#while another is just like: sigh why is he always like this

[hel1nn]

imagine Drabble where Gojo squeezes yn too tight in his sleep and yn wakes up. idk lol it can be fluffy or hurt/comfort 🙈

take care:)

oh my baby 𝅄 ꣑ৎ ࣪ㅤ

Teen bf!gojo x teen!reader

ᡣ𐭩 ⋮ fluff , hurt / comfort 𑁍ࠬܓ𓏲 ๋࣭

────୨ৎ────

It has been few days after geto left. Even if gojo acted like he's well you could tell he's not. The distance between you and gojo is so obvious that he's not fine. You don't know if you know your boyfriend better than geto but your sure you know him so much that you could tell that his eyes are puffy from crying. You bumped into satoru after sneaking out of your dorm to take a walk since you can't sleep. And here you are standing Infront of him,his blue orbs eyes puffy and his pale cheeks flushed slightly stained with dried tears. Your face twists in worry before you could say anything satoru speaks

"what are you doing here?" Satoru looks away slightly, avoiding your gaze. "I came out to take a walk.." you gulp, slowly stepping closer to him.

"did something happened?" You asked, taking his hand and holding it carefully. as if you'll break him. Satoru shakes his head, You sigh, your another hand goes to cup his cheek softly. "Are you okay,toru?" You finally blurt out,you can't be ignoring he's health like this anymore. You don't want him to end up like geto because no one noticed anything about him. Satorus words fell dry,he doesn't says anything for s solid minute. The tears stained cheeks and those tired blur irises of his were enough to answer you. You pull him down for a hug, placing a kiss on his forehead. Satoru gets tense for a second but eventually melts down in your embrace. You take him to your dorm. Laying him down on the bed as you get in there too. Satoru doesn't says anything since he didn't had to,he knows you will take care of him like you always do. you gently pull his head to your chest as his long arms wraps around you. You place few pecks on his forehead, running your fingers through his head while rubbing his back softly.

-

Satoru eyes shots open,taking breaths rapidly. As he calms down he finally realises he's resting in your arms,oh another nightmare where you leave him. He knows you would never but those dreams scares him more than anything for now. His arms tightened around you, burying his face in your chest. "Don't go away" he knows you wont but it slips past his lips. He feels his eyes get wet as his arms tightened around you even more,you shift slightly but it only made him hold you even tighter. Few tears slipping down his eyes. His grip on you becoming tighter and tighter. Your couldn't breath properly, resulting you in waking up. You look around,a thin layer of sweat covering you. Just then you notice the sound of the sobs. You look down at the satoru who was hugging you so tightly,tears slips down his eyes. Your sleepy expressions turns into worry again.

"t-toru-" you try to speak, tugging at his arms so it can loose a bit. And satoru realized he woke you up . His arms loosen around you slightly so you can breath properly.

"why are you crying??" You say, your brows furrowed in worry as you lean down to wipe his tears away. Satoru gulps,his lips still trembling.

"can we talk about it in the morning?" He mumbles slightly. Leaning his face in your neck as he places few kisses there,you give a nod. Not forcing anything. You pull him even closer, embracing him to sleep. Oh your baby.

[beloveds-embrace]

so i have a habit of calling be love/babe/darling as a term of enderament (even in friendships) and was wondering how the dukedom guys would react to being called love or darling by the reader for the first time? I grt it probably wasnt as socially acceptable back then but the thought still plaques my mind

Historical accuracy who? We don’t know her shhh

Original post

But they’d love it! At first, you had tried really hard to stop yourself and semi-succeeded by only calling your maids like that. Your parents always hated that habit of yours, a leftover from your nanny’s own habit. They had warned you again and again and again to not let your tongue run, to keep your words polite and demure, only fallen women working in brothels would speak so freely.

And you did keep it under control for a good while; with your interactions few with John, you could remind yourself not to let your tongue loose and call him honey right off the bat when he simply calls you by your name. It’s harder with Kyle, you almost slip and call him darling, same with Johnny. With Simon it’s easier because on the times he visits, you leave him to his meetings with John and don’t bother them. (Or what you thought were business meetings at that time lol)

But once they start getting closer to you, it’s inevitable that the nicknames start slipping out.

“Kyle, darling-“ you are rushing today, and the words slip out before you realize. You just spare a thought to wonder why he’s frozen solid like that. “Where is my hairpin? I was so sure we left it on my vanity?”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” you say to Johnny when he brings you a platter of fresh deserts while working, not lifting your head from the papers in front of you other than to flash him a quick, grateful smile. You don’t notice how long it takes before Johnny stutters out a ‘welcome, m’lady’ and leaves you be.

“Simon, honey?” You ask on another occasion, voice too worried to notice what you’d called him. No maids around, and no one would question you calling you husband’s ‘close friend’ by his name in your home. “Is your leg okay? You are leaning on it too much, shall I call the doctor?” His silence is typical to you, but too busy fussing over his leg, you don’t see his face. Until you look up, eyes widening at his averted eyes and red-tipped ears. “Are you sick, Simon? You should be resting instead, you know?”

And at last… “John, love,” you sigh softly, controlling the tremble of your limbs. You look away from the newspaper, though you believe it should just be called a glorified gossip magazing, and close your eyes. Duke Price’s Duchess remains barren of a child! Is a divorce in their future? “It’s alright, it is what it is-“ you try to calm him.

Up until now, from the moment you’d both read the headline, John had been fuming. He wasn’t loud in his anger, but it was clear in his ticking jaw and clenched fists. So you expect him to continue in his anger.

“…I will deal with it.” John promises, voice low but no longer a rolling thunder. He sits down calmer now, when you finally open your eyes to look at him. He’s simply gazing at you, and his hands clench in the air before he sets them down on the table. “They won’t be slandering you any longer, wife. I promise you.”

You wish you could pinpoint what soothed him, but alas. Though you know he will try his best and maybe this news agency won’t make anymore comments like this about you, others will still continue to do so.

“It’s alright.” You repeat, but the words ring hollow and the smile on your face is empty. You push your plate away. “Now, if my husband permits it, I don’t believe I can stomach much more.”

“You never need my permission for such things,” he tells you; a sentiment he’d told you from the very first day. His face softens. “Go rest. Today, I will take care of everything that needs to be done.”

Darling, sweetheart, honey, love… they wonder if you know how much those words repeat in their minds.

[mochiwonz]

♡ You Love Me Too? ⸝⸝

» content : fem!reader x lee heeseung , fluff , cursing , skinship (kissing , hugging etc) heeseung is older than reader by 2 years , he babies her a litttleee , hes also kind-of a flirt and doesn't rly realize it ♡

» word count : 1.1k

» note : wrote this with orange haired hee in mindddd :3 i apologize for any grammar mistakes and this is my first time actually writing a fic, so pls don't hate me if this is complete ass !! (leave some notes or reblog if you enjoy :D)

Another agonizing day at the coffee shop. Disrespectful people were definitely the absolute fucking worst. Just because you're serving them drinks doesn't mean they get to treat you like shit. God, you just wanted to be in his arms, having him caress your hair and sit with you while he listened to you ramble on and on about how terrible work is. Heeseung always made you feel validated, like your feelings were real feelings and that they actually mattered. You sigh as you text him for the sixth time today "hey hee, i'm home..where are you? txt me plz" At this point, you're getting worried. He's supposed to be home, he always answers your texts.

*Ping!* Oh shit, it could either be your boss or heeseung. "Please be hee please be hee!!" you say out loud, hoping it'll do something. You slowly pick up your phone, hands shaking, and-

"YES ITS HEE!!!!!! FINALLY oh my god"

His text read "hey sweets <3 sorry for not responding...was busy doing smth at the salon. c u soon!" What? Salon? When has he ever been to the salon?....oh. The last time he went was when he dyed his hair back to black.

Oh shit, you're in big. fucking. trouble. God knows how much you love and adore and want heeseung, who wouldn't? He's like an angel, perfect nose with big bambi eyes, tall, and has the most beautiful smile you've ever laid your eyes on. One problem though, he's your bestfriend. Bestfriend of 4 years, actually. Bestfriends don't like eachother like that. It's fine, you just have a little crush...it's not like you love love him, right? Plus, he probably doesn't even want you like that.

Right as you were about to make your way to the shared bathroom, you hear a sound. Footsteps. Footsteps that could only belong to lee heeseung. Fuck.

"Hey sweets" he says, and you can hear his grin. Surprised, not expecting his voice to be all up in your ear, you quickly turn around. Oh. My. God. You're faced with a grinning heeseung with......orange hair?!

"YOUR HAIR IS ORANGE??" you exclaim quite loudly, sounding a bit too excited. He chuckles a little, and holy fuck he looks absolutely delicious.

"Yeah sweets, whatcha ya think?" he asks, in an almost flirtatious tone of voice.

What do you think??? You think you're 1. about to fucking explode, 2. lunge at him because he's so fucking fine, and 3. cum in your pants. Or, to be honest, all of them at once!

"Oh yeah, right uhm it looks fine!" God, you made it so obvious.

"You sure? You seem like you're lying sweets." he says while looking deeply into your eyes with his own beautiful bambi eyes and playing with his new orange hair. You swear he's purposely doing this. Your mouth opens but nothing comes out, fuck. Get ahold of yourself y/n.

"Hee, of course i'm not lying. You look good, really good actually..." Shit, shit, shit. Why did you add that last part?? All you want to do right now is dig a hole into the ground and bury yourself.

You hadn't realized you'd been looking at the ground for a whole minute - sucked into your thoughts, until heeseung put his big hands on your chin and lifted your face to meet his.

"Yeah? I look really good?" he questions, voice laced with some sort of excitement. And as soon as your eyes meet his, he smiles. And all of a sudden, you realize, you don't have a crush on this man. You're whipped for him, you're in love with lee heeseung.

"Yeah..." you say under your breath. "Well thanks sweets, means alot coming from you, you know that right?" he tells you, with a sweet voice - almost cooing.

You don't respond, you can't respond. You're flustered as fuck. The man you realized that you're in love with, is less than 2ft away from you and almost...flirting...with you?

Almost a whole minute of silence goes by, nobody moves. Pained from the awkward silence, you decide to say something.

"Hey hee?.." you say, voice sounding small. "Mhm?" he hums, interested in what you're going to say next. "So okay, how do I say this. I think i'm in love with you. Actually, wait no, scratch that shit, i'm so fucking in love with you. I don't know if you even see me like that. You're so perfect inside and out, the man of my dreams actually. I don't even know what to do with myself when i'm around you. When you talk to me in a gentle voice or comfort me when i'm upset, all I want to do is kiss you. And I knoww this is cringey as fuck but I can't help it" you say, now out of breath from your rapping. (LMAOO<33)

Heeseung has an expression on his face that you can't seem to put your finger on. Shocked, unhappy, confused...you don't know. Before you could come up with any negative thoughts, he finally talks.

"Sweets...you mean that?" he asks, voice just as gentle as before, if anything - even more gentle. Can he stop staring at you like that? You're on the verge of exploding.

"Of course I mean it, dumbass." He giggles in response, and then brings his left hand onto your head as if he's patting your head and right hand to your cheek, softly caressing it with his thumb. "Fuck, I love you so much beautiful. And you're right, i'm a complete dumbass. I waited way too long to confess, i'm sorry sweets." he says, smiling at you and you swear you can see hearts in his eyes.

"Wait...you love me too?"

Instead of responding to you, he brings you closer to him. You can feel his hand slowly moving from the top of your head to your waist. To not make it awkward, you bring your arms around his neck, causing you to tippy toe a little. He has the softest smile on his face. You thought you were in love with him? God, he is so in awe of you and your beauty. You probably weren't even aware that your cheeks were all pink and adorable.

You watch his eyes move from your lips to your eyes and back to your lips. "Sweets, can I kiss you? Wanna know how you taste so bad."

And shit, how could you ever say no to him?

"Yes, please kiss me" you say in response, sounding desperate(as fuck).

As soon as he hears the "yes" slip out of your beautiful lips, he's quick to bring your faces closer together and close the gap. And fuck, his lips are perfect. It's like your lips were made for his and his were made for yours. Both of you were savoring this moment, your very first kiss with the man of your dreams, lee heeseung. Once you were out of breath, you finally pulled away - a string of saliva connecting your guys' lips.

Wasting no time, he picks you up as if you were as light as a feather, and spins you around like the princess you are. "I can finally call you my girl and my princess, and kiss you whenever I want!!" he exclaims, and you can tell hes smiling hard.

You laugh, feeling the happiest you've felt in forever. You look down to see him smiling at you, looking at you as if you were unreal. An angel. His angel ♡

oh my god LMAO hope this isn't too bad :p my other works are here <33

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: another instalment of the tik tok mat series! featuring liana! this was another suggestion from an anon and i just love writing these three and their dynamic so this was fun - i hope you guys enjoy 😊

word count: 3.2k

tw: nothing but good clean fun

summary: during a visit, you and liana convince mat to join you in another tik tok video, with a twist

“What are you two plotting?” Mat’s sudden appearance in the kitchen startles you and you jump a little. Next to you, Liana yelps and smacks her knee against the cabinet.

“Ow, fuck,” she mutters, reaching down to rub at the spot that’ll definitely be bruised tomorrow. She scowls at Mat, which he ignores.

“Jesus,” you sigh, closing your eyes briefly while your heartbeat gets back to normal. “We’re not plotting.” Your tone is slightly petulant.

Mat comes up behind you and slots himself at your back, arms on either side of you caging your body against the kitchen island. He kisses the back of your neck and play humps your ass.

Liana fake gags, sticking her index finger in her mouth. “You’re disgusting. And what she said. Plotting makes it sound so nefarious, we’re just planning something,” she kicks at Mat’s socked foot with her own and he kicks back.

“Plotting, planning. Same difference when it comes to you two,” Mat retorts, keeping his chest pressed to your back when he leans in to grab a tortilla chip out of the open bag on the counter and swipe it through the bowl of guac in front of you. He chomps noisily on the chip, right in your ear, and you reach back to swat at his stomach. Mat takes a small step back so he’s not as loud in your ear.

“Don’t get guac on me,” you complain a little, trying to wiggle out of Mat’s embrace. All it serves to do is get your ass pressed against his crotch. Mat laughs and wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you back against him.

He presses a kiss behind your ear and mutters quietly, “say the word and I’ll kick Li out right now.”

Your laugh is overshowdowed by Liana’s outraged cry of, “I can hear you, dumbass! I’m standing right next to you!”

“In the kitchen that I own,” Mat shoots back, still hugging you.

Before they start bickering even more and derail yours and Liana’s plans, you hold up your hands and shoot a wide-eye, raised eyebrows look at your boyfriend’s sister. “How about we don’t turn a lovely visit into a Barzal brawl?” You say, tone placating.

Liana immediately relaxes, her lips tipping up in a half-smile. Mat’s arm loosens around your shoulders and you lean easily against his chest.

“Yeah, okay,” they both mutter at the same time and you can’t help but laugh at the identical tone and inflection.

Mat’s hips work lazily against your ass and you know it’s a subconscious movement, a tic that he can’t help when he’s pressed close to you. It used to be insanely distracting, but you’re so used to it by now, you barely even notice anymore.

“Why don’t you join us for a Tik Tok?” You ask Mat, leaning your head back against his shoulder to look up at him. “Liana and I have like a whole bunch of videos we want to make while she’s here.”

It’s a partially true statement. You do have a couple of videos that would be fun to make with her while she’s visiting for a long weekend, but conning Mat into a video is the main plan.

“Your videos always do the best when I join,” Mat brags in an overly smug tone. He kisses your forehead and you know he’s teasing. But again, another partially true statement. You had a solid social media following, but once you started dating Mat, your follower count exploded and the videos that he pops up in are the ones that get shared the most. Especially on Twitter and the random fan cams you stumble on while you scroll.

Liana scoffs. “God, the ego on you is ridiculous,” she tosses a grape at Mat’s head. He catches it and pops it into his mouth, grinning.

“I could boost your following too, Li,” he offers. “I know you get a bump when I appear. It’s my natural charm and charisma.”

Both you and Liana burst out laughing, drowning out Mat’s offended protests. He complains that you’re being mean to him and you turn in his arms to press a kiss against the corner of his mouth, tasting salt from the tortilla chip and cilantro from the guac. “Shush,” you tease, “we’re keeping you humble.”

He scowls at you, nose wrinkling, and you press your lips together to smother a smile because he’s adorable when he’s annoyed.

“If you’re mean to me, I’m leaving the video,” he warns finally. You know he doesn’t mean it, Mat loves being part of yours and Liana’s business too much.

“If you two are done playing grab ass,” Liana interrupts, sure enough, Mat’s hands are gripping your ass cheeks like his life depends on it. “Can we get filming before we have to get changed for dinner?”

You slip away from Mat with a giggle and grab your coffee mug off the counter, your phone in your other hand. Mat grabs the Tostitos and the guac and follows you both to the couch. He plops down, spreading his knees wide, in the middle of the couch with his snack resting on his thigh.

“So what did I actually agree to do?” He asks while you and Liana each take a seat on the floor in front of the couch. You prop your phone up against a pair of coffee table books and the plastic case for NHL 24.

Liana starts to explain, “basically, we’re giving you questions and you have to pick which of us it applies to. Like, you know stuff out of a high school yearbook or whatever.”

“It’ll make sense when we start,” you pipe up, opening Tik Tok. You make Mat shift a few inches to the right so all three of you are in the frame and ask, “ready?”

The siblings nod and Mat digs into the chip bag, just as you’re starting to speak. Liana rolls her eyes at him.

“Hey guys,” you lean in towards the camera, “we’ve got a house guest for a long weekend, I think you’re familiar with her?”

Liana waves at the camera, smiling. “Hey! We figured since this is the first time I’ve been in the same country as big bro since the summer, we should mark the occasion with a Tik Tok.”

“I’m here under duress,” Mat snarks, giving the camera a big, cheesy grin. “And the snacks,” he lifts the bowl of guac. “A Squeaks specialty.”

“Perfect segue to the game,” Liana chirps, pulling out her phone and tapping open the Notes app. “We’re going to ask Mat questions and he has to pick which one of us it applies to. So, first we’ll go with who’s the better cook?”

Mat scrunches his face up in thought for a few seconds before wiggling his hand back and forth in the air. “Toss up,” he says. “Depending on what food it is.”

“Nope, not a valid answer,” Liana shakes her head. “Remember who cooks for you all the time at home.”

“I mean, I cook for him all the time down here,” you pipe up, feigning nonchalance.

Mat jabs his index finger at you, “exactly. Plus, no offense, Li, but your recipes are pretty basic. Squeaks likes to experiment.” He waggles his eyebrows and you reach back to pinch his ankle. He yelps and kicks lightly at your thigh with his socked foot. “Rude.”

“Cooperate, Mat!” You sigh.

“Next question,” Liana taps again at her phone, “who’s funnier?”

Mat hovers his hand over your head and you smile. “Squeaks, for sure,” he nods decisively.

Liana rolls her eyes. “Sarcasm isn’t actually being funny, just so you know,” she comments idly.

“If it makes me laugh, then yeah it is,” Mat retorts, crunching into a chip to punctuate his sentence. He pokes at your thigh with his foot again, affectionate this time, and you wrap a hand around his ankle.

You reach out and, out of Mat’s view, tap on Liana’s thigh, subtly widening your eyes at her. She grins back and tips her chin in a slight nod.

“How about, who’s the better dancer?” You ask, leaning over to read off of Liana’s phone.

Mat shifts his hand to hold it over Liana’s head with a laugh. “I love you, baby, but you’ve got all the rhythm of a middle aged dad,” he teases. “Li clears this one.”

You wrinkle your nose and cut your eyes to Liana, murmuring, “I don’t know. Shaking your ass isn’t really dancing, is it?”

“At least I can shake my ass on beat,” Liana shoots back quickly.

On the screen, you can see Mat frown before sticking a guac covered chip into his mouth. His eyes flicker between you and Liana and you can see him thinking before deciding not to say anything. You roll your lips together to avoid laughing. You and Liana are definitely going to have to take it up a notch.

“Best style?” Liana asks and continues before Mat can answer, “oh, obviously me. No question.”

Mat looks down at her, eyebrows drawing together over his nose. “Since when? You’re always in comfy clothes, sweats, that shit.” He gestures down at Liana who’s wearing a cream lounge pants and sweater set that more or less matches your own.

“Maybe when I’m hanging out with you in the house,” Liana hits his other leg. “But my street style is way better, she dresses so Long Island.”

“Long Island fashion is so much better than anything to come out of Canada,” you retort with an eye roll. “Mat clearly made the right choice.”

“And I’m sure that has nothing to do with the fact that he like when you dress all skimpy and slutty,” she shoots you an insincere smile and the couch shifts when Mat sits up straight.

“Hey, whoa, Liana that’s not cool,” Mat snaps, shaking his head. “What’s going on with you?”

You turn your head away from Mat to hide the smile that threatens at your lips. Liana waves a hand at her brother, “oh my god, nothing. It’s true though, you like the way she dresses.”

“Yeah, but she’s not a slut,” Mat’s getting annoyed and it’s sweet, how quick he is to defend you.

“Oh, it’s fine,” you draw attention back to you. “Let’s do another. Who’s smarter?”

Mat squints at you and leans back into the couch, crunching the bag of chips behind his back. “Oh shit,” he mutters, yanking it out and getting crumbs everywhere. You exhale a laugh through your nose - vacuuming before going out for dinner isn’t entirely unusual with Mat’s eating on the couch habits.

“Um, both of you?” He replies to the question. “Like Li is street smart, but you’re book smart. Y’know?”

“Oh my god,” Liana shakes her head. “Are you calling me stupid? You think she’s smarter than me?” She jabs her thumb at you and you frown at Mat.

“Seriously? Like you think I’m not street smart? You could drop me anywhere and I’d find my way home,” you protest, pretending to get heated.

“Please, she’s not even book smart either,” Liana says. “You know she thinks blood is just floating around in the body!”

You burst out a little laugh. That one is actually true, you’d had a “blonde moment” and said something to Liana to the effect of it being weird that blood and organs are just floating around inside your body. She’d stared at you for a solid five minutes with her mouth open at your stupidity, while you immediately realized your mistake and tried to backtrack that you knew veins and arteries exist.

