oh absolutely. May I have this dance, Princess?” CB resumed her flirting when Bada found her balance. The dancer have such lovely lashes from this angle, the flirt quickly pointed that out to her.

“Eh I don’t know, maybe I’m too tall for heels,” Bada whined, uncomfortable at the proximity to the ceiling.

“Nonsense, all girls need at least a pair of good heels, makes changing lightbulb a hell lot easier.” She jokingly finished, but dead serious about the part where all women deserves to feel like a girl once in a while. The dancer’s tensed shoulders eased a little as she took a few more steps. “Now you should be able to climb without needing to strip off - although I would very much like to see that.”

Bada was surprised that the PU leather did indeed helped with the climbing, and CB muttered something along the line of ‘I’m always right’ before walking off to the other dancers, assisting where needed.

When the workshop wrapped up, most dancers were still having fun spinning on the poles. CB decided to leave for a quick smoke before packing the metal poles down, allowing the dancers to have a little more fun.

After a short blunt, CB returned to Akanen and Ling rallying the girls up for a strip show. The girls have borrow Sydney and Elordi, respectively, and have set up seats in front of the poles.

“LET’S GOOOOO!!! SERVE CUNTTTTTT!!!” CB cheered on the girls as they are wilding amongst themselves to Saweetie’s Best Friend. Someone has turned off the lights to the studio, and the make shift stage is illuminated by phone torches and a line night light that one must have brought from their room. The girls utilised the tricks they’ve picked up earlier on, and is laughing way too hard while attempting to balance on a metal structure. Ling successfully landed a spin on the pole, and the room erupted into cheers.

After a few turns from different dancers, alcohol have started to emerge in the studio. Seeing that everyone is of age and the workshop has long since wrapped up, no one seemed to mind the sneaky drinks here and there.

“CB! Get your ass up on the pole!” Kirsten hollered at the newbie. The Jam Republic Agency members begun to chant the newcomer’s name until CB found her way in front of the crowd.

“Ok ok I see how it is - hazing the newbie.” The group all laughed as CB changed the song to Ashnikko’s playlist, hopping onto the pole effortlessly. As Bada took a sip of the alcohol handed to her, she almost choked at the sight of CB on the pole, dangling upside down while spinning. Her world was silent for a brief moment, butterflies in her stomach with an all-too-familiar feelings she’s had.

The shenanigans went on for a little longer, until someone from the crowd, obviously a little tipsy and slurring, started demanding for lap dances. “LAP DANCE LAP DANCE LAP DANCE” the group chanted.

CB laughed and complied, relieved by the welcoming and lively environment; coming from a non-music background, she was dreading not having a place amongst the professionals. “Kirsten girl come on,” the blue haired girl demanded, imitating the dancer’s ‘main rival’ from that dance show she was on a few months prior. Following the uproar, the Kiwi pulled up a chair close to the pole CB was on.

The dance routine was risqué and suggestive, and the two girls was giggling all through the performance. A few bars into the song, CB politely asked the sitting girl if she’s okay with her sitting on her lap, and Kirsten gladly accepted the offer. “Holy shit babes I feel like I’m in a club right now sans the actual stripping part, are you sure you don’t want to get tipped for this?” Kirsten said as she pulled out some coins.

The former stripper let out a laugh and suggested “Maybe make it rain, not make it hail.”

Everyone was having great fun with the ass shaking and provocative dancing, aside from Bada who, even to her own surprise, felt a tinge of jealousy. Before she knew it, she have made herself rather close to the front of the performance, watching every floor-humps and twerkings.

Out of the corner of CB’s eyes she noticed the blonde girl approaching, and leaned forward to whisper at Kirsten. “Sorry babes I’ll need you to move along, my main chick has arrived.” Kirsten’s eyes widen in understanding and hummed in agreement.

