#too much responsibility too little supervision

[wow-an-unfunny-joke]

I think we should talk more about how no teenager should have the amount of power that Dazai had at 16.

I think it’s worth mentioning that being given that much power over others that young might’ve fucked him up a little.

[dragongirlbunny]

every day i take immense psychic damage and have to bite my tongue due to the fact that management is actually a critical component to get any sort of group effort done, but the job is so overvalued by corporations and infested with incompetent jackasses that the average non-mamager has a very understandably sour view of the role

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 7

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, suggestive themes!, there’s some slight smut…  but nothing too graphic (ion rly write smut haha), angst and comfort, this chapter’s brought to you by: a bunch of sad songs on repeat! A/N: 7k+ words what the fuck!!  (this might actually be one of my favorite chapters. :’))

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10

“You don’t have a favorite color.”

“I… don’t, no.”

“But you’re quite partial to green.”

“I guess so—?”

“You’ve worn the same green shirt to bed thrice this week,” he notes lightly, pertaining to your Loki: Master of Mischief tee. The corners of his mouth pull into a faint, knowing smile. “It suits you, by the way.”

Your fingers hover over the keyboard as you glance at him, narrowing your eyes in slight embarrassment. “It’s a perfectly comfy shirt,” you reply, a defensive edge to your tone. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“Nothing at all,” he agrees reassuringly. “Just making an observation.”

“What, are you keeping a dossier on me now?”

Sylus gives a noncommittal hum, but offers nothing more in response. He keeps watch on you from his usual spot in the corner between the monitor and the CPU box, chin resting on an open palm. His gaze betrays hints of smugness to it.

You eye him weirdly. With a huff, you turn back to your typing.

–

You’re cooking dinner—with Sylus supervising the entire thing like your very own personal sous chef. Something that has now been the norm for you two, since your–banging!–success with the tofu dish. 

And for tonight’s menu: Butter noodles. Simple, foolproof, straightforward. 

"Simple" is… well, it’s not entirely inaccurate. But the way that the boiling water hisses angrily through the small lid hole wavers the already shaky foundation of your developing culinary confidence. 

(Just a little bit! You’re sure you’ve got nothing to worry about.) 

A faint burning scent clings to the air; you forgot to stir the garlic early on, and now it looks dangerously close to a char. You rescue it just in time, cursing under your breath. Your sous chef, of course, catches everything. Even your nervousness.

“You know,” Sylus chimes in, watching the wooden spatula tremble in your hand. “This is quite the step up from your usual instant noodle packets. You should be proud of yourself, sweetie.”

“Gee, thanks. Really complex work for an extra half-hour of cooking time,” Your words are snide, but he doesn’t miss the way your grip on the spatula tightens ever-so-slightly. Steadies. 

The smell stabilizes. You add half a stick of butter, squashing it to a melt, and he lets the subject drop—for now.

“Do you have siblings?”

“I have an older sister,” you answer distractedly, stirring the sauce and trying to scrape the edges of the sauté pan without having it splatter from the inside.

“How much older?”

“Uh—six years,” you reply, reaching for a pinch of salt. “She's got a family. Two kids. Another on the way.”

“Hm. You two are close?”

You pause, the question landing softly in the haze of rising steam. “I mean. S’ alright, I guess. We catch up over the phone sometimes.”

“Ah. Good.”

“... Yeah.” 

You catch a glance of his expression in your peripheral, looking thoughtful. 

_

It’s a recent development, his curiosity. Sporadic at first, like light rain on a windshield—little questions scattered here and there, easy to brush off. But over the past week, it’s grown into something more unrelenting. It’s almost as if you two were playing a round of twenty questions, only it’s just you in the hot seat being interrogated. 

There’s also that habit of his to take it one step further. Hedging his questions strategically, acting like he already knows the little factoid he wanted to ask and just needs you to confirm it. 

You don’t really get the logic behind it, but hey, who are you to judge? Everybody has their quirks. Even someone of his caliber, apparently.

… God forbid he gets blindsided by something he’s genuinely surprised to know about you, though. 

“You know how to play the violin.”

You pause the video you’re watching on your laptop at its five minute mark to stare at Sylus through your phone screen. He sounds… terse? Like you’d intentionally kept this a secret from him.

“Wha—yes, I know how to play the violin,” you huff, incredulous by the show of attitude. “What’s up with all these weird questions?”

“You’ve given me explicit permission to ask them. Level the playing field,” he reminds you, eyes slightly accusatory. “What else are you keeping from me?”

You groan, collapsing onto your back on the couch. “Ugh, I don’t know,” you say sarcastically. “Do you wanna know my time of birth too?”

“Born at exactly twelve twenty-eight PM,” Sylus recites without missing a beat, his voice bored and unimpressed. “I saw it on your Co-Star app, sweetie.”

You freeze.

“…”

“That’s creepy,” you tell him, tone disapproving, giving him a scolding poke on the nose. 

“Call it thorough research,” he counters smoothly, rolling his eyes at your feeble attack. “After all, a stubborn kitten’s been slacking on her side of the deal.”

_

The questions are, for the most part, harmless in nature. Anchored firmly in the mundane. He doesn’t stray too far from what’s comfortable, or what he deems safe to ask. And yet you can sense it beneath the surface: the burning curiosity. To know more of you, to take what he could—piece by piece, until he’s unraveled the puzzle of you entirely. 

And you don’t get it. His world—filled with endless adventure, lore, and literal fucking superpowers—surely has to be more exciting than anything you’ve got to offer. What’s your life compared to that? 

You said as much to him, mostly as an offhand comment. Although it did feel slightly more earnest when you put it into words, compared to how it sounded in your head. 

“Honestly, Sy-Sy. Life here’s really not that interesting compared to all the stuff going on over there,” you told him matter-of-factly, in the middle of collecting your daily rewards. “You don’t have to keep this up, you know.”

Sylus didn’t speak for a moment. The easy nonchalance he wore so well shifted into something more reserved, almost somber. He didn’t challenge what you said, nor did he affirm anything—you're met with silence, loaded with thoughts unspoken. 

“Don’t presume things on your own, little dove,” he said after a while, his voice low, a gentle reprimand. 

Before you could even process what he meant by that, he smoothly changed the subject, his tone reverting back to his usual effortless calm as if to ease the weight of your words. “Now then, let’s circle back—what were you saying earlier? You almost drowned in a lake when you were eight? Because of a dare you made with your sister?”

And that was the end of it.

You tell yourself it’s exhausting—the way he keeps digging, prodding, asking questions like you’re worth the level of fascination he’s making you out to be. But there’s also the truth, hidden and tucked beneath your half-hearted protests, slowly unfurling. A part of you—cautiously hopeful, dreadfully fragile—that preens under the weight of his scrutiny. 

So you let him press further; let him sift through twenty plus years of tiny, unremarkable fragments of your life like a beachcomber seeking treasures amongst the tide. And in return, he gives you his full attention, undivided and unyielding, as if your answers are the only ones that matter.

––––

He tells you there’s a new tête-à-tête feature in the game, so you check it out—not without giving him a slightly suspicious look. 

“A microphone feature?” You snort, leveling him with a half-amused glare. “You already hear me talk all the time.”

Sylus blinks at you, his face a guilefully-crafted mask of innocence. “I’m just giving you the option, sweetie. You know, in case you’d like to put our conversations ‘on record.’”

“Treat you like some kind of… quasi-therapist or something? An online confessional?” You give him the stink eye. “Is that what you’re angling for now?”

He shrugs. “If it helps.”

_

You had no intention of using the tête-à-tête “feature” you’ve been so graciously offered, quickly dismissing it as just another one of his tactics to show off his capacity to manipulate the game’s code, or something along those lines. 

It’s not the first time he’s done it. 

But then, midnight comes on a deceptively ordinary Friday, and it’s suffused with an all-too familiar feeling of utter emptiness that drowns you. You’re crumpled on the toilet seat like chewed-up gum, knees pulled to your chest—the day’s wounds still festering. It's not anything new, but it leaves you feeling like shit all the same. 

Yet another overtime shift. Yet another argument with your mom, over fuck all you know that you’re too damn old for, but still, still, finds its way to cut deep. Over and over, and over again. 

Your phone’s blank screen stares back at you, just as mute and useless as the rest of the night. And you—

“Sweetie?” 

You can’t speak. Not yet. But you don’t have to. One look at the exhaustion on your face is enough for Sylus to know exactly what you need.

Your mouth trembles open, then shuts again. He doesn’t say anything else, just waiting for you to make the first move. To start whenever you’re ready. 

After a long moment, you finally exhale a shaky breath. That’s when you catch his gaze; fixed, patient, almost... encouraging. It’s a subtle invitation, urging you to take the plunge, to make use of him to an extent only he can provide–the only one he could offer to you at this time–

So, you talk. Tentatively at first, the words slipping out like droplets from your leaking sink faucet. But once the dam breaks, you can't stop. 

It spills out. Every frustration, every ache, every moment that feels too much to carry for one person, especially for someone like you, and he… he just—

listens. 

-

-

-

You feel drained. Every ounce of energy wrung out of you after unloading the day’s weight to your unexpected confidant.

“That helped, didn’t it?”

If it were anyone else—or if you didn’t know Sylus the way you do now—you’d only catch the smug notes in his voice. The teasing lilt and the airy pretense of someone trying to ease the heaviness out of the room.

But you do hear it. Beneath the surface, woven so subtly into the words… something vulnerable. 

You hear the unspoken question behind it: he’s genuinely asking if it helped. If his presence, however small or inconsequential it might seem, was enough to pull you back ashore.

I helped.

Tell me I did.

“You did, Sy.” Your grin is tired, grateful, and a little lopsided. But it’s real. “Thank you.”

For a moment—just a split of a second—the red in his eyes betrays something achingly raw.

“Anytime, darling,” he says, his voice quieter now, rough around the edges, like it’s carrying more than the words themselves. “I mean it.”

And like a beacon of light slicing through the storm-tossed seas of your mind, you realize that he truly does.

____

You start giving Sylus the reins to select the music, trusting his taste enough to let him DJ for you. He picks the soundtrack for everything—cooking, errands, long rides—filling the silence with something that he knows the both of you would like. 

The playlists grow. From one, to two, to almost an entire collection of carefully curated tracks to suit the mood and vibe of the day. He takes it seriously—so seriously that you can’t resist sneaking in a Megan Thee Stallion track onto his precious “Slow Evenings” playlist.

He finds it hilarious. Hilarious enough to loop Kitty Kat for all sixty-five minutes of your commute back home.

You laugh despite yourself. It’s exactly the type of shit you know he’d pull as petty retribution, already intimately familiar with his brand of humor. And if you close your eyes, you can almost imagine him beside you, sharing an earbud, smirking as he revels in your exasperation.

____

One night, you notice a weariness in his eyes. It’s an odd enough thing to see that it leads to a discussion on what he’s been up to as the shadowy leader of a notorious faction, deep in a lawless part of his universe.

“Just an operative gone wrong, sweetie,” he says with a sigh, rubbing a temple as though trying to physically push the stress away. “It happens.”

You press him on the details of the botched deal—and maybe, just maybe, a small part of you is excited to live vicariously through the tale. But it’s not about you this time, you remind yourself. So you listen as Sylus indulges every question you throw at him, giving you the play-by-play: what the deal was for (special, hard-to-get protocores), where the trade-off occurred (west of Charon), and how it all went sideways (he knew it was a set-up the moment he walked into the venue).

You don’t really know how to comfort him in a situation like this, but you want to try.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, you joke, “Can you imagine clumsy, ol’ me there? I’d be dead before I even make it inside.”

Sylus freezes, his expression going still. Unreadable.

“No, you won’t.” He says in response to the second part of what you just said, his tone brooking no doubt. He says it with such intense conviction that you almost believe this exact hypothetical has already crossed his mind—more than once.

I won’t let you.

Before you can even think of what to say, he adds, quieter this time, but no less convinced: “And yes—I can.”

It’s a direct answer to your question, and it makes the words die in your throat. His voice is softer now too, but there’s no mistaking his tone. It has the same conviction from before, and it hits you that he’s had time to ruminate on this thought—more times than he’d care to admit.

And I do. You have no idea.

____

There’s another shift in the dynamic of your, well, relationship.

“Did you hear what I said, poppet?”

You snap back to meet his inquiring gaze, unwavering as always.

“Sorry, can you repeat that?” You ask, the apology clear in your eyes.

He huffs, shaking his head in amusement—always patient, never annoyed—at your inattentiveness. “What’s on your mind, my sweet?”

Well. That.

Lately, Sylus has gotten into the habit of using possessive pronouns like they’re nothing. There’s also a notable increase on the variation of pet names too, each one more layered than the last.

It’s a little excessive, honestly. Like he’s trying to compensate for something—or maybe he sees it as just another natural step in whatever’s going on between you two. You’re still not sure what exactly goes in his head. He’s always been an enigma to you.

And yet, you never put a stop to it. How could you?

Little dove. Sweet girl. My darling.

When it comes off his lips like sunkist honey—each one brings a jolt straight to your heart. 

You're quite partial to one in particular. 

My love.

____

“Oh, my love,” Sylus tuts, feigning concern. “You’ve snoozed that alarm five times already.”

You groan, hitting the snooze button again—number six now—burying your face in your arms on the desk. 

____

You’re attending a despedida party for a friend who’s flying abroad to study (For a PhD in Biomedical Science! You couldn’t be more proud.) and the venue’s going to be at The Penthouse, somewhere fancy up north. It even has an infinity pool on deck, something the celebrant dropped into the group chat with far too much enthusiasm.

So, earlier today, you’d ventured out to buy something nice for yourself. Nicer than what you have in the closet, which isn’t much of a stretch. Something different than your usual rotation of plaids and band shirts—not that there’s anything wrong with them. They’re just… you. Comfortable. Predictable. Not exactly the dress code for a rooftop soirée.

Now, you’re back home from a successful (!) trip to the mall, bags in hand: a small gift for your friend on one arm and a much larger shopping bag on the other. 

You set the gift gently on the coffee table. Then, you head to the bathroom, the grosgrain ribbon of a paper tote held tight in your fist. 

The pretty fabric caught your eye almost immediately, the moment you saw the garment; its sheen almost like woven liquid in the light. It felt like a risk, even on the rack. But under the unforgiving glare of your bathroom bulb? 

Well, now, it’s looking less of a “bold choice,” and more along the lines of: “damn, what were you thinking?”

It’s not that big of a deal or anything. You like feeling pretty. But at the same time, you haven’t deluded yourself into thinking that you’re anything above average to look at, even on the nicest occasions. 

It’s something you’ve grown used to, a definitive truth ingrained deep in your bones. You know this—like you know gravity tethers you to the ground, even when you’d rather be carried by the wind. You’ve gone through more than a decade to accept it as just another fact of life, to make peace with the reflection staring back at you from the bathroom mirror. 

Even if it means you’ll never be on the receiving end of ‘interested’ glances from strangers on the street. Or that you’ve never known the feeling of someone doing a double take when they see you at your best, all dolled-up. More than once, you’ve sat across from dates whose eyes wandered—toward some other, someone better-looking, in restaurants, at parks, even outside the movies. Everywhere past your direction. 

But that’s okay. You’re used to it, the same way you’ve grown used to everything else.

And still, there’s that impulse—a sudden need for someone else’s opinion. Someone close. Someone that matters. 

There’s a pang of fear you can’t quite shake. You hear the small voice from the deep recesses of your mind, whispering to you that it’s one of your worse ideas. That you’ll fall short of any and all expectations, and that it’ll hurt more this time around. You’ll hear the polite, “you look nice” and you’re gonna have to live with the quiet certainty that you don’t, not really, and that you’ll never quite measure up to what he’s used to seeing. To her—

You swallow hard. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t do that to you. Not outwardly, at least.

And if he did… Well.

“I bought something,” you say as an opener, the words tumbling out in a rush as soon as you get a glimpse of his form on the screen. You’re rocking back on your heel, a little awkward as you stand there in front of your small vanity table even with your phone laid flat, front camera pointing upwards. “You remember the going-away party I’ll be attending two days from now, right?”

“Of course, the one for your secondary school batchmate.” Sylus replies easily, voice reverberating through the tinny speakers. Even at an angle, you can see the confused tilt of his head. “Is it on the ceiling, sweetie? What am I looking at, exactly?”

“No, smartass. I—” You press your lips together, eyes flitting upward, as if courage might be dangling from the ceiling in question.

Fuck, this is a bad idea. I can’t do this.

“It’s–I bought something for myself. I mean, I bought her a gift too, obviously. But I also bought an outfit. For the party.” 

There. 

He blinks, and you can almost see the gears turning in his head. Realization dawns on his face, a knowing smile beginning to form. His voice dips, a teasing edge to it as he purrs, “Oh? Well then, save me from the suspense, sweetheart.”

“I–I’m getting to it, okay?” It comes out a little snappier than you intend, nerves flaring hot. You sigh, feeling your shoulders drop. “I’m just… Don’t be—ugh, just don’t make a big deal out of this, alright?” 

You keep your eyes off the screen, unable to face him directly.

But when he speaks, his tone carries only a quiet understanding of your struggle.

Of course he understands. He always does.

He speaks; and it’s slow and measured—as if he’s coaxing a terrified, cornered animal out of hiding. 

“Show me.” Trust me.

And so with a heavy exhale through the nose, you flip the front camera towards your direction, revealing the bare expanse of gooseflesh skin—

… And the flimsy one-piece that clings to your body like wet plastic. 

It dips low between the valley of your breasts and stops short just halfway up your thigh. The material is a gauzy organza; see-through and light, in seafoam green. Barely leaving anything to the imagination as it reveals the dusky coral swimsuit from underneath the fabric and the hot flush that spreads across your chest like wildfire. Your fists clench and unclench behind your back – hiding the physical manifestation of your rising anxiety – while you shift your weight from one foot to the other. 

There's a deafening silence. 

The knots in your stomach grow tighter, creeping its way past your lungs. Your fingers tremble as cold sweat breaks out across your skin, chilling you from the inside. You feel horribly exposed. So exposed it’s almost unbearable. 

And you still can’t bring yourself to look at him.

Your thoughts stumble, desperate to cling to anything solid, and a faint memory surfaces—a passage from an org pamphlet you’ve skimmed through back in college, something that has to do with “self-perception.”

The flesh does not define you. 

Your body is but a facet of who you are. You are as inconsequential as the earth beneath your feet, and as important as stardust in the universe.

A low, guttural sound cuts through the stillness, and it makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. 

You—

“Look at me.”

A searing heat laces the cadence of his voice. It sounds restless—like a flame unchecked, rapidly growing into a raging inferno. Stifling in the way it pulls the air from your lungs, like a suckerpunch to the gut.

Your primordial instinct is to flee. But right at that very moment, you're no different from a paralyzed insect caught in an inescapable web with the way you’re stood frozen in place. Every instinct to run is smothered by the mere inflection in his voice. 

—are all. And that is all there is to be. 

“My sweet little dove,” it’s almost a croon, the way the words curl around you like wisps of smoke. Sickly saccharine… downright serpentine. “Won’t you look at me when I talk to you?”

And like a marionette on a string, you obey. 

-

Time seems to stop to a standstill the moment your eyes meet his. 

Sylus’ gaze sinks into you. Loaded. Heavy. A crazed glint, almost—to it. Even to someone like you who's embarrassingly clueless about the nuances of attraction and wholly inexperienced in its depths can see it as plain as day.

Carnal desire. In its purest form. 

Sylus looks at you as though you’re something to be coveted. Devoured. 

A small, fearful noise slips past your lips, and the twin crimson flames burn brighter.

“You’d like to know what I think?”

Yes.

No?

He sees the war in your eyes, and a throaty chuckle escapes him—raw and breathy. “Maybe so?”

You give him the tiniest nod, and the grin on his face sharpens into something wanton, something far more licentious. It slinks in like a fever, stirring something deep within you. Something as old as time.

Sylus opens his mouth. 

You brace yourself for the inevitable.

-

-

-

A ring slices through the room like a hot knife. Just like that, you can breathe again. 

____

Your saving grace comes in the form of a phone call that grounds you back to reality.

It’s a friend, one of the party guests, asking for directions to the venue. You’re listening with one ear on the receiver, answering each question robotically—your voice a controlled calm on the surface, a stark contrast to the thoughts running amok inside your head. 

The words blur into background noise, muffled and distant, like a TV commercial playing on low volume in another room.

The moment you hang up, a suffocating hush swallows the room whole. You’re left alone with nothing but heat kindling low in your gut. The ghost of the heavy exchange from earlier stays with you, thrumming beneath your skin, hot and pulsating. 

You don’t know what to do with yourself. The abrupt suddenness of it all gnaws at you, its weight driving you toward an early retreat—maybe a long night’s rest will do wonders and help you get your shit together, who knows. 

You slip between the sheets... but not before retrieving your, ah, trusty little companion from its hiding spot in the bedside drawer.

You didn’t want to assume… You don’t want to expect anything from him, but you have needs. 

God, but you do.

Your body feels like flint struck against steel, sparked ablaze by just a handful of words. Words weaved into a vivid imagery from the mouth of your… friend?? 

(Something more?) 

The uncertainty wrecks you, every nerve alight with tension. And yet it’s the same uncertainty that roots you there. Hesitating. 

So. You lie back, pushing the sheets away from your fevered skin, and just—lay there. Staring at the ceiling. The plaster cracks form maps you trace with your eyes, as if searching for answers in their tangled routes. You count your breaths, one after the other, as though the repetition could calm your racing heartbeat. 

It feels ridiculous, almost. You’re a grown adult, acting like a teenager with a demented crush. It’s more than that, though—it’s deeper, messier, and completely illogical. 

But it’s not something you can figure out tonight, not in this state. So you stop trying. 

Instead, you switch on your little toy, open an incognito browser, and let yourself succumb to what your body’s been screaming at you for the past fucking hour. 

You feel… You feel weird about using anything Sylus-related to get yourself off. That’s not to say you haven’t, before, back when he was just another eye candy from a measly mobile game. When it was just another infatuation. 

But now? Now it feels all levels of wrong, like you’re toeing some invisible line. Worse, it feels like you’re exploiting something fragile, testing the limits of a bond already stretched thin.

So, any content related to that man stays off the fap fodder. You’re not that far gone. You think. 

Instead, you scroll through your bookmarks tab, a shaky sigh leaves your lips as you let the hard vibrations of your trusty rabbit glide from inside your thighs, up… up to your warm center, in between the juncture of your legs.

You pause on a Toji smut fic—one amongst, uhh, dozens in your folder. It’s not the same, you know this, but you’re settling for the next best thing in your current circumstance. 

Since what you really want, who you’d rather much have, isn’t—

…

Your phone glitches. 

The Chrome app crashes.

And what do you think you’re doing?

Your heart stutters a beat, and you stop breathing. 

You can’t answer. The words don’t come. But he doesn’t wait for you to try.

Put on your headphones.

You’re done with that. Tonight, tomorrow, any other night. Do you understand me?

The uncharacteristic curtness of the message sends a jolt through you, and a blush overtakes your entire body. You hesitate, just for a second.

Now.

You scramble to obey, fumbling for your earbuds, slipping them on with shaking hands. 

The moment the bluetooth connects, the game boots up on its own—straight to an irate Sylus, looking royally pissed-off. 

“Sy-Sy—” you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. “I—I don’t—”

"Oh, so back to Sy-Sy now, are we?"

The mocking lilt in his voice cuts sharper than the glare he fixes on your dimly lit face. Your mouth opens, then closes, words failing you entirely. 

You want to explain, to defend yourself. To…

“I see what you read. What you watch,” he begins, voice cutting and mean. “In the dead of night, when you think you’re alone. When you think it’s safe. That no one hears the sweet moans spill so sinfully from your lips.”

His words pierce through the air like an arrow; you feel his overwhelming presence take over, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you, every exhale grazing the sensitive shell of your ear.

“Oh, but I do,” he murmurs, the ambiguity in his tone somehow making it worse. “I hear everything. I know everything about you, kitten.”

A shiver races down your spine, your body betraying you as he speaks.

“What makes you tick,” he continues, his voice a sinister caress. “What leaves you writhing, desperate for more. The way your breathing quickens… the way your body trembles under the weight of your own pleasure.”

You’re struggling now—each breath harder to catch than the last.

“And the way that pretty little mouth of yours falls open in a silent gasp, right after you come undone.”

His words are a noose, tightening with every syllable. Your head spins as the air seems to grow heavier, saturated with the tension between you.

“But it’s never for me, is it?”

“I—I’m sorry… I don’t want to assume—”

“Assume?” His voice darkens, any hint of softness replaced with something colder, harsher. “Again with your presumptions.”

He leans closer, his tone dropping to a command that leaves no room for doubt. “From now on, the only thing you’ll need to believe is when I tell you you’re mine.”

You blink at him dumbly. His grin turns into something wicked—caustic and biting—as he cocks his head. Derisive.  

“Do you understand?”

Your head bobs in a weak, reflexive nod.

“Words, poppet.”

“Y-Yes.”

“Good.” His tone shifts, smooth like languid amber, yet no less imposing. “Now, my love,” he coos, savoring the way your eyes tear up with desperation, “show me how you touch yourself.”

____

“Shi–iit,” he hisses. “This wet already?” 