Mat raises his eyebrows at you and his mouth drops a little. “Wait, seriously?” He asks. “You really think that?”

“No!” You yelp, waving your hands in the air. “Like for a second, but I’m not that dumb.”

Liana scoffs under her breath and you cut your gaze at her to see her hand come up and cover her mouth, hiding a wide smile.

“Maybe I should take it back,” Mat laughs, poking at your side with his foot. “Yeah, I’m changing my answer, Liana’s smarter.”

“Rude,” you laugh, unable to actually be offended by Mat’s switch-up. If he had said something as stupid, you would’ve made fun of him until the end of time.

Liana asks the next question - “Who’s more popular on Tik Tok?” - and Mat waffles until he eventually decides that the answer is “whoever features me the most.”

“Well, there’s a reason you’re never on mine,” Liana comments idly. “I don’t need the exposure.”

Mat squints at her, leaning forward so he’s almost bent in half. “Literally what is going on with you?” He flicks the back of her head and she swats at him. “You’re being so weird.”

“I’m not being weird, you’re being weird,” Liana shoots back.

“I never heard you talk to her like that,” Mat grumbles, jerking his thumb in your direction. “What bug crawled up your ass?”

“No bug,” Liana shrugs. “Just calling them like I see them.”

You lean against the couch and watch Mat’s face twist into a skeptical frown. He kicks the side of Liana’s thigh and says firmly, “be nicer. Whatever’s happening here needs to cool off.”

He’s being fairly calm, so maybe the trick won’t actually work. You tap on Mat’s calf, momentarily distracted by the thick cords of muscle, and say, “one more, and then I think we need to start getting ready.”

Mat reaches down and scratches the tips of his fingers against your scalp, making you lean into his touch like a cat, a slow smile taking over your face. With your cheek pressed against his knee, you look over at Liana, who’s rolling her eyes even as she has a faint smile on her face at your antics.

“Okay,” she grins, “if we were all in a sinking ship and you could only save yourself and one of us, who would it be?”

Without hesitating, Mat immediately says, “Squeaks.” There’s a healthy amount of “duh” in his tone and you can’t help but smile, warmed down to your core at Mat’s quick response.

Until Liana does her job and riles him up.

“Seriously?” She scoffs a laugh. “No hesitation, you’d pick some girl you haven’t even known a year over your own sister? Wow.”

You bite at your lower lip to hide a smile and Mat shoots forward again, jostling you.

“Liana, jesus fuck. What is wrong with you?” He snaps. “You’re being a fucking bitch. You know she’s not ‘some girl’ and you need to apologize. Now.”

He’s scowling at her, legs tensed. You don’t usually see Mat angry off the ice, but now he’s angry on your behalf and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t hot. Absolutely worth the prank to get him worked up like this.

Liana giggles and shakes her head. “Oooh, you should see your face,” she giggles again.

“I’m dead serious, Liana,” Mat shakes his head. “You’re not fucking funny and I’m not going to sit her and let you be rude.”

You start giggling now and reach out for Mat’s hand. “Hey, babe, Mat. Seriously, it’s okay,” you say and Mat squints at you, frowning.

“No, it’s not fucking okay. I thought you two got along. I thought you were friends and now Liana’s over here being rude as hell,” he shakes his head. “I’m not going to let you stay here and be nasty, Li.”

Liana catches your eye and the laughter is contagious. Soon enough, the two of you are cracking up, gasping for air. Mat’s confused, you can tell, because he’s spluttering and shaking both of your shoulders with his hands.

“What the actual fuck is going on?” He mutters, reaching down and dragging you up onto his lap. You laugh and protest, wiggling to sit on the couch with your legs draped over his thighs.

“It’s a Tik Tok trend,” you explain, waving at your phone with one hand and wrapping the other around the back of Mat’s neck. Liana leans forward and stops the video on your phone. It was getting too long anyway and no one needs to see you explain the whole thing to Mat.

Liana pipes up, “I can’t believe you’d really think I hate her. I like her more than I like you.”

Mat’s eyebrows scrunch together and you can see the wheels turning in his brain. It clicks all of a sudden and Mat’s mouth falls open, outraged shock written all over his features. “I knew it!” He yelps, grabbing a throw pillow and whacking Liana on the shoulder. She falls over, laughter gasping out of her. Mat smacks her with the pillow again and Liana kicks out at him, glancing the coffee table and yelping in pain.

“I knew you two were plotting!” He laughs, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you pinned to his side. Your stomach hurts from laughing and trying to wriggle away. “Fucking menaces, I’m not saving either one of you. You can both drown.”

“No!” Your laugh mixes with Liana’s and Mat’s, the three of you landing in a pile on the floor as Mat continues to whack at both of you with the pillow. Liana kicks at Mat’s shin, fighting him when he rubs his knuckles on the top of her head in a noogie.

“Stop, stop, mercy!” Liana gasps, wheezing. Mat rolls his eyes, but stops, breathing hard when he sits up, keeping you locked securely on his lap. You press your forehead against his shoulder, panting. Mat’s hands are warm on your back and then they slide down, his palm smacking against your ass in a spank.

You yelp and jump in his arms, nearly cracking the side of his jaw with your head. “What was that for?” You grumble, reaching back to rub at the sore spot.

Mat grins wickedly at you. “For being a brat,” he replies simply. He points at Liana, sprawled like a starfish on the floor, and says, “you’re on coffee duty for the rest of your time here. And I want the fancy shit from For Five, not the homemade stuff.”

Liana whines. “No way, this was a clean prank,” she counters, kicking at Mat’s side and missing. “You agreed to be in the video.”

“Last time I do that,” Mat mutters, but he’s laughing under his breath and he presses a kiss to your forehead, so you know he doesn’t mean it. “You two are so fucking annoying.”

“But who would you say is more annoying?” You can’t help but ask, a cheeky smile on your face.

Mat groans and Liana lifts her hand for you to slap. You lean over in Mat’s lap to smack her hand and nearly fall over in the process. Mat’s fingers wrap around your thigh and keep you in place.

“No more Tik Tok,” he vows when you’re settled again, perched happily on his lap, your thighs bracketing his hips.

Liana pipes up from the floor before you have a chance, “okay, and not that i’m supporting you two being disgusting, so please wait until I go home, but what about that trend where the wife’s cooking naked when her husband gets home?”

You bite your tongue to hide a giggle and Mat’s head cocks, thinking. His fingers flex against your thighs. You loop your arms around his neck and trace your fingertips over the back of his neck. His forehead relaxes and you can feel his cock twitch with interest under your ass.

Eventually, he says, “okay, I’ll allow my participation in one more video.”

“That’s what I thought,” Liana mumbles. “Freaks.”

[temporarywelcome]

Turkey - Spencer Reid

Word Count: 2k

Summary: JJ's son, Henry, loves his Uncle Spencer and Spencer's girlfriend, so JJ invites the two over for some holiday crafts.

WARNINGS: some swearing? mostly just fluffyness

A/N: technically a continuation of my little "Smooth Criminal" series though this can 100% be read standalone. If you want to know why Girls' Generation is mentioned, perhaps read "Babysitting", tho you really don't need to

____

Look, she didn’t hate kids.

She just didn’t like them.

Y/N didn’t hate Henry, but she wasn’t exactly a fan either.

Spencer adored the kid to bits, being his godfather, and as Spencer’s girlfriend, Y/N saw Henry quite often. She had won JJ over, another member of the BAU that was able to look past her sketchy past as a kleptomaniac. All that was left was Rossi. 

Winning JJ over wasn’t as easy as Garcia, Morgan, or Prentiss. Hell, Y/N found getting on Hotch’s good side to be easier. She helped with a few cases using her knowledge from her life of thievery, helping them catch a few unsubs. Hotch didn’t mind her.

But with JJ? It took multiple days of babysitting. 

And Y/N didn’t like kids.

But it paid off in the end, she could assume. 

November had just arrived, and Spencer being the holiday fanatic he was, had their shared apartment decked for the season.

This was the most orange she had seen in a while. 

This was their first November living together, so she let him have his fun, just like for October. Being the sucker she was, anything he wanted, she let happen.

But this time it was JJ who had a request for her. Well, both her and Spencer.

Like most days Spencer wasn't out on a case, Y/N had driven off to the FBI building's parking garage, sitting in her usual parking space to pick him up. She was exhausted from her own responsibilities at the theatre, busy at rehearsal for hours. 

She was reviewing her lines, because she always took work home with her, tired and cranky as hell. She already knew Spencer was probably going to be equally tired and cranky as hell, and he was always annoying as fuck when he was, well, tired and cranky as hell. 

Noticing Spencer approaching from the rearview mirror, Y/N grinned. She was already excited to just go home and cuddle in bed with her man. Her smile faded when she saw JJ walking next to him. Not like she had a thing against JJ, she just wanted to be in bed already. 

Spencer slid into his designated seat in the front, but he didn’t close the door, “JJ has a proposition for us,” 

“Does it involve a bubble bath and wine and then my nice warm bed?” Y/N deadpanned. 

JJ, who was standing to the left of Spencer, answered, “Unfortunately no. However, Henry really wanted to do some holiday crafts with his Uncle Spencer this weekend but also wanted you to be there too, Y/N,”

She paused, shocked, “Me? Henry wants to do some holiday crafts with me?”

“Yes, he really likes you,” JJ replied, “And it would mean a lot to Henry and Will and I if you came.” 

“Er,” Y/N scratched the back of her neck awkwardly, “I don’t see why not,”

Spencer’s eyes brightened, “Really?” he expected her to make up some lame excuse not to go, pleasantly surprised now. “Great! I-”

“Alright, g’bye, JJ,” Y/N grumbled, reaching over Spencer and closing his door, “Sorry, I’m exhausted and ready to bite someone’s head off,”

“That someone is going to be me,” Spencer sighed, leaning back in his seat.

“Oh, please, you’re always getting pissy with me when you’re tired-”

“Okay but you get pissy even when you’re not tired-”

“So we’re lying now? Okay, fine-”

“You two have fun,” JJ muttered, leaving them to their bickering. 

It was like that for the whole car ride, which led to Y/N and Spencer grumbling to themselves and dramatically stalking off to separate rooms. Within minutes, they both felt like shit. And so Spencer scurried to run her a bath with those bubbles she wanted, and when he went to get her a glass of wine, he found her in the kitchen, making him a late-night snack. 

They made eye contact, very well aware of what the other was doing. Y/N spoke first.

“You’re so fucking annoying when you’re tired, y’know?”

“So are you.” he shot back with a huff. 

“Yeah, but you let all your crankiness pile up until you’re in my vicinity to let it all out on me,” she explained, still chopping up some fruits as she spoke, “At least I take out all my anger equally onto everyone,” 

“How nice,” he rolled his eyes, “...I ran you a bath,”

“I made you a snack,” she held up a bowl of freshly cut fruits, his favorite kinds. He slowly took it.

“...I love you.”

“Love you too, fucking pain,” she said dryly, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before walking off for her bath, smirking slightly. That was usually how their arguments went. 

___

On Saturday, Y/N and Spencer arrived at JJ’s place at around noon. JJ was the one who answered the door, but before she could even greet them, Henry pushed past her.

“Y/N! Uncle Spencer!” He exclaimed. He was known for being extremely… loud. “You're here!”

“Hey, buddy,” Spencer grins, hugging back as Henry ran at him, “Of course we’re here,”

Once Henry was tired of Spencer’s hug he jumped on Y/N next. She choked, eyes widening before awkwardly patting the kid’s back. It was funny. She was usually the affectionate one and Spencer shied away from physical touch. But with kids, Spencer was always giving them love while Y/N was ready to jump out a window to get away. 

“Guess what, Y/N?!” Henry said in his usual annoyingly loud tone, “I’m going to be in a Thanksgiving play at my school!” 

When Spencer and Y/N had babysat Henry for the first time, Henry was a monster, and Spencer got overstimulated within the first hour. So Y/N had kept Henry distracted with her usual fix of Girls’ Generation and then put him on MTV for a while. Y/N had a career in the arts, and from what JJ has said, it seemed like Henry was becoming interested in it too. 

“Oh, really?” she asked, ruffling his hair, “I did a few when I was in elementary school,”

Henry’s eyes lit up, “REALLY?! I’m just like you!” he then skipped off inside of JJ’s home. Y/N debated running off into the street. 

“He really looks up to you,” JJ grumbled, clearly in a Don’t Mess This Up way. 

“Me? B-But I’ve only seen him a few times,” Y/N scratched the back of her neck, suddenly feeling this responsibility (that she did not even want). 

“Well, you made an impression on him,” JJ replied, “Now come on in. Will just made some lunch,”  At the word lunch, Y/N was off inside the house and Spencer went to follow, JJ stopping him, “Did you two have the talk yet?”

His brows furrowed, “Like sexual education-?”

“No,” she couldn’t help but laugh, “The whole kids thing…”

Oh. That. 

During that one babysitting adventure, Spencer had admitted to his girlfriend he had wanted kids, but didn’t think he would be a good dad. She had assured him, saying she was sure he would be a great dad and even said as a mom she would definitely pull as much of the weight as she could. 

But she doesn’t even want to be a mom.

She only said those things to calm him down.

They had agreed to discuss the whole kids thing after, something they probably should have done before they got serious with each other. But never did. He was terrified, and he was sure she was too. 

So they never did. 

“No,” he looked down, fiddling with his fingers, “We have not,” 

JJ sighed, “Reid.” Here we go. “You two have to talk about this.” 

“I know,”

“Then why haven’t you?”

“I just…” he shrugged, still not making eye contact, “I don’t want to lose her,”

“Spencer, if you guys have different wants, no matter what happens, you’re going to end up resenting each other,” 

She was right, and he knew that. He knew that if they didn’t have any kids he would probably start to resent Y/N, and if they did have kids, Y/N would probably start to resent him and the children, which he wouldn’t be able to bear. 

But he won’t be able to bear losing her either. 

“I know, I know… I’ll talk to her about it, promise,” 

“No you won’t,” JJ shook her head with a sigh, and with that, she let him in.

____

“I can feel you lookin’ at me, I know what you see. Any closer and you feel the heat,” Y/N and Henry were singing obnoxiously as they cut up little turkey body parts for a little arts and crafts project, sitting together at the kid's table.  

Spencer, JJ, and Will were seated at the “adult” table, occasionally giving each other glances as they watched the scene unfold before them. The way both Y/N and Henry looked equally concentrated on their turkeys as they cut the paper, brows furrowed with tongues sticking out in determination. 

“For someone who doesn’t like kids,” JJ mused, “She’s good with them,”

“Yeah, because she’s like one,” Spencer scoffed, sipping at his coffee, “That’s like her third turkey,” 

“He still hasn’t had the ‘kids’ talk with her yet,” JJ told Will, who tutted in disappointment. 

“Do you gossip about me?” Spencer’s mouth dropped. 

“A bit,” 

“Wow,” 

“To be fair, it was Garcia who told him about it,”

Spencer rolled his eyes with a soft chuckle, “Of course it was her. She blows up everything in my relationship,”

“She does it with love,”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah-”

“GIRLS GENERATION MAKE YOU FEEL THE HEAT-”

“-I hope it works out,” Will said, always the earnest one (also ignoring the practical karaoke in the living room), “I feel she’s good for you-”

“-AND WE’RE DOIN’ IT, WE CAN’T BE BEAT-”

“-Yeah, you need some fun in your life-,” JJ agreed with a grin. 

“-B-BRING THE BOYS OUT-”

“-Sometimes it makes me want to scoop my brain out of my skull via my nostrils,” Spencer grumbled, wincing at the loud yell-singing, “I have to deal with this pretty much every day-”

“-WE’RE BORN TO WIN, BETTER TELL ALL-” The singing suddenly stopped, and a child plus an overgrown child scampered on over, showing off their turkeys. 

“Look, Mommy!” Henry shoved one into JJ’s face, “It’s you!”

JJ surveyed the turkey with the colored in blonde hair with a smile, “Aw, it’s beautiful-” she paused, “...why does it look angry?”

“You get angry a lot,”

Will immediately covered his mouth to stifle a laugh. 

“And I did you too, Daddy!” Henry handed Will his turkey.

“Why is his smiling?” JJ grumbled before laughing softly, petting her son’s hair. 

“Because he smiles a lot,” Ah, kids with their zero filter. 

“Look,” Y/N slapped down her turkey onto the table in front of Spencer, eyes bright like the overgrown child she was. 

Spencer looked down at the turkey and grinned, already knowing exactly who it was.

“It’s you, pretty boy,” she said proudly, doing jazz hands like the theatre freak she was. 

The turkey was definitely him, with a silly hairstyle colored in and some glasses, accompanied by a sweater vest. 

“Why does my turkey have no pants on?” he asked like some art critic.

“Because it’s a turkey, I bet pants would be uncomfortable.”

“But glasses wouldn’t be?”

“The turkey won’t be able to see without glasses!” 

He laughed, looking down at the turkey again. He complained a lot, he was well aware of it, however, there was nothing in this world that could make him dislike the woman in front of him. 

And so he pulled her down, not bothering to stand, planting a kiss to her lips. 

“EWWWWW!” Henry gasped, covering his eyes, “What are you DOING?!”

When Spencer pulled his lips away, Y/N smirked, “You should totally make a turkey of me now,”

___

song is "The Boys" by Girls' Generation

[zara-renata]

The right hand, the left hand, the heart of Sylus Qin | ao3 | fanfic masterlist

Summary: Sylus meets with his legal counsel while the twins give you a tour of the base, you wake up from a dream, Sylus wastes some eggs, you attempt to get to know Sylus better, and you have your first 'date' with Sylus Qin. Part 16 of the Sylus series.

Notes: Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, second person POV, some Sylus POV They/them pronouns used to describe reader, meant as a placeholder for your preferred pronouns slow-burn friends-to-lovers This story contains: a lot of fluff and patient, tender Sylus, despite the following: MC questioning their sanity, MC with self-esteem issues, MC in the death-throes of fear-driven denial regarding the possibility that maybe, just maybe, Sylus has been interested in them this entire fucking time, Aidan antics, twin antics, a little self-induced MC angst, mentions of violence, profanity, alcohol use, discussions of gray morality

Sylus lets his bedroom door shut behind him, leaving you to dress, preparing to leave you in Luke and Kieran’s hands. His heart—so long an empty cavern, echoing the rapid-fire rhythm of its beat—clenches, jams. You’re just on the other side of the door, and you’re already too far.

The twins are leaning against the hallway wall on either side of the door. As he steps out, their heads snap up.

He pauses. “Show kitten around the base, wherever they want to go. Finish the tour with the guest wing.”

Kieran straightens. “Why the guest wing? Is your hunter not staying in your room?” He’s still hoarse from the previous night, and Sylus makes a mental note to get him some throat lozenges. It was your feral kitten who hurt him, after all, although it’s arguably also Kieran and Luke’s own fault for approaching a seasoned warrior in a notoriously dangerous area like a couple of serial killers. Which the twins are, but not in the typical sense of the term.

“Kitten hasn’t decided where to stay yet,” Sylus answers, secure in the knowledge that you will choose him. But he is serious about wanting to at least offer you the choice—of rooms. Because even if you choose another room to stay in, he intends to find his way there at the end of every day. You sleep much better when he’s around, after all. Even then, you’ll still have a choice—you can always try to kick him off the bed again. He’ll just sleep on the floor.

“Do you want us to fix that?” Luke asks hopefully. “We can flood that floor if you want. Whoops, all the rooms are out of order!” he feigns surprise, poorly. 

Sylus snorts. “I have a feeling that if you tried to flood only the one floor, the whole base will end up underwater.”

“Is that a no?” Luke looks disappointed.

“That’s a no,” Kieran answers for Sylus. “Understood. We’ll show them all the entertainment options we have to incentivize a long stay, before we show them the guest rooms.”

Sylus nods. “Call me, if it looks like kitten is getting overwhelmed. Their last stay here… had unintended consequences.” 

“Oh you mean when you starved them and forced them to resonate with you and threatened to leave them to die?” Luke asks, counting on his fingers and tilting his head.

Sylus sighs. “Yes, Luke. That’s what I mean.”

“Okay, then we’ll tell them all about how awesome you are so that they forget that you can also be a massive asshole,” Luke perks up.

Sylus just looks at him for a moment. Even with his aether core, it took him a while to get used to Luke’s particular brand of practical, blunt straightforwardness. So few people speak to Sylus with such raw honesty and fearlessness that spending time with Luke is always a refreshing palate cleanser after enduring meeting after meeting with intimidated, simpering fools who would turn around and slit Sylus’s throat if given half a chance. He tells himself that’s the only reason he tolerates such insubordination from this half of his right-hand man.

“Oh, that’s a sound plan Luke, well thought!” Kieran agrees, pleased with his other half. 

“Just give them the tour and keep them company until I’m done.” Sylus learned long ago that attempting to corral the twins’ machinations is usually fruitless, but clear instructions tend to keep the fallout from being too disastrous.

The young men nod in unison. Sylus considers continuing to take his sweet time to get to his office, just to further infuriate the undoubtedly seething Aidan who is waiting for him. But then he remembers the last time he had to wade through a bunch of barking human beings at one of Aidan’s munches. He sniffs. He’d much rather get business over with and get back to you as quickly as possible. If Sylus wasn’t already keenly aware of how much your presence in his life is already changing him, he’d realize it now as he swallows his pettiness and teleports to his office, instead of making Aidan wait out of principle.

As he re-materializes in his office, Aidan turns from looking at the wall where a majority of Aidan’s fountain pens have ended up embedded, forming the image of a large happy face.

“How surprising that you didn’t throw them in the pattern of a skull emoji—” Aidan begins, until black-red tendrils materialize around his ankles and sweep him off his feet. They hold him dangling, headfirst. He lets out a little delighted squeal that makes Sylus wince.

“If you’re trying to discourage my insubordination in front of your paramour that you’re undoubtedly about to ream me for, I’m afraid it’s having the opposite effect,” his legal counsel grins happily, wriggling against the evol restraints.

Sylus comes to a stop in front of him so that they’re face to upside-down face, his thumbs hooked casually in his sleep pants pockets.