“You’re up next,” Kirsten stood up and pulled Bada into the chair in one swift motion. Before the long haired blonde dancer had noticed what’s going on, she was seated into a metal folding chair, inches away from CB’s thighs. One moment she was ravelling in a trance of jealousy, the next thing she realised was making eye contact with an inked dragon, with CB’s shorts riding dangerously high up her ass cheeks and Miss Nectarine playing in the background.

CB mouthed a quick ‘thank you’ to Kirsten before tuning into the music and the dancer in front of her, cheeks flushed from alcohol. Her lips looked so edible right now CB had to quickly wipe the corner of her mouth to make sure she isn’t drooling.

Bada watched as CB snap herself into the dance routine during the first few beats, her facial expression turned from cheerful laughter to pure seduction with a quick heel click. Her hand glided down the pole sensually, her back slowly arching forward. With the help of her other hand she swiftly swung herself around and remained hovering in that posture for a few turns, before smoothly landing into a split. The crowd erupted into a series of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’, some even clapping, but it all seemed like white noise to Bada as CB maintained eye contact whilst slowly crawling towards her.

“May I?” She gently enquired the blonde in the seat before sitting on her lap with her head leaned backwards onto her shoulder. The dancer have previously shared some close contact dances with other performers, but this is a first for her as her cheeks flushed red and her heart thumping - and she’s pretty sure it’s not because of the alcohol.

The two minute song felt way too short as CB stood up from the dancer, jaw hung in shock by the titillating act. CB noticed the flustered girl’s attempt at composing herself and tipped her hat brim downward to help hide her rosy cheeks. She then quickly bowed at the audiences as she pulled Ling back onto the pole. “Your turn Ling, I need a smoke.”

CB shuffled through the crowd and made her way to her usual hide out, pulling out the essentials. That little lap dance stunt that she pulled just now was not just blood-tingling for the famous dancer, being that close to her was an equally electrifying experience to CB. Pulling off that feat without stumbling - especially when she was looking right back at her like that - CB quickly rolled a blunt to clear some unholy thoughts from her mind.

The door creaked open and Bada poked her head through the gap, walking out once she confirmed that the producer is once again curled up in the seat. “What was that all about?” She asked with a smirk as she approached.

“My feeble at seducing you, Princess,” CB said while gesturing tipping a hat.

The tall dancer took up the empty seat next to CB, leaning towards the girl, her face now inches away from hers. “Well it worked, so what’s next?” She said breathily, slowly glancing down at her lips.

CB chuckled a little and tucked a loose strand of the dancer’s blonde hair behind her ears. Leaning forward to close the gap, she whispered in her ears “Well then let’s get to work.”

Previous | Next

I knowwwww this chapter is kind of a huge ass mess - I may or may not be distracted by writing smut for next chapter? 🫣 I promise I will try to come back and edit it after I get some sleep in tonight 🙇🏻‍♀️ anyhoo thank you again for sticking around!

[berriigallerrii]

Lovelorn: The Death In Longing

"Palumpasa" Or "A boquet of bruises" is a rare condition that has manifested in around 100-114 people over the course of history.

When a person feels unrequited love, a bruise forms on their chest. The more intense the case, the more bruises appear, which accumulate into a one, deep, flowering bruise in the middle of the chest, which causes the victim to have trouble breathing, as well as feel small pains in their chest area.

----

love·lorn /ˈlʌv.lɔːrn/

adjective

unhappy because of unrequited love.

----

The cold morning air blew softly through a window. The sun had not yet risen fully, giving the room a blue hue from the open window.

"How are you, Bibi?" A hand came over hers, "Are you comfortable?"

Phoebe looked up at her mother and smiled in a comforting manner, "Yes mama, very."

Her mother smiled back at her, albeit pitifully rather than reciprocating Phoebe's own smile, "Well, tell me if there's anything you need, okay? Here, eat the grapes I've brought you."

She placed a box of grapes on Phoebe's lap and stood up.

"I'll see if they have any juice here, I know you must be sick of drinking water this whole week," Her mother said before walking out of her room.

Phoebe nodded and waved as she exited her hospital room.