You attempt to close your legs, shame rising like a tide, but freeze halfway when Sylus lets out a low, warning growl.

“Try that, and we’ll stop,” he warns. “I won’t repeat myself twice, pet.”

The weight of his words pins you in place, and you let out a helpless whimper.

“Don’t be afraid, sweet girl,” he murmurs, his tone gentler—coaxing. “It’s just me.”

His gaze burns into you, relentless, but something tender bleeds into it. 

The glow of the screen casts shadows along the sharp angles of his jaw, the upward tick of his mouth a dangerous contradiction—part teasing, part command. His sanguine eyes gleam with a mix of hunger and control, a look that leaves no room for hesitation.

You give in.

Your body relaxes under the weight of his stare, the fight draining from your limbs. It’s not submission—it’s surrender, pure and unfiltered, the kind that leaves you bare and vulnerable.

Sylus watches you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Not soft, not kind, but triumphant—like a predator relishing the moment its prey stops running.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, the praise dripping from his tongue like honey. “That’s better.”

____

Sade’s Smooth Operator starts to play in the background as you catch your breath.

You let out a tired giggle, swiping a hand down your sweat-drenched face, earbuds still in place. “Ugh—don’t piss me off.”

You hear a resounding chuckle. 

Gently, he asks, “Alright, little dove?” There’s a beat of hesitation before he adds, quieter now, “Did I go too far?”

You curl onto your side, phone clutched in your hand like a prayer. Sylus’ gaze peers back at you through the screen, a dangerously soft expression on his face that you don’t want to identify. 

“It's perfect, Sy,” you say, your grin tender and bittersweet, heart full of something you won't name.

____

It’s one in the morning. The dim glow of your laptop screen flickers across your face, spilling into the darkened room, casting shadows along the wall. You lean back against it, the end credits of Everything Everywhere All At Once rolling quietly in the background.

 

Silence settles between you and Sylus like a warm blanket.

“Do you think it’s… like that?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, unwilling to shatter the stillness of the moment. “All versions of ourselves colliding and coexisting at the same time?”

The question hangs there; he doesn’t rush an answer, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s choosing not to. 

When he finally speaks, it’s with the same quiet restraint, his voice threading softly through the air. 

“I’d like to think that in this vast expanse of the universe, there’s something for you and me.”

There’s a trace of something dreadfully optimistic in his voice, and it makes your chest tighten. You blink a few times, glancing upwards. 

The moment lingers, delicate in its quietness, until you instinctively reach for your phone. A quick swipe reveals a new addition to your shared playlist.

This Is A Life by Son Lux and Mitski.

A small, genuine smile tugs at your lips as you press play. The haunting strains of the song pour into the room, filling the spaces words can’t seem to touch.

“Sneaky,” you murmur, your gaze sliding back to Sylus’ face on the screen. His expression is unreadable, save for the faintest twitch of his mouth, the barest hint of a smile.

“Thought it fit the mood,” he says simply.

And it does. The music sweeps over you, soft and wistful, like the moment itself.

____

The balcony feels like a lifeboat drifting away from the chaos inside. The music, the chatter, the endless parade of tequila shots—it all fades to a dull hum as you step into the cool night air. 

Out here, the world feels wider, the sky a little darker, and you can breathe without choking on the weight of the party.

She’s already there, of course. The friend of a friend. An acquaintance by definition, but someone who feels more of a comrade in these fleeting moments away from the crowd. You’ve seen her like this most times—leaning on the railing, a cigarette perched between her fingers, its faint ember glowing against the night. You don’t need an invitation to approach her.

“You mind if I bum one?”

She shrugs, silently offering the box to you. You take one.

“Fun party, huh?” you comment after two puffs, the lit end of the stick briefly catching the glow of the skyline. Your voice is loaded with the kind of irony only shared by those watching the world from the outside in.

“It always is with them around,” she snorts, rolling her eyes in fond exasperation. Her voice carries the warmth of familiarity, from an observation you’ve both shared before. 

You exhale a soft laugh, the sound barely audible over the low hum of the city below.

The silence that follows isn’t just companionable—it’s necessary. A pause to recalibrate, to let the noise, and the lights, and the weight of too many people melt away. Neither of you feels the need to fill it. Words would only dilute the reprieve.

And then, unexpectedly:

“You look happy.”

The words land like a stone dropping into still water, rippling through the quiet. You glance at her, startled by the way her eyes narrow slightly, the way her tone suggests she’s already drawn her own conclusions.  

“You ‘ave someone?”

You weren’t ready for that. You blink at her, surprised she’s noticed anything about you—surprised, too, that it’s written plainly enough for anyone to notice.

“...Yeah,” you mumble, looking away. The admission feels strange in its simplicity. “Yeah, I do.”

She smiles at that—easy but genuine, as if your happiness has spilled over and warmed her, too. “That’s good.” 

There’s sincerity in her voice, unfiltered and direct, as she adds, “You look happier.”

You don’t reply, but her words settle somewhere deep, in the quiet places you thought were hidden. 

And for once, you don’t mind being seen.

____

The party has left you drunker than you’ve been in ages. 

As soon as the celebrant spots the two of you in the corner looking like a sad pair of eyesores, she quickly remedies it with copious amounts of stone-cold stingers. You try to protest, but in the end, it’s futile against the cacophony of cheers and the face of societal peer pressure. 

So now you stagger inside the condo building, looking every bit like a drowned rat dragged in from the storm. A weary guard from reception following closely behind, his patience visibly fraying as you giggle your way toward the elevator.

“‘m fine!” you insist, words slurring together as you attempt to shoo him off with a lazy wave. To emphasize your point, you pinch your fingers together, holding them inches apart. “Just this much to drink, see?”

He doesn’t respond, his expression coming across resigned and frustrated. You can almost hear the thought running through his mind: I don’t get paid enough for this. 

With a long-suffering sigh, he finally relents, letting you totter into the elevator alone.

UG… P… 4…. 5…… Oh! Here you are. 

Rivulets of water drip down from your rain-soaked hair, trailing icy paths down your neck as you stagger down the narrow hallway. Your vision blurs, making everything double—no, triple—as you fumble your way to the left, stopping in front of the door of 601—wait, no, 603. 

You squint hard at the numbers, your head throbbing with the effort, but the stinging in your eyes and the stubborn clumping of your lashes make it way harder for you to make sense of it all. 

Your waterlogged clutch feels heavier than it should, and your trembling fingers struggle to find the zipper pull that’s somehow become the bane of your existence. You huff, muttering incoherently to yourself, your throat tight and raw as a burning lump starts to rise. An annoyingly persistent buzzing from inside your bag adds to your mounting frustration.

With an angry yank, you finally manage to tear the bag open, water splashing off it in tiny droplets. 

“Aha!” you exclaim, though the triumph is short-lived as your hands shake even harder when you pull out your phone. It’s the source of the buzzing apparently, the bright screen momentarily blinding you. 

You try to unlock it—once, twice, three times—nearly getting locked out before the numbers finally click.

The notifications hit you like the mars lights of a freight train. Texts. Lots of them. You scroll through clumsily, the device slipping slightly from your grip as you snort gracelessly.

Sylus. Of course.

The words on the screen blur and twist, but you don’t need clarity to know the progression of each message—ranging from mild curiosity, to slight worry, to exasperatedly concerned. 

The syllables of his pet name echo faintly in your muddled head, a small, fleeting comfort against the weight pressing down on your chest. Sy-Sy. Sy-Sy. Sy-Syyyyy—

Synchronous with your erratic breathing, you dig through your bag with a heavy hand, each failed attempt sends you spiraling lower.

Another ping jolts you from your drunken haze: 

How are you feeling? Did you just get back?

“I can’t—I can’t find my damn keys!” 

The words slips out as a frustrated cry.

Inner pocket, left side. Answer me, sweetheart.

His words flash across the screen just as your fumbling fingers find the keys exactly where he said they’d be. 

A tear burns a path down your cheek as you let out a half-hearted chuckle, mumbling, “Can I even function without you?” 

How long has it been since you could manage something like this on your own? Has he become an extension of your mind?

The door’s stubborn resistance only adds to your unraveling. After several failed attempts—your fingers too wound up to grip the key properly—you finally twist the lock and push it open, stumbling inside, into the darkness. 

“I’m a mess, Sylus,” you whisper, voice thick with tears as your head spins, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. 

The world feels heavy and muffled, like you’re trapped behind a fogged window. You know you’re a sight to behold—shoeless, drunk, drenched like some stray that wandered too far into the rain.

“I’ve noticed,” he says, his voice warm and steady, cutting through the quiet void of the room. It takes a second for the words to sink in, for your scattered mind to piece together that, somehow, you’ve already opened the game in the middle of all your fumbling. Automatic. Like second nature.

You stare at him, trembling and pitiful, like a kid lost in a crowd. Your bottom lip quivers, and you hate how small you feel under his gaze.

You see concern pooling in the depths of Sylus’ eyes. That and something… desperate.

You sniff, rubbing at your wet cheeks with pruning fingers, clinging to humor like a lifeline. "Don’t you do anything else?” you mumble, your voice fraying at the edges. “Like... live your own life or something? You spend so much time with me...” You force out a weak laugh, bitter and jagged. “It’s a miracle you haven’t gotten sick of me yet.”

Your laugh cracks halfway through, more like a sob than anything. It’s pathetic—you’re pathetic. 

And yet, you can’t stop. Even if it stings your throat.

Sylus’ response comes, and his voice is solid—unwavering. He doesn’t flinch like you do. “I don’t get sick of you, sweetheart. Not in the slightest.”

Something in you cracks, spilling over. “I really like you,” you murmur, voice steeped with emotion. “You’re the brightest light in my life. You’re… you’re everything.”

A flash of lightning cuts through the room, illuminating your tear-stained face.

And for the first time since you’ve known him, Sylus calls out your name.

It’s quiet, reverent, and it feels like a tether pulling you back from the brink.

You crumple down the floor, clutching your phone like it’s the only thing holding you together. In the silence that follows, all you can hear is your ragged breathing and the quiet hum of his presence on the other end of the line.

“I’m here,” he tells you softly. “I’ve got you.”

____

This is a life

(Every possibility)

Free from destiny 

(I choose you, and you choose me) 

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @nicora04 @blueberrysquire @love-anteros @fiyori @peachystea @slyfoxtsu @tinyweebsstuff @i2sannie (i spend so much time cross-checking the tags this is tiring lmao)

[rose24207]

When mom looses her cool

Summary: You finally snap after you catch your kids lying about a party and afterwards teach them a lesson about responsibility.

Genre: Mafia!Lando, Dad!Lando, angst, fluff

TW: Mafia, lying

A/N: wow I haven’t post about the mafia Norris family for so long! Anyways Amelia is 17 and Jacob is 16! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

The Norris household was usually a place of balance, despite the unconventional family dynamics. Lando Norris, the head of a vast, shadowy empire, had a knack for handling chaos with an iron fist cloaked in charm. You, his wife, were the gentler counterbalance to his commanding presence—a source of love and calm for the family.

But every calm sea has its storm, and this storm had been brewing for weeks.

Amelia and Jacob were no strangers to pushing limits. They loved to test boundaries, usually with harmless antics. However, this time they had crossed the line in a way that even Lando couldn’t immediately smooth over.

It began with a lie.

“We’re staying over at Olivia’s house,” Amelia had said casually at dinner the night before, her fork poking at her salad.

“Yeah, her parents are hosting a movie night for us,” Jacob chimed in, nodding a little too enthusiastically.

You raised an eyebrow but said nothing, trusting them. Lando, ever the observer, leaned back in his chair, his gaze flickering between his children. “Just don’t get into trouble,” he said simply, his voice calm but laced with warning.

The kids had nodded eagerly, but their plan was anything but innocent.

Hours later, instead of watching movies under the supervision of Olivia’s parents, Amelia and Jacob found themselves in the middle of an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. It was a full-blown underground rave, complete with deafening music, strobe lights, and an eclectic mix of people who had no business being there.

Jacob had been reluctant at first, but Amelia, ever the instigator, convinced him. “Come on, Jake! We’ll just stay for an hour. No one will find out.”

Famous last words.

Back at home, you were in bed reading, while Lando was reviewing some work on his laptop. A ping on his phone drew his attention. He frowned as he read the text.

“Security team flagged something,” he said, his voice calm but tight.

You looked up. “What?”

Lando held up his phone, showing a blurry image of Amelia and Jacob entering the warehouse. “That’s not Olivia’s house.”

Your blood boiled. For once, you didn’t feel calm or understanding. You felt betrayed.

“I’m going to call them,” you said, reaching for your phone.

Lando placed a hand over yours, his voice steady. “No. Let them finish digging their hole. We’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

“But—”

“They’re teenagers. They’re going to screw up,” he said, his tone even. “It’s how we handle it that matters.”

You took a deep breath and reluctantly agreed, but the anger simmered beneath your calm exterior.

The kids stumbled into the kitchen the next morning, looking worse for wear. Amelia’s eyeliner was smudged, and Jacob’s usually pristine hair was a mess. They clearly hadn’t slept much.

“Morning,” Amelia mumbled, heading straight for the fridge.

“Rough night?” Lando asked casually, sipping his coffee.

Amelia froze, the milk carton halfway to the counter. Jacob shot her a panicked look.

“Uh, no. Just stayed up late watching movies,” Amelia said, forcing a smile.

“Is that so?” you asked, your voice unusually sharp as you entered the kitchen.

Both kids turned to you, their smiles faltering. You placed your hands on your hips, leveling them with a glare that could shatter glass.

“Olivia’s house must have a rave room now,” you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm.

Jacob’s eyes widened. Amelia, ever the bold one, tried to play it cool. “Mom, it’s not what it looks like—”

“Oh, really?” you snapped. “Because it looks like my children lied to my face, snuck off to an illegal party, and came home thinking they could get away with it!”

Amelia winced. Jacob looked like he wanted to disappear.

“We didn’t mean for it to get out of hand,” Jacob tried, his voice small.

“That’s your defense?” you shot back. “Jacob, you could’ve been arrested. Or worse!”

Lando, who had been quietly watching from the corner, finally spoke up. “Alright, let’s all take a breath.”

But you weren’t done. “No, Lando. I’ve had enough of their reckless behavior. This isn’t just a mistake; it’s disrespectful!”

Amelia blinked, stunned. You rarely raised your voice. Seeing you this angry was new territory, and she didn’t like it.

“We’re sorry,” she said quickly.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” you replied. “You lied to us, put yourselves in danger, and then had the nerve to come back here and act like nothing happened!”

Amelia and Jacob were marched into the living room, where you laid out the consequences.

“No phones for two weeks,” you began.

“What?!” Amelia protested.

“And you’ll both be spending your weekends helping out at the community center,” you continued, ignoring her outburst.

Jacob groaned. “Come on, Mom, that’s not fair.”

“You’re lucky we’re not grounding you until graduation,” you shot back.

Lando, sitting on the couch with his arms crossed, finally chimed in. “Listen to your mother. She’s being generous.”

The kids fell silent, exchanging a glance. They had expected their father to be the hardliner, not you.

The silence in the house was palpable for the rest of the day. Amelia retreated to her room, while Jacob sulked in the den. Lando found you in the kitchen later, leaning against the counter with a cup of tea.

“You handled that well,” he said, his tone amused.

You shot him a look. “Don’t start.”

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “It’s good for them to see this side of you. Keeps them on their toes.”

“They need to understand that their actions have consequences,” you said, your voice softening. “I’m tired of them thinking they can get away with anything.”

“They’ll learn,” Lando assured you. “Trust me. They’re more scared of you than they’ve ever been of me.”

Later that night, Amelia knocked on Jacob’s door.

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled.

She flopped onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. “I can’t believe Mom yelled at us.”

Jacob sighed. “I know. I think I’d rather deal with Dad’s lectures.”

“Same,” Amelia admitted. “She was scary.”

They sat in silence for a moment before Amelia added, “Do you think we went too far this time?”

Jacob glanced at her. “Yeah. We screwed up.”

Amelia nodded. “We should probably apologize.”

“Yeah.”

The next morning, you and Lando were in the kitchen when Amelia and Jacob shuffled in.

“Mom?” Amelia began hesitantly.

You raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“We’re sorry,” Jacob said. “For lying and…everything else.”

“We know we messed up,” Amelia added. “It won’t happen again.”

You studied them for a moment before nodding. “Thank you. But this doesn’t mean you’re off the hook.”

“We know,” they said in unison.

Lando smirked. “Smart kids.”

You shot him a look, but your lips twitched in a small smile. Maybe, just maybe, they were learning.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @hxxi3, @same1995, @amatswimming

[heavyhitterheaux]

Wife and Mother To Be

Synopsis: While you and Joe are shopping for a friend's baby shower, he has a realization about his future with you.

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Girlfriend!Reader

Requested by @hoodharlow 😘💕

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

Standing in the baby section of Target and holding up two different onesies to compare them, your phone started to vibrate in the back pocket of your jeans. Placing one of them across your arm, you pulled your phone out to answer it and was greeted by a frantic boyfriend.

“Baby! Where did you run off to this time? You said we were coming in here for toothpaste and face masks. Next thing I know, I turn around and my girlfriend is missing! Are you at Starbucks again?! You ALWAYS do this when we come in here.” You heard your boyfriend say as you picked up and didn't wait for a proper greeting.

“You were literally standing there for fifteen minutes comparing different ones so I walked away. I'm in the baby section looking at clothes. And no, I already went to Starbucks and my drink is gone so I'll need to make another stop before we leave.”

“No, no, and no. I am literally taking you to lunch so no more stops and wait a minute, why are you in the baby section? Is there something you need to tell me?” Joe asked and you immediately rolled your eyes.

“For Gabby! Her baby shower is tomorrow, remember? Just come over here and help me pick things out for her.”

“Oh, right. Be right there, I'm walking over now.”

It was another two minutes when you saw Joe coming towards you and he greeted you by placing a soft kiss on your lips.

“Wait a minute, why do you have a cart? We got a basket when we came in here. What did you plan on buying her? The entire section? Am I paying for this?”

“Joseph, will you relax!? I'm just getting her a few things and then we can go eat. Now what do you think about these?” You asked as you held up the same two onesies to show him.

“Hmm, what is she having again?” Joe asked as he was looking at both of them.

“A girl, Joe. Both of these are pink.”

“So? What's your point? I wear pink too.”

“But not something that says princess on it!” You responded to him as you laughed.

“At least not yet anyway and I like both of them.”

“Okay good. Both it is and I’m ignoring you.”

“I should ignore you for leaving me by myself.”

“Oh, that's right. I forgot that you need supervision all the time.”

“No, that's you. I'm a responsible adult. You're the one who comes in here for one thing when you tell me you'll be back in twenty minutes but an hour goes by and you're nowhere to be found.”

“And you use whatever I bring back home so you benefit from it so I don’t want to hear it.” You told him with a smirk and now it was Joe’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Come on and help me. Sooner we finish, the sooner we get food and go home.” You told him and he quickly agreed as he started browsing the baby toys.

Before you knew it, another thirty minutes had passed by and the two of you had a cart full of different things for Gabby. You were satisfied with how much you had gotten, but Joe was still browsing.

“Babe, come on. This should be enough.” You told him as you came up behind and wrapped your arms around him as he was now comparing two different diaper brands and you suddenly got a flashback to the toothpaste situation.

“You can never have enough diapers though, right?”

“Sweetheart, we got her four packs already.”

“Yeah, but are those really the best ones? I think that these might be better in case she has a blow out. My nephew did that to me and I still have PTSD. Therapy was needed after that.” Joe told you as he put the other diapers back and you couldn't help but to laugh.

“Not funny, babe. I didn't realize how much shit could come out of someone so little.”

“It is funny, Joseph and I wish I was there to be able to see your face when it happened.”

“Keep going and I'm not feeding you.” Joe told you as he put the diapers you had gotten in the cart back and replaced them with the brand that he wanted.

“But, I need energy in order to ride you later.” You replied and Joe immediately turned a bright shade of red as you began to laugh.

“BABE!”

“What? What'd I say?”

“You know what you said. Come on so we can go.”

Later on that night you were sitting on the middle of the floor in your shared bedroom with Joe when he walked in to see what you were doing.

“You run away from me in Target and at home. Did I do something?” Joe playfully asked as he sat across from you and began to help you wrap the gifts for Gabby.

“Nothing at all, Joey. Doing this so I can spend the rest of the night cuddling my amazing boyfriend whom I love to the moon and back.”

“Just the moon, not further?”

“Well we aren't going to the sun unless we want to burn to a crisp so yeah the moon.”

“I'll take it.”

You were folding the onesies when Joe was simply admiring you. Before he could stop himself, he blurted it out.

“When are we going to have one?” He asked and your mouth instantly hit the floor, but you tried to compose yourself.

“Um, have a what?” You asked clearly flustered and Joe simply laughed.

“You know what I mean.” Joe responded as he pulled you to sit in his lap as he kissed the top of your head while his arms wrapped around you.

“You want a baby? With me?” You asked with your voice dripping with uncertainty.

“I want everything with you. I thought that much was obvious. And not just one baby, multiple.” He answered and you turned around to look at him.

“You're serious?”

“I love you and I'm as serious as a heart attack.”

“Well you low key just gave me one.” You muttered against his chest and he laughed.

“Don't you want that with me?”

“Of course I do. I want nothing more than to make it a reality. I just didn't really know how to tell you or if you were ready. I mean you are literally at the peak of your career.”

“Baby, you can tell me anything and everything. You know that. And so what? If this is something that we both want, we're going to make it work.”

“You're not messing with me?”

“Now, why would I do that? I want to make you my wife too whenever that time comes. Mrs. Sheisty has a nice ring to it, don't you think?”

Now it was your turn to shy away and hide in his chest and all he did was laugh.

“In that case, I can't wait for you and our daughter to have matching pink outfits.”

“Oh, so you want a girl first?”

“Of course, girls run the world and she is going to have you wrapped around her little finger just like I do now.” You told him as you poked his nose.

“If that's the case, you want to get started? I heard that making the baby is the fun part.”

[dollfacefantasy]

kinktober day 10 - hybrids (again) leon kennedy! x fem!black-cat-hybrid!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, hybrids, heat cycles, daddy kink

Sweet and silent. That's how you moved about Leon's home ever since the day he brought you in. His precious little black cat.

He hadn't really been looking for a companion of any kind when it happened. His most recent string of hookups had all amounted to nothing as usual. He didn't even know if he was capable of anything long term anymore. Living life in service of the D.S.O. kept him away from home often enough that any woman with aspirations of a family would pack her bags before she ever got the invitation to move in.

Though with you, he never really extended that offer in the first place. You sort of just fell into his lap after being discarded by your unit in the BSAA. You'd been the lone feline in a unit of canines. After realizing what should have been obvious, that it was a horrible idea, they cut you loose. With nowhere to go, Chris brought you to Leon's attention, knowing the other man had been going through a hard time and could use a companion of some sort.

While he was reluctant at first, those cute curious eyes of yours were hard to resist. And now that almost a year had gone by, he couldn't have been happier about saying yes.

During the days you napped on the couch right where the sun cast through the window. He'd come home from work and find your soft form glowing, radiant under the orangey yellow rays. Your eyes would flutter open as soon as you sensed his presence, and you'd lazily rise to greet him, dragging your cheek across the expanse of his chest and nuzzling into his muscles.

At night, you drifted through the halls curious about what you could get up to without his supervision. It was never anything too troublesome, just the natural urge to explore more than anything else. He didn't mind. You'd gone from being trained for stealth missions to being allowed to laze about for however long you pleased. A little restlessness was to be expected.

Plus, that wasn't the most jarring form of restlessness he saw from you.

When you'd come into his life, Chris had warned him about 'heat cycles.' He told him what it meant and how he could deal with it, but honestly, Leon hadn't been too concerned with the idea. He figured it would be like normal ovulation, if not slightly more intense.

He didn't expect the power with which it affected you. The way you clung to him as if the smallest bit of separation would kill you. Your face stayed in the crook of his neck, taking deep huffs of his scent every few seconds. And your hips, they never seemed to stop moving. You were constantly squirming, trying to grind up against him and get some friction on the aching bundle of nerves between your legs.

Finally, he gave in and fucked you out of pure necessity. He was worried you'd throw yourself into pure exhaustion from how desperate you seemed.

But like the initial choice to take you in, he didn't regret this one either.

The change in your relationship didn't make things awkward. It didn't feel weird or uncomfortable now. The two of you were closer than ever. He could see how much you loved the affection. It was obvious now that your craving for it was a big part of what had you so restless in the first place.

And now the two of you could have days like today. Time where the hours passed with you tangled in each other's arms, him nice and snug inside of you.

“I understand why you like laying in the sun so much, sweetheart. Makes you all warm,” he murmurs into the back of your head.

He nuzzles you gently as his hips pump against your ass in a lazy rhythm. The two of you were laid up on the couch. It was your favorite time of day to sprawl out for a nap. The sun cast through the window at the perfect angle to bathe the sofa in its radiance.

You nod languidly in response to him. “Mhm,” you purr, pushing hips back against his body.

“Such a good girl for me,” he whispers.

He grabs your waist tighter and keeps thrusting. Even with the increased pressure, the pace remains soothing. His nose drags up the back of your neck as he takes in your scent.