“Oh, I am aware,”  he says in disgust. “But despite your interrupting a very pleasant moment with kitten, I feel that I owe you an apology for making you miss knitting club. So enjoy my mercy before we get down to business.”  

“And people say you’re a monster,” Aidan continues grinning dopily at him. 

“People are fools,” Sylus tsks. “Oh, before I forget. Speaking of interrupting my moment with kitten… they say that if you ever call them kitten again, they’ll tear out your tongue and make you eat it.”

Aidan’s eyebrows shoot up… or down, depending on your perspective. “They said that?”

Sylus considers lying, but he doesn’t want to mischaracterize you or your words to anyone. “Not the part about forcing you to eat it,” he admits. “But if kitten doesn’t, I’ll make you.”

Aidan just laughs. “I don’t believe your empty threats. My tongue’s too expensive for you to waste like that. Still… removing my tongue, huh,” he continues thoughtfully. “No wonder you’re so obsessed.”

Sylus turns, leisurely making his way to his desk as the evol tendrils bind Aidan’s wrists behind his back, jerk him upright, and then toss him onto one of the black leather couches in the office’s sitting area. They dissipate as Aidan snickers a little breathlessly.

“First the happy face. Now giving me a little treat instead of a lecture. I’ve never seen you in such a good mood.” Instead of sitting up like a proper employee showing deference to his employer, Aidan just stretches languidly across the couch and props his head up on a fist. “Although I’m still pissed that this is how you treat my pens,” he frowns, jerking his head back toward the impaled wall.

“I pay you enough to purchase all the pens you could ever want, plus the factory that makes them.” Sylus sits down at his desk, slouching behind the paperwork still strewn haphazardly over it that he abandoned after receiving the call from Luke informing him that you were running from him again.

“But what you do not pay me enough for is missing knitting club. The grandmas are going to give me hell the next time I go,” Aidan grumbles. 

“I’m sure you can handle it,” Sylus drawls. “Now, if you’re done whining, let’s get through this so that I can get back to kitten.”

Aidan lets out a dramatic sigh and sits up, as if the effort is utterly exhausting. “Have you had a chance to look at the latest draft?”

Sylus flicks the messy stack of papers with his fingers and they go sailing with his evol to Aidan’s lap. Aidan lifts one page, a look of disdain on his face as he holds it so that he can look at Sylus through the neat hole punctured in it as a result of Sylus’s boredom with the pen.

“That’s what I think of the latest draft,” Sylus says.

Aidan tsks. “Good, that was my feeling as well. But you didn’t have to mutilate the damn thing.” He gathers the pages, trying to put them in order. “After I’m finished reprinting it,” he sighs dramatically again. “I’ll redline it and get it to them this week.”

Sylus just nods, staring out into the night through his office’s wall of windows. It’s not too foggy, so the N109 Zone’s skyline glitters menacingly, an undersea predator luring prey in the dark.

“Next order of business: FJB group’s CEO is hounding me again to arrange a face-to-face with you. He’s getting… aggressive.”

“Hardly surprising, considering the type of entitled scumbag he is,” Sylus scoffs. “I’m not interested in his offer. Keep ignoring him.”

“Sylus, I don’t think he’s the type of guy who will simply get the hint and slink back to his hole. Doing nothing will only embolden him.”

“Embolden him to do what? If he doesn’t get the message and tries to approach you directly, just eliminate him. I do not have the patience right now to play games with him.” He has much more interesting things to focus on, now that you’re in his bed, in his home, just down the hall. And this time he’s certain you’re right down the hall, and not sprinting through the night like a panicked deer. A deer capable of taking down wolves, but still, a deer all the same.

“That’s a bad call, and you know it,” Aidan argues. “He is strong enough to have an exclusive grip on the flesh trade. If you remove him, ten other would-be heads of the hydra will sprout and it will destabilize the Zone.That means more collateral damage.”

“An exclusive grip that he has only because I allow it,” Sylus snorts. “And what, more collateral damage than the people he traffics?”

Aidan gapes at him. “What has gotten into you? This is the reality of humanity. People are not going to stop exploiting each other, no matter how much of an iron fist you wield. The only thing you can do is ensure that you think strategically enough to minimize the inevitable harm.”

Sylus frowns. That is indeed what he has always thought. The depravity of humanity is such that eradication of human suffering is impossible, and no one person can save the world. People can  hardly save themselves. Sylus himself has learned that lesson the hard way, over and over. It’s not his responsibility to save everyone. That is something that this version of you simply does not understand, and you’re vulnerable because of it. Someday, if Sylus doesn’t stop you, you’re going to get yourself killed because of your misguided sense of duty to strangers whose fate is being born to suffer. But knowing this version of you… thinking about how hard you take every loss, the way your already broken heart is chiseled further with every person you can’t save… his own assault rifle heart jams again. 

The CEO of the FJB Group is just the type of person Sylus thinks you’d like to bathe your feet in the blood of, even if you hate admitting that to yourself. Sylus would happily string him up, field dress him like the pathetic prey he is, and let his corpse drain for your bathing pleasure.

But since you’re still having a hard time admitting that yourself, he’s worried that if he does, you might get mad. And Aidan’s right. If he kills this fuck, ten others will try to claw their way up to take the empty throne.

“Noted. Just keep ignoring him. If he still won’t take no for an answer, let me know.” Aidan looks relieved, until he continues. “But I’m going to rely on you more for the next few weeks. Handle everything you can without bothering me, unless you want to contact me in a personal capacity. Things are settled enough after cleaning house—I want to focus on personal matters for the foreseeable future.”

Aidan jerks to his feet but takes a deep breath. He begins to pace, hands folded behind his back. Sylus appreciates his self control, as he knows that his litigator’s instinct is to immediately counter-argue his disagreement.

He stops, turns to Sylus, huffs.

“Speak,” Sylus orders, lifting an eyebrow. Seeing Aidan flustered is always amusing, but Sylus is impatient to get back to you. Maybe he’ll be done quick enough to take over the tour himself.

“Are you sure this is a good idea? The risks…” Aidan begins, uncharacteristically hesitant. 

“Whether it’s a good idea or not, it’s happening. The whole reason I’m here is finally in my bed. Everything else is secondary.”

Aidan looks pained. “I still don’t understand your single-minded fixation on this one person. This one person who happens to be a Deepspace Hunter, whose job mandate is to hunt you, in particular, and bring you down. There are literally thousands of other people in the world who would probably be thrilled to be in your bed. Why limit yourself to one, and to one who poses such a risk to everything you’ve built? To your very life?”

“Not all of us have such a low threshold for amusement that just anyone in their bed will do, like you,” Sylus clicks his tongue.

“It’s not about a low threshold of amusement. It’s being open to the possibility that each person you meet is a gift, containing an entire world, and the pleasure is opening the box to see what’s inside,” Aidan retorts, “You’re just a snob, and refuse to acknowledge that other people have rich inner lives, just like you do.”

“Save me your idealistic speeches about free love and the beauty of the human spirit. How you can come from where you’re from, handle the shit you handle in your line of work, openly acknowledge that humans are scum, and yet still enjoy them like little snowflake gift boxes, is simply beyond me.”

“I’m full of imagination,” Aidan sniffs.

‘You’re full of bullshit. You’re just easily bored and like to fuck,” Sylus baits him, knowing that Aidan is actually sincere.

“Excuse you!” Aidan does not disappoint. “How dare you—and what an accusation, coming from you, the man who can get bored in the middle of murdering someone. How do you even know that your obsession can retain your interest in the long run?” Aidan lobs back.

Sylus just smiles, with teeth. His fascination with you was already gigantic before he laid eyes on you again. It has only grown, the longer he gets to spend time with you. Your mix of strength and fragility. The unpredictability of your pleasure and your anxiety. Your blood thirst and your compassion. How can he ever get bored, when he has no idea what the next expression on your face will be? When he has no idea how you’ll manage to misinterpret the obviousness of his devotion to you, his endless patience, his worship?

“Oh god, never make that face again. I’m going to be sick. You’re so in love and I hate it,” Aidan gags exaggeratedly, like a cat hacking up a hairball.

“Then don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to,” Sylus advises.

Aidan hangs his head for a moment, hands on his hips. When he lifts it, he looks more serious than Sylus has seen him in awhile. “Joking aside, Sylus. How do you know that if things go south between you, the hunter won’t turn on you? This is a huge risk not only to you, but everyone you care about in this organization if you’re taken out.”

Sylus sits heavily back in his chair. He spins it a little, from side to side, as he thinks of how best to answer in a way that Aidan can understand. “I won’t let things go south between us. I will do whatever it takes to make my kitten happy, so that they’re never tempted to turn on me.”

“Even you can’t guarantee that. Love is messy, and it’s so close to hate. Especially when you begin that love with torturing them and using your evol on them without their permission,” Aidan says, wincing, as if he’s regretful about being so brutally honest.

“I have plans in place to protect the people who need protecting, in case I fuck up so badly that my beloved is driven to taking me out. And if it comes to that, I’ll deserve it,” Sylus sighs. He appreciates Aidan’s concern, but every minute he spends expressing that care is another minute that Sylus is kept from being near you. “Let me worry about the risks. Your job is to keep the empire running while I fortify the foundation that will prevent your worries from coming to pass.”

Aidan looks like he wants to say something else, but after a moment, his shoulders slump. “We just got you back. Don’t get yourself in trouble again. And of course. You don’t have to worry about the rest.” He straightens. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some puppy tails to pull.” He flicks a little wave in Sylus’s direction. “I’ll see myself out. Toodaloo!”

Just as he’s reaching the door, Sylus remembers the last thing he wanted to ask of his left hand man.

“Aidan.” Aidan jerks to a halt, and turns around, eyes narrowed, as if he can sense that whatever Sylus is about to ask will be a huge headache. “Set up a meeting with my architect, and get me a list of names.”

Aidan just stares at him for a beat. “Do I even want to know what type of names?”

“Experts in wildlife conservation. Particularly of the sealife variety.”

“You want a meeting with your architect and a sealife conservationist.” Aidan says flatly.

Sylus just stares at him.

“May I ask why?”

Sylus shows his teeth again. “I’ve been informed that the base needs an aquarium for orphaned and injured fish.”

Aidan gapes, but then rolls his eyes so hard that Sylus is worried they’ll get stuck. “I’m thrilled that your hunter makes you so happy. Really. Just thrilled. But I’m starting to get the feeling that they’ll also be the death of me, whether they take my tongue or not.” 

“Spare me your editorializing and just get it done,” Sylus forestalls further whining. He’s getting increasingly impatient to get back to you.

Aidan groans, because he views it as a moral imperative to always make sure that everyone within a five kilometer radius understands the terrible sacrifices he must make as Sylus’s lawyer. “Fine . You’ll have your list by the end of the week. But I’m leaving before you can transmit any more demands from your kitten.” He sweeps out of the room in a huff and the door slams behind him.

Sylus sits for a moment as the door swings shut. He takes Aidan’s concern seriously, but even his furiously spinning mind has a hard time planning for a scenario where you turn on him. Not in this life, at least. He doesn’t want to dwell on the past when the current you, so utterly sweet, so pliant in his arms, all of your spikes withdrawn for him and him alone, is walking around in his lair, with no plans to leave for the foreseeable future. He wants to rest too, while you’re here. He doesn’t want to think about the past, or a future he has yet to secure. He simply wants to be with you.

He doesn’t want to waste another minute. He stands and heads to the door.

* * *

You wake up.

All at once, on a gasp. Your heart is pounding. You’re aching, aching, because you just woke up from a dream you can’t remember and the only things that remain are the feeling of pleasure, of security, of desire reciprocated.

You lie there, eyes still closed, hoping that you’ll be able to re-access the dream—maybe if you can fall back asleep quickly enough, you can pick up the severed thread again, return to whatever was giving you that feeling of a feast when you’re famished, a waterfall when you thirst, the weight of another’s body on you, in you, filling you so completely it eclipses that constant emptiness you carry with you through all of your days.

But despite all of your yearning, all of your effort, you can’t return to whatever you were dreaming about. Only that feeling remains—safety. The certainty that you’re utterly cherished. That all of your worries from last night were simply little nightmares, extinguished upon your waking.

You remember where you are. Who you’re staying with. Who you were anguished about as you imagined him taking another to his bed. It all seems so silly now—you talking yourself into being sad, with no reason at all to believe that he would do so, when you’re the one he has invited into his home, you’re the one he wraps himself around at every opportunity, you’re the one who he insists he wants in his bed.

What a strange sense of double vision, or cognitive dissonance. Wishful thinking. Delusional fantasy. You know that there was a reason you were worried that Sylus would be seeing other people while you stay with him. But you’re now utterly convinced that such a worry is completely unfounded, so absurd as to make you laugh out loud. But you have no idea why you have this certainty now. It feels like someone reached inside your brain and flipped a switch, and though there was a logical reason to worry, you can no longer bring yourself to believe that Sylus would ever want another in his bed.

You feel insane.

You open your eyes, expecting to see the white canopy of the swinging garden fuck-bed above you, but you see the black, ornately carved ceiling of Sylus’s bedroom instead. You are certain you fell asleep in the greenhouse. How the hell did you wind up back in Sylus’s bed? The feeling of unreality intensifies.

You turn your head and feel an immediate sense of calm wash over you as you see Sylus sitting next to you, his glorious chest no longer bare, but clothed in a simple black sweater, his gold-rimmed reading glasses perched on his sexy hooked nose. He has his tablet in one hand. He looks down at you, one corner of his mouth lifted, and you have the most intense sensation that you know what his lips feel like. That you could map his tongue, recognize it by the feel of it in your mouth if you were blindfolded, its heft and insistence between your lips.

You feel insane.

“Finally awake, kitten?” he asks, nonchalantly. He reaches down and brushes his fingertips along your cheek.

“How did I get here?” you ask, trying desperately to push the feeling of being pressed beneath his beautiful body into something soft out of your mind. Of soft silver fur under your hands. His voice— Yes, Beloved?

“The better question is why weren’t you here to begin with?” he snorts softly.

“What?”

He continues to look at you with that amused, barely-there smile. “Not fully awake, huh. Why did you go to the greenhouse when you were tired, when you had assured me that you would stay in my bedroom while you're here?”

You look away, back to his ceiling. The elaborate moulding is as extra as the rest of his place, but it’s so beautiful, you can hardly fault him for his preference for lovely things. If you can afford it, why not surround yourself with beauty? You just wish it wasn’t such an oppressive black. But it belongs to Sylus—he chose it, so you think you could tolerate it forever, given the whisper of a chance.

You don’t want to answer his question. But that sense of security, assurance, safety , remains with you, even as you fail to comprehend where the fuck it could have come from. You feel brave enough to ask the question that was torturing you before you fell asleep. “Can you give me plenty of advance warning if you’re going to invite someone over for…” you hesitate, trying to think of a more mature way of saying “sexy fucking fun times.” Nothing comes. “For fucking? I don’t want to get in the way,” you finish, lamely. But the thought of him actually wanting to fuck anyone else strikes you as so absurd that it doesn’t even hurt to say it out loud. You don’t think you even need to ask this question anymore, because you already know the answer.

But that’s insane. And you’re a lot of fucking things, but you think you’re pretty well-grounded in reality. You’re hyper-aware of reality—the reality of being you, with all of your flaws, your broken pieces barely held together, which is part of your whole goddamn problem. If you were oblivious to your own weaknesses, to the reality of living in such a cruel world while being a walking open wound, you could strut around like a mediocre white man and feel entitled to everything, including Sylus’s exclusive affection.

“Is that why you snuck off to the greenhouse, instead of coming to nap in my bed like we agreed?” He sets his tablet aside. 

“I never agreed,” you mumble, thinking about how he had said that if you found a room you liked better, you had a choice of where to stay. That conversation was left open-ended. There was never a deal.

“A technicality,” he dismisses your protest. “Unless you found a room that you like better?” he asks archly, setting his glasses on top of the tablet and leaning down, running his nose along your cheek. 

Nothing has changed. No room, not even the greenhouse with its life and relief from the oppressive marble halls of his base, is more appealing than any room where Sylus is. You shake your head, and his lips brush the edge of your mouth.

“But you were worried about me bringing other people to my bed, even though I have everything I want right here already,” he murmurs.

You close your eyes against the onslaught of sensations—his warmth, his scent, the feel of his skin on yours. You don’t want to admit it, but now that your bizarre certainty has been confirmed, it feels silly to pretend otherwise. “Yeah. I didn’t want to… I didn’t want to get in the way.”

“So that’s the reason you ran, again?” he asks, sinking lower, getting comfortable on his side facing you.

You just nod instead of answering, and it’s not because you want to feel his lips on your skin again.

“Come to me next time, when you’re worried about something like that,” he demands, but it feels like a plea.

That sense of safety is filling you, making you brave. You want to bottle it so that you can drink it every time you feel insecure in the future, despite how nuts it’s making you feel. “Okay,” you agree quietly.

“Thank you, darling,” he smiles fully, and it’s so soft, you could die.

But hearing him say “darling” is like a gunshot next to your ear while you’re sleeping—you’re slammed into another reality, the sensation of Sylus’s hands on you, gripping your waist—his heavy body pressing yours into warm sand, sucking on his tongue, reveling in the feeling of a part of him filling you up—

You can’t. You can’t. You’re delusional, no matter how real the memory feels.

“Darling,” you choke, trying so hard to sound unaffected. “That’s new.”

“Do you dislike it?” he asks, brushing some hair from your cheek, resting his hand on the side of your head, thumb drifting along the line of your jaw.

You love it. You want him to repeat it, over and over, until you forget your own name. “I suppose it’s better than ‘kitten,’” you grumble.

“But I thought that you were okay with being called kitten, as long as it was me doing the calling,” he teases. 

You scowl at him.

“Then, darling,” he pauses dramatically, like the big drama queen he is. “Was the only reason you ran, again, because you were worried I wouldn’t warn you if I had a guest? Nothing else was distressing you?”

No matter how safe you feel, no matter how assured you are now that for as long as you’re in his home, he doesn’t want anyone else around but you—you can’t bring yourself to admit this to him. You can hardly admit it to yourself. Not wanting him to be with others implies a sense of ownership, and you know that he is not yours. In any way, shape, or form. How can you be possessive of something that doesn’t and never will belong to you? It does not matter how much even thinking that he doesn’t belong to you sends a feeling of wrongness through you that is almost physically painful.

You shake your head.

“No, nothing else was bothering you? Or no, I lose this round of the guessing game?” He watches you for a few moments, the movement of his thumb so soft against your skin. 

“I win,” you say, feeling wobbly, feeling safe, feeling unhinged, feeling invincible. He doesn’t belong to you, he wants you and only you, As if I would ever want anyone else in my bed, now that you’ve been in it. You can hear his voice in your head, saying things that you don’t dare dream of him saying. 

“Not ready yet, then,” he says, and it almost sounds sad. But his face doesn’t change. “Well, there will be other rounds of our game,” he says lightly, a clear transition. He’s letting it go, and you are relieved. “In that case, are you hungry?”

Hell, if you’re in the process of losing your mind, you might as well do it on a full stomach.

“I could eat a horse,” you answer, trying to match his light tone. 

“That can be arranged. But I’m rather attached to the ones in my stables, so we’ll have to outsource your request,” he says, one sharp canine peeking from behind his top lip.

“Sylus!” You’re horrified. “It’s just an expression.”

“I told you that you could have anything. You have only to ask,” he shrugs.

Now you’re horrified and curious. “Have you eaten horse before?” 

The canine gleams in the dim light of the lamp on his nightstand. “There are few things that I haven’t eaten, darling.” His hand moves from the side of your head, down, until he slips one long finger between your throat and his tie still secured there. He tugs, gently. You remember that you don’t have any of your own clothes, and you’re still wearing his. “There are places where eating horse is as customary as eating beef. But I never really cared for it.”

“That’s a relief, somehow,” you say, even though it’s ridiculous to mourn the horses that fed him, when you ate the steak he served you earlier with such enjoyment. It’s all cruel, in the end—the necessity of survival which depends on another’s suffering. Your heart hurts, so you reach up and rub it. His blood-bright eyes follow the movement of your hand.

“My tender-hearted kitten,” he whispers, with that same strange sad tone in his voice. “Sometimes we must do things to survive that deprive another of life. Do you also mourn the wanderers you have to kill?”

You look down at his strong throat, the pale, soft skin there. So thin, fragile, with his fast pulse beating beneath. “Sometimes, when they’re particularly beautiful. When it’s so obvious that they’re only following their nature, and that their violence isn’t a result of cruelty, like people. They’re just made that way.”

“So you don’t regret the people you have to kill?” 

You would like to lie, and say that you regret it deeply. That you’re as generous toward your fellow humans as you are toward wild beasts, to the beef on your plate. But you promised Sylus you’d be honest with him, if to no one else. You shake your head.

“Sometimes, the sense of satisfaction I get when I’m forced to put down someone I know who has done horrible things—” you whisper, closing your eyes. “It’s frightening.”

“Kindred spirits,” Sylus’s deep voice, the warmth of his breath, envelop you. 

Are you and he really so alike? You had snarled at him, when you first met him, that you and he were not the same, that you would never be the same. You had snarled it at yourself, as much as at him. You open your eyes, and his eyes are all you can see. He looks so happy, hearing you admit the worst of yourself. You realize that you hardly know anything about this man. His past. His family. What he was like as a child. His hobbies, if he even has any. All you know is that he is a killer, a businessman. And that he touches you with the tenderness of a man handling something priceless. That’s all. Yet here you are, his hands on you, still gently tugging on a tie wrapped around your throat. Here you are, so attached to him already that the thought of him bedding another feels like your aether core mutilated heart is shredding itself. How did this happen?

You want to know everything about him. You tell yourself that it’s not because you’re ravenous to unravel his mystery, to be sated from the knowing, and cherish him the more for it. You tell yourself that maybe, the more you learn, the more your heart will ease, and familiarity will breed contempt. Maybe you’ll be able to let him go when this is over, if you know all the ugly parts of him, all of his annoying traits like everyone has. You decide to ask him about when the fake dating will start, so that you’ll have an excuse to ask him to share as much as he’s willing about himself with you, as he practices sharing himself with his beloved.