She sighed, but a bout of coughing interrupted it. It was a dry sort of cough, one that left her chest aching and brought tears to her eyes from the stabbing pain it left her.

Her hand went to the collar of her linen shirt, she pulled it down slightly and grimaced at the spots of purple and blue that cluttered around one black bruise. It looked like a hole where, if one should look into it, they would find her weak heart as bruised as her chest.

Her best and longest friend, Rose, trying to comfort her when they first found out about her condition, compared it to a bouquet of hydrangeas, blooming in her chest. At the time, Phoebe found it a crazy enough comparison to laugh over.

She was at peace then.

And then the days passed and the black bruise soon formed and Rose couldn't find enough poetic words to envelop both her and Phoebe's grief into a nice little memory.

"What will happen now?" She had asked Phoebe, eyes blinking rapidly as if trying to drive away tears that haven't formed yet.

Phoebe, whose breathing was slowly worsening then, tried to control the quiver in her voice when she said, "I'm- I'll have about three months left to live, give or take."

Rose nodded, her brows furrowed and her face scrunched up, making Phoebe's face scrunch up as well. That day, they both cried until they had no tears left.

To her surprise, no one, not even her parents, dared ask her who the cause of the bruises was. Since her condition was so rare, her doctor didn't know what exact questions to ask that wouldn't make her condition worse.

But one person knew who the cause was, even though Phoebe had not once uttered the name that blackened the bruise on her chest days after they first appeared.

Not once had that person visited her since she was admitted into a private room from the hospital.

She thought to herself that it might be for the best that he didn't.

Her mother came into the room with an orange juice box, from the condensation around it, it was cold. A lifetime ago, her mother would have told her to stop being picky and drink room-temperature juice without complaining, which Phoebe always disliked having to do. The taste of the juice felt dull when warm. She thought of the same thing with fruit or desserts.

But here she was with a cold juice box and Phoebe is slightly stunned at how much grief can change people.

"What's wrong, Bibi? You haven't touched your grapes," Her mother asked, grabbing a nearby chair and sitting beside her bed, "I'm sorry they're not cold, you know how long traffic gets."

She shook her head, "I'm fine, thank you for the grapes."

Phoebe opened the box of purple grapes, which still had droplets of water from the humidity. She popped one into her mouth and marveled at its sweetness. They were in season at the moment, which would explain the taste, but from the box's design, Phoebe realized her mother brought her the expensive type of grapes.

The last time she ate such expensive grapes was when her friend's mother brought back a bunch of fruit back in the summer from a mall that sold food from other countries. She and Rose feasted on the countless fruits on their friend's dinner table as he watched in amusement.

"You should tell your mom to keep going to that store," Rose had said, picking the leaves off of a strawberry, "These are so sweet! I feel like I'm eating flowers!"

He raised his eyebrows and grinned, "I'll be sure to tell her."

Phoebe couldn't help but think the grapes looked a lot like her bruises.

"They're delicious," She said to her mother.

Her mother beamed, the sight of it easing the heaviness in her chest a little.

She ate more grapes as her mother took her dirty laundry and put them in a cloth bag she brought. From her duffel bag, she took out another cloth bag and placed it on the foot of her bed.

"Here's some new clothes, I also brought you some books from home," She put the books on her lap, "I didn't know which one you wanted so i just bought as much as I could carry with me."

"Don't worry about it," She said, giving her mother a thankful smile. She had gotten sick of reading the same three books for two weeks, which made her grateful for her mother's efforts.

Her mother caressed her face, "Take care Bibi, I have to go to work now. But if you start feeling worse, remember to tell the doctor, okay? Your dad and I will come for you quickly."

"Yes, yes, I know," Phoebe said amusingly.

"I'm just reminding you," Her mother kissed her temple, "I love you, Bibi, more than anyone."

Phoebe took care not to mumble when she responded, "I love you too, mama."

Her mother kissed her temple again and once more, Phoebe was alone.

----

"Bi, your dad wanted me to bring this with me, he said he'll come by tomorrow in the morning," Rose said, handing Phoebe a tupperware container with apple slices and a small yogurt.