He'd never known bliss like this before you. Prior to your arrival, life seemed so bleak. It was job after job, and the space between them was as bleak as the missions themselves. He never imagined himself experiencing peace like this. So calming it melted into genuine happiness.

"My sweet girl. So perfect for me. Don't know what I'd do without you," he mutters.

"Don't know either. Always need you," you mumble, the tone in your voice breaking into a whine.

His free hand glides up to massage at one of the obsidian ears atop your head. The move brings a deep rumble of pleasure from your chest, causing his dick to throb within you.

"That's my baby," he grunts, "You know just what daddy likes, don't you?"

The title makes your clit pulse, and your ass automatically writhes backwards. He knows the effect that word has on you. Ever since you'd accidentally let it slip once, he'd never allowed you to live it down.

"Mhm," you hum in response. Further words weren't needed. Both of you knew it was the truth. That everything you did in moments like these was for the other.

He now takes his hand off your head and brings it down and around to the front of your body. His fingers wrap around your palm, clasping your hand in his own. You can feel the tiny tremble in his limb. The shiver of impending release.

"You gonna make daddy cum, baby? Gonna let him get you all warm and full?" he rasps.

You nod eagerly. That was a question you would never say no to.

His pelvis keeps connecting with the swell of your ass as he thrusts deep inside. His tip kisses all the little internal sweet spots inside you. It's only a few more pumps before he spills himself inside you. His fingers drop your hand to swirl around your clit and get you there too. It feels like heaven, riding out the high with him, bathed in warm sunlight.

When the both of you have started to come down, you feel kisses being laid upon the back of your neck. He rubs your belly at the same time, long soothing swipes of his hand stroking back and forth. It brings you back to earth, but you still feel a little hazy since he hadn't pulled out.

"What do you think about taking a nap now?" he asks softly.

You nod, already drowsy yourself. Now you just had the added bonus of him staying with you.

[eskir]

domestic headcanons - sunday x gn!reader

after years of dating, engagement, and years after the marriage, sunday and you have a family now. set in an alternate universe and the children can be adopted or not, you choose! this is written before i've played the 2.7 sunday quest.

robin, the certified responsible aunt, would definitely sing your children to sleep. as a result, your children might not exactly understand that she's a famous star, and instead just think she's the cool aunt who takes care of them. and maybe also the cool aunt who sneaks them candy when you and sunday aren't looking.

however, if you also give them candy, make sure to give it to them in moderation or sunday might lovingly berate you. something along the lines of "they barely brush their teeth already" or "moderation is good." you choose to only laugh a little and shake your head.

while you and sunday might have your hands full with the children (as mischievous as they could be) it is a monthly ritual for you two to have a date night. whether it be going out to a fancy dinner place and spending the night at a hotel or merely enjoying a quiet moment together, you two try to keep that routine. of course, it can be hard when complications arrive, but it allows you and sunday to spend more quality time together.

robin will always volunteer to supervise your children if that happens, but if she isn't available (let's face it, she's most likely going on at least month long tours), there's always some friends of yours or someone you could hire. although when hiring someone, sunday would meticulously check their background.

additionally, when the children are young, sunday would sing them lullabies. he might do so when you're not around, and when you walk in he'll cover his face with his wings in embarrassment. the children would most likely laugh at the sight and ask him to do that again, and he would begrudgingly do so.

also, if you have halovian children, expect them to copy sunday's wings' behavior. also expect them to try to fly with their wings, much like sunday when he was younger. of course, the attempt will fail, and that child will be nursing a broken wing if they fall.

i honestly see sunday as being a very gentle father. of course he has his rules concerning bedtime, screentime, and foods, but if he can definitely be persuaded. once your children figure out how to do so...

well have fun.

there could also be family cuddle sessions, where you all position yourselves on a couch and watch tv. of course, sunday would fight to be next to you, but most times the children would win with a very very smug grin on their face(s).

although his pouting face always did make you snicker, the way his wings would droop and he would turn his head in protest. he might be a little dramatic.

while i did mention my headcanon of sunday was that he's a gentle father, he also doubles as the father who, when the children were younger, would sit next to their bed and watch over them with a melancholy look on his face.

he still remembers gopher wood, and he doesn't ever want to become like him. so he's always cautious to let his children fly and roam free, trying to not talk of any of his ideologies too much. he doesn't do too much guilt tripping and whenever one of them might break a dish or cause trouble, he's quick to comfort them first before gently telling them why they're in the wrong.

so make sure to shoo him out of the room sometimes. he can be a bit of a worrywart, especially when the children go off to school. eventually he'll learn how to cope, but the first time he took the day off of work and was just pacing around in the house.

side note, but i also believe sunday to have either the best work-life balance or it's absolute trash. he'll either immediately stop working and worrying about work after hours or continue working and stressing. you might even see some more white hairs in his head.

at those moments you might just call robin.

also, while he might be wary of giving the children too many sweets, if he starts eating a dessert, he'll reluctantly finish it all. you and the children might catch his wings fluttering, and your children will definitely use that to their advantage.

but, overall, it's a good family. one that you, sunday, and your children wouldn't trade for any other.

[hiddenonyx]

Obey Me! Beach Day Headcanons

a/n: oops I fell off the face of the earth. I'm slowly working on stuff, trying to clean what shit I had started, before I work on other stuff, but here's a little something that I threw together. *this is mostly unedited so apologizes

Prompt: what each cast member does during a day trip to Diavolo's beach.

Lucifer - reclines on a sun-lounger in the shade with a tropical (alcoholic) drink and either reads, or sleeps. He was told to relax so he is - and he's not responsible for anything his brothers do, nor will he fix any problems that they inevitably cause.

Mammon - goes swimming and does a little bit of diving. Often gets roped into doing something on the beach - such as building sand castles, burying people, or some sport - or helping Asmo take photos.

Levi - either buries himself in the sand or goes swimming. If he decides to be buried, he's going to take a long nap - making up for all his lost sleep from late gaming nights and early mornings for conventions. If he's swimming, he's probably trying to spook people (mainly Mammon) by pulling at their legs.

Satan - likes to look for tide pools and see if he can't name everything in them, or he walks the shore line during low tide to see what turns up. He also tends to be the one asked to identify any weird creature anyone else finds. If he's not poking around tide pools, he's reading in the shade with a nice, easy drink.

Asmo - takes pictures. He takes pictures of everything - himself, his brothers outfits, food, drinks, the environment, you name it, he's probably already taken a photo of it. When he's forced to put the camera down, Asmo enjoys building sand castles or sitting on the shore line and letting the waves gently wash up against him.

Beel - does a bit of everything, almost. Tags along for swimming, and him and Belphie often accompany Satan on his walks to the tide pools. Beel also enjoys helping Asmo build sand castles and doesn't mind simply relaxing in the shade either. He's the one who offers to take care of Luke so Simeon can finally go drink relax.

Belphie - just sleep. Picks a nice shady hammock not far from where everyone is and just passes out. Though he is willing to be woken up for a poke around tide pools and the shoreline at low tide.

Diavolo - is very much like Beel, and does a bit of everything, though he does prefer activities involving water. Probably accidentally start a water fight, and then while he's dripping wet, go hug Lucifer who protests immensely because he didn't want to get wet at all.

Barbatos - stays exclusively in the shade. While he might be an aquatic demon, Barbatos is more used to the icy black depths of almost arctic water than warm tropical water. Man is sweating and counting down the minutes till they go home (there's still 5 hours to go). Despite being in the shade and wearing (and reapplying) the most sunscreen ends up being incredibly tan or sunburnt afterwards.

Simeon - supervises Luke for the most part. Helps him build sand castles, and holds his hand when the big waves come to the shore while they're walking. Picks up a few shells for Luke too , and when someone else (Beel) offers to take care of Luke so Simeon can relax a bit, he drinks almost as much liquor as Lucifer does.

Luke - is so excited that he doesn't even care if he's showing it. Tries everything minus actually swimming in the ocean (everyone agreed that that activity was probably a little too much and too dangerous for Luke). Even lets himself be buried in the sand. Ends up a little tan and maybe with a light sun burn, but can't wait to go again.

Solomon -ends up also in the shade, probably next to Barbatos so that they can be grumpy together. Didn't even bring anything to do because he knows he's going to sweat too much to really tinker on anything. Futility applies sunscreen knowing damn well he's going to walk away sunburnt regardless.

-------

The Master List

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[millenialfanfictionaddiction]

Being their pregnant partner featuring

Osamu, Bokuto and Sakusa

Osamu Miya x GN! Reader; Kotaro Bokuto x GN! Reader; Kiyoomi Sakusa x GN! Reader

Warnings: absolute fluff

An: I’m continuing this series because I love it so much and it helps me get myself back into the writing mode

Osamu

“Sweetheart, darling! Where are you?” Osamu yells from the opening of his newest branch of Onigiri Miya.

“In the back!” You respond, picking up yet another crate of rice and plopping it down on the stainless steel countertop.

“YN what the heck? I told you to stop lifting stuff!” Osamu scolded, walking into the back just as you were about to set the crate down. You rolled your eyes, dusting off your hands as you went to grab the last crate. Before you could reach it, the crate was swept up into your husbands arms as he narrowed his eyes on you before setting it down on the table. You scowled back at him, daring him to say what you knew he was thinking.

“Darling, I told you to stop lifting heavy things. You’re 8 months pregnant, you should be resting. I thought Kita would have helped you, he always offers.”

“Oh he did offer but I told him you’d be doing it. Then he said in his Kita dad voice ‘YN don’t you lift those crates’ and I said ‘scouts honor’” you mocked and giggled as Osamu just shock his head in response

“And what happened to scouts honor?” He asked as you showed him the fingers you had crossed behind your back.

“There’s always a way out of a scouts honor Osamu, you should know that by now!”

Osamu sighed, putting his hands on his hips and contemplating. What was he going to do with you?

“Maybe should have Atsumu babysit you when I can’t be around? Now that we have so many restaurants, is hard for me to always be here.”

You neck snapped to Osamu, eyes wide as you practically scream, “Atsumu? Babysit me? You’re joking Samu! We’d go under in a week if Sumu was here everyday! Are you saying you don’t trust me?”

Osamu sighed because he did trust you but he also knew you weren’t going to just sit and rest like the doctor told you to do.

“Ok how about this? How about we hire you an assistant and they can help with the heavy lifting? That way you can still supervise and help me cook but I won’t have to worry about you accidently popping our child out too early?”

You giggled at the concept before agreeing to your husbands suggestions, hugging his waist as he gently kissed your forehead.

Bokuto

“Hey everyone!” You shouted, walking into a gym packed with sweaty, buff volleyball players. You’re hands were full of lunch items as you slowly attempted to navigate your belly and the food to the center of the gym.

“Whoa YN hold up!” Your husband Bokuto yelled, feet racing towards you as you continued to make your way.

Suddenly, one giant hand grabbed the bags of food while the other hand gently guided you along your back to the benches at the side of the court.

“Kotaro, you know I’m capable of walking right? The doctor even said it was good for me!” You whined as Bokuto narrowed his eyes on you.

Ever since you’d found out about your prepgancy, your usually goofy husband had become rather strict.

“YN how much sitting have you done today?” Bokuto questioned as you pretended you didn’t hear him.

“Let me go set up the food first, then we can talk ok?” You remarked going to stand as your large husband pushed you back down, prompting chuckles from the peanut gallery behind him.

“Kotaro, you’re embarrassing me! Let me go!” You whisper shouted as Bokuto stood tall, his arms across his broad chest as he glared down at you. Normally you’d this extremely attractive but right now, the only thing Kotaro was doing was being annoying.

Bokuto sighed, knowing he was being a little strict with you but it was for your own good. He wanted you and your baby to be safe and healthy.

“Well I guess Akaashi did say I was being a little overprotective,” he spoke as your eyes lite up, “but you need to sit down while setting up the food ok? No attitude Yn!”

“You got it!” You smiled, standing up and kissing your husbands cheek as he grabbed your hand and walked you towards awaiting team of hungry guys.

Sakusa

“YN I’m home!” Sakusa shouted, the overwhelming scent of cleaner hitting his face as you rounded the corner, mop and bucket in hand.

“Oh thank goodness your home! I need help emptying there buckets of dirty water and refilling them,” you hummed as Sakusa sighed silently.

You were in the deeps of nesting and it was nearly impossible to get you to rest your very pregnant body. Try as he might, Sakusa had been unable to put a stop to your chaos.

He’d woken up many times in the middle of the night to you fast asleep in the nursery, amidst piles of unfolded baby clothes and diapers. He even come home on day to every single dish drying on the counter after you’d throughly cleaned the cabinets.

“Sweetie why don’t you rest for a few minutes? I bought your favorite home!” He proclaimed excitedly, hoping the allure of food would get you to rest your tired feet for a few seconds.

“Just a second love, I’m almost finished recaulking around the toilet!” You answered as Sakusa set down the food and made his way to the bathroom.

Sure enough, there you were, on your hands and knees apply caulking to their toilet. He rolled his eyes before coming behind you, putting his arms under yours and hauling you up.

“Babe I was almost done and now the caulk will be messed up!” You whined as he hauled you to the kitchen before setting you down in a chair. He began gather your food and setting it in front of you as you pouted.

“Eat first and then you can finish. You need a break. How much have you done today anyways?” He questioned as you began shoveling food in your mouth.

“Well, let’s see,” you thought, mentally going over your checklist in your mind.

“You know what, never mind babe, you can just show me after we are done ok?” Sakusa conversed, knowing very well that you’d again outdone yourself.

“Can you help me with the water for the buckets after dinner kiyoomi?” You again requested as your husband just smiled before leaning over to kiss your forehead.

“Of course my love.”

[skzdarlings]

final part: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ; PART VIII ; PART IX ; FINAL PART.

( READ ON AO3. )

Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the years.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending. (chapter word count; 19k words)

warning for this chapter: the usual story dynamics plus explicit violence, intense peril, threat and injury to reader, graphic depictions of death, explicit sexual content.

-

Your father will be here soon.  He kept his distance during the rescue operation but will reconvene with his team before the journey home. 

You and Felix wake long before his anticipated arrival, when dawn is only just peeking into the hotel room. 

You lay in bed, your head on his bare chest and his arms around you.  You discuss the potential confrontation ahead.  Last time you were taken, your father was less than sympathetic to your plight.  Even though this was more his fault than yours, you are certain you will take the blame.   He cannot take responsibility for a misstep.  If he is fallible, he is weak, and that puts his whole existence in jeopardy.  It must always be someone else’s fault.    

Therefore it is likely he will punish you.  Therefore it is likely he will ask Felix to do it. 

“Felix,” you say when he does not look at you.   He is staring out the window with a look of pure frustration. 

“I know,” he says.  “You want me to do it.  Last time I…” 

“Yes.” 

There is no need to discuss last time.  You both know he fumbled that exchange.  Felix is meant to be the personification of resolute strength and obedience, the perfect soldier.  His moment of weakness snared your father’s attention, as weakness always does.  Your quick response remedied the situation well enough, but you will not be so lucky next time.   The only thing worse than a moment of weakness is the persistence of it.  He cannot hesitate again. 

“If,” you say slowly, “we want to find a way out… then now, more than ever, we cannot give him any reasons to be suspicious of us.” 

“I know,” he says, but his jaw is still clenched and his gaze is faraway.  

��Felix.”  You touch his jaw, minding the darkening bruise, and turn his face to yours.  His expression softens when he meets your gaze.  “Thank you,” you say.  “I love you.  I trust you.  It will be okay.” 

He cups your cheek and lifts your face.  His looks at you like he is studying every small detail.  Even though he must know your face perfectly – seeing it when he wakes, before he goes to sleep, every day for so much of his life –  he looks at you like he is seeing you for the first time all over again. 

You laugh when he flicks your bottom lip, the little pout he has long since called his weakness. 

“You could convince the sky it wasn’t blue,” he says, and kisses you tenderly.  “I love you too, sweetheart.” 

Maybe it is the novelty of hearing that out loud, or maybe you will just be crazy about him forever, but you feel flustered.  You laugh and squirm, your skin hot.  It makes him laugh, the menace kissing down your throat just to make you wriggle more. 

“Don’t let my daddy catch you then,” you tease, breathlessly.  “He wouldn’t like that very much.”    

The returned chuckle makes you shiver.  You run your fingers through his hair but he grabs your wrist and pins it down.  Your breath catches when he sucks a bruising kiss on your throat.  He is usually so careful about leaving marks, but today he dips his head to the soft skin of your breast and bites a mean little mark into the tender skin, making you gasp and buck beneath his hold. 

“No, he wouldn’t, would he?” Felix says, his deep voice dropping even lower.  “What would everyone say, hmm?  Your daddy, your guards… all those rich boys at those fancy parties who think they have a chance with you…” 

“Everyone thinks I’m a frigid bitch,” you reply, joining his game, smiling knowingly.  “And I am, aren’t I?  Nothing but trouble.”

“Nothing but trouble,” he says with a grin.  He flicks the covers off, then his hands are on your hips and he flips you as smoothly.  You yelp when he drags you halfway down the bed, arranging you as he kneels behind you.  “You can’t fool me, sweetheart,” he says.  One hand curls around your throat and the other snakes down your backside.  “Frigid?  Mm. I don’t think so.  I actually think you are very, very soft… and warm…” 

His fingers slip inside you easily, wet from your previous lovemaking and wetter still from his voice.  Every little breath and tortured groan has you twitching and gasping. 

“Felix,” you say.   

It is the right thing to say.  You are clawing at the bedsheets moments later, hiccupping on each watery breath as he holds your hips and fucks you right down into the mattress.  You press against it like you could disappear there, fucked into freedom, never to return to this dire world again. 

You sink into the bed and float in your mind, sighing when he wraps his arms around you and covers you with his body.  He is hot and whole and so alive, and everything seems possible while you are joined together.  You have each other, completely and irrevocably.  That is all you need to survive. 

You finish not a moment too soon.  You are nestled in his arms, kissing and kissing and kissing, flushed and satisfied and content, when reality comes knocking.  Felix throws on some pants while you scurry into the bathroom and close the door. 

Felix steps into the hall.  Between the bathroom door and the hotel room door, you only hear muffled voices.  Then a few clicks, then another knock, then you jump.   You are wearing a blanket and it slips with your surprise.  You adjust it frantically, but Felix says, “It’s just me.”  

You crack open the door to Felix in a t-shirt and his combat pants.  You recognize the tired lines on his face, cracks in the mask he is struggling to don.  His reassuring smile is not convincing. 

“Here,” he says, handing you some clothes.  “Your father is here.  He wants to see you at breakfast.” 

“Of course he does,” you say, just for something to say, letting your frustration seep into your tone. 

The bathroom tiles are cold under your feet.  A sharp snap of sensation and a reminder of reality.  Felix makes the world feel small in comparison to him, but the world is still there, ever turning with its usual machinations and politics and powers.  You are still suspended helplessly in the centre of it all.  Though you pushed the darkest truths to the corner for a few hours, making love and comforting each other, all those hurts and agonies are still there.  You see it in his eyes, his glance flickering from here to there as he roams with his thoughts.   

Neither of you have ever had a normal life and you do not know what to do with one.  He has been making difficult choices since he was a child.  Neither of you truly knows if you are making the right one now. 

You do the best you can with a strong hug.  It is a lingering, affectionate embrace, fitting your bodies together until you feel grounded. 

Felix looks over your shoulder, catching his own reflection.   You look back as well, his cheek against yours, your eyes meeting in the mirror. 

“I couldn’t stand the sight of my own face,” he says, his voice low even though you are alone, like the words are fighting his tongue.  It is hard to admit.  He swallows hard but continues, “I hated the stupid kid looking back at me… I wanted to be someone better, someone who could actually do something right…” 

You look at him rather than his reflection.  When you touch a strand of blonde hair, he closes his eyes, as if he can feel the pad of your finger on a lock of hair, smarting more than his bruises. 

“Is that why… the hair?” you ask clumsily.  You do not know how to wade through ten years of emotion.  Felix has coloured his hair regularly since the day you met him.  The blonde suits him but it is clearly unnatural.  It has not been soft in a very long time, coarse from repeated dye jobs. 

The colour is just one more layer of his meticulous mask, crumbling in front of you as he nods and sighs.  An admittance.  He could not stand to look in the mirror and see that other version of himself, the boy he was, the boy who made all those mistakes.   You see him, the years of questioning his choices, the impossible tether around his throat.  There has never been a day he has not questioned his choices.  Working for one bad man or another.  Rescuing his friend or his lover.   Letting violence happen or letting the violence use him.

You kiss his cheek, then below his jaw, threading your fingers through his hair.  You scratch at his scalp, just a feathery light touch, one that makes him melt in your arms.   

“I love you,” you say.  You find it is an addicting word yet it never loses its potency.  Your heart still races when he touches his forehead to yours, when he strokes your sides and hums a gentle sound of pleasure.  “Things have changed a lot over the years.  But we’re still here.”  Still living your lives, even in broken bits, those stolen pieces you mentioned so long ago.  “We’ve changed.  We’ll change again.  Things will happen and we’ll figure it out.  But please don’t hate that boy anymore.  I care about him a lot.  I want him to be happy too.” 

His face scrunches with the threat of tears, but he controls himself.  He pushes the emotion into a laugh, though it is humourless.  Then he closes the space between you and kisses you, cups the back of your head and holds you there until you are both satisfied. 

“All right,” he says in a rough voice.  “Get dressed.  It’s going to be a long day.” 

“You’ll be there, though,” you say. 

“Always,” he says, a hint of amusement touching the corner of his lips.  “I’m your bodyguard, hmm?”

You laugh and kiss him again. 

“Right,” you say.  “Always.” 

-

Your father sits at a dining table in the penthouse suite.  Behind him, a window wall flaunts the city skyline.  Daylight casts a glow around him like some deified king lording over his petty kingdom.  Guards loiter in the room and the corridor, keeping their eyes sharp as hotel staff prepare the table. 

You sit across from him with the sunlight in your eyes, the usual position of discomfort and inferiority.  He does not look at you, nor does he greet you, his eyes on his phone until the table is set.  A staff member goes to serve him but he dismisses them. 

“All of you, go,” he says, not just to the staff but his team as well.  They filter out of the room one by one.  

The penthouse is a ostentatious space, all white linen and gilded frames, tall ceilings and bay windows, but as the room empties, it becomes frighteningly big.  Or maybe you just feel frighteningly small, his tactics working as they often do.  Your father knows how to push your buttons because they are the same as his.   He is scared.  It makes him angry.  He makes you scared.  It makes you angry. 

“Felix,” he says.  “Stay.”

Felix is all that tempers you.   He stands against the wall but you do not look at him, staring at your father until he finally looks your way.  Despite the light, you hold his stare, feeling a modicum of triumph when he looks away first. 

“Did they damage you?” he asks.  His phrasing almost makes you laugh.  Damaged.  As if outside forces were needed for that. 

“I’m fine,” you say.  “My bodyguard rescued me.  Your team was damaged, though.”  You throw the word right back at him.  You cross your leg and sit back, like you are as unbothered as him.    

You know that underneath his cold exterior, he is anything but casual.  He is letting his rage simmer as he builds to some awful retaliation.  He was conducting a mission, sending his best asset on a job, and it was interrupted by your kidnapping.  A kidnapping that nearly lost him more than his heir, but that same irreplaceable asset.  An asset that previously made a mistake in front of his eyes.  This is no longer a game, a squabble between a parent and child, but a real world crisis with dangerous consequences.    

You should not provoke him, and that is why you do.  Because provoking him is something you have always done and you need him to see you as that hapless child if you are going to beat him.  You do not want to arouse further suspicion in him, that you are sitting here thinking about your own schemes, that you know more about his assets and operations than he could ever suspect.

So you toss your rejoinder and he catches it, as he always does, with a cruel smirk. 

“There are more where they came from,” he says.    

Returning like cockroaches and squashed just the same.  If only a multi-generational empire could be toppled as easily.  But your father is more than a man across a table; he is ten men in the corridor and more on the ground, he is paid staff and investors and a whole society.  

Though you feign nonchalance, inside adrenaline pounds.  Sweat gathers, your heart races.  He is good at making you feel small, but at least it is predictable.  The scene unfolds  in your mind before it happens, the script playing before a single action is commanded.   You will be scolded.  You will be reprimanded.  You will be punished. 

“Felix, come here,” your father says.

You predicted he would involve Felix after what happened last time.  The only question is what manner of punishment he will force from his hand.  All you can do is trust Felix to play his role so you can play yours.  You made it clear the physical pain was meaningless, that you could take whatever he inflicted.  Just another inside joke between you.  You will laugh about it one day. 

You do not look away from your father.  Your eyes are locked in a challenging stare, daring the other to break.  You are scared, but you feel so much more than fear and rage.  With your love for Felix, with the hope in your heart, you are an ocean of feeling and you are not ashamed of it anymore.  You stare your father down and mutely convey that you are not broken, that he did not win, that he never will win. 

His answer is the flick of a kitchen knife.  It slides across the table and nearly tumbles right over the lip.  It teeters within arm’s reach of you.  It is tempting to look and consider its purpose with the trepidation you feel, but you do not.  You tell yourself he will only hurt you so much, that putting you in true peril would surely be counterproductive to his overall efforts.  Whatever plan he has for that knife will be a momentary pain you can recover from.

Then he says, “Felix.” 