As if I would ever want anyone else in my bed, now that you’ve been in it.

You shake your head. You’re not his beloved. Why wouldn’t he just tell you, if you were?

Would you have believed me, if I had told you that I wasn’t behind your family’s murder?

You close your eyes again. You feel insane.

I expect you to remember what you just said, when this is over.

You can’t. You can’t. If you’re wrong—

You open your eyes again. You’re here now. You’re here now, and he has the tail of the tie clasped softly in his palm, and he’s gently pulling it so that it tightens on your throat, a hair’s breadth, and then releases. It feels good. You want him to pull harder. You want to know everything about him, and forget everything else. You’re in a dream, and you don’t have to wake up yet. You’re not insane. It’s just the certainty one sometimes has in a dream—you know something to be true, even though you don’t know how you know. Sylus wants you, and only you with him right now. You’re going to indulge.

“To be clear, I don’t want you to serve me horse,” you tell him, pulling back a little so that the tie tightens against your throat again. He inhales sharply, but the corner of his mouth lifts.

“As you wish. Let’s go to the kitchen. You can choose something that you do want me to serve you.” He pulls a little harder on the tie and you let out a soft gasp.

You want him to curl it around his fist, pull you to him, devour you in a way you feel like you know, with a strange certainty, that he would. But you can’t tell him that. Not yet. If you’re wrong—

You open your eyes. Sylus’s face is flushed, his bright eyes narrowed on the tie, on your throat.

“I want to go to the kitchen, but I don’t have any of my own clothes,” you say softly, needing desperately to break this spell before you do something that you can’t take back. 

Sylus looks confused for a moment. “Do you need your own clothes?”

“Do you want me to walk around in your oversized clothes the whole time I’m here?”

“I wouldn’t mind at all, but I don’t need it. Did you not find anything to your liking from the selection of clothes in your size in the dressing room?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow. “I know you’re spoiled, but I didn’t realize to this extent,” he says, not sounding displeased at all.

“What clothes?”

Something in Sylus’s face changes. “Did you not… explore the dressing room?”

You shake your head. “Mephisto was watching me, and I didn’t want to upset him by touching anything I shouldn’t,” you shrug. “So I just grabbed what I could see.”

Sylus laughs softly. “Why would Mephisto get upset by you touching anything in this house?”

“Because it’s your house, and I’m an interloper, and he squawked at me when he saw me touching your ties.”

“And yet you’re wearing one.” His eyes flick down to your neck again.

“Okay, so I was being petty after he squawked.”

Sylus pinches the bridge of his nose. “So you thought I didn’t arrange for you to have clothes you’d be comfortable in. And you thought that Mephisto was… surveilling you.”

You’re confused. “Um, is that not the case? And then you sent the twins to show me around to make sure I don’t go anywhere I’m not supposed to.” At his pained look, you rush on. “I get it. You probably have a lot of valuable stuff in here, and just the intel about the layout of your base is probably even more valuable.”

Sylus sighs and drops his hand. “Do you trust me?”

You stare at him. Do you trust him? You let your eyes drift from his beautiful eyes, to his regal nose. His soft silver hair sweeping messily over his forehead. Would you be here, lying in his bed in his criminal headquarters at the pinnacle of the N109 Zone, if you didn’t trust him? He apologized for hurting you when you first met, and promised never to do so again. He’s been nothing but kind to you since those first long days with him. He’s promised never to use his evol on you without your permission. He said that once given, he never breaks a promise. And you believe him. Of course you trust him.

“Yeah, Sylus, I trust you,” you say softly.

“Okay,” he says, sitting up, pulling the tie gently with him so that you come too. You sit, legs tucked under yourself, as Sylus sits on his own knees, and very gently begins to untie the tie. The silk whispers along your skin as it falls away from your throat. He then lifts it slowly, watching your reaction. But you just sit still, letting him sweep it across your eyes as he blindfolds you, securing it at the back of your head. It’s comfortable.

You feel him take your wrist and tug softly, and you go with him. Your feet hit the soft rug, and you follow where he leads, enjoying the warmth of his calloused hand on your wrist, enjoying the mystery of where he’s leading you.

After an unexpectedly short amount of time, he stops. You feel cold as the warmth of his body disappears, and you hear what sounds like doors opening, or cabinets. He returns to you, and his delicious scent fills your senses. He undoes the knot, and the tie falls away.

You’re in his dressing room, towards the back where you didn’t venture earlier. Door after closet door is open, and you see rack after rack, shelf after shelf—clothes that look like the ones you have at home. Athletic wear. Hoodies. Comfortable clothes you would wear on your days off. But also clothing that you don’t have in your own closet—formal wear. Club clothes. Expensive fabrics. Pair after pair of a variety of sneakers, boots, dress shoes.

“New rule. The next time you are faced with two possibilities—when you think that what you perceive could be negative, but could also be positive, try to consider that the positive is true,” he says gently, placing his big hands on your shoulders and leaning down a little to meet your gaze. “I had Luke and Kieran fetch some things from your home that I thought would make you feel at ease here. The earring. The plushie you hug the most often. Your phone charger. Your laptop is in my office. But I didn’t want them to go through all of your things, and they have no interest in invading your privacy. I was hoping you can make do with new clothing that I thought you’d like, as well as your own care products while you’re here. If you’re missing anything, just tell me, and I’ll arrange for it to be sent.”

As he speaks, you feel your eyes getting hot—in dawning horror, you realize that you’ve started to cry. Why the fuck are you crying? You don’t want him to see, but you’re helpless under his big hands keeping you grounded. You take a big, shuddering breath. All of this kindness hurts. But Sylus isn’t done hurting you.

“And Mephisto isn’t following you to surveil you. He’s programmed to greet you, and to follow you in case you need backup and company. If you don’t have your phone on you, you can still reach me, wherever you are in the house, through him. There’s also an app on your phone for you to change his settings if you want. If you don’t like his voice module, you can make him meow.” Sylus slowly pulls you to him, looking down into your face. He thumbs the tears from your cheeks, brings them to his mouth, and rubs the moisture across his bottom lip. He then pulls you closer, hugging you tightly to his chest. “And I sent Luke and Kieran with you to see the house because the last time you were here, you were really scared. Since I had to meet with Aidan, I didn't want you to be alone, but also didn’t want to force you to sit caged in my room until I could show you around.”

You press your face into his chest, breathing against his rapid heartbeat, feeling all the anxiety and sadness of the tour and return to the greenhouse draining out of your body.

He leans down and presses a kiss to your bowed head. “If you’re unsure of my intentions, even after all this—if you consider the positive possibility and can’t quite believe it, then just ask me,”  he says softly into your hair. “There’s no need to torture yourself with me.” He lifts your chin, and his barely there smile lifts his mouth. “That’s my job. And there will be no doubt when I actually intend to torment you.”

You smile through your stupid embarrassing tears, laugh a little wetly. “It’s true. Subtlety isn’t your strong suit.”

“You know that much, at least.”

“How could I miss it?” you ask.

“Good fucking question. How could you possibly miss so much?” he nudges your forehead with his forefinger.

You scowl at him. You feel light. And with the relief, comes the hunger. “Didn’t you promise to feed me? I’m starving,” you gripe, refusing to think about what else you’re missing. 

I can promise you that whomever you’re thinking my 'crush' is, it’s not the person you're thinking of.

The only way he could have promised that is if he knew that you’d never consider yourself a possibility.

And Sylus says he always keeps his promises.

“Well, I can’t let my spoiled kitten get any more hungry,” he interrupts your thoughts.

You shake your head. “It would be terrible if I end up having to eat you because I’m so hungry,” you tease, but he just lifts his eyebrows as if intrigued.

“Would it be so terrible though?” he asks. You pull back and gently push him toward the door.

“Go, make me something delicious while I get dressed,” you order him with a laugh.

“I see how it is— just a little reassurance, and suddenly you’re bold enough to give me orders." He tucks his thumbs into the pockets of his black, worn looking jeans. “Finally,” he says, looking incredibly satisfied, before disappearing in a whoosh of air, scarlet-ink mist, and feathers that float gently toward you before falling to the floor.

You turn, sighing happily at the sight of all of these new clothes stretching before you. You don’t deserve this. You’ve never been a big shopper. Budget too tight, too much ammo and manga to buy instead, when you practically live in your hunter uniform. But you spotted some yoga wear from a brand that is wildly expensive but makes the softest, best fitting shit you’ve ever put on your body. You shake yourself. Indulge. Indulge. Indulge. 

After you’ve checked your bandages and cleaned up a bit in the bathroom, you drift through the base and find Sylus in the kitchen, as promised. Soft lighting from floor lamps and recessed fixtures hold back the N109 Zone’s night stretching beyond the kitchen’s large windows. Soft classical music accompanies the sound of Sylus digging around in the huge fridges, the clatter of a pan placed on the gas burning stove.

“So you’ll be cooking personally for me today? Not your chef?”

“Not my chef,” Sylus confirms. “I’m the the chef today,” he smiles slightly. “Sit.” He points to the bar stool on the other side of the massive kitchen island.

“I can cook,” you protest. At Sylus’s doubtful look, you defend yourself. “It’s true. I can cook. Xavier loves it when I have the time and energy to make something and invite him over, because it’s fucking hard to cook for only one person,” you say mournfully, suddenly worried about how Xavier will feed himself while you’re not there to ensure he eats vegetables along with his ramen. But he survived long before he became your partner. He’s a big boy, you tell yourself. 

“Oh, I bet he does,” Sylus says under his breath. “And I am cooking because I thought you would want to give your abused feet a break.”

You squint at him. “They hurt, but they’re still functioning.”

“Again, just because they’re functioning doesn’t mean you have to use them more than necessary. And I believe you when you say you can cook. But do you actually like to cook? Or do you feel like you have to, because it’s cheaper than delivery?” Sylus asks, breaking an egg into a bowl. “While you’re here, I don’t want you to do anything that you don’t actively enjoy doing. You’re not here to survive. You’re here to recover.”

You’re so touched by his words that it takes a moment for you to get your mouth to answer him. Something’s wrong with your eyes again, and your throat is suddenly tight. You clear it. “Definitely the latter,” you admit, thinking of a million other things that you’d rather be doing than cooking yet another meal. You often wish you could just slurp all your nutrition from a pouch and be done with it. “But I do like baking. That doesn’t count as cooking, because the result is fun.” 

Sylus laughs softly. “Then when you feel up to it, you can teach me how to bake your favorite things, because that’s something I never really do. In the meantime, when chef isn’t here and whatever she’s left behind in the fridge for heating up isn’t to your taste, I’ll cook for you. Deal?”

You watch Sylus’s big hands gently crack more eggs, grind some salt and pepper in the mixture, fling a little bit of butter onto the now hot pan. You could get used to this beautiful creature preparing meals for you. And you could get used to baking delicious things, and feeding each bite to him by hand. You’re here now. You’re going to indulge. “Deal,” you smile. “But while you’re doing that, I need coffee. Can you point me in the direction of your coffee shit, coffee maker, and mugs?”

Sylus pauses. “I don’t have a coffee maker.”

You stare at him. “What do you mean you don’t have a coffee maker.”

“I mean, I have a french press. But I don’t have a drip coffee maker.”

You squint at him. “You have a fucking ice rink in your villain HQ, and you don’t have a coffee maker? You make your coffee, by hand, every morning? Do you also insist on hand grinding the beans with a mortar and pestle every time you want a cup? Are you as much of a coffee snob as a wine snob?”

“Aren’t you sharp-tongued for a kitten who is depending on me for its caffeine fix.” Sylus sounds infinitely amused.

“I’m just consistently in awe of all of this means you have at your disposal, and yet you do nothing with it. And I’m assuming that since you don’t have a normal coffee maker, you’re also too much of a snob to have one of those fancy as fuck espresso machines that can make whipped foam, along with an entire fleet of flavor syrups on tap.” As you talk, you become more distressed. “Oh my god, Sylus. You’re a hipster billionaire. You’re like, the worst of everything wrong with our capitalist society,” you say forlornly. Why can’t you be nuts about a normal man? What’s wrong with a guy with a tidy little flat and a drip coffee maker? A nice accountant whose only crime is jaywalking, maybe a little tax evasion, for a treat, every year when filing. But no, you want to have the stuck up edgelord who can explode people with his mind and who thinks even professional espresso machines are too plebeian for his refined taste buds.

Sylus is just staring at you, an eyebrow lifted. “What I hear you saying is that you want a fancy as fuck espresso machine. Is that correct?”

You sigh in resignation. Your heart wants what it wants. “What you hear me saying is, okay, Sylus, where is the french press, the coffee beans, the grinder I’ll no doubt have to grind them with, and your mugs?”

“The espresso machine will be here when you wake up tomorrow. As for the french press, beans, grinder, and mugs…” he smirks at you as he points to one of the cupboards over the long, black marble kitchen counter.

You slip from the stool and go to open the indicated cabinet, finding the promised french press and tasteful glass jar of whole coffee beans. Of course even his storage containers are fancy and pretty. But you stop short, as you notice Caleb’s gift and the CUNT mug sitting on the shelf next to the coffee supplies.

You blink. You blink, and turn to look at Sylus, who is now busy scrambling the eggs. “You brought Caleb’s mug,” you breathe.

“I told you, I wanted you to have the things here that make you comfortable,” Sylus shrugs, not turning away from the eggs.

You could cry again. The thoughtfulness of this asshole takes you by surprise, every single time. But you don’t want to cry. You want to enjoy. You whip around and march over to Sylus, who is still serenely stirring the eggs. You peek around to catch his eye, ensuring that he knows you’re there. His red gaze flicks to you for a moment, returns to the eggs. You then step behind him and wrap your arms around his waist, resting your head against his broad back.

Your warning must have been successful. He doesn’t throw you to the floor, or even stiffen—his shoulders seem to relax, and he leans back a little, as if trying to sink into your hug. He puts the hand not stirring the eggs on your forearm, as if to hold you there.

“Thank you,” you whisper, squeezing tighter. 

“It’s nothing,” he says, as the scent of butter and eggs, the soft sound of cellos, the dark night and warm lamplight surround the two of you.

“It’s everything,” you counter.

“You deserve to be harder to please,” Sylus grumbles, turning off the burner. He turns, and you try to step away, but he keeps his hold on your forearm until he’s fully facing you. He leans down and scoops you into his arms, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist. He then just stands there, hugging you tightly to him. You hug him back, resting your chin on his shoulder, eyes closed to better soak in the feeling of just holding him, of being held.

“Your eggs will get cold,” he says after a while, regretfully.

You just squeeze him harder. You’ve eaten worse. 

You feel him laugh softly, your chest vibrating with his amusement. “As you wish."

Suddenly, the moment is shattered with a ruckus like a herd of elephants pounding down the hallway, along with a crash, gleeful laughter and yelps.

“Cheater, tripping is cheating, cheater cheater cheater!” Luke roars.

“The first rule of race club is there are no rules in race club,” Kieran bellows, voice closer to the doorway, until suddenly it’s filled with two grown, grappling men, big biceps straining as they each try to prevent the other from entering the kitchen first.

“No… you… don’t!” Luke pants, wrapping his arm around Kieran’s neck in a chokehold and trying to drag him back into the hallway.

“Oww, my throat, Luke, my throat still hurts,” Kieran whines. Luke looks stricken and immediately lets go, only to find himself shoved back further into the hallway as Kieran cackles and comes careening into the kitchen, socked feet sliding along the smooth, marble floor until he crashes into the kitchen island. He lets out a loud whoop, throwing his arms in the air. “Kitchen-race champion, kitchen-race champion,” he chants as Kieran scowls at him from the doorway.

“That was a dirty trick,” he seethes. “You know I wouldn’t ever want to really hurt you.”

“I keep telling you that you’re too gullible,” Kieran smiles at him fondly. “You know all is fair in love and the kitchen race game.”

“Some love,” Luke snorts, and then his eyes widen as he seems to notice you and Sylus behind the kitchen island for the first time. You turn to look at Sylus, but his eyes are on your face, as if he hasn’t stopped looking at you the entire time you’ve taken in the twins’ skirmish, as if what just occurred is daily life at Onychinus HQ and not even worth looking at. You glance back at the twins.

Kieran turns his head to follow Luke’s gaze and then straightens as if at attention. “Oh, apologies boss! We didn’t know you were…” he takes in how you’re attached to Sylus like a koala. “You were preoccupied in here.”

You look back at Sylus, but he just stares at you. Okay, if he’s not going to say anything, you will. “We’re not preoccupied. Sylus was just making eggs.” You cough a little. “Sylus, you can put me down now.”

He just hugs you tighter.

“Eggs? Oh, can we have some? I’m starving after my big stupid cheater of a brother scared the shit out of me by acting hurt,” Luke grumbles, sending Kieran a dirty look. Kieran holds out his hand, and despite his indignation, Luke slides into the kitchen on his socks like an ice skater and takes Kieran’s hand, who then wraps his brother’s arm around his own shoulders. 

“Let that be a lesson. How to fake out your opponent, and how not to be so gullible, even with me.” Kieran reaches over and rubs his fist into Luke’s bouncing curls. Luke ducks his head and sweeps Kieran into a chokehold again, who just laughs. “That’s it,” he crows, and the two tussle like a couple of puppies.

“I can’t make coffee if you won’t let me go,” you say softly to Sylus amidst the racket the twins are making.

“Do you really want to make coffee now?” he asks, turning, setting you on the counter and simply standing between your legs. You’re getting the feeling that he likes this position, because it puts your face a little closer to his if the surface you’re sitting on is high enough.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you ask curiously.

“It’s getting late again. Between the tour and your nap, it’s closer to the time I go to bed now. You’ll be up all night if you have caffeine now.”

“Then why didn’t you say so when I first asked about the coffee?” You tilt your head.

Sylus just looks bored. You’re learning that he does this when he isn’t interested in answering you, when you’re most interested in the answer. Suddenly it dawns on you. “You wanted me to see the mugs.”

He just lifts his hand and fiddles with the hem of the soft long sleeved shirt you’re wearing. “Now you know where they are, in case I’m not around,” he shrugs.

You lean forward, placing both of your palms on his cheeks. He sucks in a breath, but stays still. “Thank you,” you say.

“You’ve already said that, and I’ve already said it’s nothing,” he answers, his stubble shifting under your hands.

“If we’re not going to have coffee, and it’s almost time to go to bed again, what did you have in mind for after we eat?” you ask, running your thumbs under his lovely eyes, indulging, indulging, not worrying about anyone else, not worrying about tomorrow or the day after. There is only today, every day, until this is over.

“What do you want to do?” he asks, leaning in, letting you pet him.

You think about it. You’re still so tired. You think you’ll probably be tired for weeks, until you’ve slept enough to make up for your enormous sleep deficit of the past year, however long that takes. Your feet hurt. You just want to be near Sylus. He’s asking you what you want to do like he intends to do it with you. So instead of worrying if that’s the case, if you’re misunderstanding something, you say what you want.

“I want to start fake dating you,” you say. His eyes widen a little, and then he frowns.

“Fake dating?” Kieran’s voice cuts through your thoughts, and you realize that the twins had stopped roughhousing enough to overhear your conversation.

“What do you mean, fake dating?” Luke asks, looking between the two of you.

“Oh, your boss just asked me to help him practice dating so that he can successfully woo the person he’s in love with,” you say, the picture of cheerful helpfulness. This is already enough. You’re happy to help. And you’re going to indulge the fuck out of pretending that he’s looking at you, instead of imagining the other person he’d like to have in his bed more than you. Because you can’t imagine it’s you. You can’t. Because if you’re wrong—

Kieran and Luke’s mouths drop open. They look at each other, and then look at Sylus.

“What the fuck, boss—” Luke begins, as Kieran says “For someone so intelligent, you can be so stupid—” before Sylus cuts them both off.

“Take some of the prepped meals that chef left in the fridge and then leave us.”

For a second, they both look like they want to argue, but then they dutifully snap their mouths shut in unison, and you get that strange feeling of uncanniness again, like they’re just one person who happens to have two bodies. They efficiently go to the fridge, grab some containers of what must be the prepped meals, and leave you and Sylus alone in the kitchen, now with only classical violin filling the silence.

“Was that a secret?” you ask, feeling bad if you just made Sylus lose face with his employees.

“I have nothing to hide when it comes to you,” he says. “But they don’t need to know every detail of my personal life, even if they may disagree with that statement.”

“Okay,” you say, still feeling bad for some reason. 

He touches your chin, lifts it. “What did you have in mind when you said you want to start fake dating?”

“When we talked about me helping you, you seemed to be okay with the idea of practicing sharing parts of your life with your crush. I was thinking maybe while I’m staying with you, you can already start.” You smile at him, hoping he can’t tell how much you want him to say yes.

“Am I not already doing that?” he asks.

You tilt your head. Okay, so he has invited you into his home, showed you around. But you still know so little about him. “I guess so,” you say. You feel a bit silly now. Maybe you were hoping for too much. Maybe he’d rather get on with his normal routine, and isn’t interested in any usefulness you have to offer at the moment.

You’re suddenly really tired again. You want him to back up, to stop looking so closely at your face. “The eggs are cold now,” you say, trying to keep your hand still, trying to resist the urge to dig your nails into your thigh. He’s right there. He asked you to hurt him instead. You can’t hurt him, so you can’t hurt yourself.

“Then I’ll make new ones,” he says, still watching you like a hawk eyeing a mouse about to bolt from hiding.

You’re not hungry anymore. You hate the yo-yo of your emotions. You want to be as unruffled as the man in front of you. You’re hoping that the more rest you get, the longer you have to recover, you’ll regain some semblance of equilibrium, some resistance to the rawness of the feelings hemorrhaging from your heart. But you know if you won’t eat, your blood sugar will crash and you’ll be left feeling faint.

“No worries. Do you have string cheese or something? Just something to keep me from feeling lightheaded?”

“I'm not feeding you logs of trash cheese while you're a guest in my home," Sylus tsks, probably affronted at the mere suggestion that he would have string cheese in his house. "What else do you want me to share with you about my life?”

“What?” You were just talking about cheese. Now you're being interrogated.