"Thanks," Phoebe said, opening up the container and taking an apple slice in hand and biting into it, its crispness delighting her.

"Have you eaten dinner yet?" Rose asked, lifting a plastic bag with more plastic containers in it, "If not, I got some leftovers from Christmas."

"I haven't, you arrived before they gave me dinner today," Phoebe said. Rose opened up the bag and put one of the containers on her lap and handed her a spoon.

Rose sighed, "Thank God I rushed here, it's been so long since we had our weekly dinners, Noche Buena without you was extremely lonely."

The bruises had appeared in late October. They were very light at the time, but her family thought it was Hemophilia B, so they rushed her to the hospital. At the time, the doctors assured them that nothing was wrong and that they would look into it more.

When she started to have difficulty breathing at the end of October, her doctor suggested that it could be "Palumpasa", or a disease that brought bruises in the chest which were caused by unrequited feelings repressed for too long. What's more, there was no known cure.

She laughed back then, assuring her parents that a disease caused by those symptoms wasn't a matter to be dealt with so seriously.

Then the last two months happened. Not a lot of her life has changed, she was never one to go out much except for her and Rose's weekly dinners, but it had disconnected her from her loved ones in a way only the slow march of death could do.

Suddenly, every moment spent with her was treated with so much caution. Every visit brought with it a prayer or a moment to recall fond memories and relay long messages of how loved she is and how dearly missed she will be.

Words regarding her departure were not to be uttered in front of her. She became a china doll with flowers on her chest, and three months before she was to be broken by said flowers.

Rose was the exception among these visits, she always was. She and Phoebe's parents visited her the most, but Rose's visits didn't require her to be careful with her attitude. She didn't have to act solemn and in acceptance of her fate.

Phoebe smiled softly and ate a spoonful of the rice and swallowed, "How have you been lately?"

"Same old, you know? I've just been writing and sleeping a lot, it's all I have the energy to do these days anyway," She replied, "I would think of going to the mall but then I would think, "It'd be better if Bi was here" and I just wouldn't go. It's been driving my parents mad!"

"You don't have to let me hold you back, I don't want you getting depressed," Phoebe told her, "Go out! Have fun!"

Rose chuckled, "It's not that I'm holding myself back, I just want to spend as much time with you right now before... you know."

"I know, but I don't want you being held back even when I'm gone," She said, sighing, "Would you do it if I said it made me happy?"

Rose scoffed, "I wouldn't, 'cause I know going out with me is what makes you happiest so I would know you're lying."

She giggled, "Guilty as charged, your honor."

"Besides, I'm happy right now 'cause I'm by your side," Rose said, smiling.

"How corny, I thought you're supposed to be a good writer?" Phoebe asked, earning her a playful hit from her friend.

If the bruise on her chest was truly a crater that showed her heart, it would start shining from the brightness being with Rose brought on. One of the many things she would miss after January, it would be her friend's laughter and cheesy writing.

"I'm serious, Bi, I want to spend all my time with you, if I didn't then why the hell would I even bother going through the hellish commute here."

She found herself slightly lamenting over not listening to her friend's long philosophical essays and romantic poems fully in the past. Phoebe never usually regretted anything during someone's visits.

But Rose, of course, was always an exception.

Her chest throbbed and she brought her hand to clutch at her shirt.

She handed the food container to Rose and bent over herself, she breathed, no, she gasped in as much air as she could.

Rose's voice rang beside her but she couldn't comprehend it.

Spots of black clouded her vision and the coughing started.

----

Phoebe was absolutely fond of the cold, she loved ice cream and halo-halo, she asked for her drinks to have ice in them all the time. She asked her mother if they could turn the air conditioner all the way up every night so she could bundle up in the cold air.

She hated the summer, it made her sweat, which would ruin her dresses and make her smell bad. The sun nipped at her skin and she swore the heat of the air could bake her if she stayed outside long enough.