Felix steps into your periphery, the black of his fatigues a shadow at your side. 

“Pick up that knife,” your father says.  “Put it through your hand.  Right through to the table.”

It is not the demand you were expecting, not by a long shot.  As your father stares you down, steady where you start to waver, you realize this test is not for Felix.  It is for you.   

“I trust,” your father hisses the word, “you know the spot that will inflict the least permanent damage.”

The last time your father made this demand, you and Felix were kids at the start of your messy life together.  Instinct propelled you to stop him.  Over the years, you have mastered schooling your reactions.  The girl who tackled Felix, the girl who sobbed while he was beaten, that girl learned to save her tears for later.  Your father’s version of you is a cold, headstrong, hateful fool.  She might stop Felix to combat her father, or she might let him suffer out of pure hatred. 

Both options feel wrong.  Regardless of what you choose, you feel like you are giving something away.  You feel like your father will see right past it.  He stares at you like he will find your secrets written on your face.    

You have seconds to decide and that is not enough time.  The moment passes you by.  Felix plants his hand and takes the knife.  Your father does not count him down.  He watches you, willing you to make a mistake, to show your weakness.  To prove him right. 

You flinch when the knife thuds into the table, the soft reverberation of the wood accompanied with a gross little squelch that sounds too loud in this too big room.  Your reaction is strongly stamped on your face, disgusted and upset.  You look away to stop the tears that stab behind your eyes. 

Everything that has happened, everything you have done, and you are right back here.  After everything, he still ended up with that knife in his hand. 

Your father rips it out.  Felix catches his breath but does not cry out.  You catch a glimpse of the bloody knife before your father tosses it on the floor, as if he is discarding something insignificant. 

You slowly meet his gaze.  He is still assessing you.  You cannot tell if you passed or failed his test.  By the scrutiny of his regard, it seems he does not know either.  All you can do is look at each other while Felix bleeds beside you.

“You may go,” your father says, cold as the ice that locks your limbs.  It takes you a moment to stir life back into them. 

“Felix,” your father says.  “You stay.  We have business to discuss.” 

You do not look at Felix.  You cannot bear to look at him.   On the escorted march back to your room, you are quiet, biting the inside of your cheek to stop any more unwanted reactions.  Only when you are alone in the room do you let it out, an aggravated cry as you rip a pillow off the bed and whip it blindly across the room. 

This was never going to be easy, but now it feels like the ongoing struggle between you and your father has led to an insurmountable deadlock.  He has you enclosed in his fist and he is threatening to crush you in it. 

You do not think he knows about the true nature of your relationship with Felix.  He might suspect anything, an affair the last of it.  Even a menial friendship would be a detrimental betrayal to him.  All he sees is a smudge of a weakness in what should be the strongest cog in his machine. 

He is testing you and tormenting you.  He is perched on his pedestal, waiting for you to throw yourself at his feet in eventual penitence.   

You will not.  Not this time.  Your father is expecting retaliation in the form of equal dramatics and you will not satisfy him.  You will sit quietly.  You will do what you have been doing, stealing pieces of your life in the silence and shadows.  He controls a realm of power, affluence, and violence.  You control yourself.  Love has saved you all this time.  It will be your means of escape for good. 

You sit in quiet repose until Felix returns.  Although you promised to remain calm, you cannot help but fuss over his injured hand.  It has already been stitched and bandaged but you peek beneath the binding, almost gagging at the sight.

“All right, enough,” Felix says.  He lifts your head and guides it onto his shoulder instead.  You are sitting on the small loveseat under the window.  You throw your arms around him and hold tight. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, a tear sliding from your cheek to his shoulder.  You sniffle. 

“Don’t be,” he says.  “I can take the pain.  It means nothing.  Sweetheart, he means nothing.”

“I know,” you say, but you sniffle one more time anyway.  Gathering yourself, you lift your head to look at him.  “What did my father want after I left?” 

“I don’t fully know,” Felix says, the tenderness in his expression giving way to uncertainty.  “He said he wants to continue the job,” Felix says.  “He and Miroh, they’re both chasing these long-term investments in some government building contracts… Miroh has been getting in the way of your father’s deals, so he’s been mostly standing guard.  Then he got intel that a significant asset of Miroh’s would be involved in securing an upcoming bid…  And he thought… he thought with the right team he could… acquire whatever this asset was…” 

“Chris,” you say, a breathless note.  “That’s why he brought you on, isn’t it?  He told you the acquisition was Chris.”

“If Chris was alive, if he was working for Miroh even after everything…”  Felix swallows.  He looks pained, like all these words are hard to say.  His voice is rough and the words scratch like sandpaper as he forces them out.  “Between me, your father’s back-up team, and the element of surprise… We had a chance of stopping Miroh’s subterfuge and getting… rescuing… Chris.  Finally.” 

But Chris might be dead.  Your father might have killed him.  Miroh has a vast artillery and the asset in question could be anyone or anything.  It makes more sense your father was using Felix to eliminate this obstruction.  That is what he always does.  He uses someone like a thing, strengths and weaknesses calculated, and works them into his scheme. 

You look at the bloody bandage, wrapped tight around that wounded hand, and you cannot bring yourself to vocalize these awful, pessimistic thoughts.  You say instead, “But why would he want to continue the job now?  You no longer have the element of surprise.”   

“No,” Felix says.  “We don’t.  That’s because the job is over and your father is lying.” 

“What?”

“Chris is dead.”  Felix says it for you, with a hard set to his jaw that you recognize as a shield against emotion.  He does not look at you because it exposes that vulnerable, human part of him, and right now he is fighting to maintain his composure.  Cool, collected, he plainly states, “There is no chance of this job succeeding anymore.  Miroh caught onto us.  He interrupted us.  Whatever we were after is not there anymore.  Your father is just pulling my leash to see if I fight back.”  He takes a deep breath before saying more.  “He wants an excuse to question my loyalty.” 

“He is provoking us,” you agree.  There is a second of silence, both of you in contemplation, then you say, “We can’t let him.” 

“If I refuse this job, he will just get worse,” Felix says.  “If we try to run right now, we won’t get far.  We need to do this right, we need to—”

“Take the job,” you say.  “You said yourself, the job is over.  My father is a bastard and an idiot but he would never risk sending his best team somewhere dangerous when he has nothing to gain from it.  Call his bluff.  Take the job.” 

“I can’t leave you again,” Felix says, eyes closing as he clenches his good fist.  “I won’t leave you alone with him again.  Not right now, not like this.  Sweetheart, if something happened—”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, wrapping your hand over his fist and gently uncurling his fingers.  You nudge your nose against his chin, coaxing him to turn his head.  He finally does, sighing as he looks down at you.  You smile.  “I’ll be safe in the house.”

“It’s more dangerous in there than out here,” he says. 

“You know he won’t do anything worse than he’s ever done before,” you say.  You look down when you touch the bandage on his hand.  “We can take the cuts and bruises a little longer.  Do the job, then come back to me.  And who knows…”  You kiss his cheek, a touch of comfort.  “Maybe you’ll find the truth about Chris.” 

“I know the truth,” he says, unmoved.  “He’s dead.” 

You do concede it is incredibly likely.  If anything stopped your father from killing Chris, it was not morality, rather the practicality of breaching Miroh’s defences.  But it sounds like Chris was trouble to Miroh, so it is possible there was no pushback.    

It still breaks your heart to see Felix like this.  The burden of this bargain has caused him strife for so long, but you can see how it motivated him too.  As the hope leaves him, a light dims, and even your affection cannot ignite it. 

“How do you know that?” you ask helplessly. 

“I just feel it,” Felix says.  “In my heart.  I guess.  I think, umm.  I think.  I think I’ve known for a long time.  Maybe from the last time I ever saw him.  But I needed to believe in it.  I think I needed to believe Chris could be saved because then maybe—”  He looks down at his injured hand.  His fingers twitch when he fails to close his fist.  “Then I would have done something good,” he says miserably.  “Maybe then I could be worth saving too.”    

“Felix. Baby.”  You touch his face, still minding the bruise that grows more vicious by the second.  It only adds to the ache in your chest as you look at him, beaten and battered for someone else’s sake.  He has been taking hits every day since he was fourteen years old.  Whether it was for you or his friend, he was willing to surrender his life if it meant even a possibility of saving someone else.  “Felix, you have more heart and humanity than anyone I have ever known,” you say.  “Everything you have ever done has been because of love, despite what they tried to make you otherwise.  How can you not see what I see?” 

He looks at you, really looks at you, the way he did this morning.  He traces the curve of your cheek and brushes the subtle pout of your lips. 

“You’ve always seen more than most people do,” he says.  “You give me something else to believe in, you know?”

“Stop flirting,” you tease gently.  “This is serious.”

He laughs, his smile soft but sincere.  You kiss him slowly, until you are breathing the same uneven breaths, your hearts no doubt beating in tandem.  

Then you pick yourselves up and prepare for what comes next.   

-

Your father claims they will be gone for a week but you know it is not true.  There is no real mission so they will return in a few days at the latest.  For your part, you can only wait.  

Even though you have a tenuous plan, it is still hard being separated from Felix.  You remind yourself that you could not protect him in the field anyway, but logic is meaningless to your heart.  You imagine a version of yourself that is possessed of so many skills, she could wipe out every obstacle without breaking a sweat. 

But you are you.  Your skills are more emotional than physical and right now that physicality is even worse than usual.  You are lethargic from a brutal couple days, weak from the drugging, sore all over, and you cannot sleep well in an empty bed. 

You wake repeatedly in the night, startled by a nightmare where you are being taken, where Felix is being beaten, where your father kills him and a dozen boys like him and all you can do is watch.  The nightmares drag you into consciousness where you are barely eased, the reality of the world not so different from your nighttime horrors. 

In the daylight, you maintain the healthiest disposition possible.  You keep your distance from the security team, sitting in your room or quietly on the couch.  You do not engage when they antagonize you.   They grow bored of your presence soon enough, especially when they cannot get a rise out of you, leaving them with nothing to report to your father.

You expect the hours to drone endlessly.

Then you have a visitor. 

You ignore the doorbell.  The security team does not seem surprised by the interruption so you disregard it.  Maybe it is just another member of the team. 

You ignore the bell and the bustle of guards.  You head to the kitchen to scrounge for some lunch instead.  You hum as you chop vegetables, not paying any mind to the footsteps behind you.  You expect it is a member of the security team, stalking you in the name of supervision.  You turn to address him, a saccharine sweet smile at your face and a drole quip on your tongue, but your heart stops at the figure standing across from you. 

“Hyunjin?”

You breathe more than whisper his name, like surprise has winded you. 

You stand there, knife in hand, jaw hanging open as you stare into the face of your old friend.  He is somehow even more handsome than you remember, long dark hair framing his face, eyes fierce and cheekbones sharp.  An expensive blazer hugs his trim form.  His boots resound with a softer thump than combat boots, so you should have realized it was someone else sooner.

You never would have guessed him.  You have not seen Hyunjin in years. 

“Hello, my girlfriend,” Hyunjin says with a smile, dazzling and beautiful and oh-so very fake. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask tentatively, so perplexed by his appearance in your house that you do not know where to begin.  You nearly pinch yourself to make sure you are not dreaming. 

“Your dad called my dad,” Hyunjin says, his voice very light and casual, like he is picking up a conversation you paused an hour ago and not years ago.  “He thought you needed company so you wouldn’t try running away off or something.  So here I am.  Ta-daaa.  Company.” 

Security shuffles past the kitchen.  Hyunjin pauses, listening to the scuttle of their booted feet.  When the din quiets, he smiles at you again.  It does not reach his eyes. 

“Hyunjin,” you whisper, laying the knife down.  “What on earth is happening?  Why are you here right now?”

Voices, laughter, the team in the other room.  You and Hyunjin look at the door.  His smile droops and he leans closer when he says, “Somewhere quieter please.” 

You are still in something of a daze when you lead Hyunjin downstairs to the gym.  A guard departs after giving the room a sweep, as if anyone or anything could have gotten down here with all the security.

Then it is just you and Hyunjin. 

Hyunjin crosses the room, taking in the space and equipment.  He whistles long and low while shaking his head.  It makes you laugh despite everything. 

“No, no, it’s nice,” Hyunjin teases.  “I never saw this room before.  But I always remembered your house was very small and understated.”

It’s a joke but you cannot force a laugh because his reminiscence sends you hurtling through your own memories.  He turns and you see a younger version of him, just for a moment, beaming and bright.  Hyunjin used to be the hopeful one, the person with a plan and ambition.  He believed there was more to life and he believed he could achieve it.  He was so certain that it sparked a flicker of hope in you.  Now your flame is an inferno but there is no light or fire behind his eyes.  He is so cold that it is hard to believe there was ever a flame. 

“Hyunjin,” you say, imploringly.  “What happened?” 

“A lot,” he says.  He puts his hands in his pockets like he feels at ease, but his eyes keep darting around the room, betraying his discomfort.   

Though your friendship was short, it was substantial.  You know him.  Right now he is labouring beneath the weight of his performance, his charming expressions crooked, like poorly fitted clothes.   He looks like an uncanny duplicate of the boy you once knew. 

You step closer to him.  He does not move, frozen in the middle of the room with his hands in his pockets.   When he eventually looks at you, it is with a slow lift of the head.  You swear you can see a curtain drawing across his face as it happens.  This close, you realize just how pale and wan he looks.  He is grey at the edges, like he is fading away before your very eyes. 

“Hyunjin,” you say, instinctively reaching out.  He flinches away from your touch, then tries to smile like it didn’t happen.  You do not hide your distress. 

He finally drops the pleasant façade.  His hands fall out of his pockets and swing at his sides.  His countenance is even colder, his striking features sharper than ever as he levels you with a venomous stare. 

“Don’t pity me,” he says.  “I can’t stand it.  I made my choices and I’m living with the consequences.” 

“Consequences?” you ask.  “Did they catch you trying to—”

 “I never left,” he says.  “I never even tried.  I was close.  I had a whole plan.  A way to start over.  But then...”  He turns without any warning and walks to the mirror wall where he looks at himself.  His hand hovers in the air, fingers curling.  “I met someone,” he says.  “And he wasn’t who I thought he was.” 

When he does not elaborate, you step closer.  You reach out to touch his shoulder, a consolation on the tip of your tongue.  Before your touch even lands, he spins around and looks right at you. 

“It turns out he was working for my father,” Hyunjin says.  He speaks in a plain tone, conveying facts without any unnecessary sentiment, but you can see the red in his eyes as he strains to hold back emotion.  “It was my fault for being so stupid.  With the way things were going, I should have seen it coming.  There is no such thing as selfless love.  Everyone serves themselves in the end and I was stupid to compromise my well-being for someone else.  I deserved the betrayal.” 

“That’s not true,” you say without hesitation.  He is talking about someone else but his words feel like a slap against your friendship too.   You grab his hand like you can squeeze sense back into him.  “I’m so sorry you were hurt,” you say.  “But you can’t honestly think—”

“Hurt.”  He chokes on the word and rips his hand back.  “It nearly killed me.  I wish it killed me.  I wish I was anywhere but here.  But I am stuck here because of my stupid feelings.  Everyone has a weakness waiting to be exploited and you can’t trust anyone not to take advantage of yours.”

It sounds so much like your father that you stumble back.  It resonates with a heavy slam against your ribs and the heart beating inside them.   That heart feels so wrung out these days, swollen with so much love one second then shrivelled with pain the next.  It throbs now.  You are hurt just witnessing his pain.  He has been betrayed and broken and he is unreachable in his grief.  You can only imagine what he has endured to end up back here, in this house, with you. 

You cannot blame him for guarding himself, but your combative side rears its stubborn head.

“There are good people,” you say.  “There are people that can be trusted.  You can trust me, after all.” 

“I don’t know that,” he says.  “We don’t know each other anymore.” 

“That is definitely not true,” you say.  You and Hyunjin clicked so well because your circumstances were so similar, your fears and pain the same.  “We know each other perfectly, Hyunjin,” you say. 

He looks away, blinking rapidly.  His shoulders hunch.  It looks so wrong for a man like him to curl in on himself in shame. 

“Fine,” he says.  “One person.  It doesn’t make a difference.”

“One person makes all the difference,” you say.  “Remember Minho?” 

That one really makes him flinch.  You are pretty sure a slap would hurt less. 

“And Felix,” he says, his voice softer now.  He scrunches his eyes shut like he can stop his pain with enough concentration.  He pushes through and says, “He works for your father, doesn’t he?  I remember him at that party.  He was with the security team.” 

“Yes,” you admit.  “He works for him.  In a way.” 

“And you still trust him?”  Hyunjin laughs.  He rolls his eyes and crosses his arms.  “That’s just stupidity.”

“It is not.”

“He works for your father and takes his money and you still trust him not to betray you?  That’s stupid.” 

“It’s not.”  Frustration bubbles inside you.  You want to grab him and shake him around, like you can sift through and find the real Hyunjin underneath all this.  “I know I can trust him completely.”

“You can’t possibly know that for sure,” he says.  “He’ll betray you for the right price.  Everyone has a price.  You don’t think there’s something he’d trade you for?” 

That does sting, if only infinitesimally, as you recall Felix and his conflicting desires.  But you do not begrudge Felix for his life choices.  He was an impressionable boy, raised to follow orders with no thoughts of his own.  It made him wise in some ways and naïve in others.  He fell into a bad bargain with a scheming man and found himself trapped.  He was forced to make difficult decisions.  It was not about choosing you or Chris.  You would never make it about that.   

“Felix loves me,” you say.  “And I love him.   You’re right.  There are things he wants desperately.  But he doesn’t have to trade me for it.  He knows I would surrender myself willingly to see him happy.  Just like I know, no matter what else happens, he will always come back for me.  No matter where they hide me.  No matter where I hide myself.  No matter what men like my father do to him.  We choose each other.” 

“Everyone breaks,” Hyunjin says weakly.  “No one’s that strong.” 

“Not on their own, maybe,” you say.  “We’re not alone.” 

There was so much ice in his feigned arrogance that you are startled when Hyunjin starts crying.  He covers his face with his hands.  His shoulders shake and his breath hitches. 

“Hyunjin,” you say, your own voice breaking.  You rush up to him in a flustered hurry.  You touch his head and his shoulders, trying to peer at him through his fingers.  “Hyunjin, talk to me, please,” you beg.  “Something else is wrong, isn’t it?  Hyunjin, why are you here?  Where are your parents?  Why did my father call yours?”

“My parents are dead,” he barely manages to speak, gasping between his hiccupping cries.  “It’s just me.  They came for me and my father was difficult, he asked for too much, and they— and I—”

“They?” you say. 

It is then you see it.  You are clutching his shoulder and it tugs at his blazer.  A shirt button pops open and your eyes drop to the exposed bruises across his collarbone.  You blink in disbelief at the horrible mosaic beaten into his skin, angry welts of red and purple and yellow.  It seems to go all the way down his chest.  When you part the material of his shirt, something else catches your eye. 

You freeze.

“Oh,” you say.  “Hyunjin.” 

He is wired.  Someone is listening.  Your father is listening. 

You stop breathing for a moment.  The world gets quiet.  You look at Hyunjin.  An old friend showing up at your house out of nowhere, presented like an offering.  Jisung was not important enough for your father to remember, but Hyunjin is a different matter.  He is rich if not wealthy.  His parents were upwardly mobile, his father the kind of pathetic rich man who thought he was equal to a man like your father.  Willing to do awful things to his own son to keep him in his clutches, then selling him to the highest bidder if it meant advancement.  His only mistake was asking for too much when he was ultimately expendable.  There are always more where he came from. 

You want to be wrong.  Your father is a busy man.  He would not waste time finding Hyunjin and putting him through so much just for this, just to corner you into a confession.  But you know he did.  This is exactly what he would do.  He moves like a coward, killing civilians and poisoning innocent boys, then he makes a show of throwing it in your face. 

He always told you friendship was beneath you.  What a way to prove it. 

“I think you’ve fallen in with a bad crowd,” you say, forcing a laugh through the gathering tears. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says, a tearful whisper.  He touches your arms like he wants to hug you, but holds himself back. 

“Me too,” you say.  You warned him a long time ago that befriending you was dangerous.  You wish you had been wrong. 

You pull him into a hug and he immediately envelopes you, his arms around your shoulders and yours around his waist.   He chokes out a sob and squeezes you so tight that your breath catches.  Then he just holds you there. 

You do not know if it is his cologne or his shampoo, but it smells so familiar.  It takes you back to that treehouse, looking over a glittering neighbourhood as the sun set and he dreamed about the dawn. 

“I still remember that rhyme, you know,” you say.  The address of that cabin, written in a rhyming lilt that you never forgot.  “If you ever have a chance again… promise me you’ll try…” 

He chokes out another sob. 

“How can you still care about what happens to me?” he asks.  “What about you?” 

“I’ll be fine,” you say.  It is spoken calmly, for all that it is a lie.  “Promise me?”

He just nods, then pulls you closer again. 

You cling to him for as long as you can.  It gives you the strength to stay upright despite your shaking legs, even when you hear footsteps coming down the stairs.  You brace yourself for the worst, halfway expecting the whole house to erupt in a violent explosion. 

It is just a guard.  He says, “Time to go, Hwang. Visit’s over.” 

You want to keep hugging.  You feel like you will fall through the floor if he lets you go.  He is just as reluctant, but withdraws when the guard steps into the room.   He does not look at you as he leaves, head down as he trails towards the stairs. 

“Goodbye, Hyunjin,” you say. 

It stops him for a moment.  He nods then continues.  There is nowhere else to go but back up those stairs. 

You are left standing by yourself in the middle of the room.  The mirror wall makes the space feel never-ending.  You look at your reflection.  You look so rough already, scarred from your kidnapping, tear-streaked from crying.  Your hands tremble uncontrollably.  You remember a younger version of yourself sitting in front of this mirror with Felix, for a moment feeling like a normal girl with her boy.  His touch brought you to life.  He made you feels things you thought you would never feel. 

It will be your own voice your father plays back to you, your own confession betraying you. 

You will not be sorry for it.  

You look at yourself and wipe your face.  You take a breath.  You walk to the stairs, one step after another.  There are guards upstairs but they pay you no mind.  They have clearly received no orders, not yet.  You could try to make a run for it, but you would not get far on your own. 

Instead, you go upstairs to your room.  You look around like it is the last time you will ever see it.  You know that is not true, logically.  Your father will not kill you, but there are fates just as devastating. 

You walk through the room.  It is plainly decorated with a mix of things owned by you and Felix.  For all that this house is not a home, you carved a shared space in this room.   You sit on the bed and study everything from discarded clothes to books to computer parts. 

Something compels you to open the drawer on his side of the bed, that same single drawer you allotted when he first moved in.  A ragged old beanie sits at the bottom of it, the first thing he ever owned.  You fold it over in your hand and squeeze it like a talisman, like it will infuse you with some magic to endure whatever storm is blowing your way. 

You cross the room and touch a few more things.  You find some university textbooks and your heart aches with the desire to return to those times.  You lived a fleeting few years like you were completely free, in love and happy and home. 

You will probably never see Seungmin or Jeongin again, but it brings you some peace to know they will live good lives.  You will never forget their willingness to intervene on your behalf despite the odds being so stacked against them.  Maybe they were not very good at it, smacking chairs and throwing drinks, but you will remember them fondly.  You wish you could say goodbye. 

With that thought, you pause.  Your gaze drifts to your computer. 

You cannot say goodbye to Seungmin or Jeongin, but you can say goodbye to someone else. 

You never wanted to risk contacting Jisung from home, just in case your father was found out.  But everything is ending today, one way or another.  There is nothing more you can lose.   You will take some comfort in a final word to an old friend before you are sealed in this gilded mausoleum.

You sit at your computer.  You log into the blank profile you made some time ago.  It is hard to tell if you are nervous because your stomach is so twisted in knots already, but you think there might be some happy anticipation.  You try to manage your expectations because there is a chance Jisung did not read the messages, seeing as they came from a blank account. 

You should have known better than to doubt him.  You log in to several new messages, laughing from the first line.

OH MY GOD!!!!!!!! IT’S YOU????? MY GIRL!!!!!!!

Okay sorry about that I am totally so cool I promise.  I’m just in shock.

I know you told me not to, but just so you know, I spent a year trying to reach you... 

Well, actually, I spent like four months crying my eyes out and being miserable and pathetic first..  On god, I eyed a jar of peanut butter with some serious thought for a minute there!!!  But then no, no way.  I had to keep going. 

I tried to find you.  Your bitch ass dad is famous because he’s an ugly rich loser so his properties are listed all over a million websites.  I found the one in town where you must live and I rode my bike there a bunch of times but uhhhhh yeah much to my eternal disappointment I am not James Bond and that security system was insane.  Don’t even get me started on when all the dudes in the army gear kept showing up.

On an unrelated note it’s way harder to buy explosives than you’d think. 

Just want you to know I did try to get in there.  You were never alone even if you felt like it. 

But it sounds like you’re not alone anyway HELLLL YEAHHHHH she is getting SOOOME.  All jokes aside I am crazy happy for you.  You deserve it for real.  He better be treating you right though or I WILL find a way through that gate and I WILL kick his ass.  Just say the word and I will be there in a heartbeat. 

He goes on for a while, the whole length of his message making you smile.  When you did not respond, he sent a few more, spaced further and further apart from each other.   The last message he sent was just a few days ago.