“You said you wanted to start dating. That you were interested in me sharing parts of my life with you. What else do you want me to share with you about my life?” he says slowly.

“Oh. It’s really nothing. You’re right, you are already sharing a lot by having me here.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Huh?”

“I didn’t say I’m already sharing a lot, as if you were asking for too much. I said, ‘Am I not already doing that?’” because I thought I was sharing my life with you by inviting you here and hoping to spend time with you. So now I want to know what else you want me to share.”

“You want to spend time with me?” you ask.

“Why else would I ask you what you would like to do until it’s time for bed?” he asks, gently flicking your forehead.

“Maybe you wanted to occupy me so that you would be free to do whatever you really want to do,” you say, wincing a little.

Sylus hangs his head. Huffs a little laugh. “Your mind is incredible.”

You scowl at the top of his stupid, pretty head. “Okay, if you’re going to mock me—”

“I mean it. Your imagination is impressive if there is any ambiguity in a statement. We've been over this, and you promised to try to choose the positive interpretation over the negative."

You look away, feeling shitty for already breaking your promise. Sylus lifts his head and guides your gaze back to him with his forefinger on your jaw. "Habits are hard to break, I know. So let me rephrase. I would like to spend time with you until bed. How would you like to spend that time?” He places his palms on your thighs and smooths them soothingly up, and down.

The soothing gesture works. You feel the impending withdrawal into yourself, into your protective, sad little shell, reverse at his words, at his touch. You think about all the things you were shown today, and what the two of you could do for a little while together. You’re too tired to read, so the idea of visiting his library is out. You don’t want to work out, obviously, so the gym, the ice skating rink, even the pool—no good. 

“You have a home theater. Do you like movies?”

He perks up. “Yeah, I do.”

“Wanna show me what movies you like? Maybe we can watch one?” You’re casual. The absolute definition of chill.

He eyes you for a moment. “When you say practicing to ‘share my life,’ is this your way of asking to know more about me?”

You shrug like it’s no big deal. Like you’re not terribly eager to know every single thing about him. “If you want.”

“If you wanted to know more about me, you could have just said so. No need to frame it in fake dating.”

“But we made a deal. You wanted to practice—”

He interrupts you. “All right, we can date. But just ask if you have questions. And just assume that I want to spend time with you.”

“Our deal was fake dating,” you try again, because he keeps dropping the ‘fake’ part and it’s doing things to your heart.

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, darling,” he lifts one corner of his mouth.

“But that’s the deal—”

“Uh huh,” he says absently, lifting you from the counter with one arm, turning to the fridge, and rifling through it with his free hand. He manages to agilely balance a stack of containers. “There’s a bar in the theater room, so we can get something to drink there,” he happily informs you.

“Of course you have a bar in there, you alcoholic.”

“Now, now, no need to call names,” he says serenely, carrying you and the food into the hall and heading towards the theater room.

Once there, he tosses you gently on one of the super soft, overstuffed in contrast to other furniture in the house, and of course ubiquitously black, leather couches that sits in front of a huge screen on the far wall. The couch is so soft you hardly bounce, just sinking into the cushion with a laugh. He sets the food containers on the low table positioned in front of the couch, between its two chaise lounge sections that stretch out on either side.

He sits down next to you, so close that his big thigh is squished against yours. “The dvds are in the cabinet over there,” he says as he opens one of the container lids. “You wanted to know what movies I like? Knock yourself out.”

You don’t have to be told twice. You excitedly make your way to where he pointed and throw open a dark paneled cabinet door. Shelf after shelf, going all the way up to the high ceiling where you’re certain Sylus can’t even reach, full of dvd after dvd. You run your fingers along their edges, reading titles silently as you go. 

It appears that Sylus is a fan of classic films. You see titles that you’ve never watched, but have heard in passing from cultural references or watching annual movie awards when you’re lucky enough to not be working through them during a particular year. Black and white films. Foreign films with directors you’ve never heard of. As your gaze drifts over his collection, sounds of cabinet doors opening on the other side of the room serve as background noise. The clink of plates, of glasses, liquid being poured.

You don’t think you see one film from the last decade in his collection. But maybe they’re higher up.

“How do you get up to the top? I don’t see one of those fancy library ladders on a wheeled track anywhere. Does the great Sylus Qin resort to using a step stool?” You ask absently, still scanning the titles. He appears to be a big fan of horror movies. You’re also a huge fan of horror, but you can recognize that you’re a bit of a barbarian in that you’ve never watched the true classics. Maybe you can expand your cultural horizons while you’re here. Knowing more about classic film could come in handy while working undercover at pretentious wealthy bastard functions.

Your thought is interrupted as you yelp, having been lifted into the air by scarlet-ink tendrils and carried swiftly toward the ceiling, where you’re now hovering, eye level with the upper shelves of Sylus’s dvd collection. You look back down at him, where he isn’t even looking at you as he is artfully arranging your movie snacks in little bowls and plates.

“A little warning would be nice,” you say drily. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” he teases. “Can’t have you getting bored with me.”

You snort. “That’s my line.”

One moment you’re floating leisurely near what looks like his Russian film section of his collection, and the next you’re being deposited onto his lap as he sinks back into the soft couch.

“The presumption of people insinuating that even the possibility exists that I could ever be bored with you is astonishing,” he grumbles, and your heart hurts a little. Even other people can see how ill-suited you are for this mercurial, privileged man—a man who could have anything and anyone he wants, and has the propensity for boredom that goes along with it. “I don’t like it.”

You just smile at him, because what can you do? “People are wise.”

Sylus scowls like he just sucked on a lemon. “One other person, and he is a silly deviant and has been corrected, just as I’m correcting you.” He places his hands on your shoulders, thumbs smoothing over the skin of your throat. “In no universe could I ever be bored with you.”

“You don’t even really know me,” you say gently, letting your head fall forward under his soft touch. He slides one hand around and palms the back of your neck, squeezing gently.

“Don’t I?” he asks.

“You may know the ugliest parts of me because of your aether core. But you don’t know my daily habits. My annoying quirks. How I brush my teeth. My favorite foods. My fondest memories. My pet peeves when it comes to lovers.” You lean your head back now, baring your throat to him, letting his big hand keep you upright. “And I don’t know yours, either.”

“I know the most essential parts of you to be assured that I’ll never tire of learning about the details,” Sylus answers, shaking you gently.

You open your eyes, lift your head. “But I don’t know the essential parts of you, let alone the details.”

His wine dark eyes look so soft as they meet your gaze. “Don’t you?”

You remember the feeling when you first met him. The voice in your head, urging you to devour him. Insisting with a violence that scared you that he was yours, to consume, to swallow, to feast. The recognition in you when you resonated the first and only time, when you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began. You might not have an aether core in your eye, but maybe you do know the essentials of him. His cruelty. His violence. His single-minded pursuit of his goals. His steadfastness as he chases you, over and over again, as you run, over and over again.

I expect you to remember what you just said, when this is over.

You do remember what you said at Amnesia. And you remember a kiss that never happened, the taste of his tongue on yours that you can’t possibly know. You feel insane.

“Do I?” you echo him.

“Mmm,” he murmurs his confirmation. “And now we have all the time in the world for you to satisfy your kitten’s curiosity regarding the details.”

Maybe it’s okay to be a little insane in a dream. 

“What movie do you want to watch?” you ask, leaning forward, running your nose along his, inhaling the scent of his skin.

He exhales, his warm breath soft and carrying the scent of some smoky liquor. “Why don’t you choose?”

“What if you’ve seen it before?”

He turns his head a little, so that his lips brush the edges of your mouth. “I’ve seen all of the films I own.”

“Won’t you get bored rewatching?” You resist the urge to turn your own head, to meet his mouth— you can’t, you can’t, not yet. What if you’re wrong—

 “I won’t get bored. I’ll be watching through your eyes this time.”

“You have so many, how can I choose?”

He smiles faintly against your skin. “What kind of movies do you like?”

You think for a moment. “I like all kinds of genres. Horror is probably my favorite, but only when I’m in the mood. I think the movies I like the best tend to be character driven. When I care about what is happening to the people, what choices they’re making—when I want them to prevail over the conflict. Not just gritty and dark for the sake of being edgy. And I like happy endings unless it’s a horror film. Life is hard enough, without spending it watching depressing Russian films,” you smile against his cheek in turn before sinking into him, resting your chest against his, tucking your face into his neck. His hands drift up and slowly caress your back.

“So you like fairy tales,” he says, but not dismissively. An observation.

“No, you’re the one who likes fairy tales—the original versions. Grim, unlikable characters being taught a lesson. Sad stories where no one wins, to confirm your cynical outlook of an unsalvageable world.” You’re teasing him, a little. But you also think it’s true.

He huffs a laugh. “Judging my taste in films, just as you judge my taste in coffee, wine, home decor, occupation—the list goes on. I’m the one who should be worried that my darling will grow bored with me.” He pauses. “You actually know quite a few details about me already, don’t you think?”

Your mind drifts to all the time you’ve shared with him, all the things you already know about him. Maybe he’s right, and you know more than you think. He has been showing you himself, every minute you’re together. Maybe if you manage to stop navel gazing and wallowing in insecurity, you’ll learn even more.

“In no universe could I ever be bored with you,” you echo him again.

“I'll hold you to that promise,” he sighs, wrapping his arms around you, hugging you tightly. You’re getting so sleepy. If you don’t start the movie, you’ll be asleep before the opening credits are over.

“So pick your favorite movie, Sy. I want to watch it through your eyes.”

His arms tighten even further, forcing a puff of breath from your lips. “In a minute, darling. Stay like this, for a little longer.”

You nod, feeling his rapid-fire heartbeat under your own, slower heart. It’s soothing, in a way that firing a real gun no longer is for you. 

“If you don’t start it now, I’m going to fall asleep,” you mumble, sinking further.

“Then sleep,” he says. So you do.

Sylus holds you in his arms, and for once, his mind is quiet—no churning plans, no tweaking the spiderwebs of action and reaction, force and counterforce, push and pull, either for his business or to draw you ever closer to him. He’s just a man, sitting with his heart in his hands—safe and calm. He misses you, as he always does, when you’re so close but asleep. He considers joining you in your dreams again, just to make sure that they’re as peaceful as you deserve, but decides against it. He skirted the edges of his promise to you by doing it once, even though he remains convinced that it was necessary. You were willing to share your fears with him after you woke up—he just mixed up the order a little bit by reassuring you first and then asking questions second. But he’s unwilling to risk it again.

This is enough, for now. He feels the steady beat of your heart against his own submachine gun rhythm, and his pulse slows, slows, until for once, he feels like he can breathe fully without having to check behind himself, check the exits, check contingencies and backups, check the pulse in your throat to make sure you’re still here, you’re still real, you’re still letting him so close he can taste your skin when he inhales the scent of your neck. You’re in his home, and you just had your almost-first, definitely not fake despite what you tell yourself, date. Watching a movie together, the most cliche, boring date of all, and you fell asleep before it even started. You called him something other than his full name for the first time, and not in a teasing way like crow man or good boy—an endearment, something no one else will ever have the privilege of calling him. It takes him a little while to figure out the feeling that has been spreading through him since you hugged him from behind in thanks for the lousy gift of a couple of mugs you already owned—a feeling like how he has always imagined sunshine would feel on a mild summer day for a normal person.

Oh. He laughs a little breathlessly. He’s happy.

If he wasn’t aware of how much you’re already changing him, he’d realize it now, as he hugs you as tightly as he dares without waking you, feeling as foolish as Aidan waxing poetic about every new person being a gift with a surprise inside. Sylus doesn’t need any other people to maintain his attention—you are the gift, a nesting doll puzzle box, a gift within a gift within a gift, and he’s so fucking happy you’re letting him open each of your secrets, one by one, that he’s dizzy with it. The ratatat of his heart fires, and fires, and fires. For the first time that he can remember, he’s looking forward to tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that.

end note: My dear readers, once again I have failed to deliver big toys and action, but the plot has inched along very slightly with Sylus's conversation with Aidan, and hopefully the next part will contain MC having the run of Sylus's place and getting into some trouble with the twins and Noah if I recover from real world events and don't just crawl into a hole and hide for the next four years.

[dira333]

All tricks, one treat - Suna Rintarou x Reader

cupid - for @moochiwoochi for the Milestone Event Week 1

“So, uh, what’s your type?”

You lift your head to stare at the waiter. “What?”

“Your type,” he sends you a cheeky grin. “What is it?”

“Not you.”

His grin widens. “Kinda figured that out already but thank you. So, your type?”

“What’s this?” You eye him before leaning to the side to eye his twin at the counter, shaping Onigiri. “Does he know you’re doing this?”

“No, lean back, will you?”

You smirk, turning your head but not leaning back. “And what will that get me?”

“I’ll pay for your drinks, now lean back.”

You smile as you settle back in your chair. “In that case, I’ll take another one. You know what I’m drinking anyway.”

He sighs. “Listen,” he checks if his brother’s paying attention before turning around. “I have this friend that would be amazing for you, but he’s a little-”

“No.” 

“You haven’t even let me finish.”

“I’m not letting you set me up with anyone.”

“Fine,” he huffs, “Your loss.”

-

“Are you sure you don’t want to-”

“No, Atsumu,” you cut him off this week before he can offer you the usual. “I don’t want to be set up.”

“But you’re single, right?”

You grumble under your breath but his grin is persistent and so is he.

“Fine,” you huff quietly. “I am single. But so are you, right?”

“Temporarily,” he tells you with confidence. “How about I invite him here, no pressure, and you can check if you even like him. He won’t even know we’ve talked about this before.”

“You’re as subtle as a Tiger trying to play Giraffe.”

“That’s an awful comparison.”

You shrug and take your usual seat, waving at Osamu to let him know you’re here.

You’re pretty sure Atsumu’s not going to give up just like that.

-

“He’s here,” Atsumu announces one week later. 

“Who? Your replacement? Why are you dressed as a waiter when you don’t even work here anymore?”

“I’m helping out,” Atsumu hisses, but he’s quick to get back on track. “My friend, the one I mentioned. He’s here.”

“Pease don’t tell me-”

“Oh, hi Bokkun.” Atsumu’s face is one big smile. “Fancy seeing you here.” 

Bokkun, or Bokuto, as he introduces himself, smiles just as big. “Good to see you too!”

You have to admit, he’s good-looking, though he almost upturns your table as he tries to pull Atsumu into a bone-crushing hug right in front of you.

You look around for a different table, locking eyes with a guy in the next booth over.

His eyes glow like yellow diamonds and he gives you a lazy smile that could mean absolutely everything and nothing at the same time.

Embarrassed, you turn back to the commotion in front of you.

“Bokkun, this is a friend of mine. Do you wanna sit with her while I get us something to eat?”

You watch helplessly as Bokuto takes that offer, grinning back at you from the other side of the table.

Sure he’s cute, but he reminds you of a Golden Retriever whereas you’ve always been more of a black cat type of girl.

He immediately begins to talk, telling you all about today’s training and the shenanigans he and Atsumu get into on the daily when all you’ve wanted was a quiet dinner after work.

Looking for help your eyes wander around the restaurant, soon finding yourself eye-to-eye with your booth neighbor again.

“Need help?” He mouths wordlessly. You nod.

He gets up and walks over. 

“I’m sorry,” he leans in, cutting Bokuto off and your thoughts as well. He’s even prettier this close. “I might be wrong, but don’t we know each other?”

“Yes,” you grasp that excuse with both hands. “Middle School, right? What was your name again? You sat in front of me, I think.”

“Suna. Suna Rintarō.” His handshake is firm and reassuring. “I’d love to catch up, but if you’re occupied-” He gestures at Bokuto who doesn’t seem to get the hint.

“Oh, Bokuto here is a friend of the waiter, I think. He was just sitting with me to keep me company, but I’m sure he won’t mind. Right, Bokuto-san?”

“Right?” He answers, a little confused.

“Well in that case,” Suna points at his booth and you take your escape as quick as your legs allow.

-

Suna, as it turns out, is just as fun as he’s helpful, making you giggle with comments about his own teammates - apparently you don’t have anything against volleyball players, you just have something against Atsumu Miya.

“I’m gonna be right back,” you tell him an hour into what feels like a date before heading to the bathroom.

When you return, Atsumu’s bright blond hair is shining like a beacon from the booth you just left.

Sighing inwardly you try your best to sneak up to him undetected.

“For the last time, Tsumu, I’m not interested in meeting the girl you want to set me up with. I came here tonight because I wanted to eat Onigiri and also I just met someone I like-”

“You’re not listening to me-”

“Atsumu Miya,” you interrupt him, satisfied when he jumps at the sound of his own name. “I do think you need to learn some boundaries. We don’t want your useless help!”

Atsumu gapes at the two of you for a whole second before he gathers himself, cackling. “You guys don’t understand. I was setting up the two of you and it looks like it worked.”

You blink. Suna groans.

“But what about Bokuto?”

“Distraction,” Atsumu grins. “You would have hated Suna if I had introduced him to you. But you like him now, am I right? Heh?”

You glare at him, unable to look over at Suna now who sighs.

“Tsumu, you have one chance to leave this booth right now or I’ll start sharing that one video from High School that you begged me to delete.”

Panic flashes over Atsumu’s face as he gets up. “I’m gone, I’m gone!”

But even as he seemingly vanishes into thin air, you can’t relax after this.

“I’m really sorry about this,” you tell Suna without really looking at him. You can see that he’s nodding.

“Me too. He’s going to hold this over our heads forever.”

“Mhm.”

“So… dessert?”

When you blink up at him now, he’s grinning, sly and lazy and very appealing.

“I do like you, you know. Atsumu be damned,” he mutters, sliding one hand over the table to take yours.

“Fine,” you say, more to yourself than to him, before you slide into the booth once more. “But I’ll pick the dessert.”

And from the way his knee knocks into yours under the table you know he knows you feel the same way about this.

A little conflicted, a little relieved, and a whole lotta interested.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Does anyone have an steddie x reader requests? Can be smutty or fluffy, I have no preference.

I DOOOOOO!!!

SMUT 🥰Reader (f) is with Steve, has been for over 5 years. Moved really fast, was all good and dandy fell inlove, live together. But reader is craving the attention of another, just to feel something new, to know she’s still wanted or attractive to others. Eddie is one of Steve’s close friends / reader broke down and explained to Steve how she feels (still loves him and only wants him but craves just something more) / Steve brings this up to Eddie asking for advice, and somehow ends up with Eddie confessing that he always was attracted to reader and it goes from there….. ? Eh? 🫠

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) voyeurism, zelophilia, choking, spanking, degradation (by both reader and Eddie) masochism, Eddie calls reader a slut and whore, perv!steve

"I don't think I understand," Eddie says as he sips on his beer. Him and Steve are sitting on his couch while a movie plays in the background.

"I know it sounds weird," Steve replies. His cheeks are flushed as he thinks about you having sex with his best friend. He doesn’t know why he’s to turned on. He’s unsure if it’s creepy or hot and feels a chill run down his spine as he thinks about it more. He doesn’t want to freak you nor Eddie out, so he’s trying to play it off like he’s uncomfortable with the whole thing.

"No, just tell me again and I think I'll get it." Eddie sets his beer on the coffee table as he turns to Steve to give him his full attention.

“Y/n...she...she wants to sleep with you." So that was what Steve had said and he wasn't just hearing things. This is the exact thing that's played out in his head more times than he can count, but he never thought it'd actually happen.

“Why would she want to do that when she has you?" That's what Steve doesn't understand. He knows that what he's into is a little vanilla, but you've never complained. In fact, you've told him that you really enjoy it on multiple occasions.

“She wants something different." Steve doesn't fully understand it himself and he's just trying to not feel offended about the whole thing.

Steve unfortunately knows about all the freaky shit Eddie is into (even if he really wishes he doesnt) and he knows that's why you're so interested in fucking him. He supposes he gets the appeal to a certain extent, but not really, though.

"Are you offering me the opptortunity to fuck her or just asking for advice?" Eddie's secretly hoping it's he first one as he's been wanting to do exactly that for so long. He wants to know if you're as much as whore as he thinks you are.

"Both...I guess?" Steve's still having a hard time wrapping his head around the whole thing so he's not exactly sure certain what he's supposed to say.

“Well, if I'm being honest, man, I've always had a crush on her," Eddie admits and he feels his cheeks heat. He wasn't planning on ever telling anyone that, fully prepared to take it all to the grave, but he supposes it's too late to take it back now.

Steve doesn't know why Eddie is telling him this as it has always been so obvious, but he can see that a huge weight has been lifted from his chest. He doesn't care, though. Eddie would never do anything about it and has been nothing but respectful about the whole thing.

If anything, Steve feels bad for the guy. He's watched the two of you with longing throughout your entire relationship and said and done nothing about his feels for you. And now Steve feels like a dick for unintentionally rubbing the whole thing in his face.

"Alright," Steve sighs. "I'm gonna offer you something I've never offered any other friend. This is a one time opportunity so if you say no, that's it, I'm not offering it again. So...choose wisely, alright?"

Eddie is actually on the edge of his seat now as he leans forward, so invested in what Steve's about to offer him even though he has a pretty good idea. Steve licks his lips then takes a deep breath then speaks again. He can't believe he's about to do this, but he feels like he owes the both of you.

And because he's such a good boyfriend and best friend, he says, "I'm offering you one fuck with my girlfriend. The only condition is that it has to be tonight and it has to be right now-"

He doesn’t know what this feeling is, but the jealousy is making him feel some type of way. He can feel his cock getting hard just by the thought of it and now it’s all making sense.

"Yes," Eddie replies before Steve's even finish his sentence.

And if Steve’s being honest, imagining watching you and Eddie getting it on is making him even more hard, to the point where he has to cover his crotch with the blanket on his couch to hide the whole mess.

"Alright, let's go then." The two men rise from the couch and head to Steve's car to head to your apartment., one buzzing with excitement while the other feels a little queasy about the whole thing.

The front door to your apartment opens and there's Steve and...Eddie? What’s he doing there? Unless…no, there’s no way. Why would Eddie be there for that? And would Steve have asked him? It was very clear that he was uncomfortable by the whole thing so you dropped it, not wanting to make him feel even worse.