One summer, for one reason or another, she met a boy with a cool disposition and even colder eyes.

He was the son of her mother's friend, and he was going to go to the same high school as she was.

Their mothers had pushed them towards each other, doing the introductions for them.

"This is my daughter, Phoebe!" Her mother said cheerfully, "Say hi to your tita!"

She muttered a quiet "Hello" and kept her eyes on some invisible distance.

"This is my son, Lucas. Say hello, Lucas," Her mother's friend urged the boy, who waved at her mother and her.

Such was their forgettable meeting under the summer sun. Neither sparks of romance or rivalry flew about. The boy didn't run through Phoebe's mind the day after, nor did any of his features strike her as significantly memorable.

When school started, they didn't see much of each other unless they passed by one another in the halls or if their mothers decided to visit each other's houses, which were a short jeep ride away from each other.

They spent the New Year together, in Lucas' house.

When they went into their second year of high school, Phoebe found herself separated from Rose and in her classroom, the only one she knew was Lucas.

And so their friendship started. He helped her with English and she helped him with Math. They often chose each other as partners when the class was assigned a project. When one of them was sick, the other would offer to share notes with the other. He became a reliable classmate and family friend.

She got to know him more as the months passed by, they were both alike in that he adored the cold. He grew up in Canada until he was nine, then he and his mom moved back to the Philippines when his dad died. He often sought out air-conditioned places and loved frozen desserts more than anything. Despite his cold exterior, he was really only someone looking to fit into his new school much like she was.

They both loved reading, both big fans of the classics. Their favorite weekly activity was choosing a book for each other from the school library and talking about it. They both fell in love with "Noli Me Tangere" by José Rizal. When they had to act out a scene from the book with their chosen partner, they naturally went for the azotea scene between Maria Clara and Ibarra.

Of course, the fact that Maria Clara and Ibarra were a couple wasn't a big deal to either of them. Despite the playful teasing they received from their classmates, Phoebe couldn't see anything in him but a friend, albeit, one she mostly spent time with in school.

One rainy day in December, Phoebe had forgotten her umbrella at home. She was usually out of the school the moment the bell rang, but that day, she stood at the entrance, hoping for the rain to soon fade.

"Phoebe? You're still here?" Lucas' voice rang from behind her.

She turned and sighed, "I forgot my umbrella, so I'm waiting for the rain to peter out."

He raised his eyebrows, "Oh, well, do you want to share an umbrella with me instead? I can just walk you home."

"If that's okay with you," Phoebe muttered.

They walked carefully under the umbrella. At times, they would have to press against the other to avoid puddles.

When a truck drove by, he maneuvered himself to block the muddy water it splashed in their direction with both his body and the umbrella, her head cradled in his chest for a short moment.

He apologized and soon after they reached her home and he dropped her off.

Maybe it was then that she started thinking about him in matters outside of school, lamenting the coming Christmas break, and wishing she was close enough to him so she could visit him without reason,

Phoebe started looking forward to the days her mother's visits to her friend. It was then that she and Lucas could talk for hours about nothing while their mothers did the same. She pushed him to read romance books and refused to explain the sudden switch from recommending Frankenstein to Pride and Prejudice.

He complied with her wishes anyway and read whatever new romance book caught her fancy. She used these reading sessions to observe him more while they were on break. While they both read, she would peek over from her book and gaze at his serious expression as he read her chosen book. Sometimes she would find herself unable to focus on the action in whatever chapter she was reading because watching him interested her more.

The furrow of his eyebrows, the slope of his neck, the way his tapered fingers would turn the pages, everything about his actions had her looking at him with rapture she had never experienced before.

Sometimes his mother would bring in a bowl of chips or fruit while they read before going back to talking with her mother and she would revel in excitement for a split-second whenever their hands would brush. It drove her just a little crazy that he seemed to think nothing of it. It was one of the few moments she hated the air conditioner that kept him from heating up the way she did inside when it happened.