Hey I don’t know if you’re getting these.  I like to think so.  You don’t have to answer if you are.  I know you are in a dangerous spot.  Or maybe you’re not anymore and you got out.  In that case, I hope you never read these.  I hope you’re out there living your best life.  Maybe we’ll cross paths again but if not, I count myself lucky for knowing you at all.  I think we’re both slightly insane and everyone else I meet is way too normal haha. 

What I’m trying to say is I miss you like crazy.  I hope we can laugh together again someday.  Even if we never do, let’s say we will.   Keep smiling till I’m there.  Catch ya later crazy girl.

You smile.   Then emotion takes over, tears returning as you lay your hands on the keyboard to type a response. 

You have just hit send when there is a knock at your door, then it is opened without your permission.  You turn and look at the stoic guard who beckons you forward. 

“Your father is home,” he says.  “He wants a word.” 

You nod.  You spare one last look at you screen before logging out and shutting down.  You are certain it is the last message you will get to send.   A warmth fills your chest regardless.  You know it will reach Jisung.  His laughter and energy fills you with the strength you need to walk steadily out that door and down the hall.

-

Hi Jisungie. 

Thank you for your messages. I just read them all now. It wasn’t easy for me to check them before, but I did it today because it might be the last time I have an opportunity to do so.  My father found out about my love affair and seeing as it was with the one person he could not afford to lose, I have no doubt that a reckoning is on its way.  I thought he was bad before, but he has only gotten worse over the years.  I am sure this betrayal will put him over the edge.

I do not know what is going to happen.  I was scared until I read your messages.  They truly made me smile.  You have always made me a little braver.  I think I got less rebellious over the years because I got scared, but now… The worst has happened and I’m still here. 

I will figure it out.  But in case I never get the chance to talk to you again, I just wanted to say thank you one more time.  I miss you too, Jisungie.  I think about you so much.  I wish I could laugh with you again, the kind of laughter where nothing is all that funny but we can’t stop anyway.  Thank you for the times we did. 

I am happy to have lived my life because I knew you. I appreciate all the good times so much more because of the hard times.  You were a one-of-a-kind friend.  I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.

Keep smiling for me.    

Goodbye. 

-

Your father is behind his desk. 

There is no one else in the room.  They close the door behind you.  You walk calmly up to the desk and take a seat in your usual spot.  You sit as straight as you can, perched on the edge of the seat.  You are still lower than him, but you feel bigger and stronger than you have ever felt in your life. 

Your father draws out the silence, perhaps waiting for you to break down.  You stare at each other.  When he opens his mouth to speak, you interrupt him.  You are uninterested in games and dramatic embellishments, which you know he will indulge.  You simply ask, “What did you do to Hyunjin?” 

“I would not worry about the Hwang boy if I was you,” your father says spitefully.  “You have bigger concerns—”

“And yet I am asking about him,” you snap.  “What are you doing with him?”

“What I do with everything when it is no longer useful to me,” he says.

It is the answer you were expecting but it still draws your rage like a magnet.  It punches out of you, your eyes wet with tears when you say, “You’re pathetic.”

“How many times must you suffer humiliation at my enemy’s hands before you understand that none of this is a game?”  His voice rises as he speaks.  “Do you want to be out on the streets?  Do you want to be brutalized?  Do you want—”

“I would rather die rotting in the sewers with Felix than spend even one more minute under your roof,” you say.

You wonder what surprises your father more: the vicious tone or your blatant confession.  It stuns him into silence.  You know you have disrupted his script.  There is little sense in taunting you with your words if you utter them plainly before he can try. 

“I see,” your father settles on saying.  He presses a button on his desk and the buzzer in the corridor resounds.  “Let’s put that to the test, shall we?”

The door opens and several guards usher inside.  You spare them a fleeting glance before your attention narrows to the figure between them. 

“Felix!”  You stand but cannot reach him.  He is surrounded by guards and they will not let you touch a hair on his head. 

He moves like he is completely boneless, evidently drugged with something to make him bleary and slow.  He thumps heavily onto his knees when they put him there.  His eyes are hazy as he looks around the office.   They pause on you, flicking up and down, then he smiles through the pain. 

The pain.  It is not just a drug.  He looks like he went a few rounds with a cement wall, his lip split and his jaw bruised.  His bandaged hand is soaked through with blood, the rest him as battered.  His injuries disappear beneath his shirt and pants but you know it is not a pretty sight.  You swallow down the bile in your throat before looking at your father. 

“He’s your best asset,” you say.  “You can’t lose him.” 

“Oh?  Can’t I?” your father asks.  “Can’t I?  Can’t I?  You think you know something?  You think you can tell me what to do?  You, when all you do is destroy what I make?  I give you everything and this—this is how you—”  His yelling sharpens to a shriek before he starts breaking things.  It pulls Felix further out of his haze, his eyes tracking the frantic movements as your father smashes a vase near your feet. 

You think about that tiny shard of glass from last time, the miniscule thing that started it all.   It makes you laugh even though nothing is funny.  Laughter is an emotional output just like crying, so it pours out of you with no regard for the actual gravity of the situation. 

It only worsens your father’s rage. 

“Does something here amuse you?” he asks, but you are laughing too hard to answer.  There is a vein throbbing in his forehead and you imagine it bursting.  You imagine all your problems solving themselves as he drops dead from his own rage.   The image is even funnier because you truly cannot imagine this man dying.  He is a monster.  If you stab him, you fear he will just mutate and come back worse. 

“You want to laugh?” he snaps.  He crosses the room to Felix.  “Laugh.” 

He holds out his hand and someone places a gun in his open palm.  This snaps you out of your delirious giggles, a winded whoosh spilling out of you.  

Your father does not execute action himself.  He always puts the gun in someone else’s hand.  The fact he is pointing it at Felix should tell you that his threat is not serious. 

But he has never been this furious, his anger a white hot cascade of fire.  Felix is just inches from the barrel of the gun.  Even an inexpert marksmen like your father could drive a bullet between his eyes. 

So the moment he grips the weapon, you shout, “Stop!” 

Your father looks at you with a cock of his head, satisfied with your reaction. 

Then he jumps back because Felix rushes to his feet, most of the fog dissipated.  Your father’s stupid men did not think for a moment that Felix would repeat a strategy.  Just days before he allowed himself to be captured so he could rescue you.  It seems he has done that again, feigning the depth of his condition.  He swings to his feet and kicks out. 

His injuries restrict his movement.  He is good at ignoring pain but his body overrides his consciousness.  He fights nonetheless, struggling with the guards while you watch. 

You look around for something that can help.  You snatch a paper weight off the desk  and prepare to throw. 

Your father is a step ahead of you.  Suddenly you are staring down the barrel of a gun, your father on the other end, fuming. 

“No—!”  Felix says before he is beaten down.  With his attention diverted, a guard kicks the back of his legs.  His knees buckle and he goes down with a groan. 

You look at him then flick your eyes back to your father.  You raise both hands and lift a challenging eyebrow. 

“You want to do this?” you ask.  “Really?  After everything?”

“After everything,” your father says.  “Exactly my words.  A house, an education, unending protection.  You want for nothing.  All I ask in return is obedience and you cannot even grant me that.  You have the audacity to betray me for this animal.”  He waves the gun around like the clumsy, ungainly thing he is.  It makes a few heads duck, including yourself.  You fear this man will kill someone without even trying.  It makes it hard to listen, which might be for the best, as he goes on a long tirade about privilege and position and loyalty. 

He starts merely angry but it turns downright diabolical. 

“And you.”  He turns to Felix.  “I dug you out of Miroh’s gutter!  I made you a bargain!  I gave your meaningless life purpose!  You are nothing without me.  How dare you think to take what is mine.  How dare you think you are anything more than a dog.  How long have you kept this secret?  How am I supposed to trust it is the last?  You are a liar.  For all I know you are lying about everything.  Is that it?  Are you a spy, feeding reports back to Miroh?  Is that why I can never succeed in my missions?  Have you been—” 

Felix bursts into laughter.  His face scrunches with delight, his cheeks dimpled. The low rumble of his laughing voice sounds real, honest amusement at the proclamation.  It fades to a sigh, then he looks up.

You have never seen such a dark glare shadow his features, made all the more horrifying thanks to his bloody injuries.  It makes your stomach drop even though it is not directed at you. 

“You fail at all your missions because you’re an incompetent idiot,” Felix says.  “You couldn’t even control two children. What makes you think you can control Miroh?”

“Have you forgotten our bargain?” your father yells, waving the gun towards Felix again.  “You lie and trick your way into my household and still expect—”

“Our bargain,” Felix spits the word and some blood sprays out.  He spits the rest on the floor and shakes his head.  “I know he’s dead.  You killed him a long time ago.”   

The room is quiet for a moment.  Your father is still holding the gun, though it dangles at his side.  He and Felix stare each other down.  Although Felix is kneeling, his sinister stare is far more terrifying than your father’s blank gaze.  But then that empty gaze turns cold and your father smiles, one of those sharp smiles that opens like a slash across his face. 

“Now how would you know that,” your father says, “if you are not a spy for Miroh?”

“One of Miroh’s men told us at the warehouse,” you interrupt.  It earns you nothing but a wrathful glare from your father.  He gestures to you and a guard puts a threatening hand on your shoulder. 

“You will speak when spoken to,” your father snaps.  He looks at Felix again.  “Oh.  Yes.  You.  Whoops.  I very nearly forgot, it was so long ago when I killed your friend.  Does that make you sad?  Poor little boy.  You should have remembered your place.  Your kind are born to die for men like me.”

“Men like you,” Felix says.  Mourning will have to wait so he laughs because he cannot cry.  “You’re pathetic.  Not a surprise, though, yeah?  Since your father took care of everything before I killed him—oh.  Whoops.”  He tilts his head and smiles, speaking with the same saccharine tone your father just used to mock him.  “It was so long ago.  I almost forgot I shot your daddy in the fucking head.  Does that make you sad?  Poor little boy.  You should have remembered your place and stayed behind your walls.  You’ll never be a man like him.” 

Your father has never looked so stricken.  You did not even know his face could contort such a way.   It makes him look very human for the few heartbeats that it lingers.  You can almost picture a younger version of your father, breaking under the fist of his father before him.  

Then he schools himself.  Once more, the untouchable monster stands before you.  The gun wobbles only a little when he raises it, taking aim at Felix. 

“Stop!” you shout.  You were just picturing the passing of generations, so maybe that explains why your panicked brain compels you to blurt, “You can’t kill him! I’m pregnant!” 

This time every head in the room swivels towards you.  Even the other guards do not hide their surprise.  Your father stares, jaw agape, and Felix looks just as bewildered.  You feel bad because you can see thought flickering behind his eyes, wondering if maybe you are telling the truth.  It makes his face change, pain flashing.  Panic seeps into his veins. 

“Excuse me?” your father says. 

You almost trip on the chair.  Your knees knock and your voice shakes when you say, “You heard me.” 

“I know what I heard.”  At least it succeeds in garnering your father’s attention.  He forgets about Felix entirely as he stalks towards you, gun clutched in his undoubtedly sweaty hand.  “My problem lies in understanding how this can be.”

“Well,” you say slowly.  “I can’t imagine you really want me to explain that—”

You father backhands you across the face.  You careen into his desk, barely catching yourself. 

“It could work in my favour yet,” your father says.  “Start fresh.  Fix where I went wrong with you.  Because you are an irredeemable and entirely lost cause.” 

This baby is not even real yet you panic at the thought.  It unspools an infinite and horrifying future, this house an eternal monstrosity birthing a new generation of tyrant and monster.  Hurting and contorting everyone in the family name for the sake of maintaining that vast estate.  

This has to stop. 

“Of course I am,” you say.  You take a long, steadying breath, then you push yourself upright.  You turn to your father and meet his gaze, aware of the gun but feigning complete nonchalance.  “I can’t believe it has taken you this long to realize it,” you say.  “You lost me a long, long time ago.  You want to control everything because you’re scared of losing anything.  But you’ve already lost what you were trying so hard to protect and you can never, ever get it back.  I will not continue what your father started.  I will not be what you have become.  I am not like you and I am proud of that.  I am proud that I love my friends, and Felix, despite how much you tried to stop me. But I am me and I am not scared.” 

You dive at him, a vicious tackle spurred by that hurricane of emotion inside you.  You tackle him so quickly that it takes the guards a second to react.  The gun clatters to the floor as it flies out of his hand.  He throws up his fists to protect his face when you swing down with all your might.  What you lack in physical strength you compensate with drive, slamming your fists down without care for where they land, again and again and again. 

Then someone grabs you by the collar and yanks.  It is one of the guards, pulling you to your feet.  Your father shrieks and hollers like a wounded dog, snarling and frothing like one too.  He gets to his feet and swings at you. 

Felix rises, struggling to reach you.   You stretch out your hand, your fingertips touching before you are yanked apart from each other.  You cry out, struggling in the guard’s death grip to no avail.  Felix is fighting the other guards but his injuries put him at a disadvantage. 

You are dragged away from the chaos.  Your father picks up the discarded gun on his way. 

“Take her outside!” he shouts at the guard, then turns to the mess in his office.  “Don’t waste your energy.  Shoot the boy.”

“No!” you scream, so guttural you hardly recognize the sound.  You cry as gunshots ring in the office, but you lose sight of the skirmish as you are dragged, kicking and screaming, down the stairs and out the front door. 

You curse at your father and the guard, bits of your shirt ripping when you fight to escape.  You are smacked and twisted, your shoulder popping so painfully that it makes you wail. 

“Stop it, stop it!”  You are fully sobbing, either from pain or panic.  It does no good as you are dragged into the night.  The grand driveway is lit like a stage awaiting players, lamps and towers beaming over the pavement.  The gate opens to the street beyond.  It is pitch black.  There are no other houses on this hillside, the estate sprawling across its expanse, so there are no streetlights.  A black car is parked on the curb.  It feels like a chariot to the underworld, black and swallowed by shadow.  You are as good as dead.  Felix might be truly dead. 

You struggle some more but you are in so much pain.  Your father is shouting directions at the guard and it splits his attention.  His grip loosens and you successfully break free. 

You do not hesitate.  You run into the street, straight through the pitch black.  If you run far enough, you will eventually reach a proper street leading into the city.  You do not even care which direction you go.  You just run, ignoring the screaming pain in your muscles as your feet hit the pavement.

A gunshot pierces the quiet night.  You stumble to a stop, throwing your hand up over your heart.  You touch your chest, expecting to find a bloody wound.  But there is nothing, not a single drop.   You were not shot. 

You spin around and watch the guard fall to the ground, a bullet in his head.  Your father turns too, holding his own gun at the approaching figure. 

Your knees almost buckle as relief washes over you, Felix storming down the driveway with a gun of his own raised at your father.  Felix is badly wounded, but even at his worst he is a far better shot than your father.  They both know it too, staring each other down as Felix gets closer and closer. 

“Stop where you are!” your father screams, his voice breaking. 

Felix ignores him, gun still raised.  Your father fires a shot that goes wide.  Felix does not even blink as it ricochets off a wall.  He walks calmly to the sidewalk where your father stands.  He does not smirk or gloat.  He just looks at the frightened man who terrorized the world to make himself feel better, and he lines up a shot. 

Felix pulls the trigger. 

Nothing happens. 

His brow furrows before his face twists with fury.  The gun has jammed or it’s out of bullets, but either way it is useless.  He lowers his arm, the gun dangling from his hand as he stares at your father.

Your father just laughs, a ridiculous and semi-hysterical laugh as he stumbles back but never lowers the gun.  Felix is much closer now.   Even your father could not miss this shot.   

Felix drops his gun and smiles weakly. 

“She’s funny, you know,” Felix says.  “And smarter than anyone I know.  She picks up on things everyone else misses.  It’s too bad you can’t see it.  But then, you’re not like her.” 

“Shut up,” your father snaps.  “You have exceeded your uses, boy.” 

You realize you are running.  Even before the conscious thought reaches your mind, your body spurs you into action.  Instinct commandeers control and you hand yourself over to it.   Felix looks up just as you emerge from the dark.  He sees your face for a split second, enough time for him to realize what you are doing and shout, “Stop!”

Your father’s finger is already on the trigger.  A shot rings out and this time it does hit you, sharp and searing as you dive in front of Felix. 

The gun hits the ground.  Your father looks at you with petrified eyes.  Felix catches you, supporting your weight as he sinks to his knees with you in his arms. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, touching your face, your neck, your chest.  “Sweetheart, look at me.  Stay with me.” 

The pain is excruciating, like nothing you have ever felt before.  You cannot even tell where it is coming from.  It feels like your neck and shoulder and heart all at once.  It radiates and burns.  The pain is so overwhelming that you do not notice the wet, tacky feeling of blood.  You see it before you feel it, all over Felix’s fingers as he finds the bullet wound in your shoulder. 

“It’s okay,” he says, barely more than a gasp.  His chest is rising and falling rapidly.  You scream in agony when he grabs your shoulder and squeezes it hard in his fist.  “I know, I know,” he says.  “It exited clean.  There’s nothing vital there.  You’ll be okay, sweetheart, I got you.  I just have to staunch the blood.  We just have to—”  His voice breaks on a sob and he looks up at your father, his hand covered in your blood and his rage as red on his face.  “We have to get her help.  Now.”  

Your father’s response is to pick up the gun.  He nearly drops it, his shaking hands clammy, but he gets an unsteady grip eventually.  He points it at Felix again.  

“Are you fucking serious?”  Felix shouts in aggravation.  “Your daughter is going to bleed to death if you don’t do something.  Put the fucking gun down!”

“Get away from her,” your father says.  “Get away from her and put your hands up.  I’ll get her help.” 

“No,” you say, shaking your head then crying when pain lances down your neck.  “No, Felix. Don’t.” 

Your father will not take another shot at Felix, not with you in his arms.  Your father might want to control you, but he does not want you dead.  You are the only thing that is protecting Felix now.  If he moves, he dies. 

“Don’t go,” you beg.  “Felix, please.”

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart,” Felix says.  He looks up at your father, venom in his voice as he asks, “Are you really going to stand there and let your daughter die?” 

“Are you going sit there and let her die?” your father retorts.  “Get away from her and I will save her.” 

You feel Felix twitch. He presses his fingers a little harder, stopping a rush of blood.  It makes you weep and you plead, “Felix no.  Please.  I can’t watch that.  I’d rather it end like this.”

“Don’t say that.”  Felix looks down at you.  His bloody hand is shaking, tears spilling down his cheeks as he looks at you.  “Nothing’s ending.  You’re gonna be fine.” 

“It never ends,” your father babbles.  He almost drops the gun when he trips over the lip of the sidewalk, stumbling backwards into the street as he stares at you.  You stare back, wondering if it is your blurry vision or if he is really crying.  All you can see is him wiping his face, the gun trembling in his hand.  “It just keeps going,” he says.  “Only I can end it.” 

He is taking aim again.  You cannot tell if he is aiming for you or Felix, maybe some half-baked delirious plan in his twisted mind to put you out of your misery and take Felix with you. 

Felix does not have time to attack.  He can only curl his body around yours to protect you from the shot. 

Then a beam of light shatters the dark.  It flies up the street, illuminating your father.  He looks in that direction.  Everyone is drowning in their sobs and it is all so loud that it takes a second to hear it: the heavy, growling drone of a speeding car, hurtling ever closer.  The white of a high-beam headlight blinds your father with lightning hot intensity. 

It is the last thing he ever sees. 

Felix is as startled as you.  You both cry out in horrified shock.  He blocks your body to shield you from the sudden and unexpected gore.  Noiseless convulsions tremble through your whole body as you stare up at Felix, not understanding what just happened. 

You both look over as the car rapidly reverses, disappearing just as quickly as it came.  In its wake is your father, or what remains of him.   

Just like that, the whole world tilts on its axis.

You cannot comprehend what you are seeing.  This man was a towering, nightmarish monstrosity, bigger than life and death, holding the world in his fist.  Even he desperately believed in his own mythology.  It seems impossible that he could be that nightmare but also be this, a broken and very human body, muscle and gristle and protruding bone, half flattened to the tarmac.  A sudden and entirely undignified death, comically animal, and as lowly as everything he ever disparaged.   

You and Felix stare at him, at the mess of his ruined dead body on the dark street.  It is so, so quiet.  The house is so still.  The street is empty.  You can hear the soft buzz of the floodlights. 

You make a hurt noise.  Felix looks down with a perplexed shake of his head.  But he only has a moment to mind you, his mouth open with some unspoken thought, when you hear the car again. 

You both look over, your heart racing and your blood spilling over his hand.  He is wearing his most determined face, braced to face an adversary. 

You do not know who to anticipate.  It makes no sense for Miroh to be here.  He would not have known anything unusual was transpiring at this house tonight.  How could he know to send someone?  Yet it is the only thing that makes sense.  The only person who could have taken down someone like your father would be someone just like him. 

You are braced for the worst when the car comes to a stop.  The dead body looks more grotesque as the headlights flash over it. 

The driver does not turn off the engine.  You hear the patter of frantic footsteps before the silhouette is illuminated by the car lights.  Wide eyes meet yours and your heart stutters.  Your tears are halted by the face staring back at you. 

“Oh my god,” Jisung says.  “That was the bad guy, right?” 

Felix reacts first, a bark of laughter made in disbelief as he stares at your startled best friend. 

Han Jisung is both the same and different, with a flop of dark hair and big brown eyes, but years have passed, leaving him bulkier and more mature.  He pushes a pair of glasses up his nose, the wide frames only exaggerating his eyes, making it very easy to hold his gaze when he looks at you. 

“Jisung,” you say, and start crying all over again.  “Jisung.”  You cannot seem to find another word.  You just gasp his name between sobs.

Jisung practically flies towards you, landing on his knees. 

“Hey, stranger,” he says, carefully touching your cheek.  “You’ve looked better, I’m not gonna lie.” 

You laugh even though it hurts, reaching for him with a shaking hand.  He takes it despite it being sticky with blood, cupping it safely in his own. 

“You’re here,” you say.  “How? Why?” 

“Of course I’m here,” he replies in a soft voice.  “I got in my car as soon as I saw that goodbye message.”  He gently squeezes your hand.  “You didn’t think I’d let you get away twice, did you?”        

Your laugh is more of a sob, in too much pain to truly smile.  Felix asks Jisung to help, showing him where to apply pressure.  Jisung complies, holding you while Felix tugs off his shirt.  It leaves him in a tank top, all his scars and bruises on display.  You want to fuss over him too but he gives you no opportunity to linger, using his shirt as a makeshift tourniquet for your wound. 

“So your boyfriend is Felix,” Jisung says while he works.  “That’s great. I was rooting for you two crazy kids.  Felix had a pretty obvious crush on you in high school.  I didn’t say anything because you kinda seemed to hate his guts but I guess that’s not true anymore.  You had some bigger bastards to hate.  Speaking of, that was your dad I got right?  I mean, I didn’t even think, I just saw him waving that gun around and I hit the pedal.  Next thing I knew—ohhh shit, Felix, you’re really strong, what the fuck, man.  Have you been working out—” 

Felix scoops you into his arms and stands.  His usual unwavering strength falters just a little, his injuries protesting his action.  You tell him to put you down because it will do no good for you both to collapse.  Jisung stands and helps steady you.  They both lay a hand on your back, taking some of your weight as your feet touch the ground and you wobble. 

“That’s my girl,” Jisung says.  “Oh man, that’s a lot of blood, ha ha ha – AHH.  No, it’s fine, we’re okay.  Careful—”

“Jisung,” Felix says, looking past you to meet his eye.  “Are you okay?”

A more than fair question considering how fast everything just happened.  Jisung stops rambling and takes a few deep breaths before he answers. 

“Okay, yeah,” he says.  “Totally fine.  For now.” 

“Okay,” Felix says.  “Because I need you to take her while I—”

Your ignore their conversation.  Your eyes are on your father.  You cannot even call it his body; it is a carcass.  His lower half is gored but his face is mostly whole.  You half-expect his mouth to open with a wailing shout.   You are so distracted with the thought, you misstep and your weak ankles give out.  You are spared a kiss with the pavement when Jisung catches you.  It is a haphazard embrace, throwing his arms around you to keep you upright. 

“Can you take care of her until I get back?”  Felix asks. 

“Uh-huh. Yes,” Jisung says.  He puts his growing bulk to use and lifts you into his arms, bridal style.  You cannot move your shoulder to lift your arms around him, but you rest your head in the curve of his neck as he carries you to his car. 

His car.  Hysterical giggles bubble inside you, quashed only by the physical ache of your body.  Han Jisung really raced back into your life and annihilated the worst of your demons by driving right at him.  

Years of nightmares and beatings and pain.  Years of your father lording his power over you and the world.  Years of believing he was terrifying and untouchable.  

Jisung always said it was that easy.  He was just a teenager, lookingat the impossible powers that surrounded his friend but believing whole-heartedly he could save her anyway.  You argued and pushed him away, but he knew better all along.  Jisung was not cowed by money and influence, not impressed or frightened by men like your father who ravaged the world and gloated about it.  Jisung had no power or influence of his own but that didn’t matter.  He saw his friend was in a bad situation and he wanted to save you.   So he did. 

He carefully rests you in the passenger seat.  In the time it takes him to circle to the driver’s side, you break down crying.  The pain exacerbates it, your body seeking release, but it is sentiment that pours out of your heart. 