The two of them move into the living room and you’re quick to turn off the tv once they stand in front of the coffee table. Whatever is going on, they mean business.

“Can we talk to you?” Steve asks and you give the duo your full attention.

“Sure,” you nod, making yourself comfortable on the couch. “What’s this about?”

“Well,” Steve, sighs then turns to Eddie. “You tell her.” Now your interest is piqued. They really have you on the edge of your seat now.

“Steve has decided that he’s going to let us…” Eddie trails off, but you know exactly what he’s getting at.

“Let us what?” You know what he’s referring to, but you need to hear him say it. You actually need to hear the words come out of his mouth.

“I’ve decided to let the two of you fuck to get it out of your systems,” Steve tells you and you can see he’s still hesitant about it. You told him that you would leave it alone, but it’s become clear that he just wants to make you happy.

“You’re going to let me fuck your best friend?” You ask with a chuckle, not quite believing what’s happening.

“Yeah,” he nods. “I-I don’t know, the jealousy…turns me on.” You can see his cheeks flush and think it’s adorable. Everything’s starting to make sense now. Now you totally understand why Steve was always asking you to flirt with guys in bars beige taking you out to his car to show you that you belong to him and only him.

“And I don’t now, I also want just want to see you guys…I think I’m coming around.”

“You are?” You ask, unsure if you believe him considering that just last night, he felt uneasy. But what you didn’t know was he was just desperately trying to hide his kinks. He was just afraid that you were going to judge him.

“I am,” he nods. “I think it’ll be hot.”

“Wow, Steve, I’ve never pegged you as a perv.” You step closer to him, pressing your lips to his briefly before pulling away. “You wanna watch me fuck your friend, hm?” All he can do is nod and you find yourself stepping closer to Eddie.

You feel your heart race with excitement as you grab onto his arms, leaning forward and capturing your lips with his. They’re soft and his kisses are rough unlike Steve’s. His tongue takes no time to slide into your mouth and you moan as it tangles with yours.

His hand moves into your hair as Steve moves closer, already turned on by the whole thing. Watching his girlfriend making out with his best friend was doing something to him.

Eddie’s lips move to your jaw and he gives it a nibble, causing you to gasp and a whimper falls from Steve’s lips.

“You like that?” Eddie asks. “Does Steve do that to you?” He does sometimes, but Steve doesn’t even care what Eddie says. He’s so close to coming and he knows he can get there if you guys just fuck already.

“Mmm,” is all you respond and then Eddie’s lips are on your neck, licking and sucking in the skin as he forms a hickey on the spot right under your ear. Your moans are getting even louder and Steve is loving hearing it be caused by someone who’s not him.

“Fuck,” you whine and Steve moans, resisting the urge to get himself off right there. “More.”

Eddie’s teeth scrape along your neck and you feel your knees buckle, but he’s quick to catch you, pulling you so close to him that you can feel his rock hard cock against you.

“God, Eddie, take her top off,” Steve whines and as you moan again, Eddie’s hands moving to the buttons as his teeth slide against your skin again. Your orgasm is approaching fast and you can feel it.

Eddie pulls on your top and it opens as a couple of the buttons fly across the room. You gasp as the suddenly movement and Eddie is quick to push it from your shoulders, pulling it from your body and letting it fall to the floor in a crumpled pile.

He then moves to your bra and unhooks it as his lips find your collarbone as the thing fall to the floor between you. He then pulls away to get a look at your tits then buries his face between them.

“They’re even more beautiful than I thought they’d be,” he mumbles against your skin as his hands fumble with the button of your jeans. You help him and together, you’re able to slide your jeans off your legs before throwing them down onto the floor next to you.

He then grabs onto your ass and pulls you close to him, giving it a squeeze as his lips find yours again.

“Give it a smack, Eddie,” Steve instructs and Eddie obeys, smacking you hard, causing a gasp to fall from your lips as you fall into him from the impact. “Again,” he says. “Harder.”

Eddie smacks you even harder and you feel your cheeks stinging, but love the feeling. It feels almost euphoric having someone do these things to you.

You slide your tongue into Eddie’s mouth and push him back towards your room as his shirt comes off. He takes off his pants as Steve retrieves a condom for you, hurrying back so he doesn’t miss anything.

As soon as Eddie’s underwear comes off, you can’t help but stare at his rock hard cock, noticing immediately how much larger it is in comparison to Steve’s. You’re now wondering how it can possibly fit inside you, but you definitely want to try. You want him to fill you. You want tears to well up in his eyes as both he and Steve tell you that you can take it.

He grabs you and pushes you down onto the bed and Steve is quick to follow, sitting on the backs of his legs as he watches Eddie get on top of you after he's put on the condom, both of you moaning loudly as he enters you. He thrusts hard and deep as he pins your hands to the bed so you can't move anywhere. You're so hot underneath him like that and now he can't even blame Steve for wanting to fuck you any chance he gets.

Your moans are so loud and hot that both men swear they could both come just by hearng them. And Steve is close, God, is he close. Eddie's thrusts get harder and faster as he slowly tries to fit all of himself inside you inch by inch. He's only halfway there and you already feel tears pricking in your eyes.

"A little more, honey," Steve tells you. "You can take it." You can take it, you know you can. It hurts and you feel like you're going to be torn in half, but there's no way you're asking him to stop. You can't.

"Yeah, listen to your boyfriend, y/n," Eddie commands. "Just a little more." You can't help but notice how much more rough he is than Steve, and how much you enjoy it. You want him to degrade you, to tell you how much of a good little slut you are. But all of that comes to a stop when Eddie's hand wraps around your throat, giving it a tight squeeze.

Your eyes bug out as you stare at him in shock. You have no idea how he knows exactly what you like, but he does. He's not afraid of potentially hurting you like Steve is. And the thing is, you like the pain. You like the way his hand chokes you, the way you feel your throat closing up and how he lets up just when you feel like you're going to pass out.

And little do you know that Steve's taking notes, paying full attention to what you like and what you don't so he knows for the next time he fucks you. And he's not even upset. He knows that you never fake it, but maybe it's time to do something new.

Once you're breathing again, his movs back to your hip, pounding into you again and again sliding the whole ting in and out as you cry on his cock, feeling it stretching you out. You finally reach your orgasm and feel yourself slipping away as you go dumb.

"That's it, baby," Steve says as he encourages you through your orgasm, pushing your hair away from your sweaty forehead. "Taking Eddie so well, honey."

Eddie's pace slows down as you're fading away and he thinks it's best to call it a night, hoping, praying that you can't walk in the morning as he pulls out of you. He gathers his clothes from the floor as you tell him over and over how good he was. And as Steve walks him to the door after he's dressed, he makes sure to let his friend know that he can do that as many times as he wants as long as Steve can watch again. Eddie agrees and flees the apartment as Steve goes to take care of his fucked out girlfriend, wondering how he got to the point where he got to the point where he got off by watching her fuck his best friend.

[strawberrystepmom]

cw: alcohol mention, suggestive. narumi x f!reader. anatomy is mentioned (breasts). reader works for the jakdf as a seismologist and is specifically not japanese or from japan. | word count: 1.2k, reading time: 5 minutes.

“Tachibana is such an asshole.” 

Narumi’s rant, the one that started while you gently scrubbed his back in the shower after scurrying back to your apartment hand in hand, has managed to continue all the way into your bedroom. 

“I swear to anyone listening I’m going to make him run until his legs fall off tomorrow.”

Tonight marked the third time the first division has invited you out to enjoy drinks and dinner with them in the three months you’ve officially been here. They intentionally sat you and Gen next to each other, pouring gratuitous amounts of alcohol into both of your cups the moment they were emptied. 

“That’s not very nice,” you tut from your side of the bed, comforter still pulled down so your boyfriend can climb in beside you. He does so with a groan, instantly reaching for your chest to squeeze one of your t-shirt clad tits. 

“It’s not very nice of him to look down your shirt while I’m sitting right fucking there either, now is it?”

Your nipple pebbles in response to the stimulation and he chuckles to himself, kicking the blankets around his legs until he’s settled.

A night out that turns into a grudge isn’t an entirely uncommon occurrence for him. Every time you come along he ends up frustrated that someone wants to grab your attention from him, asking you questions about your personal life and how you’re finding Tokyo now that autumn has slowly started to give way to winter. Does everyone have to be so friendly all the time?

Turning your head to face him for a moment, you raise a brow and smirk. 

“Are you jealous?”

Sighing, he tips his head back against the pillow that has been designated as his since the first time he slept over and stares at the ceiling.

“No, I just don’t want him thinking he can look at what belongs to me.”

A puzzled giggle escapes you, Gen still kneading at the soft flesh of your breast. 

“Is that not the textbook definition of jealousy?” There’s the faintest trace of a pout across his handsome features, dimly lit as they are in your dark bedroom. “Besides, it’s not like you publicly claim me. He has no way of knowing and I have a feeling that if anything, he was trying to distract me long enough for Shinonome to talk to you.”

The pout is gone, replaced with gritted teeth. A nerve has been struck, although you didn’t quite intend it to end up that way. It’s enough that he had to watch you be ogled by another man as you graciously leaned forward to fill his cup as he has done yours, now you’ve brought up his subordinate he knows bothers you thanks to her open admiration that leans on more than just hero worship in your opinion. 

Clearly he isn’t the only one suffering from a little condition that starts with a J and has a tendency to turn someone green. 

“That’s your decision not mine,” he shoots back, shifting onto his side so he can curl his body around you. His grip on your flesh will leave behind marks if it goes on too long. With a hiss, you reach for his wrist but he untenses his fingers before you can. The touch returns to the same gentle massaging motion although his mouth remains open and sneering. Narumi sighs and his second hand joins the first in squeezing. 

“Even if they found out, what would they do? Kick me out?”

You turn onto your side, facing him, fingers making their way around the back of his neck to gently scratch his neck and scalp the way you know he likes. It isn’t hard to make him putty in your hands and although you try not to resort to extremes, you need every tool you can get when he’s this worked up. 

His eyes flutter shut and the clench in his jaw slowly relaxes under your gentle touch, softer than maybe this level of petulance deserves but love makes us all soft in ways we don’t always expect. 

It’s why the fear of being found out always tinges these intimate moments with a bit more gray than you’d prefer. You used to simply like Gen. Enjoying his company gradually turned into being unable to function without it which has now led to this, two bodies in one bed, both smelling a bit of sake even though you showered together before peeling the sheets back. 

Somehow being here with him feels more fleeting than loving him from just over 5,000 miles away. 

The fraternization policy at the JAKDF is loosely enforced for enlisted members. Unfortunately, you are not enlisted nor is your work that of killing kaiju which automatically makes you slightly more disposable than your partner. 

“Maybe not you but they’d definitely fire me. Then I’d have to go home, we’d be long distance again, and you’d never get to sleep at night.” Shaking your head, you lean in to press your nose against his. “Not an ideal situation.”

He dips his head to press his nose right back against yours. 

“I could just tell them you’re essential to keep me happy,” he offers and you giggle. “I’m not joking. Keeping me happy should be their first priority anyway.”

There is a bit more humor in what he’s saying than he’ll let on, especially since you both know his subordinates are onto you to some extent. 

Giggling, you rub your nose against his again. He takes it further, dipping his head so that your lips brush against his. Ever greedy, he kisses you so much it almost makes you forget what you’re about to say. You break away before any further distraction can appear, lips still touching even if they aren’t locked. 

“Let’s pretend that you gave them such an ultimatum. What would you even say?”

The once gentle scratching against his scalp has become light tugging at his dark strands of hair and his knee has shoved its way between your thighs, the room growing warmer with each touch. Any distance remaining between the two of you has now been diminished, skin touching skin while he gazes down at you with heavily lidded eyes.

“I’d remind them of how difficult I was before being able to cum in you all the time.”

Opening your mouth to dispute his claims, or to at least ask him to have some decorum, he takes the opportunity to kiss you again before you can. His tongue slides between your teeth to tangle with yours, hands sliding from your chest to your hips and ass that are now being squeezed and kneaded.

Pulling away to catch your breath, lips slicked with spit and pussy resting warmly against the taut muscle of his thigh while he grinds it against you, you giggle breathlessly.

“And who else can say that they do that? Certainly not Tachi –”

Gen captures your lips once again, preventing another man’s name from spilling out of your sweet lips hurriedly. He can let bygones be bygones and if tonight keeps up how it’s going so far, he won’t make him run until his legs break in the morning for stealing a peek.

Maybe.

[severinageto]

When the night stripped him of his leader’s attire, when the day began to sleep, and when stillness reigned around him, Suguru always returned to the same photographs. Like every hipster teenager of the 2000s, the curse manipulator had his analog camera. A Zenit E, to be precise. Always by his side, it was his faithful companion through countless journeys around the world that his strange and curious profession took him on. Well, the camera and…him.

“A photographer is nothing without his muse,” Satoru would say flirtatiously, posing casually, his head resting on his hands, his long legs stretching nearly the full length of the bench, and his lashes, violet curtains shielding the depth of that gaze from any unworthy mortal.

Suguru lit a cigarette and studied that photograph intently. Summer or…spring? His mind blurred the intensity of the sunlight that reflected, scorching and fierce, in those eyes.

He sighed. It couldn’t be any other way, because Suguru firmly believed that Satoru’s eyes were the most captivating and bewildering thing about him. With a blue so intense it seemed to defy the laws of nature, they had an almost supernatural glow, as if they held a fragment of the sky itself or of some impossible ocean. When he looked at them up close, Suguru felt he could get lost in them—no, he could drown in them, as if those two blue abysses could pull him into another world, one where time stopped, and only they existed, sharing a truth that only their gazes could express.

“Come on, Suguru. Is it that hard to click?” Satoru would say, feigning annoyance, while he watched with satisfaction the lovestruck look his best friend wore behind the lens.

“The hard part is something else,” Suguru would mutter, trying to focus on that small pair of galaxies.

Inhale. Exhale. The smoke drifting toward those impossible eyes that stared back from the worn-out paper.

He held the photo up to the light as he lay back. There was something deeply seductive in the way Satoru looked at him, with that blend of curiosity and certainty, as if he didn’t need to say a word to make Suguru feel understood and, at the same time, completely exposed. It was a disarming gaze, light and playful on the surface, but with a latent intensity only Suguru could recognize. In those moments, when their eyes met and Satoru gave him one of those glances, part teasing, part serious, Suguru felt he could see him as he truly was, beneath all his jokes and arrogance: vulnerable, filled with secrets and shared dreams.

Someone only he could truly know.

“Come on, what could be so difficult?” Satoru would ask, opening one of his countless candies. “Do you need my help?” He would chuckle, moving closer to Suguru’s lens.

Suguru swallowed. Satoru knew exactly what he was doing. Satoru, just as he had the first time Suguru saw him, was mesmerizing him with the colors of his irises.

Clicking his tongue, Suguru set the photograph aside. It no longer made sense to think about it. He was there, and he was here. There was a reason, a purpose. No, it was best not to look at it again.

But his eyes couldn’t resist their blue call. He was always astonished by the stubbornness of those eyes, which seemed to shift hues with every emotion. Windows to an unknown universe, they could be mysterious and vibrant, yet also warm when his pupils dilated slightly, reflecting an immense affection. He knew most people felt intimidated by the intensity of that gaze, but to him, it was his refuge, his safe place.

“The hard part is capturing them,” he murmured, as his finger clicked to capture the moment.

“Why, Suguru?” Gojo whispered, pressing his unforgiving face even closer.

Suguru of that time hadn’t answered him. He couldn’t find the words. But ten years later, a longing leader caressed what remained of an image as fleeting as that spring.

“Because, beneath all your energy,” he murmured, recalling those two daring teenagers, “you looked at me like I was the only thing that mattered in the world.”

And in those moments, Suguru understood why those eyes, beyond their beauty, were the most captivating thing about him.

🧿🧿🧿-🧿🧿🧿

Art by instagram.com/may_illustman

[103rafes]

TAPE 008 ᯓ★

"The fuck is she feelin' on you for with Hollister on?"

in which BF!Rafe underestimates how possessive citygirl!kook!reader can get over him.

warning : 18+ , smut is involved , slut calling (from reader) , creampie (???)

BF!Rafe and CITYGIRL!KOOK!reader

A party after a solid win at the Enduro, is definitely needed after seeing your boyfriend throw himself at a dirt bike for pride. Well, that's what you think to yourself while you swirl white wine in your glass, the liquid sloshing slowly in the wine glass you had, held between your index and middle fingers.

White, sparkling rhinestones bedazzled the Signature of the Sun mini dress you wore, pearly and almost reflective of the flashing purple and blue lights that happened around the big yacht Topper had rented just for the win; the one which Rafe had rented in advance because he'd known he'd win, and he did in a sense.

You played with the strand of hair you had, curling it around your finger. You'd gotten your hair done for this, to come to the party as Rafe's plus one; his girlfriend - and where was he?

Talking to Topper and Kelce, Ruthie stuck to Topper's side like always. God, you were seriously beginning to hate that bitch, she seemed to be getting more opportunities to talk with your man than you were. You couldn't help the way your face changed into one of clear distaste, rolling your eyes as you turned to converse with your bestfriend who you'd thankfully met at the party.

Versailles, your bestfriend was in her own little designer outfit, a black dress sparkling in polar opposite eye candy to your own. "Is that not your man there, babe?" She asked, an eyebrow raised while you had to this time fight the massive eye roll you were about to, at just the mention of Rafe.

"He's busy," You responded curtly, not trying to be rude but it was getting to you. Seriously, why did he do this? Versailles nodded, but you could sense something off, she seemed uneasy. That didn't sit right with you, "What's up wit'chu?" You asked, and she shifted on her heels, eyebrows raising quickly while her head turned away, glass held to her pink glossed lips, "Does your man know any blondes that aren't his sister?" She muttered low, and you whipped your head around to where Rafe had been, the curls from your high pony bouncing.

Sure enough, you saw Rafe seemingly immersed in conversation with his friends still but with the addition of some blonde chick. Your stare turns into that of a nasty, snake like one, lips curling, "Who is that?" You sneered, and Versailles shrugged, "I don't know, but I saw a ton of guys trying to advance on her, but..she's been giggling and talking to your man for a while now.."

That only made you more angrier, "Seriously? The fuck.." You mumble to yourself as you analyze the random blonde from afar. Hollister clothes from top to bottom, it made you want to laugh. "Where'd she come from, Goodwill? Maybe a goddamn No Frills." You scoffed, eliciting a laugh from Versailles, "Girl..cool down, I'm sure Rafe can handle his own, he's your boyfriend for a reason, right?" She questioned.

That eased your nerves a little; Right, Rafe could hold his own, he wasn't disloyal by any means.

A deep inhale through your nose, and you sighed heavily, "You're right, I'm stressing fo' what..let's go get another drink, mine's out." You murmured, to which Versailles grinned and excitedly linked your arm with hers, practically sprinting you two towards the bar somewhere down the yacht.

The two of you had ended up talking a while longer near the bar as you grabbed your refills, and after a nice 10 minutes did you two finally come back to where you'd originally been. You were laughing hard at something Versailles had said, not tipsy enough to be considered drunk but certainly not sober enough to control your emotions.

Versailles was talking, and she suddenly cut herself off with wide eyes, "Hey, look." She tapped your shoulder before pointing somewhere. You felt slight unease creep into your skin, because you knew that direction was where Rafe was. Begrudgingly, you turned around and were met with the one sight you didn't want to see.

Rafe looked slightly annoyed, hands trying to pry the blonde off him carefully as she tried to grind up on him, getting her hands all over him as the open zipup she wore fell off her shoulders, revealing her tight crop top, and those ass hanging shorts.

Pure adrenaline began to rush through you at the way she so casually touched Rafe; who the hell was this hoe?

Before Versailles could grab you, you were stomping over, the sound of your heels seeming to burn out the sound of the loud music playing on the yacht as you pulled the chick off Rafe by her open, soft blonde hair.

"Get the fuck off him skank!" You snapped, and you could hear the "'ohhh"s that began to come out from Topper and Kelce, looks already coming your way. An offended gasp left the blonde, and her fists clenched, "What the fuck is your problem?!" Her voice was scratching your eardrums in a way that could've made them bleed out, and it only fueled the irritation you had, "My problem? Why's your ass all up on my man?" You asked with all the venom you could muster, the glass in your hand threatening to crack from how hard you were gripping it.

The blondie looked taken aback, seeing someone as gorgeous as you putting a claim on Rafe, but it didn't help her hold her tongue, "He's your man? Does he not have standards?"She spat, and that could've made you see red. "Standards? Don't come talking to me about standards in an all Hollister outfit, bitch!" Your voice grew louder, and heads really were starting to turn.

Rafe meanwhile was visibly cringing, and he tried to grab your bicep, "Hey-" He tried, but you weren't having it, tugging your arm out, "Let go of me!" You snarked at him too, turning your attention back on the girl infront of you, about to speak once more before Rafe grabbed you even firmer by your wrist, "Hey, let's go..c'mon, s'not worth it." He murmured low into the back of your neck, hot breath make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

You really wanted to keep this going, put more wood to the already burning fire but deciding better of it, you tugged your wrist out and simply turned on your heel, starting to walk, "Come on Rafe."

Commotion seemed to be settling down a little, your anger somewhat beginning to clear while you prepared to leave, before words caught in your ear.

"Yeah, run back to a Hooters, they need fake boobs there anyway!" The blonde yelled behind your back. Rafe's eyes widened, and he knew what you were about to do. "Shit. don't-"

But you'd already turned right back around, storming right up to the chick and throwing the remnants of your white wine all over her clothes, gasps you didn't care about ringing around the crowd before you threw your glass on the ground and struck, fist colliding in a stinging pain that you replaced with the satisfaction of seeing the blonde stumble and yelp out.

You were pissed; you didn't want to get your nails done again after this, but then again acrylics were purchasable; Rafe was not. Here you were, brawling this chick and her audacity into the ground, a couple of hair pulls that caused your beautifully done hair to become a perfect mess.

"Fucking slut! Go find some other guy to give blue balls!" You yelled, as the girl tried to give you her own punches, failing miserably as she flopped and squirmed like a fish without water, "You fucking witch!!" She shrieked, as you delivered another right hook to her nose, and just as you were about to make her see light, large hands hailed you off the withering girl.