All of this, Phoebe kept to herself. She thought of it like a secret form of happiness to indulge in. When Rose asked her if anything happened recently during their weekly dinners together, Phoebe would tell her about the most recent book she and Lucas were reading. She kept to herself the way she pored over the pages incessantly, finding traces of the boy who gave it to her and made her feel like she could know the deepest depths of him through ink on paper alone.

When school began again, she waited for him at the school entrance and was delighted when he didn't question why she waited for him. He didn't walk her all the way home, but she took quiet pleasure in their small talk before they separated ways. They talked of teachers, then classmates, then of anything and of nothing.

She wished she lived closer to him.

When rain came a few days later, she kept to herself that she had brought her umbrella with her. She waited by the entrance and like the last time it rained, they walked under the umbrella. They laughed and joked about the books they've been reading as the downpour fizzled out. Even when the rain had faded and the sun shone through small gaps in the clouds, Phoebe kept herself close to him.

Lucas didn't mind, nor did he question it. She took his acceptance as a sign that he had grown comfortable with her. That comfort grew between them until they graduated high school.

Phoebe was content, she didn't want a change in their relationship. She was content with their books and rainy days. Even the summers were tolerable as long as they were together.

When she was kept separate from Rose and Lucas by college, she wondered for a bit if her contentment was the best move for her.

During her first year in college, she re-read Pride and Prejudice and sighed as she reached Mr. Darcy's first proposal scene. She knew she was no Elizabeth Bennet, going after who she wanted without any care that they could be making a mistake, she was more like Jane Bennet and Maria Clara.

Just waiting.

----

When Phoebe opened her eyes, something was strapped to her face. The stark lights were blurry and she kept blinking, hoping they would clear up soon.

Her neck felt sore, and the plastic dome on her face dug uncomfortable into her skin. She turned her neck and found a man sitting by her bed.

"Phoebe, you're awake?" He said, getting up.

The sound of her name from his lips no longer made her heart feel warm, it only sent a painful throb to her chest, which made her breath hitch.

"Luc..." She called out weakly. He held her hand and squeezed it in reassurance.

"Don't worry, you're okay. Your parents are getting food right now and Rose is on her way," He said, eyes averted.

She nodded her head, her eyes boring into his face. She had not seen him since she first got her diagnosis. He had cut his hair and had a slight stubble forming. She couldn't see it, but she could feel the cold metal of a ring on his finger pressing onto her hand.

For a moment, she loathes the cold more than anything.

"Luc," She said more clearly, "Why are you here?"

His brows furrowed, "Do you want me to leave?"

Panic set in her empty chest and Phoebe shook her head, "No, no, don't. I'll be okay."

He sat down and took his hand off of hers. The air cooled the warmth he left on her and she shuddered. She couldn't identify the expression he wore on his face and it filled her with frustration that she used to know exactly how he felt at first glance.

They had grown more distant in the last six years, but they still celebrated Christmas and New Years together. But Phoebe could no longer look at him the way she wanted to when he and another girl were looking at each other with so much fondness between them.

She wasn't allowed to, and she was fine with it.

But the seed that had been planted into her heart on that rainy day had now blossomed into something that bruised and suffocated her, and she didn't know what to do. She didn't know if she wanted to blame him or herself for something neither of them could control.

Phoebe couldn't blame him for cutting himself off from her life when he first heard of her diagnosis, hoping it would help when it didn't.

She couldn't blame him, she didn't want to blame him.

"I'm so sorry, Phoebe," He muttered, his voice strained, "I don't- I still can't feel what you-"

"No, Luc, don't..." Phoebe breathed deeply, "Don't be sorry, it's not your fault."

"But because of me, you're going to..." His sobs interrupted him, "I don't want to lose you."

She let him sob over her. Phoebe once imagined countless times of him crying over her, but she never once thought her imaginations would manifest into this. Her chest was filled with only pain, and she couldn't risk crying with him for fear of the condition it would put her in.

"I didn't want to lose you, either," She whispered, smiling, "It's really my fault that I... I didn't say anything at first."