Jisung gets in, looking very startled.  He adjusts his glasses. 

“Did it get worse?” he asks, reaching for you with a bloody hand.  You look at it, you look at him, very literally stained with blood on your behalf.  He is staying composed but you can see the jitters under his skin.  He just killed someone for you.  It might have been a panicked, spur of the moment decision, but the end result was the same.  Even though your father was not a good man, taking a life is a serious burden. 

And here he is, placing that weight aside so he can check on you. 

“Jisung,” you say.  You wish your hands were not so dirty because you want to touch his face or hold his hand.  You satisfy yourself with leaning towards him, touching your forehead to his cheek as you cry. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Jisung says.  He shifts so your foreheads are touching, his clean hand cupping your cheek.  “I got you, okay?  It’s over now.  Felix is gonna take care of it and I’m gonna take care of you.  It’ll be okay.  Don’t be scared, all right?”

“I’m not,” you say.  “What did I do to deserve you?”

“You’re my friend,” Jisung says.  “You don’t have to do anything to deserve it, okay?  Look.  I know what will make you feel better.”  He reaches past you into the glove compartment.  You have no idea what he could possibly have in there that will make you feel better while bleeding out of a bullet wound in the passenger seat of his car, the same car he used to murder your abusive father. 

He fishes around then pulls out a bag of spicy peanuts, the same flavour you used to eat all the time in high school.  Even though he was allergic, he bought them whenever he found them, just because he knew you liked them. 

You take them slowly, staring at the familiar packaging.  You sniffle.    

“It was always going to be you, wasn’t it?” you say softly.  You could cry all over again.   “You really came back.”

Of course Jisung saved you.  You realize now your father could never be bested by Miroh or someone like him.  They would be locked in a perpetual stalemate, predicting each other’s every step, giving and taking and killing in a circle of violence with no end.  But Jisung is not like them. 

Whether the gesture was big or small, whether it was peanuts or a rescue, it was selfless, and someone like your father would never understand that.  He never saw it coming. 

“Well, yeah,” Jisung says.  “My promise was forever, remember?”

You can only nod, bumping your heads together.  Jisung wraps you in a hug then kisses your forehead before buckling in and taking the steering wheel. 

“All right,” he says.  “We can catch up after.  Let’s get away from this place.  It’s giving me the creeps.” 

-

It is strange looking at your house on a news report.  It makes you feel like you are watching someone else’s life. 

You are stitched and showered, sitting on the floor of a twin bed motel room.  You are still damp from the shower but each little trickle feels like blood, your jittery fingers constantly swiping at your skin. 

Jisung sits behind you on the bed, his legs bracketing you, double checking your stitches.  Felix said it was paramount to avoid a hospital or any other institution that would identify you.  He told Jisung to book a room at a motel on the highway and wait for him, that he would stitch you up himself when he arrived.  Jisung took the initiative, boasting some first aid training for his job at the grocery store. 

“Usually I’m putting bandages on a cut finger,” Jisung said, hands covered in blood as he fixed your wound, “but this is, uh, similar I guess.  Sort of.” 

Felix arrived while you were in the shower.  Now he is in there, cleaning himself and minding his own injuries while you and Jisung watch the evening news report.   The blinds are closed, rain pelting the canopy over the balcony, but you are tucked away from the storm, hidden from the world as it mourns you. 

“A devastating house fire is believed to have left no survivors on the premises,” the reporter says, backdropped with a video of an inferno ravaging your father’s house.  “Police are still investigating, but among the suspected dead is a prominent local businessman and his daughter.”  They show a portrait of your father and an old yearbook photo of you.   That girl looks nothing like the battered woman you are now.  You really do feel like you are watching someone’s else story end.

“Wow,” Jisung says, watching too.  “How does it feel to be dead?”

You rest your head against his knee, sighing as you stare at the television. 

“I’m not dead,” you say, staring at the photo of you.  That girl might be dead, but you are very alive. 

Felix accidentally swings the bathroom door too hard, the thud like a gunshot in your mind.  You jump a mile out of your skin, digging your nails into Jisung’s leg unthinkingly. 

“Ah ah ah ah—”  Jisung grabs your wrist to pry you off. 

“Sorry,” Felix says, truly apologetic.  He closes the door with a gentle click then approaches.  He sits beside Jisung on the bed, laying his hand on your head and looking you over.  “How are you?” Felix asks.   He pays no mind to the news report but that is likely because he is responsible for the story they are broadcasting.  You know Felix would tell you every detail if you asked, but you decide you do not want to know how he moved the bodies around.  It is enough to see the walls of that place burning. 

He packed a few things first.  A stuffed duffel bag sits on the other bed.  Perhaps it should feel daunting, that all you have left is a single bag of necessities, but it feels freeing.  You are not burdened by the weight of more.  Your hands might be shaking and you might be hurt in more ways than one, but you can exhale. 

You take Felix’s hands and kiss his scraped knuckles.

“I’m fine,” you say.  “What about you?”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he says.  He looks more tired than you have ever seen him, but he manages a laugh when you pout at him.  “Don’t do that,” he says, flicking your bottom lip.  “Just some bad bruises, yeah?  I’ll be fine.” 

You know he is not fine but you respect his desire for peace.  You can check his injuries later when he has settled. 

“Well then, what about you, Jisungie?” you ask.  You turn around to face him.  “How are you?”

“Uh, honestly…”  Jisung rakes his fingers through his hair then exhales on a shaky laugh.  “I’ll let you know when I know.  It’s all a bit—uh—”  

“Yeah,” you say, taking his hand.  “I know.” 

You suspect there will be no proper words for a while.  You cannot even think of recovery while your wounds throb.  There are still gunshots firing in your mind.  When you close your eyes, you see a body on the pavement.  You expect a knock at the door and a gun in your face, even though there is no reason for that.  Miroh is probably sitting back and laughing at the detonation of your father’s house.  Your father’s people and investors will scramble over the company tomorrow.  That world will turn without you.  You will not miss it.    

You struggle to sleep that night.  You lay on your back to mind your shoulder but that is not your only grievance.  Felix lays beside you where he belongs and Jisung is in the other bed, so you are not alone anymore, but your adrenaline will not dwindle.  Now that you have a moment of peace, it feels more chaotic than ever. 

When you start breathing harder, Felix wraps an arm around you. 

“Sweetheart,” he whispers.  He does not ask what is wrong.  It is more than self-explanatory.  You do not need to speak. 

You want to roll over and bury your face in his neck, but you cannot move because of your shoulder.  You suffice to hold his arm tight, closing your eyes as his protective embrace surrounds you.  His heart beats against your body and you let it lull you into a gentle repose. 

You do not sleep for long.  There is morning light when you wake but it is a bleary, early grey light.  Everything smells a little damp from the rain.  This is a small motel, meant to serve as a momentary respite for passing travellers.  You cannot stay here. 

Felix wakes when you do.  After a few morning kisses, he rises to use the washroom.  Jisung is still fast asleep in his bed, his cheek squished and his hair a shaggy mess on the pillow.   You smile, looking at him.  There is a gap between the beds but he is close enough to touch if you stretch.  You content yourself with looking, thinking about how lucky you are to have him again.  It is a light and happy thought, but it darkens very swiftly when you recall what he did to save you.  It is going to weigh on him, whether all at once or in pieces. 

The weight of trauma will be a heavy burden, but you are alive to carry it.  There are others who are less lucky.  You think about Hyunjin and your heart strains, recalling his final miserable departure.  Your father implied he had Hyunjin killed.  If he was not bluffing to antagonize you, then Hyunjin did not stand a chance.    

You are sniffling with tears when Jisung blinks awake.  He mutters in groggy gibberish before reaching for his glasses.    His tired voice is tinged with concern when he asks, “What is it?  Do you need something?” 

“No,” you say, wiping your tears.  “I was just thinking I know where I want to go next.” 

It is hard to talk about Hyunjin so you opt for vagueness over specificity.  The boys do not question the subject of the cabin when you mention his name.  You do not tell them he might be dead.  You feel like if you speak it out loud, it will make it true. 

It will take a week to reach the cabin by car.  Jisung helps you loads the necessities into the back a truck that Felix procured, only questioning its seeming manifestation after the fact. 

“I stole it,” Felix answers. 

“You stole a car?” Jisung asks.  It is a good thing the motel parking lot is empty because he practically shouts it, like stealing a car is the most horrifying thing he has ever heard.  You remember how you had the same reaction the first time Felix stole a vehicle. 

It makes you laugh when Felix draws his lips into a thin line, shaking his head at Jisung.  He turns to you and says, “You two really are identical, you know?”  

“What does that mean?”  Jisung asks. 

“I said the same thing the last time he stole a car,” you say.

“Dude!”  Jisung whips around.  “You stole two cars?”

“You know I’ve killed people, right?” Felix says dryly. 

“Well yeah, I mean, who hasn’t,” Jisung says with a nervous giggle. 

You whack him on the arm and shake your head.   “That’s not funny,” you say. 

“It’s a little funny,” he whispers while you roll your eyes. 

Though you want to keep him at your side, it feels selfish to ask Jisung to come with you.  He has a life here and he has already done so much to help you.  But he surprises you by emphatically volunteering himself, saying he at least wants to help get you there. 

“I don’t think I could just walk back into my normal life tomorrow like nothing happened,” Jisung says, tucking you under one arm.  “I don’t know what’s gonna happen next.  Can’t control it.  But I know where I want to be right now.  I’ll figure out the rest after.” 

So you take to the road, your destination a small cabin far away from your old life.  You stop along the way, at first for food and other necessities, mostly stolen by Felix, but then for pleasure when you drive through towns with interesting landmarks.   On the clearer nights, you sleep in the bed of the truck. 

You still do not stop for a real discussion.  You indulge the mental break while you can, all three of you taking the time to literally stop and smell the flowers on the journey. 

Bandages still need changing.  Stitches need minding.  The night before your anticipated arrival, you are in another motel room.  You and Felix sit in the small kitchenette, playing cards at the tiny table, while Jisung showers and goes about his nightly routine. 

You throw down a couple cards.  You look at Felix while he studies his hand.  The swelling on his face has gone down which is good for numerous reasons.  He has been wearing a baseball cap everywhere, the brim pulled low, to stop people from staring. 

There is a hard set to his shoulders.  It has been like that for a few days.  Even in your father’s house, there were moments Felix would soften, namely when he was curled up in your shared bed and the world seemed far away.  Maybe he cannot relax because the world is so immediate now.  It is strange that potential happiness can cause as much anxiety as its opposite.  Perhaps it is because it is so unfamiliar.  Your body only knows how to brace itself. 

Felix was raised for that express purpose.  Road trips and gardens and motel rooms was not in his training.  High school corridors and uniforms once baffled him, the mundanity of everyday life more exhilarating and frightening than a battlefield. 

You want to smooth his brow and soften his shoulders.  He sits like he is holding a breath and you want to draw it out of him.  A part of your stirs with arousal at the consideration, thinking how you could do that.  You have always found your humanity in that intimate space.  But you are both much too injured to try anything heavier than a kiss right now. 

This time, you reach across the table and touch his cheek, with no intention but a soft caress.  He blinks up at you, the cards forgotten.  You do not know what to say.  You just touch him.

He cups his hand over yours, holding it to his cheek.  He looks at your shoulder and other bruises.  It will take you a long time to heal, but nothing is infected.  You do not know how his injuries are faring because he will not let anyone look at them.  He claims he is fine.  You know he is not. 

“I love you,” you say.  “I swear it gets stronger every day.  Is that crazy?  Not a day goes by where I am not grateful for you, just as you are.”

He closes his eyes and swallows.  He nods. 

“I love you too,” he says in a soft, low voice. 

When Jisung leaves to get some dinner, Felix proves you wrong about lovemaking.  You are too injured for anything vigorous, but he can still lay you down, can still stretch alongside you.  He slips his hand beneath your waistband and touches you with long, careful strokes.   You unravel in his arms, your sore spots aching but the pain worth the pleasure.  You wrap a hand around the back of his neck and tug him down for a kiss.  You kiss him until he sighs and rests his forehead to yours. 

“Can I please see?” you ask. 

He finally acquiesces.  His scars are not too bad, more plentiful than painful.  He hisses but exhales when you kiss your way across a couple worse marks. 

“We’ll find a way to feel better,” you say, grazing your fingertips along his skin.  You recall what Jisung said, about how you did not have to deserve love, you just had to accept it.  “You don’t need to prove yourself anymore, Felix,” you say.  You dance your fingers down his bare chest to his waistband, kissing his shoulder as he sucks in a breath.  “Just be with me.  Let me love you.” 

“Always,” he says, dropping his head back as you touch him.  He cups the nape of your neck, squeezing lightly as you flick your wrist and stroke. 

You reach the cabin the next day.  It is late afternoon when you find the right place, passing a few other cabins before you find a quaint but charming one in the midst of a meadow.   The cabin itself does not flaunt much excess, but the meadow is flooded with flowers, a carpet of colour in the late afternoon light that makes it look like a something out of a fairy tale. 

The only problem is the smoke in the chimney.  The cabin is clearly occupied. 

“Is this the right place?”  Felix asks.  He and Jisung were admiring the meadow while you stared at the cabin, heart palpitating when you realized it was not empty. 

“It is,” you say. 

“Maybe it’s Hyunjin,” Jisung says. 

“It’s not.”  You close your eyes.  Hyunjin did not say anything about selling the property when you brought it up.  But, then again, there was a lot happening in that final exchange.  You made him promise he would try to get away if he could, but it might have been an empty platitude.  He knew he was going to die.  He knew you would never find out anyway. 

The distractions of the past week flutter into nothingness as you reckon with the grim reality of the world your father left behind.  You hang your head, swallowing hard. 

Jisung and Felix stare at you, their faces falling when they realize what you mean. 

“How?” Jisung asks. 

“My father chased him down,” you say.  “He used him.  He discarded him.  It’s what he does.” 

“What he did,” Jisung reminds you.  “And maybe Hyunjin got away.  We did!  That stupid hot weasel was a bitch but he was resourceful as fuck.” 

“Jisuuung,” you say, smacking his arm.

“What? I’m not speaking ill of the dead because he’s not dead,” Jisung argues.  “And if he was, he wouldn’t want me to suddenly be all fake and nice to him.   I annoy him.  That’s how I show my love.”  He kisses two fingers and waves it at the sky, then flips his middle finger too.  You laugh in spite of yourself, shaking your head.

Felix steps behind you and takes your hand.  He kisses your cheek. A breeze blows through his hair, his hat in his other hand. The three of you stand in the meadow for a time, looking at the flowers as you contemplate what to do next. 

The front door of the cabin opens.  You all turn.   An apology sits on your tongue, sorry for trespassing on someone else’s property.  The sight of you is no doubt disconcerting. Despite showers and meticulous first aid, you all look very rough, three obviously tired and run down people, a little dusty from the road and streaked with dirt from your hike to the cabin. 

You look at the person as they stand on the front stoop.  Your brow furrows and the apology disintegrates on your tongue, a bemused question poised to take it’s place.

“Minho?” is all you manage. 

You have not seen your first teenage crush in many, many years.  He looks older but not too different overall.  He is still very striking, even in his homey flannel and jeans, standing on the cabin stoop and looking at you with equal confusion. 

“Do I know you?” he asks, which makes sense.  You might have had a crush on him, but so did half the school.  He was a popular guy.  He knew Hyunjin but he only met you briefly. 

You want to tell him that.  You want to say you are friends with Hyunjin but you find it hard to say his name, especially with Minho gazing at you so innocently.  Why is he at the cabin?  Was he still friends with Hyunjin?  He likely does not know he is dead. 

You are spared your turmoil when Felix tugs on your arm, a sharp bid for attention.  You look at him, bemused, and he nods his head forward.  You look past Minho to the open cabin door as another figure steps into view. 

All that twisted pain unspools in your chest.  You nearly start sobbing in relief.

“Hyunjin!”  You ignore the surprised look on Minho’s face and run right past him.

Hyunjin is standing in the doorway, looking wary until he recognizes you.  Then his face breaks into a smile and those long limbs jump the porch steps.  You trample a few flowers that have grown over the path, meeting in an embrace amidst sprigs of lavender and vibrant hyacinths.   It is a very messy embrace, you and Hyunjin both forgetting you are injured.  You crash together only to yelp, your shoulder smarting and his bruised chest just as tender.  You laugh at each other then hug gently.  When your cheek touches his chest, your eyes water. 

“Am I dead after all?” you ask thoughtlessly, the beauty of the terrain and the embrace of your friend momentarily making you think so.    

Hyunjin laughs and shakes his head.  “I thought you were,” he says.  “It was all over the news.  I thought for sure—”

“I thought for sure you—”  You overlap with him, both of you laughing again.  “How did you get away?” 

“Nothing special,” Hyunjin says.  “I was being watched but they were waiting for final orders from your father.  Then word got out that he was dead so they just left.  I don’t know if they went to investigate or just abandoned post.  I didn’t stick around to find out. I packed my things and disappeared the first chance I got.” 

“We made a few stops on the journey over,” you say.  “I’m not surprised you beat us.” 

“I really thought you were—”  Hyunjin shakes his head.  “And that it was my—”

“It wouldn’t have been your fault anyway,” you say. 

“That’s what I told him,” Minho interrupts, his tone quippy but his lips quirked up in a smile.  He wiggles his fingers in a wave when you look at him.  “So you’re the friend,” he says.  “Nice to meet you.”

“I’m the friend’s friend,” Jisung says, skipping into the scene and waving at Hyunjin.  “Hey, man.  Missed me?” 

He is being playful but Hyunjin pulls him into a hug, very obviously surprising Jisung who almost falls right over.  Poor Jisung’s face goes red as a rose.  You remember his video about having a crush on his high school rival and can’t help but giggle into your palms. 

Felix puts a hand on your shoulder, smiling cordially at Minho.  “Hi,” he says. 

“This is Felix, my—”  You look at each other.  You lips move as you look for the right word.  Bodyguard is not strictly true anymore.  Boyfriend and partner sound so very mundane, but you realize that is what you are now.  “Boyfriend,” you say, feeling hot with embarrassment for no good reason.  You suspect the little things will have you flustered for some time. 

“Boyfriend,” Felix repeats, looking quite delighted for a second.  You are certain only you see the flicker of sadness that follows.  He blinks, his gaze faraway, but he covers it with another smile quickly enough.  “Nice to meet you,” he says. 

“I guess I’ll have to make a bigger dinner,” Minho says, playfully dry like the idea is a hardship, but smiling a knowing smile at Hyunjin, clearly very happy for him.  “Come on then.  Get inside already.  You’re crushing the tulips.” 

The cabin is one floor with a loft.  The main bedroom, kitchen and facilities are downstairs, some extra makeshift bedding thrown together in the small sitting area by the fireplace.  The upstairs loft is a small second bedroom, sparsely furnished with a mattress and blankets and little else.  The ceilings are low but the space is blessedly private.  You think it is some of the finest accommodations you have ever stayed in.   

You throw yourself on the mattress, curling up with a pillow and blanket.  Felix smiles and leans down to kiss the top of your head.  When he pulls away, you take his hand, regarding him imploringly. 

“Just gonna take a shower,” he says.  “Wanna clean up, yeah.”

You nod.  Even though you can see he is struggling with something, you let him go.  If he is not in the mood to talk, you will wait.  A shower will help him feel better.

He takes his bag and climbs back down the ladder.  You mean to wait for his return, but you feel such calm at finally reaching your destination.  The laughing voices of your friends float up to the loft, putting you even more at ease.  You release a breath and lay your head on a pillow.  The next thing you know, you are blinking awake.  The sky is a purpling pink, the day drawing to a close.  You can smell something cooking downstairs.  Your friends are still yammering away.  Hyunjin’s relentless giggles at Jisung’s goofy jokes makes you smile. 

You climb down the ladder and wander into the main room.  Felix was not upstairs but he is not with the others either.  He must have finished his shower a long time ago now. 

“Where’s Felix?” you ask, an edge of panic in your voice. 

“He’s just outside,” Minho says from behind the kitchen counter.  “He said he just wanted some air.”

“Oh,” you say, feeling a little foolish for panicking without reason.  “Right. Thank you.”

“Don’t worry,” Minho says, winking to comfort you.  You smile but nonetheless wrap your cardigan tighter around you, feeling a little embarrassed. 

Felix has been glued to your side for ten years.  Your instinct now panics in his absence, but you realize his absence is a good thing.  He does not need to be beside you at all times.  He is free to wander if that is what he wants.  You are glad he stepped outside for some air, rather than sitting over you. 

You step onto the small porch and look across the meadow.  You can see a shape sitting among the flowers at the edge of the field, looking down the slope to the park valley below.  You cross the flowers, minding where you step.  The breeze parts your cardigan and you tug it closed.  It is a somewhat clumsy walk overall.  Your last few steps are a proper stumble over a rock.  You miss it completely, distracted with what you find. 

Felix sits with his back to you.  You thought he was wearing a hat, but now you can see it is his hair.  He dyed it a shock of pitch black and trimmed the edges.  It is a messy, jagged cut that you will certainly have to fix later.  You suspect he did not spend much time looking in the mirror. 

“What’s this?” you ask.  “Is this why you wanted to stop at that drug store?”

Felix looks up at you.  The dark hair somehow makes his freckles stand out more.  He looks different but still very handsome.  You think you might be falling in love all over again, a little flushed inside as you sit beside him on the grass. 

“Yeah,” he says.  He runs his fingers through his hair, glancing up at the dark locks from beneath his lashes.  He sighs.  “And I don’t know why.  I just…” 

You put your arm around him, drawing him close to rest his head on your good shoulder.  He falls against you, breathing out again.  His shoulders droop, losing some of the tension that has plagued him. 

“I don’t know what to do now,” he says.  “I know this is all good, but I feel like I’ve done something wrong.  Like I’m not supposed to be here.  And I keep thinking about Chris.  How I—”  He rubs his face, then chokes tears.  “What am I supposed to do with all this life, especially when I couldn’t give him back his?” 

He cries properly now and you let him.  There is no right thing to say, not that you can think of, so you just hold him until he has expended the worst of his pain through his tears.  He takes a few shaking breaths before he sits upright, wiping his face.  You rub a circle on his back. 

“And you,” he whispers.  “It’s like, I feel everything all at once.  You call me your boyfriend and I’m happy, then I see you hugging Hyunjin and I think—he knows how to be a person.  I don’t know how to be anything.”

“Felix, you know Hyunjin is gay, right?” you ask.  You guarded that secret before but seeing as Minho is here at the cabin, you suspect Hyunjin is not keeping it secret anymore. 

Felix stutters on a shaking breath, looking momentarily confused. 

“Huh?  He is?” he asks, then gets a little weepy again, saying, “That’s nice for him.”

“Oh, baby,” you say.  You kiss his cheek and snuggle close to him, resting your head on his shoulder.  “I don’t know what to say.  I’m a mess too.  I don’t know how to do any of this right.  But I’m pretty sure grieving your friend makes you more of a person, not less.”  You look at each other.  You touch his cheek and stroke a thumb over his freckles.  You think you have them mapped by memory, every last dot.  “You’re not alone,” you say.  “I want to be with you when things are bad, not just when they’re good.  And you and me, we’ve known a lot of bad.” 

He laughs, his breath dancing over your lips with your proximity.  You smile fondly. 

“I think it’s time we feel some good,” you say.  “We’ll figure out what that means eventually.  Together.” 

He draws you close and kisses you, a sweet kiss that deepens.  You cuddle when the breeze blows a little harder, the evening chill creeping into the sunset.  Still, you do not move, sharing heat between you and sitting among the flowers until the pink has left the sky and a blue evening blurs into the purple wash. 

Minho sticks his head out the door to call you in for dinner.  You stand first and offer your hand.  Felix takes it, then kisses you one more time.  You walk back to the cabin, hand in hand.

Warmth wraps around you like a fuzzy blanket when you step inside from the cold.  Hyunjin and Jisung are playfully arguing at the table, Minho standing over them and yammering some nonsense back.  You and Felix smile at each other before joining them all at the table.  After he has served the portions, Minho sits as well. 

There is a moment of silence, everyone looking around the table at everyone else.  They all looked flushed with warmth and life, Hyunjin smiling and Jisung beaming at you.  Felix puts his hand on your knee under the table, squeezing softly.  You look at him with another smile, then a laugh, a sound of disbelief that resonates with everyone.  You are here, impossibly but truly.  You have no idea what happens now.   

“I’ll break the ice,” Jisung says.  “Because I have a confession, while we’re all here, and Hyunjin has his hot boyfriend cooking us a meal.  Hyunjin, my man, I’m sorry for being the dick of all dicks when we were in high school.”  Jisung lays a hand on his heart and dramatically makes his confession.  Hyunjin’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline as your goofy friend continues, “Turns out having an arch nemesis is super gay.  And I was a stupid repressed bisexual who thought furiously staring at you for seven hours a day was a totally normal thing to do.  Sorry, man.  Congrats on the hot boyfriend, though.” 

“I’m not his boyfriend,” Minho says.  His elbow is on the table, chin in his hand.  He is grinning at Jisung. 

“Come again?” Jisung says. 