"HEY! C'mon, knock it off!" It was Rafe, and he couldn't believe the effort it took to basically rip you off the girl's body. You panted heavily, reaching down the adjust your heels before you spat on the girl, "You can find ways to fill your pussy at a 99 cent strip club, whore!" You yelled loudly, voice subtly cracking from the frustration bubbling through your body while Rafe tugged you towards him sharply, not with the intention of harming you but rather with the notion to get you to shut up.

"Cut this shit out, she's down, y'did your stuff now let's leave. Now. 'Don't want you causin' more of a scene." He gritted out, and just as you were about to protest, a sharp glare silenced you and you simply shut up.

You could feel the burn of numerous eyes all over your body, some whispers flowing out. Some people were amused at the way you'd put that blonde down, some people were upset you'd overreacted.

But that didn't matter; not with the overbearing that now filled Rafe's truck as you two drove off. Arms crossed over your chest, you didn't know what to say, or how to really start a conversation after all that. You could feel the tension in the car, and Rafe's unspoken words hung heavily in the air.

After a while, you decided to break the ice.

"Listen, you know I-"

"You've done enough."

You fell quiet at that, brow twitching as you scoffed, feeling some uncertainty, "Why was she feeling up on you, Rafe? Especially in fucking Hollister of all clothes-"

"S'not the point here. You punched her, I mean- God, you couldn't keep it in?" Rafe questioned, trying not to be upset. It was difficult, but he also felt guilt; he knew you probably had thought foul things seeing the girl practically climb on him, even if he tried as courteously as possible to get her off.

Your eyes narrowed, now not in the mood to talk. Damn him, he didn't get it.

Rafe knew the game you were playing, and he sighed deeply, "Look, baby, jus'..I'll make it up t'you..a'ight? Jus' calm down." He spoke in a more gentler tone, and it somewhat soothed the wild rhythm that went on in your heart.

A simple hum left you, indicating a half-assed yes that made Rafe relax just slightly.

The two of you got home eventually, Rafe pulling into the driveway and killing the engine, a long exhale leaving him while he got out of the black truck. The two of you stepped inside, locking doors and it was silent for the moments it took for you both to go upstairs. It was like there was a fog between you two, and it made you uneasy. Had you really made Rafe upset with you?

Just as the subtle anxiety of such a thing began to itch at your skin, rough but slender fingers trailed the sides of your waist. "Let me help you outta this.." He murmured, a soothing balm to the worries you'd had moments before. You nodded quietly, feeling slow caresses to your waist before Rafe went to unzip the designer dress off you, giving him view to your back.

Mindlessly, he dragged a cold hand to your spine and it made you shiver a little. Soon enough, the dress was coming off and before it could pool around your ankles to the floor, Rafe caught it and watched as your stepped out of it in your white Miu Miu heels, those satin slingback pumps you adored secretly clicking against the wood look porcelain.

Rafe stood up to full height, putting the dress over the fluffy chair infront of your vanity, all types of makeup over it.

His eyes flicked over your figure, taking in the curves that were now bare to him. He couldn't help himself when his hands slowly massaged the skin of your hips, fingers teasingly hooking into the black lace of your panties, the bows on either side, "You look good in black," He complimented low into your ear, and you felt your heart constrict.

"I know," You answered, trying to keep some of your dignity with you. That dragged a light mimic of a snicker out of Rafe, and his hands began to travel up your body, to where those layered rhinestones sat nicely on your neck. He unhooked the clip behind them, taking the necklace off you, "Jus' wanted to make sure you do.." He set it to where your vanity was, "Thing's a mess," He mentioned, but it wasn't condescending. Teasing, that's what it was.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes with your arms crossed over your chest and weight shifted onto one side, hips angled. "K, you're not a girl, you won't understand," You muttered, which caused Rafe to chuckle wile he walked back to you, "Sure I won't, baby.."

It was quiet for a bit, and he could tell the earlier situation was still in the back of your mind. Sighing, Rafe brought his hands to fiddle with the back of your matching lace bra, "I'm sorry..seriously," he started, and when you didn't respond, his brows furrowed with slight desperation, "c'mon..don't be like that. 'know I meant it when I said I'd make it up to you." His hands continued to trace idle patterns, a finger hooked under the back of your bra.

It filled you with anticipation; you knew he was waiting for your answer. With a few moments of contemplation, all you could do was nod. Rafe mentally sighed of relief, and with practiced ease he unclipped your bra, hands moving to slide under it and cup your tits as it slid off, "Fuck..don' know how you 'xpect me to stay sane when you're this gorgeous.." He pressed kisses to the back of your neck, and you leaned into it, feeling heat in the aftermath.

Rafe carefully led you to the neatly made bed you two had in your room, flipping you before pushing you onto the bed gently. He made your legs straddle his waist, his lips connecting to your collarbone and the dip between your breasts, hands softly flicking over the buds in a way that made you keen out.

He knew what he did to you, all your soft spots and everything to make you shake. After a bit of kissing and leaving some new dark spots on the span of your collarbone and neck, his hand moved to palm you where your pulsing cunt was, making a shaky breath leave you. Rafe slowly rubbed his hand where he knew you entrance was, taking great satisfaction in the way soft sounds escaped your soft, glossed lips.

"Look at you, all laid out f'me.." He murmured, "this the girl who just beat some chick to the ground?" He teased as he rubbed two fingers idly over where your clit was covered beneath the lace, giving you no room to respond with soft gasps leaving your throat. He smirked, the one that drove you off the rails as he pressed kisses to your jaw, his hand leaving from between your thighs to take his belt out from it's loops, before pushing his pants down with his boxers, his semi-hard cock freeing itself from it's confines.

He grasped himself, kicking his pants down to his knees before he used an elbow to brace himself over your body, rubbing the head against your pantie covered pussy, "Y'want this, huh? 'Want this thing buried in you, hm?" He almost mocked you in the way he asked, and you softly exhaled, "Don't tease, that's a bitch move."

Rafe snickered at the words, and he rubbed more firmly, making sure you made atleast a little whimper as a quiet groan left his own mouth, "Yeah? You fuckin' love that though," He muttered, "love when I make bitch moves."

He relished in the way your pussy got wet enough to slightly soak your panties, and a soft laugh left him, "Jesus..m'not even in you 'n you're this wet? Must be needy.."

You would've kicked him in the stomach if you didn't have your heels on, which frankly you don't know why Rafe left on. Your train of thought was disrupted when you felt Rafe moving your panties to the side, "Spread." He ordered, not firm but in a way that hinted authority.

You obliged in a way that made you seem desperate, legs spreading nice and easily. Rafe could've moaned at the sight of you obeying so effortlessly, rubbing the tip against your soaked folds. It made your thighs twitched a bit, anticipating in a way that made your tummy heat.

"Rafe, fuck stop-" The words choked up in your throat as you felt your pussy being stretched from Rafe slowly pushing the tip inside. Rafe grunted as his cock bullied it's way past your tight ring of muscles, a groan when he finally felt the head squeeze in, "God, you're tight- always tight." He muttered, slowly moving his hips to have you ease your walls around him, mindless and silent sounds leaving you as your eyes fluttered close.

It took a minute before you felt Rafe beginning to slowly thrust, your walls opening to his intruding dick. Your back arched in a way only Rafe caused, a moan leaving your lips before it was swallowed by Rafe's own against it, kissing you with fever.

Your hands found it's way to the back of Rafe's neck, moaning right into his mouth as his pace begun to speed up, his fucking you nice and deep as his cock forced it's way through your walls, mindless moans beginning to ring throughout the room as skin to skin wetly met with it.

"Oh my fuck, Rafe!" You practically whined out, before a loud whimper and gasp mixed into one when Rafe's tip connected right to your cervix, toes curling at the sensation that filled your entire being.

Rafe panted slightly, muscles constricting as he let go of your panties, both hands now moving to throw your legs haphazardly onto his shoulders, ignoring the dig of your Miu Miu's against his back and neck as he fucked into you deeper, bending down to kiss at the corner of your lip; so close yet so far.

He was hitting that star spot inside you with every thrust, ripping moans and cries from your throat as constellations practically spilled across your eyelids. You felt that coil in the pit of your gut ready to snap.

"Yeah..yeah, moan jus' like that..all f'me, huh? This pussy's mine, 'know I'm not gonna go lookin' for pussy that isn't yours." He muttered between breaths, his thrusts beginning to grow sloppy as he neared his release.

You were so close, you could feel it in sparks as Rafe gave you bliss that you were always reminded of time and time again. Rafe gasped out when he felt you squeeze him like a vice, "Fuck, you're eating my dick," he laughed in disbelief, putting more forces into his thrusts as he reached his thumb down to gather some wetness from your slit, using it to coat your clit and flick it in quick motions, eliciting shaky cries from you.

"Rafe, I'm coming!!" You cried shakily, and Rafe sniffled, sweat coating his back, "That's it, come f'me..c'mon." He encouraged, a husky tone. With a few more thrusts to your bruised cervix, your high hit you with a brutal force, your entire body shaking as you creamed over Rafe's dick, who didn't stop fucking into you until his own release hit him, a loud groan that could've woken the dead up leaving him as he painted your insides with hot, white streaks.

The two of you basked in the aftermath, your bodies trembling faintly while both your highs slowly settled. Rafe brought a hand to lightly brush your hair out of your face, eyes half lidded. He leaned down, gently pressing a kiss under your jaw before you grumbled, "Want me to book you an appointment to your nail tech?"

Your chest rose and fell at a slow rate, heart racing still before you closed your eyes, swallowing. "..Yeah."

Rafe hummed lowly in acknowledgement, face pressing into your neck as he groaned, neither of you in the mood to get up, "K..I'll Applepay you like..$2000." He muttered. Your eyes opened, squinting, "What? Nails are only 150 Ra-"

"I know. You can shop after. S'my way of saying sorry for not jus' shoving that girl onto the floor." He joked softly, and you couldn't help but smile, a slight smack to Rafe's back.

Well, you got clothes out of that one. It was a win win.

-

note: I'm gonna decompose cuz'a this, I can't BELIEVE I jus' wrote this but ykw I need the likes so whatever it takes, fan service behaviour. Hope this catches the RIGHT side, I'm not actually freaky but I gotta do what I gotta do. PHYS ED 'n biology taught me this for what.

isn't proof read, will be soon though!

[twst-aceofhearts]

Take A Break!

a/n: you can't stop me from loving ace :) also epel fic is next @waterthatsmoe just for u <3

tw: Yuu overworking themself

pairing: ace x gn!yuu

words: 1049

taglist: @luxaryllis @thegoldencontracts @waterthatsmoe

Ace had noticed how Yuu had been helping multiple people with anything they need. He didn’t say anything at first, but he slowly noticed how you started to neglect your own needs.

Yes, he’s a bit of a troublemaker, but he still looks out for his friends. From his conclusion, Yuu is putting too much stress on themself. So, like a good friend, he brought this up to them. When they brushed him off, he got a tad bit annoyed. Like the stubborn person Yuu was, they tried to convince him that they were perfectly fine.

The dark circles under their eyes said otherwise. Ace saw how Yuu had been cramming test material lately because they didn’t have any time for themself.

Ace doesn’t like to be pushy, but Yuu’s behavior was honestly starting to get to him. Nonetheless, he didn’t want to leave them alone.

“Dude, this is how you make yourself pass out. Are you trying to get yourself a trip to the nurse’s office? Man, just put the book down!” He scolds them, trying to take Yuu’s pencil away from them. They’ve been doing Proffesor Trein’s assignment for the past hour. Ace tried to offer some help again, but it was met with a hard no by Yuu.

“I swear, I can’t tell who’s more stubborn: you or Riddle…That says a lot!” Ace grumbled under his breath before sending a glare towards Yuu. He was going to help them one way or another.

“Nngh…I’m not getting help from someone who has lower grades than mine..” Yuu huffed, groggily trying to take their pencil back.

“Seriously?! You’re going to use that stupid reasoning?!” Ace was not impressed, holding the pencil higher out of Yuu’s reach. 

He scowls and looks away. “You’re not always this stubborn, you know?! You always help others and then you end up exhausting yourself. How many times have you overslept for class because you were pulling another all-nighter to study the night before?” He sighs, grabbing Yuu’s wrist and pulling it back down, stopping them from reaching for their pencil. “You’re not a machine, and you need to relax sometimes. Even Riddle does that every once in a while. So please, listen to me—just this once.”

Yuu stayed silent, their tensed shoulders slightly relaxing. They ceased their attempt to grab their pencil back, their hand falling limp in his grasp.

Ace sighs, slowly calming down. After all, anger wouldn’t solve the issue. “Look, I just want to help, Yuu. You need to get better at letting others assist you. If you don’t, you’ll get worse every time. You might even start developing anxiety if you keep putting so much pressure on yourself. It’s not healthy. It’s dangerous,” Ace frowns, his expression disapproving. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself because you’re being reckless.”

I…damn you and your..stupidly effective way of words…mmph..” Yuu huffed, pulling away their hand from his grasp, placing their hands on their lap. “...fine…I’ll take a break…”

Ace’s frown turns into a small smile. He slowly extends his hand, holding out their pencil to them. “See, that wasn’t so hard.”

He sits next to Yuu, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head to the side. “...if you don’t mind, can I ask you a question? It’s not about your horrible study habits, so don’t worry.”

“...shoot,” Yuu sighed, gently rubbing their tired eyes.

“Why do you try so hard to help others? I mean, you barely have time for yourself and you’re still trying to be there for others. You’re the kind of person who always puts other first; you barely think of your own well being. Why?” Ace’s eyes slowly trail over Yuu’s face. The dark circles under their eyes were a little concerning.

“...You want the short version or the long one?”

“The long version, please,” He nodded, genuinely wanting to know what was going on through Yuu’s mind.

“...Back in my world I didn’t really have anyone to look to for help. Or..anything at all. It’s just me. I was alone. No family, no friends—I don’t want other people to go through the same things I did…” Yuu trailed off near the end, their tone becoming more reserved and their voice lowering in volume.

Ace stares at you for a moment, before sighing inaudibly. “I didn’t know,” He gently places his hand on your shoulder, giving Yuu a warm smile. “But, you’re not alone now. You have friends, you have me,” he ruffles your hair fondly.

“...it’s unsettling when you’re not acting like a troublemaker—being all cheesy like this instead.” Yuu blinked, closing their eyes for a moment, then opening them before they fell asleep.

He lets out a light chuckle, poking your forehead. “Heh, but that’s why you like me, don’t you?” He smirked, his usual carefree smile returned.

“Ah there it is….wait, where’d you get that idea from?” Yuu narrowed eyes, feeling their cheeks heat up into an “unnoticeable” pink. 

He grins teasingly. “Well, you put up with me. And your face always turns pink when I’m being nice to you. Like now—it’s adorable~”

“I-...damn you…” 

“Hehe, I’m a little correct, huh?” He laughs again, pulling away slowly. “Just relax for now, okay? Don’t push yourself too hard.” 

Yuu sighed, too tired to care about his teasing remarks anymore at this point, standing up to sit on Ace’s bed.

Ace watched Yuu for a moment, before he followed behind them, sitting down next to Yuu. “Tired? If you are, you can take a little nap.”

Yuu nodded, thus leading to Ace gently laying Yuu down and tucking them into the covers. “After all this studying, you could use a small break. Besides, you look more tired than usual.”

Yuu let out a small hum, bringing their legs up and tucking their knees into their chest. “...Can you…” Yuu trailed off, feeling a sudden wave of shyness.

Ace smiled slightly, gently patting their head. “Yes, I’ll stay here until you’re asleep. Don’t worry about anything. Sweet dreams, idiot.”

Yuu let out a small huff. “The only idiot here is you…” They mumbled, burying their face into the pillow cover.

Ace laughed quietly, keeping a hand on Yuu’s head before he slowly started stroking their head. “Yeah, whatever….sleep well.”

credit to @cafekitsune for divider

[dreamscapeee222]

Music Block

Yoongi x reader

Masterlist

Fluffy drabble

Your boyfriend wasn't particularly in the best mood today. You already know why since you've been with him in his studio for most of the day. Your hours had been spent catching up on missing assignments and replying to emails while Yoongi's had been... staring at his laptop with his arms crossed.

A low groan had caught your attention causing you to look up at him. He had been in the same position since you took a break 25 minutes ago and still no progress, it seems. You gently sighed and then got up to walk a few steps towards him, removing your laptop and leaving it on the sofa in the process.

Hearing your steps he looked up, smiling softly at you, his eyes crinkling.

"Hey baby."

You smiled back, and looked down to situate your gaze on his lap before lifting your head back up again to meet his. Your smile grew even more when Yoongi teasingly rolled his eyes and patted his legs.

You were comfortable as soon as you had sat on him. Your arms wrapped around his neck and you studied his face for a moment, eye bags. He's exhausted. You angled your head down to lock your lips with his. A small sweet kiss shared between you both until you pulled away then your hands found his hair to massage.

"You having a hard time with your music today, love? You've been out of it for a while now. You okay?"

Yoongi sighed deeply for a moment before another was held in silence. You patiently gave him time to answer, there was no rush.

"It's just... I'm having a little mind block lately. Nothing has been written down or produced for the past week. Feeling a bit... annoyed now I would say but I'm okay, baby. It's all right."

You nodded at his words. You knew exactly what he meant, anyone would if they'd been burnt out from overworking. Knowing your boyfriend, he's a workaholic, always so focused on making the best melodies the world had ever known. Always working hard doing what's best for him, for BTS, for ARMY, for you.

The universe had written his story of music before the beginning of time. The words carved onto the stars, ensuring his destiny when he arrives. It had obviously done him right, never wrong of course, but rest is important.

Your fingertips trailed across his chin, tickling him a little causing the corner of Yoongi's lips to twitch the tiniest bit. Leaning your forehead against his, you kept your gaze locked, eyes filled with gentle concern and understanding. Yoongi's eyes softened further, the tension in his brows easing slightly as he took in the warmth of your presence.

"Let's take a break," you suggested. “Even just for a little bit. You need to clear your head, and I’m not going anywhere.”

You slowly nod your head, eyebrows raised to seek his agreement to your idea.

Yoongi’s smile, subtle but undeniably genuine, appeared once more. This time, it reached his eyes, which glistened under the studio lights with gratitude and affection.

"Yeah, I'd like that. I'd really like that, baby."

You widely smiled at him agreeing. You pressed your lips against his forehead for a sliver of moment before you spoke, "Aren't you just the luckiest boyfriend in the world, right now? You have me, your wonderful lover to take care of you, a partner as beautiful as me to look after you. You've practically won the lottery ticket. Don't you agree, hm?"

Yoongi laughed at your teasing antics. He'll never get enough of it, maybe for the rest of his life.

"Yeah yeah. You're cute. Just stop smiling at me like that."

Requests may be made. Only SFW. Surrounding BTS only at the moment.

[ghostmoon1]

Day Four - Bed Rest

Ghost x Soap

Master List

I struggled to get this one out, I wasn't sure on how to write it! But I hope you all like it, I sorta like how it turned out!

CW: Mentions of being shot, poor Simon is wounded

Words: 1,057

Johnny’s hands tapped against the railings, letting the small sound echo to his ears with a sigh. Looking over the land, the rolling hills glistening in golden grass, the white specks of wildflowers waving along with the grass in the breeze.

He was silently thankful for Price, letting them stay here while Ghost had to recover after a hard mission. He knew being shot hurt, but being shot in the shoulder blade, where you couldn't move your arm at all was horrible when you're so used to always moving. Simon was a whole other story.

He was so used to always doing something, if that were fixing something at home, training or even doing paperwork, he’d find something to keep himself busy. Johnny didn’t quite understand why he couldn’t just stop and take a break, relax for a bit. But he couldn’t stop the man when he had his heart set on doing something. He was grateful he had to be on bedrest, maybe he could finally just sit and relax, not worrying about always having to do something. Maybe he can finally rest, after having spent so long not having a day of rest since joining the military. That’s what he thought anyway.

Deciding to retreat back inside, grabbing himself a mug to make his coffee for the morning. He almost spills the water as he suddenly hears a crash from another room, with multiple curses coming after. He quickly sets everything down, carefully making his way to the noise. His steps were quiet and careful, avoiding each floorboard that creaked with trained military precision. He quickly reached over, grabbing the first thing he could reach for, which so happened to be the clock. He didn;t think that’d do much to an intruder, but it’d give him some time to stun him before putting him in a headlock, or knocking him out. Being a trained military personnel gives you a lot of options.

He silently turned the corner, peeking his head out first before his body followed. The clock was raised in front of him, ready to hit anyone over the head. He wouldn’t let anyone disturb Simon’s rest, he needs this. He wanted to give him this-

“Simon?”

As he steps around the corner, he’s met with Simon, his duffle bag on the ground with its contents splayed over the ground. Every movement he makes causes him to grunt in pain. He’s hunched over, mumbling stuff to himself as he uses his better arm to move stuff to the side. He doesn’t even notice Johnny saying his name nor him being in the doorway.

“Simon?” he calls again, taking a few steps closer to get a better look at the mess that he was making over the carpet. He recognises the bag, the one they pack when staying back at the base, full of army-issued clothing, a notebook and comfort items that he brings along with him to base, even if he doesn’t have many of those. 

Finally Simon grunts in response, but not moving his focus away from the bag. “SImon, what are yer doing out here yer idiot. Your ass is supposed to be in bed rest!”

“Don’t want to stay in the good for nothin bed…” Simon mutters, throwing more clothes on the floor behind him.

Johnny just sighs and moves to sit next to him on the ground, watching him with furrowed brows as every movement causes him more pain than he was already in. “Your shoulder won’t heal properly if you're up and about doing shit like this you twat.”

Simon grunts in response, obviously annoyed that he was being ordered by his Sargent to get back into bed and just by the fact he was already in pain. 

Johnny shakes his hand, placing his hand on his knee and squeezing gently, urging him to relax. Once he finally starts to feel his muscles relax under his touch, he smiles softly and runs his thumb over his knee, watching his face soften slightly. Being out of work and out of public, this was one of the few times he gets to see Ghost without the mask, it was Simon. Not Ghost.