He shook his head at her words but he had to know it was true.

"If not for these bruises, I would still feel the same..." Phoebe said, letting a tear fall from her eye, "Nothing would change, I just..."

"I wish I could save you," Lucas said, wiping his tears, "You know? I wish I could stop all of this."

"I wish you could, but I'm so sick of wishing for something you can't give me," She muttered, "If only I was given a chance to stop and go on longer, maybe I would've found someone I didn't need to wish for."

He held her hand once more, rubbing his thumb over her skin. Phoebe sighed, melancholy in her lungs.

"I don't regret it, you know?" She told him, "I don't regret giving you my time, reading books with you, walking home with you. I truly don't regret it one bit."

Lucas gave her hand a squeeze, the ring digging into her skin, "Even if it's killing you?"

"I would rather it killed me than say I hated you for what I'm going through," She smiled, a cough escaping her.

"I'm sorry I left you alone, I should've... I should've stayed with you and taken care of you," He whispered, head hanging low.

Phoebe managed a weak laugh, "You're here now, aren't you? Really, I should be sorry for leaving so soon, before your wedding too."

"Will we ever stop apologizing to each other?" He said, laughing softly, "If I did something wrong enough to make you stop loving me, would it save you?"

"You wouldn't, I don't think Eliza would let you, and I don't think you would want to do something to hurt her."

At the mention of his fiancée, he smiled softly, a smile sweeter than the cool ice cream they shared in the summer heat when they were younger. Phoebe was a little amazed at just how much she adored and continued to adore this man. The man who was the cause of her death, the reason for the black bruise on her chest.

There was something comforting to Phoebe in the fact that she was one of the very few in the world who experienced a love so strong it could kill her. It bewildered her, to have found a love great enough to feel its weight and find it flowering on her skin.

It wasn't the happiest or most romantic story in the world, she doubted her younger self would want to read a story like hers. But love has decided to present itself to her in this way, she had nothing else to do but accept it.

Sad as her story is, she treasured it in the hollowness in her chest, decorated with purple and blue.

----

In March, when Lucas had called her over at three in the morning, Phoebe didn't know what to expect.

She definitely did not expect him pacing around in distress.

"Luc, what's wrong?" She asked, crossing her arms.

He looked at her, eyes crazed and red-rimmed, "I want to do it. I want to marry Eliza."

For a moment, every moment of hesitation Phoebe ever experienced when it came to Lucas flashed through her mind. She felt as if someone had stabbed her in the chest and stole her heart from her.

"Really?" She had asked such a stupid question too when the answer was so obvious. Eliza had stolen his heart the moment they met in college and Phoebe had seen her change him in ways she could've never imagined.

Eliza made him, of all people, look forward to summers.

He nodded, smiling wildly, "Yeah! And I called you here because I'm panicking. What if I'm moving too fast? What if-"

"Relax," Phoebe said, fighting the tightening of her throat, "If you two talked about it then it will be fine."

"What if she says no?" He asked ruffling his hair, she had never seen him so expressive.

"Just do what Mr. Darcy did in his first proposal," She joked.

"What?"

"You know, go up to her after a date, look into her eyes," She walked to him, and looked at him directly.

"Then... then say..." She coughed, her throat was threatening to choke her up, but she couldn't ruin this now.

"In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you..." Phoebe trailed off, pressing her lips together then averting her eyes.

She felt her tears prick her eyes and she turned away, "It's late, I need to go."

"Wait, finish your sentence," He said, grabbing her shoulder and turning her back to him.

Through the blur of her tears, she was greeted with the sight of Lucas who was just as surprised as she was.

"Phoebe? Are you-"

"You must allow me to tell you," She whispered, "How ardently I admire and love you."