“Not his boyfriend,” Minho says, laughing.  “I’m his friend.  He was in trouble and asked for my help.  I’m a good friend so here I am, helping him get settled.  I’m actually married.”  He holds up his hand, proudly displaying a wedding band.  He giggles some more.  “He’s single, though.”  He gestures to Hyunjin. 

Jisung looks at Hyunjin who has gone very pink in the face.  He glances at Jisung and laughs, covering his mouth to try and contain it. 

“Oh.  Oh.  Oh.  Yeah.  Cool.”  Jisung scratches the back of his neck, then his brow, then his chin.  He taps the table and nods his head rapidly.  “Awesome,” he says.  “Well, I’m really glad we clarified that before I made a really ridiculous confession in front of everyone.  That would have been super embarrassing for me.”

You all laugh, genuinely as Jisung soaks it in with a silly little grin.  The sound of your collective delight fills the cabin before chatter begins again and you start eating. 

You glance around the table while taking a bite.  Your shoulder aches, and Felix’s bruises are still healing, and you will not be surprised if a nightmare jolts one of you out of sleep tonight.  But you will wake beside Felix, you will comfort each other, and you will fall back asleep.  You will wake up tomorrow and try it all again. 

You know the times ahead will not always be easy.   You are ready to make mistakes and try.

It is not a perfect ending, but it is a perfect beginning.   

[megamindsupremacy]

So. ive been going through your billy batson tag bc im very normal and super hinged about this kid and you ARE right about Billy growing up the normal way and how that would effect him, but I need us all to consider the opposite: The Magic went "Ah, he's pure of heart bc he is but a lad", and not *letting* him grow up. Billy being immortal but stuck as a kid forever. The realization everyone is going to grow up w/o him. That he is *always* going to be a kid. That could be a very bad time too.

OH MY HEART. you're so right and i'm kissing you on the mouth. okay i need to marinate in this now stand by

so I think it's fairly accepted now that the Wizard chose Billy to be Shazam when he was so young because all of the previous Champions were adults, and that went Badly (see: Black Adam). So obviously, if the adults can do the whole superhero thing, then we should give the role to a kid. But then, to take it a step further: if the adults can't do the superhero thing, then we should make the next Champion stay a kid.

And like, it takes a hot minute for Billy to notice. Say he became CM at 8 - he doesn't know the average rate of growth for a boy. He just thinks he's not getting as tall as quickly as his peers. It's not like there's adult supervision around to go "hello small small child, why are you still small and a child?" I could see him going at least a few years before realizing there might be something wrong. Then it takes him a little bit to figure out what exactly is wrong, and then a little longer to be in denial, before he finally has to come to terms with, yeah, he really is 8 years old for the rest of forever.

I wonder how it affects him, mentally? Because you could go one of two ways: either he stays mentally an 8 year old forever and doesn't mature, although he gains knowledge and experience with time, or he does mentally mature and becomes an adult, just stuck in the body of a child.

For angst reasons, I like the second one, but realistically, the whole reason he's in this mess is because the Wizard wanted someone who was pure of heart to stay pure of heart. Why go through all the trouble to not let him physically age but allow his mind to change? So now we have an eternally "both mentally and physically a child" situation.

I feel like, when you're that young, you can't really... process how devastating that is? He's only a little kid - at that age, you can't even imagine turning 18 yet, much less living out the rest of your life as an adult. He doesn't know what he's lost. So instead of Billy angst, it's outsider POV angst. Everyone is growing old and watching Billy stay the same as always. I imagine he reveals his identity at some point, a while into being Captain Marvel, and they have a Twilight moment of "I'm 8" "....how long have you been 8?" ("no, but actually, we've known you for 12 years, you can't actually be 8. what do you mean 'a wizard did it'."). Everyone is just quietly mourning the person Billy could have become, had he not been chosen to be the Champion of Magic, meanwhile Billy is living out the eternal childhood dream of Superpowers + Adult Body w/o Adult Responsibilities. It's tragic in a way Billy can never comprehend because of what the wizard did to him.

Feel free to add onto this post!

[itsabouttimex2]

Hi there did they ever just consider putting a backpack leash on y/n in the Demon Child AU JTTW gang? Also did y/n ever kid kidnapped and held for ransom by many demons to try to get the monk by saying we'll let her go in Exchange for him( I also know he had alot of demon um demon suiters that instead of wanting to eat him apparently wanted marriage dam the monk got accidentally rizz)

Taken Aboard: Restraints

It’s not impossible that the gang would decide to to utilize some form of restraint after enough troublemaking by Y/N- in place of a leash, though, I imagine that Tang Sanzang would actually use a length of fabric to swaddle Y/N.

The event that caused him to decide you needed such extreme supervision?

(He was not happy.)

“Little demon,” he calls, looking down at you expectantly. “Hurry along now- you know what is expected of you before we enter a town.”

“…Master, this is embarrassing.”

“Please hurry, little one. We’ve so much to do, and I would like to get on with it right away.”

And after a little bit of huffing and puffing, you do as requested- and use the 72 Transformation to assume the form of a helpless babe, your mass-displaced form falling snug into his arms.

The Great Monk wraps you in a length of silk that he affixes around his torso and shoulders, leaving your now squishy body squashed against his soft chest.

Not only does this (frankly humiliating) transformation allow Sanzang to sneak you about without scaring any villagers, it also prevents you from running off to cause trouble.

Jokes on him, though- every last bachelorette from the village has one response to a very pretty man bundling around a cute baby:

As for getting kidnapped… yeah, the Journeyfam isn’t putting up with that shit. Not when their master gets snatched up every other day and nearly sautéed and stewed. I mean, operating on the thought that Y/N is very explicitly a demon- horns, fangs, tail, etc- the child has at least some means of self-defense.

If they do get snatched, I can’t imagine there’s a situation where Y/N doesn’t at least leave their assailant battered and scarred, which doesn’t help the demon when three angry demons and a furious dragon break down the door. And Tang Sanzang; to his credit, makes a fair effort to soothe his disciples and quell their fury… but it’s going to be much too late for anyone who decided to lay their hands on the honorary little sibling of all these furious souls.

Outside of kidnapping? I’d like to imagine that Y/N, as a child (potentially female, depending on you or your OC’s gender) in Medieval China, might be eyed up by more… unsavory individuals.

“How much?”

Sanzang turns to find the source of a casual voice, looking at a sweat-stained farmer leaning over a fresh chicken corpse. The laborer takes a moment to wipe his bloody hands, then folds his thick arms.

“How much for the kid? Seems strong, and has some muscle. I could use another pair of hands on the farm.”

And Sanzang is so genuinely appalled at the simple manner in which genuine slavery is being spoken of here, as though you are a commodity and not a thinking, breathing thing all your own. He offers no retort or reprimand, instead choosing to take you by the hand and hurry off into the crowd- not that Wukong won’t have a few “words” to share with the would-be purchaser.

But that’s not even the worst possible scenario for the gang to face-

No, the worst is proposed child marriage.

All it takes is one rich man/woman to decide that they want an “exotic” spouse, and that the little demon child with a pair of magical restraints is their “safest” way to get it.

I don’t even think Sanzang would have time to comprehend what his disciples were doing before it was over- he’s too busy reeling over being offered literal bricks of gold in return for an actual child.

And obviously his answer is a hundred firm “nos” and a dozen chants of “go to your nearest monastery and pray!”, each one delivered with increasing fervor…

Or, it would be- if his disciples hadn’t solved the matter themselves before he had regained the use of his tongue.

[thesassypadawan]

Christmas Cookies (Leo x WifeReader)

Summary:  After successfully putting down the kiddos for the night, you decide to use this quiet time to get some baking done.  Too bad your cookie loving husband insists on supervising and taste testing.  But he really can’t make a proper judgement call until he gets some milk to go with those Christmas cookies.

Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there’s sooo much of the smut.  One thirsty big chooch (lactation), lots of yummy cookies, some cheesy holiday music, making a mess on the counter (in your ‘slutty elf’ panties), hints of a dad bod, and… Leo’s big, fat dick.

Notes:  Happy Holidays, lovelies!  Welcome to track one of my special holiday mix, Christmas Cookies! (This wonderful, amazing request came from @gummifrogs! Thank you so much for letting me write this, I had so much fun!) ❤️💚

- “Oi, big chooch!  Get outta there!”  Jokingly you scold, playfully giving Leo a gentle whack on his knuckles.  On his cute bottom with the wooden spoon.  “Save some for the kids…me…the baby!”

- “Can’t help that they’re so good,” he chuckles between bites.  Big, childish grin on his face; frosting tinting his lips and tongue a faint green.  “Plus it’s those sympathy cravings, mio angelo.”  Boldly going for what has to easily be his twelfth cookie of the afternoon.  “Makes me want to gobble them all…oof!  Hey, watch that thing!”

- Expecting another little smack from the confectionary weapon, you catch him off guard instead with a bigger one from your own plump backside.  “Opps, sorry…”  Taunting, shaking it teasingly as you bend to pop another batch into the oven.  “…wide load coming through.”

- Not able to resist a perfect opportunity, he more than happily gets himself a generous handful.  Earning himself a small squeak in response.  “No complaints here.”  While also helping himself to that elusive Santa shaped cutout he had his eye on.  And a second, just to take make it an even baker’s dozen in his slightly soft stomach.  “Except there’s somethin’ missin’ that would make these taste so much better.”

- Knowing your husband all too well and exactly where this was heading towards.  You figure why not, wouldn’t hurt to have a bit of some jolly fun.  “Leo, I swear to all that’s holey.  If you say what I think you’re going to…”

- However your warning isn’t much of a threat, sort of lacks that certain bite necessary.  When you’re pushing up, grinding against…feeling his fat length harden and dig into your lower back.  Getting the next sheet prepared and ready to go…listening to his muffled grunts the entire time.

- Finished with his treat and, most likely, wanting to just cut to the chase.  He places a big hand on your shoulder, the other on your plush hip.  Slowly swaying you both to that familiar holiday tune, humming above you. “What?  I was only gonna say that they go so much better with some…milk.  Think ya could help me with that?”

- There it was…  “Milk, huh?”  Wiping your palms off on the nearby dishrag, nudging the tray off to the side…before you turn in his hold.  “Yeah, I might be able to spare some.”  Arms winding around his thick middle, as you press your engorged chest into him.  The damp, soaked fabric of your ‘borrowed’ shirt sticking to his.  “But you got fifteen thou-”

- “Deal…”  Not letting you finish and certainly not needing any further encouragement, he grabs your squishy globes.  Hoisting you onto the flour and sprinkle covered counter, like you weigh nothing.  “…ya sure it can only be-”

- “Fifteen…”  Reaching, you break a piece off from a recently iced one.  Pressing it to, slipping it past his lips.  “I don’t want the batch burning…don’t need you drinking all of the twins late night feeding.  Got it?”

- “Got it…”  Happily chewing away, he slots his larger frame between your legs.  Caging you in with a strong arm, leaning in close.  Peppering and smothering your cheeks, nose, forehead in loving kisses.  “Ya have my word…”

- “Promise…”  Lightly calloused fingertips smooth over, caress your adorable tummy.  Leaving behind powdery, white smudges and prints as they come to fiddle…tug at your hem.  Before lifting, pulling it off and up over your head.  Letting it drop carelessly to the tiled floor  “Little mama…”

- Warm palm cups and massages a heavy, tender breast.  Wet nipples pebble from the cool, hot air of your tiny kitchen.  Milk leaking, fat droplets trickling…coating Leo’s long digits.  While you coo, mewl softly…while his kisses trail lower and lower.  “Mmmh, heard that about a hundred times.”

- “Don’t know what ya talkin’ about,” Leo replies not so innocently.  Breath washing over, causing goosebumps to rise on your taut skin.  “All I’m hearin’ ya say is…”  Nose bumping, nudging…tongue swirling, lapping at your sore nub.  “…buon appetito.”

- Like a man parched, acting like he hasn’t had a drink in days…he eagerly latches on.  That all too familiar letdown feeling spreading through your bloated tit as he sucks hungrily.  Head titled to the side so sweetly, blissful look on his handsome face.  Your hand cradling, scratching the back lightly with your festive nails.  “Yeah, yeah…”

- It takes just a few pulls from his greedy mouth for that warm, tingling sensation to start growing.  Small gasp escaping you, low groan from him.  The kind that rumbles in his chest, into you…straight to your trembling, fluttering cunny. Rich cream filling, spreading across his tastebuds with each deep draw.  “Buon…”

- Head lulls back, soft pants fall from your lips.  Shivers and sparks of pleasure running rampant, erupting throughout your overly sensitive body.  From his fingers circling your other, neglected bud.  Teasing out a few milky beads that plop onto, roll down the swell of your bump.  “Appetito…”

- Each rhythmic pull and suckle pushes you closer to that orgasmic edge.  Floods your system with all those lovely endorphins.  That cloud and fog your hormone, addled brain.  Causes you to be hot and sticky in more ways than one.  Digits tangling in those short, dark locks…silently coaxing him on, to keep drinking.  “Amore mio…”

- And right as you’re about to reach that blinding apex.  Create a pretty mess on the counter and in those ‘slutty elf’ panties of yours.  Air fills with the timer’s happy beeps.  Your frustrated huffs from being left half full.  The wet pop when he releases your puffy, soggy nipple…

- “That’s it, sugar…out of time,” he mutters.  Gazing up at you with those sparkling blue eyes, mischievous glint sparkling in them.  Clearly enjoying, taking amusement from your flushed face and flustered expression.  “But I got an idea for ya.”

- Licking his lips, his digits clean.  “How about we pop another batch in the oven…”  Slowly, savoring…making sure to get every last drop.  “Get another fifteen for some kissin’ and a huggin’.”

- Shakily grabbing the prepped sheet next to, pushing it into his hands.  You let out an exasperated giggle, returning his naughty look.  “And that’s why you eat Christmas cookies all year long.”

Tag Lists: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @laylaplease, @kenobiskywalkerkestis, @loverforoldermen, @lunarnightt, @adorbzliz, @ahano, @kenmaiica, @freezerbride95,  @lunarnightt, @jediavengers, @anakinstwinklebunny, @anisangeldust, @xhunnybeeex, @abaker74, @ashleypalm23-blog, @dazednstars141, @roseannekunpmook, @thesmexymenace, @lotte08, @t03soup, @khoatic-with-no-energy, @starsoldier077, @adorbzliz, @dumb-slut-things, @nightwingtheslut, @blackstabbath6, @lisabang3184, @radiantvader, @ahano, @haydenlovers, @sfrassblog, @cjlovesreadingxx, @cutesykuromi, @byunnue, @bigwagonbananabat, @andromachet, @meldelrey-slay, @maryisalittlelambb ,@chrsitine, @theoriginalsinner28, @immakingjokessoidontdrown, @selkie072, @polly-xo, @aniisbae, @jualala, @your-average-fan-girl, @sammonroesslut, @anakinsversion, @jedaweda, @jazzshsworld, @mellowcreationobservation, @angelicodette, @ter-luer, @c0bra-bubbl3s, @lostboys1987girl, @violetiss3lfish, @jarofer, @exeisdeadlol, @deathst9rs,  @cocobear18, @emloveshs, @jennasco, @pumpkinspice166, @fallen--raven, @jewjewbee04, @xx-ttamaraa, @generalgalaxyfury, @harley-kalani

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[pretty-little-whorror]

Rough House - Ash Williams

AvED Ash smut bc i still need him. This ones been sitting in my drafts since December ish so i thought i would finish it.

wc: 4.1k

tags: older man/younger woman(age is never specified, written in mind with a 20-something), "outdoor" sex, kinda public sex, car sex but not like normal, almost getting caught, p in v sex, oral(fem receiving), light nipple play, unprotected sex, cream pie, light fighting, mentions toward canon style violence. not completely proof read I just searched for the underlined words.

Ash sat in the aged lawn chair, watching as you grumpily worked to wash the Deadite guts off of his car. He was rather pleased with himself, finding not only a way to pawn chores onto someone else, but to ogle at your figure as you bent over the hood of his car. As for you, the hot summer weather does nothing to ease your mood. You grabbed another sponge from the bucket while you silently cursed Kelly and Pablo for running off on a grocery run before you had the mind to. 

After finishing his beer with one long gulp, he crumpled it with his metal hand and tossed it somewhere behind him. Hearing the aluminum can hit the ground, your eyes met the sky impatiently. “Really?” You sighed, his behavior only adding to your aggravation. 

“Hm?” He hummed in response as he leaned over in his chair to grab another can from the cooler placed next to him.

“Seriously? You can’t even throw your own shit out?” You turned to him, a soapy hand resting on your hip. 

“Oh please, sugar, I hardly think it matters. I’ve done worse. Pick it up if it bothers you so much.” He shrugged, a careless grin plastered across his mug. The pop of the metal tab sounded deafening as he opened up his next beer. 

“I swear to God, Ash if you don’t pick up that fucking can, I’m gonna shove it so far up your ass you’re gonna be burping aluminum for the next week.” 

He raised his hands in mock surrender as he raised himself from the chair. “Easy there, darling, no need to get all worked up.” He walked back to where the can had landed. “I’ll pick up the ‘fucking can’” he mocked. You let out a sigh, deciding to ignore him for your own sake. You turned back to the car and used the sponge to push a chunk of what was maybe brain at one point onto the gravel. You winced as it landed with a heavy ‘splat’. 

“Oh, come on now sugar, a little manual labor never hurt no one. We’ll be finished in no time, then you can go get your beauty rest.” He said as he settled back into his chair. “Or maybe do some sunbathing, I can always help with the sunscreen.” 

“We?” You snapped back toward him. “There has been no ‘we’, Ash, just you working on getting day drunk while I clean your fucking car!.” 

“Well then you can’t say I’m not working.” He winked with his trademark cocky, full-of-himself grin. “Besides, I’m supervising. Making sure everything is up to my incredibly high standards.”

“Then how about you finish this shit up then, yeah? It’s too fucking hot out for me to be dealing with you.” 

Ash feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart dramatically. “Oh how you wound me with your words. Can’t you see, baby? The sweat, the heat, the hard work, that’s all part of the Ash Williams experience. I’ve got to save my hands for more delicate matters.” He wiggled his hand with a wink. “Besides, if you do a good job maybe we can go get a drink.” He bounced his brows.

“Only if I can drown you in it.” You gave him a poisoned sweet smile with a glare. 

He again rose from the chair and walked over to the car, standing next to you as you cleaned. “You just need a little bit more elbow grease, sweetheart. Once we're done we can try something else to ease those troubles of yours, hm?”

“Right now you’re my only frustration.” You remarked, turning your back to him. “Pablo should be doing this, he’s the one with the shit aim.” You sighed. 

“Yeah and I’m making him buy our provisions as punishment. Besides, you have me here for moral support and expert supervision. It would be irresponsible of me to let you miss out on all the valuable life lessons I have to offer.” 

You ignored him again, wringing the sponge out over the bucket before dipping it into the clean bucket full of suds. 

“But, if you don’t think you have the mental capacity to learn a thing or two from my noggin, I can always find someone who can.” 

“Now, you know better than to threaten me with a good time, Ashley.” You didn’t even turn to face him as you spoke. 

“Oh, come one now sweetheart, once a lady gets a taste of what Ash Williams has to offer, they always come back asking for more.” He shrugged and took a sip from his drink as he turned to walk back to his chair. 

Deciding that he had finally run your patience too thin, you let out an annoyed groan and chucked the sponge at his back. “Fuck you! Clean your own fucking car!” You shouted at him as he slowly turned around with a surprised, albeit impressed, look on his face. 

“Oh fine, fine. Don’t get your panties in a twist, sugar cake. I can finish cleaning my baby. I’m sure she needs a gentle touch after what you’ve done with her.” 

You rolled your eyes again but continued to walk away, deciding you were done with him until you found something, a lot of something, to drink. However, as soon as you were no more than a pace or two in front of him on your way back to the trailer, you felt a heavy stream of water hit your back. The unexpected force almost pushing you forward. You snapped around to see Ash holding the hose with the biggest shit eating grin on his face. Seeing red, you quickly closed the distance between the two of you and you swiped at his feet, sending him falling to the ground, dropping the hose on his descent. 

“Jesus fucking Christ” He shouted as his back hit the gravel floor. “At least you're not throwing a temper tantrum.” He winced as he got up, wiping down his pants after his fall. You turn back around, trying again to go back to the trailer for the second time, but then his voice again grated against your ears. “Now do you have it all out of your system or did you wanna tangle a little more?”

Taking the bait, you turn around again and made the same move to knock him down again. Now prepared to use his years-honed reflexes, he sidestepped out of dodge as you lunged at him. As you went past him he grabbed your arm, using your momentum against you. He twisted your arm behind your back and pushed you up against the newly cleaned, still wet car with a firm grip. 

“Oh come on now, baby, let’s channel that energy into something physical that’s a little less violent, hm?” He chuckled, his breath fanning against the nape of your neck. 

You took a second to take in your situation, bent over the Delta by Ash and your face flushed red, however less from anger this time. Not caring for the predicament you whipped your head up, the back of your skull hitting his jaw, causing him to bust his lip open on his teeth. He stumbled back, allowing her to stand up. He raised his left hand to his bleeding lip, an expression of surprise once again painted on his face, however the corners of his mouth curled into a playful smile. 

You looked over him, not able to take in his full figure given the lack of space between the two of you. Initially, you had resented the smile that played on his lips, but you almost felt a sort of release. Finally being able to take out your frustrations, not only from Ash, but from the continuous pile of shit you had been navigating through these past few months. 

“Now where’s that spitfire when we need-”

Before we was able to finish, you bent down and grabbed the hose from off the ground and whipped it at his side. The stream of water avoiding him but spraying all over the side of the Airstream as a result. Ash yelped in surprise as he narrowly avoided his face being doused in water. He chuckled at your resourcefulness and raised his hands as a white flag. As worked his way towards you, you decided you weren’t done yet and again repeated the move to swipe his legs out from under him with your own. Only narrowly avoiding the move this time, he only tipped a little over your before regaining his balance. You balled your hand into a fist and pulled back, ready to throw a punch but he again caught your arm, pushing it flush against your chest and using it to maneuver you back to the car, the back of your legs hitting the side of the hood. 

“You’ve gotta get another move in your deck, baby.” He chuckled. “Besides, I'm getting a little tired of this. Now are we done or do you have something else you’d like to try?” He pulled back on your arm, moving your torso forward just a bit as a subtle, but surprisingly un-obnoxious show of his current power over you. You didn’t talk back, just staring up at him. Luckily you had worked yourself up during your brief spat, allowing the blush coming over your face a pliable excuse. You wanted to say your next move was nothing more than impulsive but deep down you knew better. 

You pulled against his grip, not in an attempt to free yourself, but instead to bring him down to your level. Still having to balance on your toes, you brought your lips harshly up to his, able to taste the blood you had caused to accumulate not more than five minutes ago. You could feel him smirk against your lips, but you were past getting annoyed at his hubris. His grip on your wrist loosened as he pushed into the kiss and you felt the cool metal of his right hand on your side through the dampened fabric of your t-shirt. 

“Now that’s the kinda move I’m talking about.” He spoke, barely separating his mouth from yours. 

“You’re not gonna shut up, are you?” You grumbled, completely freeing yourself from his wrist and running your hand over his clothed chest. 

“Well there’s a few other things I can do with my trap.” He winked. You rolled your eyes again, he was always gonna be this cheesy. 

“Why don’t we just focus on being quiet for now, hm?” You patted his chest as he smirked, closing the distance between your lips once again. He took the opportunity to pull at your bottom lip with his teeth, an unspoken request you granted by sighing into the kiss, your other arm wrapping around his shoulder in time. 

As his tongue pushed into your mouth, his hands falling onto either side of your waist, gently running the distance between there and the curve of your hips before he gently patted your ass, a silent signal you followed by jumping up onto the hood of the car and spreading your legs enough for him to stand between. Now settled, his hands crept up beneath your shirt, separating the wet fabric from your skin as left snaked a path up to your bra, reaching around the back to expertly unclasp the garment in a single move. 

Deciding it was well past your turn, your hands worked on undoing the first few buttons of the henley, allowing enough space for you to run a hand over his chest, your fingers lightly dancing through the dark hair peeking through. You then tugged the shirt out of the waistband of his pants. 

His hands moved down, palming yours hungrily through the fabric of your jeans. He undid them quickly and lifted you slightly off the hood in order to discard them completely. 

“Shit baby,” He murmured, his lips millimeters away from your ear, his hot breath fanning over the shell. “You’ve got no clue how long I’ve been waiting to get into your shorts.”

“Oh, I think I’ve got some sort of idea.” You teased back, undoing his belt and sliding it through the loops of his jeans. 

“So you just let me sit there like a begging dog?”

“Consider it a test of patience.” You smirked as you brought your lips back to his. While you hoped that would have silenced him, he had proven you wrong. 

“First test I’ve ever passed.” 

You rolled your eyes. “I’d believe that.” You unlatched your arms from around his neck to get rid of your wet shirt and bra. “You barely passed this one.” 

"It's hard to study when I'm hot for teacher." 

You rolled your eyes at his remark as he explored your newly exposed skin, his hands cupping your breasts, the cool metal of his right hand a stark contrast to the warmth of his other. He circled his thumbs over your hardened nipples, eliciting a soft gasp from you. He pressed his mouth to your jawline as he continued to paw and knead at your breasts, slowly trailing a path from your neck, then down to your collarbone, to the valley between your breasts. His lips eventually landing on your nipple, tongue swirling around the hardened peak as his left hand fondled the other. 