[felixcosm]

Transcript under cut

I do all of these by ear and I have a habit of not always understanding british accents very well, so some things may not be 100% accurate. There's also a lot of stuttering in this scene, which I didn't transcribe to a T

[CAR NOISES]

FELIX

I really like Disneyland Paris, I mean - it's not like 'proper Disney' but it's still 'really fun Disney'? And it's still got the rides and you still get to cuddle Goofy? And I really love Goofy. And…amazingly I told Ty that I wanted a day at Euro Disney and he said 'why not have two? Go and explore, Fe!' - Felix FELIX my name is FELIX, Ty! - 'Go and explore, Fe! Have a lovely time!'

So I did. And, and it was marvelous. Today will be less marvelous. After the M25, I have to drive down the A320 to go past six ways roundabout, down wood lane, and then down a little side road is my mother's house.

And in four minutes time, my mother is going to set out for the news agent. Because she believes the very greatest news is fresh news. She likes to be the first person through the door, getting the paper. And then she likes to call me about it for an hour. And then complains that I haven't read the paper yet.

So I got that to look forward to. But, first. I am six minutes away from Mum's house and she's going to leave the house in three minutes time. So I'm going to call her and tell her I am nearby. Tell her to stick the kettle on. And tell her the news couldn't wait. And we will have a lovely chat. /Oh boy, sure/.

Let's see how we go* (not sure if this is 100% accurate)

[PHONE RINGS FOUR TIMES, THEN SOMEONE PICKS UP. A MALE VOICE ANSWERS]

MAN

8732, good morning?

FELIX

Oh sorry, I am, I think I got the um, the wrong number. Um, it's- sorry, what number did you say?

MAN

8732, hang- hang on, is that Fe?

FELIX

Fe? This is Felix?

MAN

Fe. Fe what are you doing (Felix begins saying 'who' but is cut off), it's nearly six o'clock in the morning, why're you calling so early?

FELIX

Sorry who's who's that? Who's that?

MAN

(incredulous laugh) Fe, Fe it's Dad.

FELIX

Dad? (he tries to say something else a few times but fails)

FELIX'S DAD

Fe, is everything okay? You sound… you don't sound yourself.

[FELIX COUGHS AND KEEPS STAMMERING. HE SOUNDS BOTH DISTRESSED AND INCREDLOUS AS HE KEEPS TALKING]

FELIX

I am- I- I am- I've- I've got the… I've got the day off. I'm- I'm nearly home!

FELIX'S DAD

Sorry, you're nearly home? As in, as in this home?

FELIX

I'm nearly- I'm nearly…there with… there with you, Dad! Um, sorry-

FELIX'S DAD

That's great, Fe, um, I'll put the kettle on. It'll be lovely to see you, I haven't seen you for a while now, uh… I'm glad you're coming, actually, because I was woken up about five minutes ago by this very odd chap called Ty, I believe his name was-

FELIX (INTERRUPTING)

Ty- TY?!

FELIX'S DAD

He said he was your boss? I was hoping you'd be able to shed some light on what he said to me. Very, very odd guy-

FELIX

He called you- he called you five minutes ago? Five minutes ago, he called you? He called you?

FELIX'S DAD

…that's right, yes? …is everything okay?

FELIX

(after some more stammering) It's fine- no, it's fine, Dad, it's fine, I, um, I… (he doesn't bring the words out)

FELIX'S DAD

Fe, do you, you sound very distressed, are you, are you okay, are you driving?

FELIX

I'm fine I'm five minutes away, Dad … (his dad begins to say something but Felix cuts him off) Is Mum there, Dad?

FELIX'S DAD

…Fe, what do you mean?

FELIX

Mum, is she there? Is she with you?

FELIX'S DAD

(sighs) Fe-… Fe, Mum's dead, you know this. I'm very worried about you, you- you really don't sound well. If you're driving, please be safe. Please get here soon.

FELIX

(more stammering) I- I'll be there- I'm five minutes away, Dad. I- I've got to go, I- Dad, I love you, I'll see you soon, okay? Bye (he repeats this several times)

FELIX'S DAD

(overlapping) I love you too, be careful, okay?

FELIX

(is clearly upset, starts sobbing after he hangs up)

Ty- Ty, what on Earth have you done?!