Eventually, he raised his head to bring his lips to yours again, kissing you hot and messy. His fingers moved down your stomach, undoing your shorts and pulling them down your legs, you helped to kick them off once they fell down to your ankles. He gave a quick nip to your bottom lip before pulling away. He brought his hands up briefly to gently push at your shoulders. 

"Go ahead and lay back for me, sweet thing." 

You complied eagerly, the cool metal of the car hood against your heated skin sent a shiver down your spine. His gaze was heavy as he raked over your body, taking in every curve and contour of your body sprawled out on his car. He couldn't help but smile at the sight before stepping away for a moment. You gave him a quizzical look as he made his way towards the lawn chair he had been sat in earlier. 

"Uh, hello?" You spoke up, propping yourself up on your elbows. You watched with a raised brow as he brought the chair back over to where you laid on the car. 

"Give an old guy a break, yeah?" He smirked, sitting back down. The old, beaten chair just low enough to place him right between your legs. He tugged at the hem of your panties, pulling them down your legs. However, instead of tossing them aside like your shorts, he pocketed the fabric into his jeans, giving you a wink as he did so. His eyes glinted with mischief and desire as his hands ran up and down your thighs, eventually propping them over his shoulders. He lips pecked on the soft flesh of your inner thigh before settling at the apex between your legs. 

His tongue dipped into your folds, lapping at the arousal coating your core. He groaned as your taste coated his tongue, his grip on your thighs tightening. 

His motions started exploratory, paying close attention to the reactions each movement was able to elicit from you. While his ministrations has started small, they quickly matched those of a man starved; you felt his nose bump your clit as he delved into your dripping cunt, savoring every movement as if this would be his last meal. 

Your hand reached down to where his head was buried between your legs, your fingers weaving through his hair and gripping hard onto the locks.

"Goddamn, Ash." You sighed, arching your back and instinctively pushing your hips forward. You could hear him chuckle, the sound reverberating through you in a subtle vibration. His left hand that had been gently gripping at your thigh trailed up to join his tongue, his fingers dancing around your entrance, collecting the slick signs of your arousal on his fingertips.

He slowly pushed the digits in, causing your grip on his hair to tighten. He began to pump his fingers, the movements beginning as slow and tantalizing, however they quickly began to match his own impatience. The combination of his tongue eagerly lapping at your swollen clit and his fingers spreading you open causes that all too familiar and welcome tension to start tightening in your core.

"Fuck...Fuck I'm gonna cum!" Your words were breathless and whiny. His metallic hand patted your thigh encouragingly. 

"C'mon baby," He groaned, his words becoming less muffled as he withdrew his head from between your legs, replacing the attention on your clit with pressured circling from his thumb. "Cum for me baby, all over my hand, c'mon." 

It took only a few more deliberate movements before you came undone on his hand, a jumbled string of whines and curses expelling from your mouth in time. He slowed his movements, as if to help you down from the high before withdrawing his hand and standing back up, pushing the chair away with the back of his thighs. He leans down, kissing sloppily from the crook of your neck up to your lips as you came to all while muttering reassurances. 

"Such a pretty, perfect little pussy for me. Not fair for you to be hiding that, hm?" You moaned into his kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue. 

"So pretty when you cum baby, want you to cum on my cock this time, yeah?" He pushed his jeans down, the cloth of his boxers going with them, allowing his hard and aching cock to spring free. He wasted no time positioning himself between your legs, the head of his cock brushing against your entrance. 

"Ash," You whined. "Stop teasing." Your plea was met in reply with a confident smirk. 

"Oh c'mon now, nothing you can't handle." 

"Please..." You whimpered, your hips bucking up in an attempt to draw him in deeper. "Just fuck me already."

"Well if you're gonna ask so nicely." He grinned, slowly thrusting forward, letting you get accustomed to his size as he pushed himself in inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt. "Goddamn," He dropped his head as he hovered over you, his movements still. "So fucking good, so nice n' wet for me."

He began to move, his hips setting a steady rhythm as he pumped in and out of you, each thrust sending engulfing your nerves in red hot pleasure. As his pace increased, you could hear the car creak beneath the two of you, the sound mingling with your moans and the wet slap of skin against skin. 

Ash used his metal hand to anchor him to the hood of the car, allowing his left hand to roam your body, eventually landing on again kneading the plump flesh of your breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers. You moved your legs up from his hips to wrap around his waist, pulling yourself closer and allowing him to plunge into you deeper and hitting that perfect, sensitive spot inside you with each stroke. 

"Ash- fuck, right there." You gasped. "Just like that." You arched your back up, pushing your hips up to meet his each heavy thrust, tension again coiling tight in your core. He groaned in response to your words, his movements becoming more shallow but focusing on making sure he fucks you deep where you want him. 

"You gonna cum again for me? Cum all over my cock?" His hand left your chest moved down to your hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he moved you in time with his thrusts, angling himself so that he was grinding against your clit every time his hips met yours. The combination of sensations pushing you closer to the edge, your body trembling as the increasing pleasure brings you to the brink of your orgasm.

"Gonna," You breathed out, "Gonna cum again, Ash." You whined, writhing underneath him. 

"Yeah baby, me too." He groaned, closing his eyes as he tried to focus on his movements, regardless his thrusts had begun to turn more erratic and less focused as his own climax approached. The cool metal of his right hand came down to the other side of your hip, allowing his other hand to again move and slide between your legs. His fingers gathering some of your slick from where the two of you connected before circling tight over your swollen and overly sensitive clit. The added sensation causing an almost pornographic moan to slip through your parted lips. Your body tensed, muscles tightening in preparation for the heavy climax his actions promised you. 

"Shit, oh my God-" Your words were cut off by a knife-sharp gasp as your orgasm hit you like a heavy wave. Your walls clamped down around him, pulsing in time with your heavy breaths. Feeling you tighten around him, Ash let out a guttural groan, almost baring his teeth. 

"Fuck, baby, you're so tight. Gonna cum." He shuddered, his final thrusts rushed and erratic before burying himself deep inside of you as he found his own release, cock pulsing as he painted your velvet walls with thick ropes of his cum. You mewled, your oversensitive cunt feeling heavy from the passing bliss of your orgasm combined with sensation of the additional fullness of his release. 

As the final moments of your climaxes subsided, Ash carefully pulled away from you, his softening cock slipping from your well-used heat, causing a quiet whine to leave your mouth, pouting from the sudden emptiness. He took a moment, still panting, before stuffing himself back into his boxers and up his jeans. 

"Goddamn, sugar. Haven't had a fuck like that in years." He said, marveling and taking in the look of you still blissed out from your orgasm as if to commit it to memory. You lolled your head to the side lazily, thoroughly fucked out. He snickered, taking pride in how tired he had made you. 

"C'mon princess, let's go inside and get you cleaned up." He patted your thigh encouragingly. You sighed, not wanting to get up but knowing he was right. 

"Yeah, just gimme a second to make sure I can feel my legs." Your words were mumbled but not inaudible. You heard him chuckle. 

"Ol' Ashley fuck you that good?" 

You rolled your eyes, deciding that was the extent of a response he would get from you, knowing his ego didn't need further stoking. You took him in as he stood a few feet away from you. You stretched out on the car hood before slowly sitting up, taking a moment to get your bearings before sliding off the Delta. You began to pick your discarded clothes off from the ground, grumbling as you noticed they had become covered in dirt and mud, likely as a result from the earlier hose fight. As you bent down to recover your bra, you heard a loud 'slap' accompanied by a sharp sting to your ass. You snapped up, immediately glaring at Ash who just grinned. 

"Don't think just because I let you fuck me that I won't kick your ass, Williams." You sneered, pointing a finger at him. He raised his hands in mock surrender, allowing you to pick up the remaining scattered garments, tilting his head and appreciating the growing red mark on your skin. 

Your head again perked up as you heard the familiar roaring of a motorcycle approaching in the distance. You quickly walked over to where your shorts had landed before hurriedly trying to make your way back to the trailerr to shield yourself from the incoming eyes of Kelly and Pablo. The fact that they had been out slipping from your mind until now. 

Before you could make it to the small set of stairs, Ash grabbed you by your waist, pulling you to his chest. 

"Why in such a rush, sweet thing?" He chuckled as you squirmed against his grip. 

"Let go!" You hissed, urgently trying to push away from his lumber arms as Pablo's bike pulled into the driveway. 

"Oh, c'mon, you'll let me fuck you out here but the thought of those two seeing a little skin from you sends you running?" He teased.

"Ash, I'm not kidding." Your voice was firm, the thought of Kelly and Pablo seeing you like this making your stomach churn. He could sense the urgency in your voice and reluctantly releasing you from his grip, but still appreciating the view of your naked, reddened ass as you streaked into the trailer, slamming the storm door shut behind you.

[vikkirosko]

Battle of dads!

Can I request Adam from hazbin hotel having a dad Battle (like the song between Alastor and Lucifer) with Alastor, Vox, Lucifer (separately) and a battle of mom between Lute and Vaggie ?

They fight over reader who is a little girl (9 years old) who's mother is more inclined to dark arts and her father to divine and religious powers.

The thing is, reader's parents are quite in a delicate situation each, and asked their contractor (the demon on the mother side and the angels to the father side) to protect and take care of their daughter. The only problem is that both sides have the same mission and will not let this child be with the opposite side.

Thanks!

Platonic headcanons Battle of parents

❌ Vaggie x child fem!Reader x Lute 🗡

Vaggie felt a little awkward when she had to interact with children, and when you were under her care, she realized that she did not fully know what to do. You were a nine-year-old living girl, but because of your mom, you lived in Hell, under the supervision of Vaggie. Your mother was connected to the dark forces and, being in danger, asked her to look after you. You weren't a problem child, but Hell wasn't the right place for kids. Vaggie understood that, but there was someone else who didn't want you to be in Hell

Lute wasn't thrilled that she had to take care of the baby, but she couldn't refuse your father's request to take care of you. She was going to take you to Heaven, but she didn't find you. She quickly found out where you were and was furious when she found out that you were under Vaggie's care. Lute wasn't going to leave it like that, so I decided to go and take you with me

Lute openly stated that she intended to take you away, to which Vaggie reacted aggressively. She knew what Lute was like and didn't want her ex-colleague to influence you and make you look like her. Lute wasn't going to stay with you among the sinners. She was sure she could take better care of you and give you a decent upbringing than anyone from Hell

They both had similar goals. They both wanted what was best for you, but they would never have been able to come to a consensus. There wasn't much you could do to influence them. All you had to do was watch Vaggie and Lute having arguments with each other

📻 Alastor x child fem!Reader x Adam ✨️

Adam was not the one who could be trusted with a child. However, he could not refuse the order that Sera had given him. That's why he went to take you to Heaven. Your father was somehow connected to Heaven, and your mother was connected to Hell. Sera didn't want you to get involved with demonic forces, so she instructed Adam to find you and take care of you. But, as it turned out, Adam was too late. Your mom managed to ask someone in Hell to take care of you. Adam intended to go to Hell to get you. It was a matter of principle

When he found you, he saw a nine-year-old girl who was being looked after by none other than Alastor. Radio demon was looking out for you, because you were his responsibility, and even when Adam showed up, saying that he would take you with him, Alastor wasn't going to let that happen

Adam would have been happy to put up a fight, but he couldn't do it ahead of time, and even more so he couldn't scare you. However, his rude words had already scared you and you were holding Alastor's hand tightly. Adam was aggressive towards Alastor, while Alastor was polite and did everything so that you wouldn't want to leave with Adam. He wasn't going to lose to him

Alastor and Adam openly confronted each other. They both had the goal of taking care of you and protecting you, but they had different methods. And it was all aimed at protecting you

🖥 Vox x child fem!Reader x Adam ✨️

Vox wasn't thrilled when you appeared in his life. You were a nine-year-old girl whose parents were connected to Heaven and Hell. It was your mom who asked Vox to help her and take care of you until she was sure that if you came back you would be safe. He looked out for you as much as he could, trying not to leave you with Valentino or Velvette, knowing that it could end badly. He even began to get used to you, but your peace was disturbed by the appearance of Adam

Your father, who had a connection with Heaven, asked Adam to take care of you. Adam was going to take you to Heaven, but he didn't find you. He found out that you were in Hell and went there to take you with him. He didn't care that Vox was one of the overlords, he just wanted to pick you up and go back to Heaven

If Adam had come earlier, Vox would have given you to him without hesitation, but now he realized that he couldn't do it. He has become attached to you and is already used to taking care of you. Vox was not going to give you to Adam, despite all his outrages and insults directed at the sinner

Both Vox and Adam had the same goal. They should have taken care of you instead of your parents. They understood that they would not be able to find a common language, so they intended to find out who you would stay with and you could not influence them in any way

🍎 Lucifer Morningstar x child fem!Reader x Adam ✨️

Lucifer wasn't sure if he would make a good father. He didn't spend much time with his daughter, and when your mother, connected to Hell, asked him to take care of you, her nine-year-old daughter, he became worried. He couldn't refuse her, so you ended up in his custody. Lucifer tried very hard to take good care of you. He was like a kind uncle to you, who gave you rubber ducklings and told you interesting stories

Your peaceful life was disrupted when Adam appeared to you. He came at the request of your father, who was connected with Heaven. Your father did not know that your mother had asked Lucifer for help, and now Adam intended to take you to Heaven, where, in his opinion, you would be better taken care of than in Hell

From the first seconds that Lucifer and Adam found themselves in the same room, they couldn't stop arguing with each other. Every time Adam said something rude, Lucifer stopped him, reminding him that you were a child and that you heard everything. They were fighting over you. Lucifer, who had become attached to you, did not want to give you to Adam, not believing that Adam would be able to take care of you, and Adam did not want to lose to Lucifer

They had a common goal, but they hadn't gotten along for years. Even you, their ward, couldn't improve their relationship. All you could do was watch Lucifer and Adam argue, trying to decide who would take care of you

[kandlewick]

i'll dry the villain's tears

t h e r o s e r e d t y r a n t ' s m o t h e r

you get reincarnated into a role that became the breaking point of the villain's story and you, be it an unwillingness to cause them harm or a desire to survive, must work hard to make sure they grow into a better (or at least safer) person.

You had died.

at least, you think you did.

It was hard to remember much.

Blinding lights, fading screams, it all felt so fuzzy and distant that you could hardly even remember your old face. The new one staring back at you was strange and foreign and perfect; it was almost like you were staring into the eyes of a doll. You pressed a well manicured nail to your cheek, feeling the soft skin give underneath your touch. So this is what she looked like. Bright red hair and piercing silver eyes, Riddle's mother made for an intimidating figure. You could only imagine how wicked she would look when angry despite her pretty looks.

You let out a soft sigh, leaned back against your chair, and attempted a smile at your reflection. The muscles around your cheeks creaked in protest at the attempt and gave you little more then a grimace.

"Not one for smiling, are you Mrs. Rosehearts?"

Well, whatever sickness that had overtaken the former Mrs. Rosehearts seemed to have passed and you no longer needed constant supervision from whoever Riddle had called for. Speaking of, where was Mr. Rosehearts? Surely her husband must've been worried sick once he had heard his wife had collapsed.

After a few moments of pondering, idly rummaging through drawers and inspecting every nook and cranny of what you assumed to be your new bedroom, you quickly discovered there was only a wardrobe for one. How strange. As you continued digging through your new and incredibly modest clothes, your hunt for clues was quickly interrupted by a sharp knock at your door. You dropped everything and let out a quiet shriek, feeling what felt like your heart quickly jumping in to your throat at the surprised new guest. Imwardly, you had to remind yourself that you were in fact, not snooping! This was your stuff now and could look through it all you liked. Quickly patting down your clothes and pinning back your frazzled hair, you attempted to compose yourself and cleared your throat, quietly acknowledging their presence.

"Uhm - yes! You may come in."

Whoever stood out your door seemed almost hesitant, waiting at the door long enough for the silence to slowly grow awkward, before the door let out a small click and they entered.

It was Riddle.

"I finished my lesson for the afternoon." Riddle spoke quietly, eyes never leaving the space behind your head, as if too nervous to even look at you, "If you would allow me, I'd like to take a small break to rest my eyes."

Here it was! Your moment! You had dreamed of this since the beginning and you could finally, finally make a difference and fix the broken relationship between him and his mother!! You eagerly turned towards him, feeling your skirt pick up in your excitement and ducked down, balancing your weight on the balls of your feet and lowering yourself down to his level.

"Actually, Riddle, how would you like it if we took a break together. I made us some tea!" You smiled, eyes crinkling in delight, "And then after that we-"

"No, thank you."

Eh.

What a quick response!!!!

Blinking past the surprise, you were startled to notice that Riddle had taken a few steps back, his eyebrows knitted together in what almost looked like confusion. You could feel the apprehension and barely disguised fear roll off of him in waves as he opened his mouth to continue.

"It's not time for a tea and I'd much rather get back to my studies as soon as possible.."

Yes, you supposed it was rather late in the evening for a tea time but it couldn't be that bad to take a small break to unwind after a tiring afternoon, surely! Bu then again, you realized, Riddle's mother always enforced a strict schedule. There was no time for snack breaks or play time, everything was chosen for him down to the very last millisecond of his day. Breaking this trend would not be an easy task. Mrs. Rosehearts made sure of that.

"Ah, you're right! Silly me..." You took this moment to reach out, intending to push back a stray hair from Riddle's face but he flinched. It was hardly noticeable and honestly, if you weren't down at his level and painfully aware of every twitch and fidget, you wouldn't have noticed but still, you felt your heart break a little more.

"Yes... It must be the fever." You sighed out, lowering your hand before slowly putting it back in your lap, "I must still feel tired after being in bed the past few days. Being stuck in my room must've made me a little mad."

Riddle made no effort to respond, only slowing raising his head. When his silver eyes met yours, you smiled and kept his gaze, "Would you do me a favor then, Riddle? I'm feeling terribly lonely and would like the company... however," You had to give him the option, "if you'd rather end your studying for the day and choose yourself what you'd like to do until your bedtime, you're more then welcome to."

As much as you wanted to quickly mend the relationship between the two of you, you knew you could not rush it. Years of abuse and tyranny do not go away with a single good deed and the more you tried to force it, the more you guessed he would push away.

Riddle paused and searched your eyes, looking for any signs of this being a test. He seemed almost hesitant to even ponder the choices before him as if he had never made his own decision before - with his mother's blessing no less - and wasn't eager to start now.

"I won't be upset, Riddle. You c-"

"I would like to have tea with you, please."

You mentally fist bumped the air, tears of success running down your face. Progress! This was progress, right? Willingly getting him to break his rigid schedule was already a huge undertaking but getting him to choose to spend time with you? You could practically hear the angels singing in your head.

Getting him to slowly and comfortably break his schedule was one thing but his diet? That was a whole other trauma to fight and you didn't know where to start. Unlike Riddle's mother, you weren't a doctor. Your knowledge of what was healthy and what was not and how to balance calories was never something you were taught past the very basics. Smugly, you figured she wasn't any good at it either so really, it could only get better.

It started with little things, replacing what kinds of ingredients you used and portions and the like and you spent many a nights on Magicam, researching food trends and advice from dieticians and other mothers. Anonymously, of course.

If Riddle noticed the change in his diet, he made no attempt to question you about it, probably enjoying whatever you were doing enough not to bring it up. You were his mother after all and although the dinner table was still quiet between the two of you, it was a more comfortable silence as if you were both too worried to break it. Watching him eat was also a treat. You had always thought Riddle was a pretty child, but to see sparks of life flicker behind his trained expression was a victory you always cherished. Sometimes it was small things, like him kicking his feet or the shock of trying a new taste. It was precious, watching him slap his palm to his face as he jumped in his chair, eyes practically tearing up at the taste of pepper of all things.

And then, one day, you decided that perhaps it was time. A strawberry tart.

You paced in your bedroom for days, practically digging holes into the floor as you plotted your next big move. This moment was perhaps the most important of all the other events that had happened in Riddle's life and you knew it was going to be a real big hurdle to cross.

"Riddle?"

He perked up slightly from his desk at the sound of your voice and turned to look at you. His eyes were brighter now and they no longer had the same fear they once had. His gaze could almost be described as affectionate.

"Yes?"

"I'm going to be out for awhile. not for too long mind, but I have something very important I need to do. I'm sure you don't mind if I leave you to yourself for a short while?" You gave him a sheepish smile as you made your way to the front door, your hand already reaching for the handle. As much as you wanted to do this and get it over with, you could still feel the nerves biting at your ankles.

Riddle nodded his head, his red hair practically bouncing with the movement, before returning to his studies while you closed the front door behind you, breath heavy in your throat. Days of planning were all coming together. You could feel the sweat building up and running down your neck as you took a few simple breathes to calm your racing heart.

Some might consider it obsessive but you had carefully studied That particular bakery and it's foot traffic to ensure that nobody else would be in the store to witness what was about to happen for the past two weeks. In disguise, you had watched and written down the hours there was a slow lull in visitors from out in the streets, careful not to attract any sort of attention. It's not like you were planning anything nefarious! It's just that... the thought of anyone witnessing the verbal smack down you were about to receive was almost too much. But you had to do this. For Riddle, for yourself, and because you really, really, really wanted to try one of Clover Bakery's sweets.

It was time.

"Welcome in! Welcome to Clover Bakery! I'll be right with you in a moment!" A feminine voice sounded like it was in the back as the door to the bakery slowly chimed behind you, as if it was the death knell, signaling your demise. You trained your breath, in and out, and wiped your sweaty palms on the back of your skirt, willing yourself to calm down. You had to be strong! Trey and both his parents deserved a proper apology, even if technically you weren't the one who offended them. You had to fix this mess and you couldn't do it half assed!

"Sorry about that! We just finished the new batch of - oh."

Trey's mother was in front of you.

Trey's Mother was in front of you.

"I..." Your heart felt like it was going to give out. "I've come to apologize."

That obviously is not what she was expecting and judging by the widening of her eyes and the tightening of her posture, she didn't seem entirely willing to accept it but she stood there and didn't seem unwilling to hear you out so in your haste, you tripped over your words in eagerness to continue.

"Please," You lowered your head and gaze, nearly buckling under the stress, "at least hear me out. What I did - to you, your husband, your son, to Riddle - It was unacceptable."

You gulped and began the part you had rehearsed in front of your mirror. This part, while not necessarily the truth, would make the most sense.

"When I couldn't find Riddle in the room where I left him and the window opened, I panicked. I had always been very strict with Riddle and perhaps that's where I erred, where he thought that the only choice he had to enjoy an inch of freedom was to sneak out while I was unaware, So, when I couldn't not find him and found him with strangers, people I had never met before and knew very little of, I panicked."

"But what I ended up doing," Something wet fell from your eyes, "I hurt him. I hurt Riddle. I - I think that's what snapped me out of whatever idiotic beliefs I had. He wouldn't talk to me, he couldn't even meet my eyes-"

"I understand,"

Blinking past the tears, you looked up, watching as Trey's mother let out a long and weary sigh, "I may not forgive you for what you did yet, I can see you obviously mean what you're saying."

"You can?"

"Look at you. You're shaking like a leaf, you look nothing like the woman that came screaming in here for her son. Whatever happened between then and now obviously changed things."

You watched as she ducked behind the counter and wrapped something up in a small container and gestured for you to open your hands.

"Here," She closed your hands around it, "It's a strawberry tart. Those were Riddle's favorite right? I'm sure you can help mend whatever happened with something like this. It's on the house. Just... next time Riddle wants to play, let him. My son has been beside himself with worry ever since."

You held the tart close to your chest like she had just handed you the most precious thing you've ever owned and nodded your head, your once formerly primed and proper hair falling down your shoulders in wave from your excitement, "Thank you! Thank you so much... I will do whatever I can now. I won't make the same mistake again."

"Go on," You smiled, "Open it."

As soon as you returned home, you eagerly called for Riddle to join you at the family table, nearly tripping over your heels in your excitement as you carefully placed the boxed strawberry tart down. Riddle watched your expression carefully, eyeing the concealed treat from the corner of his eye. As much as he's enjoyed the past few months, this was a huge step forwards. It was almost as if he was scared that what he thought was going to happen wouldn't. What if this was an elaborate scheme? What if this was a big final test and he failed? What if-

"It's ok, Riddle," You reassured him with a low voice, pushing the small box closer to him as his eyes snapped to meet yours, "It's something really good, I promise." With a nervous look, he nodded.

You could hear his barely contained sniffles as he slowly began untying the ribbon, stopping periodically to wipe at his eyes with his sleeve, before the box opened and in the center was

the most beautiful strawberry tart he has ever seen.

His small sniffles soon erupted into wails, high pitched and heart wrenching as he sat there in his chair, his hands still in the air as his little body was wracked with tears. You couldn't hold back your own crying as you brought Riddle's small frame to your chest and hugged him tightly as he cried and cried and cried in your arm. His little fingernails dug crescents into your skin as he kept tugging you closer and closer, unwilling for there to be an space between you and him.

"My darling, Riddle," You sniffled back a tear as you dug your face into his red hair, feeling him hiccup and sob as you did the same, "I'm sorry you had to wait so long."