“What are you even looking for?” he mutters, eyes shifting back down to the duffle bag on the ground. He furrowed his brows as he studied the mess he had made, his hands still rummaging through the bag desperately.

He groans and throws the bag forward, grunting in pain and clutching his shoulder as pain sparks through his shoulder again at the movement. Johnny sighs, moving to wrap his arm around his waist hoping to bring him back to his bed.

“C’mon, let’s get you back to bed,” he murmurs, helping him stand up. Even if he could walk by himself, it scared him too much to have him walking around alone like this.

Simon groans softly, but lets him help him up. “I can’t find it…” 

“Find what, Si?”

“The bracelet you gave me.”

Johnny pauses for a moment as he studies his face. It’s not a lot that he will see his Lieutenant in even the slightest distress, but this felt so different, more personal. He frowns once it hits him that he can’t find it. But that would have to be a problem for another day, right now he needed to get back to his bed rest.

“It’s ‘right, we’ll find it later. Right now you need more bed rest,” he says as he helps him lay back down into the bed, trying not to even brush against his shoulder.

Simon groans but lets him help him lay back down, rolling onto his good shoulder with a huff in annoyance. Johnny tries to pull away after, but finds Simon gripping his hand tightly, tugging on it softly. He chuckles and understands what he wants, carefully settling down behind him in the bed. He tangles his legs with his, carefully threading his arm underneath Simon’s, trying his hardest not to bump his shoulder.

���Get some rest.”

“Only cause you won’t stop nagging me till I do,” Simon mutters, mostly under his breath. But as he faces away from Johnny, savouring the warmth of his body close to his, pressing against his back, a small smile spreads across his lips. He felt safe.

He felt at home.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

The Boss Part 4 -Oneshot

Word count: 1915

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

“I don’t understand why this is a big deal,” Bucky groaned, picking up his work bag and adjusting his suit jacket.

“What do you mean?  It’s a big deal in any relationship,” Y/N said incredulously.  “Meeting the family is a big step.”

“It’s just Sunday brunch with my sister,” Bucky said, giving her an unimpressed look.

“The sister that I know so little about, other than the fact that she and I have similar traumatic experiences and she’s a designer.  Yeah, I’m feeling really prepared,” Y/N replied sarcastically, grabbing her own bag and walking to the garage.  Bucky was right behind her, unlocking the car and sighing heavily.  Y/N rolled her eyes.  

“Why would you need to be prepared?  It’s not a business lunch.  You just be yourself.  I think you both would get along really well,” he continued as he pulled the car out of the garage.

“Sure.  We’re out of the house, no more home talk,” Y/N said, trying to shut down the conversation.

Bucky gave her a frustrated glance before putting it in drive and taking off.  The drive was silent, which was out of the ordinary.  Y/N knew she was being a little ridiculous.  It was just a brunch.  With his sister.  But she didn’t know much about her.  And meeting new people, especially people that were important to Bucky, was always nerve-wracking.  What if they didn’t get along?  What if his sister hated her?  What if she saw something in Y/N that Bucky didn’t see and told him he deserved better or should find somebody else?  As secure in her relationship as she felt, this was introducing a new dynamic into it, something deeper and more serious between them.  

During the work day Y/N was much quieter and curt with Bucky.  Her regular friendly, polite banter was gone, and she was getting looks from others in the office.  “Are you okay, Y/N?” Steve asked while they were both in the break room getting lunch.

“What?  I’m fine,” Y/N said, frowning at him.

He gave her an arched eyebrow.  “Uh huh,” he said, unconvinced.  “Trouble at home?”

Y/N rolled her eyes.  Steve was the only one who knew that she and Bucky were together.  “Did he say something to you?” she asked him.

“No.  But neither of you are good at keeping a straight face,” he replied.  

“Good to know,” she huffed and grabbed her food.  “Bye Steve.”

“Bye Y/N,” he sing-songed back at her as she marched out of the break room.  She walked out of the office to the hallway leading to the elevators, then quickly veered into the stairwell.  She sat down on the steps, using her legs as a tray to eat her food.  She just wanted some peace and quiet for a moment as she ate.

“What are you doing in here?” Bucky’s voice echoed through the stairwell as he opened the door.

“Eating lunch,” Y/N said around a big bite in her mouth.  

“No shit Sherlock.  Why are you in the stairwell?” Bucky asked sharply.

Y/N took her time chewing then swallowing her bite.  “Just wanted some alone time.  I still have 20 minutes for lunch.  I’ll be in soon.”

Bucky watched her silently, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze, focusing on her food and taking another big bite.  “This is ridiculous,” he griped, then walked down the stairs enough to be at eye level with her.  “Quit acting like you’re this shy, nervous little thing that can’t handle meeting new people.  It’s just Becca.  I don’t understand why you’re so worried about it.”

“Uh uh uh, Mr. Barnes.  We’re at work.  No home conversations at the office,” Y/N said, taking another bite.  “But that’s good I know her name now.”

Bucky blinked, his jaw tight as he glared at her.  “Okay, you’ve made your point.  I haven’t told you much about her because I didn’t feel like it was my place.  But she’s the only family I have left, and I want the two most important women in my life to know each other.”  Y/N glanced at him at those words, seeing how serious he was.  She didn’t say anything, and his frown deepened.  “So you’ll suck me off at work, but you won’t talk to me about anything personal?”

Her eyes widened at him mentioning their sexual moment weeks before late at night in his office.  She glared back at him before standing up.  “Don’t be an asshole.  You’re the one who said work is work, and home is home.  I was just following orders, boss.”  She turned to walk toward the stairwell door, opening the door then slamming it shut behind her.  She marched back into Bucky’s office, grabbing her things before going back up to the front.  Bucky was just walking back in as she came out.  “Kamala, I’m not feeling well.  I’ll forward Mr. Barnes’ meeting schedule to you so you’re aware of who is coming in and when for today,” Y/N said, tapping the counter to Kamala’s desk.

“Oh, I’m sorry, well get feeling better!” Kamala said, giving her a sad look.

“Thank you,” Y/N said.  She gave Bucky a hard look before walking back out of the reception area to the elevators.  Bucky was right on her heels.

“So now you’re just running away?” Bucky accused when she pushed the button for the elevator.  

“No, I’m taking some time to collect myself,” Y/N said, keeping her tone as professional as possible.  

“Y/N–” “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all,” Y/N retorted as the doors opened for the elevator.  She stepped inside and pushed the main level floor button.

“How are you going to get home?” Bucky asked, holding the door open with his hand. 

“I’m not going home,” Y/N said quietly.

Bucky’s face twisted from frustration to sadness.  “Doll–”

“Don’t,” Y/N said, reaching up and moving his hand away.  The doors closed on him, his sad eyes haunting her.  Y/N gritted her teeth as the elevator moved down, literally biting back tears.  When the doors opened she left the building, ordering an Uber.  She had given up her apartment months ago after the whole debacle with her ex-boyfriend stalking her, so she had nowhere else to go.  But that didn’t matter.  The Uber brought her to Bucky’s house, where she ran in and packed a light, weekend bag before getting back in and was later dropped off at a nice hotel.  Now seemed as good a time as any for a short vacation.

***

Later that night as she was cuddled in bed in her bathrobe, finishing her last bit of room service dinner, a call came to her room phone.  Y/N frowned at the phone, waiting until the second ring before reaching over and grabbing it.  “Hello?”

“Hello, Miss Y/L/N?  This is Gwen, one of the front desk receptionists?”

“Uh, yes, how can I help you?”

“There’s a man here who says he’s here to see you.  James Barnes?”

Y/N rolled her eyes.  Of course he knew where she was.  She had forgotten that her location was still enabled on the work phone, sitting right next to her on the nightstand.  “Yeah, you can send him up,” she sighed.

“Okay, thank you.”  

Y/N shifted herself up and out of the bed, annoyed at having to move from her comfortable position.  She adjusted her robe and paused the show she was watching on the TV when she heard a knock on her door.  She took a deep breath to steady her thundering heart as she walked over, unlocked the door and opened it.  Bucky stood there in casual clothes and holding a backpack, a sad expression on his face as his gaze met hers.

They stood staring at each other for a long moment.  Bucky swallowed harshly, then took a step toward her.  “Doll,” he started.  Y/N inhaled deeply.  “Can I come in?”

She paused for a moment then nodded, stepping back to give him room to walk in.  Bucky gave her a small smile and walked around her into the room.  Y/N closed the door and followed him inside.  He stood waiting for her, and as she sat back down on the bed she gestured for him to sit on the chair across from her at the sitting area.  He quickly sat down, leaning on his elbows against his knees.  Y/N didn’t know what to say, so she just waited.  Bucky gnawed on his lower lip before sighing.

“I’m sorry, doll,” he said quietly.  “I’ve been thinking about it all day, and…I shouldn’t have gotten angry or defensive over it.  Meeting family is a big step, so I understand why you would be worried or stressed.  I meant what I said, though.  You and Becca are the most important people in my life.  I just thought that maybe, since things with us have been getting pretty serious, that it was time to introduce you to her.”

Y/N nodded, looking down at her hands.  “I’m sorry, too.  I just panicked.  You’ve given me no reason to be worried or stressed about it, I just…I don’t know.”  She shook her head, upset with herself.  “And then I freaked out and ran away.  I don’t know how to do this whole healthy communication thing.  I’ve never experienced it before.”

Bucky stood and walked to the bed, sitting next to her.  He slowly reached a hand out and gently grasped her hand closest to him.  “It’s gonna take practice, for both of us.  And we’re going to mess up sometimes, like today.  But I, I love you,” he said, squeezing her hand.  “I don’t want to lose you over something that we can fix.  So…can we just try this again?”

Y/N smiled.  “Yeah.”

Buck smiled at her.  “Okay.  So, I was thinking about inviting my sister to Sunday brunch at that bottomless mimosa place you love.  Would you be okay with that?”

Y/N squinted her eyes teasingly.  “So…officially meeting the family?  That’s kind of a big step, don’t you think?”

Bucky huffed a laugh.  “Yeah, it is.  But it’s a step I wanna take with you.”

Y/N’s cheeks were starting to hurt with how hard she was smiling.  “Okay,” she agreed.

He smiled brightly back at her.  “Awesome.  You’re gonna love her.  Her name is Becca.  She’s older than me by two years.  Very smart and artistic.  She designed my house, you know?” He joked, winking at her.

“She did?” Y/N joked back.  “Wow.  And she must be really pretty if she looks anything like you.”  

Bucky blushed at the compliment.  “You tryna sweeten me up?” he smirked.

“Maybe a little bit,” Y/N said, turning to face him more.  She lifted her free hand and traced it up his arm holding her other hand to his shoulder then across his chest.  “I love you,” she said quietly, leaning over and kissing his shoulder.

Bucky smiled softly at her.  “I love you, doll.”  

She glanced at the backpack he brought.  “Did you pack up some stuff just in case I let you stay?”

“Yep,” Bucky said shamelessly.  “I can’t really sleep without you.”  He suddenly pushed her back onto the bed and tucked her into his side.  “Thank you for agreeing to meet her.”

Y/N smiled.  “I’m sure it’ll be great.”

[slowd1ving]

Hi! If you're not taking reqs then feel free to ignore this but could you write Kim dokja angst? Maybe we're switching the roles and the reader is dying instead of dokja for once lmao

HOUSE OF CARDS ゜・KIM DOKJA

"A house made of cards, like the fools we are." In which a gambler finally pays the price for his bet. never actually written angst so I hope this is good enough anon art creds to kim28_dokja on twt! pairings: kim dokja + gn reader warnings: blood, injury, death, references to child abuse/dokja's past wc: 2.4k

ORV MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Dokja is shit at games. 

It’s clear to the dealer. Even on the best day, those omnipotent palms that allocate fate will grow clammy (which they never do) and that ever-present smile slowly turns into a profound grimace. They know. They feel it instinctually, on a cellular level: that hand was terrible. 

It’s clear to the people around him. The salaryman stumbles into the building as though he’s just learned to walk: in never-polished shoes, slacks that perpetually crease further with each nervous wipe of his hands, and the clinging scent of smoke that preludes his entrance. He’s not got his life together, they observe, behind stony poker faces he can never quite master. That’s why he’s here.

Most of all, it’s clear to Kim Dokja himself. Every irregular heartbeat pulses in his throat as he gazes at his cards—two seven offsuit. In his sweat-streaked fingers is the short straw urging him to enlist. On the table before him are all his chess pieces, lined up neatly: spectators to the constant check, his inevitable downfall. 

Despite his atrocious luck, the thin red string binding him to this world never quite severs. A fire befalls the casino. A bullet embeds itself in the shell of his helmet and not a hair further. The chess game is postponed by a phone call and the poignant sound of shattering glass—and Dokja is left to shoulder the limbo of an unfinished game.

He’s shit at games, but never truly loses. 

Is it simply up to chance? A coin is tossed into the air: another foolish plan devised, another chip placed that equates to one of his lives. Crisis after crisis—Dokja, that harbinger of misfortune—yet each time, he resurrects. He bets on it, in fact: quite literally gambling away everything. 

It is just how things are. He cuts corners. He smooth-talks the fates into letting his transgressions slide just a little longer. For once, he’s winning, and the grand prize is something beyond his wildest dreams—an ending, to mark the indefinite uncertainty of chapters that seem to grow like nebulae. 

“Dokja.” It’s a sigh each time when he defies the end. Anyone else would interpret it as exasperation, but he likes to think he knows you better than that; it’s relief you greet him with, no matter how many times he sacrifices himself. “You idiot.”

It’s nice to know his long-time friend cares about him. 

No matter how many times he places his bets, the value of his life never seems to deprecate for you. Sacrifice is something you’d rather avoid (so does he, but it cannot always be helped, right?). If Dokja’s life can be used to save more of the people he cares about, all the better. 

In fact, he’d rather keep you away from any front line. 

There’s a story of its own between the two of you: years of scraped knees and violence, of gazing up at your shoulders while you bruise your knuckles with whoever bruised his eye, of friendship pacts forged with spat-on palms and corded bracelets. 

Your very soul is entwined with his scrawny one from years past, and it’s always been the case that yours has fought the battles in his stead. ‘Why?’ he’d once asked, and he still vividly remembers the cool response you attempted to give, only to end up fumbling the words. 

Because I can. Because I want to. Because you deserve it. 

It’s his turn to repay his debts. These fights are no longer about a bloodied mouth and spitting red onto the asphalt. They don’t end with bruised ribs and broken noses. 

You sit out. This one, he thinks grimly, is his fight—one that will guarantee both you and him turning the page on ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼. Every factor has been considered. Each risk is carefully mitigated at the expense of himself. None of the contingencies fail to prioritise his oldest friend. 

These are chips he cannot afford to bet on. 

Naturally, he keeps them close to his chest. 

゜゜・

Dokja is shit at games. 

His friends know it all too well. Those disbelieving laughs they let out, their fists clenching and unclenching as they debate whether to hit him across the head—Dokja, the herald of despair, he is—and finally the rush of words leaving their mouths like air deflating from a balloon: “Never do that again.”

All in, his chips go—each and every time. There is no other way about it: not unless you shackled Dokja to you in vain to make him listen—to stop the endless deaths he goes through. Over and over, until you feel his mind wear into recklessness, until you see the emptiness that taints his eyes as he slips into quiet contemplation.

How will Dokja die this time?

You’d rather erode into nothingness than clip his wings, though. That book he gushed about to you (syllables rushing over themselves in his excitement each update) gave him back his life—if you ruin his painstaking ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼, you don’t think you could forgive yourself.

Even if he’s ratcheting to Icarian heights. Those feathers of his are beginning to streak wax-hot down man-made frames, made of pages upon pages of a book obsolete to all but one dedicated reader. 

You think he can see the pain in your eyes, before he turns away with lips pressed together tightly. You’ll be safe, he reassured you. You’ve got me. I’ll create an epilogue for you to witness. 

Dokja’s changed. 

Those scrawny shoulders have become something that the very sky settles on: ones that no longer shake behind your own arms. The world has bruised you, and Dokja shall bruise it back. Every favour, repaid tenfold. 

Dokja’s changed. 

He’s still got the same facade of the boy you’ve called your oldest friend. If it weren’t for that, you’d think the man who coldly settles his death were a stranger. Someone you never shook hands with, childishly grimacing at the remains of a spat-upon pact rubbing into small palms. 

Dokja’s changed. 

He thinks he no longer causes misfortune with each risk he takes—as if his life were a mere trifle, as if each shred of news about him doesn’t shatter your heart over and over. 

When will it end? 

You haven’t seen him for months. 

Is it finally time to grieve?

゜゜・

Dokja is shit at games. 

It seems you are too. He turns the page of his book, and beside him the house of cards is carefully stacked on the glass table. It’s a precarious matter: high stakes against yourself, an unsafe tightrope that threatens to give way any moment now. 

Your eyes meet his. 

Like magic, the house collapses. 

゜゜・

You are shit at games. 

You take a deep breath, and begin organising what could be the final legacy of Dokja. It’s something he treasured even over his life, evidently: the ending, which you allow into your soul in the Kim Dokja-shaped hole left behind. 

It’s the first time you take a gamble: carefully picking up the shards of his ideas while rivulets of blood run down your fingers. It’s your turn. 

The battlefield in the scenarios is a sanctuary: white noise washing out Dokja’s ever-persistent voice in your head. There’s a perpetual, acrid smell of ash and smoke—a reek that is far better than the dust of buildings Dokja leaves you behind in. 

It’s hard. 

Gambling is not for you; in the sense that it sickens you, rather than just invoking disaster like it does for Dokja. The only good thing about it is that Dokja’s dream is finally being realised—a tribute to your oldest, dearest friend. Like funerary wine, metallic iron fills your mouth (a once-familiar taste) with each battle, every step closer to the story Dokja wove for you. A fabric so salient you couldn’t help but be entangled in it. 

I can do it. That is your gamble. 

You do it. 

You cut down monsters the size of buildings. You cling to life with bleeding fingernails, scraped raw with tenacity. Tentatively, you begin fleshing in the husk of yourself: talking with the friends you made in the apocalypse once more.

And like Dokja, you begin defying death. 

It starts off small—an arrow that you saw coming but didn’t feel like dodging. Jung Heewon almost blew a gasket when she took a glimpse, but then her eyes met yours—filled with the same distance that Dokja’s were, as though you too were peering through an impersonal screen—and she looked away for a brief moment. 

“Idiot,” she whispers. “Don’t treat yourself like Dokja.”

Your chips pile up. 

Except, you don’t quite have the same privilege that your dearest friend has. 

You will incur the cost, rather than somebody else. There is a reason Dokja is called a harbinger of ill fortune to others, and you are not. In the end, your downfall will be at your own hand. 

“Fool,” Yoo Joonghyuk grimaces as he cuts down a wolf you let claw your arm. The coppery stench is thick in the air, but there seems to be a manic grin on your face as you slice and chop and stab: a madness that slowly spreads like illness through your body. “There is nothing more worthless than sacrifice without cause.”

The debt accrues. 

Kim Dokja dreams of your knuckles, bloodied once more as you stand to face the world. But, it’s just a dream. 

He bets on it. 

゜゜・

You are shit at games. 

Bitter, arterial blood congeals on your hands as you try in vain to staunch the flow. There is nothing quite as caustic as the realisation that you fucked up, because now all the signs of your hamartia are clear. 

The house has long collapsed—it’s that final card that still hasn’t hit that glass table yet. 

Is this what Dokja feels? The thought runs wonderingly through your sluggish mind. Is it what he felt, you mean to say, but your throat grows thick whenever you speak about him in the past tense. You can’t quite accept the reality that he’s gone. The shock anaesthetises your mind: cradling your neurons with such gentleness that it’s hard to conceptualise you’re about to follow him to wherever he’s gone. 

Will I see him again?

Everything reeks of iron: from the massive corpse on the ground, to the claw impaled through your abdomen. It was inevitable. You’ve grown tired of the endless fight, and it’s cost you dearly. 

Your chest heaves desperately. 

Dokja. 

“Dokja,” you croak, collapsing onto the rubble freshly decimated. Despite the rough surface, your blood-slicked hands scrabble for purchase on the concrete—something that doesn’t quite feel like you’re the one puppeteering your strings. 

Deliriously, you watch as the same hand urgently attempts to apply pressure to your wound; it goes against rationality, but then again you’re not really yourself anymore. 

“Dokja?” you try again. Perhaps if you speak loudly enough—syllables soaked with sanguine that dribbles from your lips—you’ll be able to reach your dead best friend. 

There is a pressure behind your eyes. 

It may be tears; it may be an unwelcome guest in your head. 

It’s too late, you think. He’s dead, and soon I will be too. 

“Dokja,” you whisper, and there is salt on your tongue as you feel your limbs grow colder. Everything hurts—your pounding head, the thrum of your pulse as you marr the asphalt with crimson, and finally that stupid bleeding heart of yours that swears you can hear the spirit of your oldest friend. 

You can’t die, you think he says—a quiet scream drowned out by the static of your mind. 

“I’ll see you soon, though,” you slur, and the weight in your mind lifts—blurring and coalescing into a mirage you could recognise blind. 

Frigid fingers pass through the hologram, and you smile, bittersweet. 

“Dokja,” you breathe. “It’s been almost a year since I last saw you.”

His hands grasp your shoulders desperately, though his frantic mouth goes unheard upon your ears. You… can’t… die, his lips read—but that’s silly, you think. Doesn’t he want you to meet him again?

Horns curve out of his head, while his wings fluff out—shoulders shaking, with an expression you’ve only seen once on his face before. Utmost grief, when he came soaked in congealed blood and a haunted look in his eyes: murmuring she killed him, over and over. 

He’s your best friend. He was your best friend. 

Kim Dokja has lost his final gamble, and the bullet in the chamber has finally been spun into place for you too. 

“I can see you soon, right?” you murmur—there are cold fingers brushing against your forehead, and you think death is unexpectedly gentle. 

His lips wobble. 

Incorporeal fingers trace the tear tracks on your face—ones that mirror the slow stream of salt from his own eyes. You didn’t even notice—too caught up in the gradual greyness that spreads through each vessel, weaving through sinew and bone and brain. 

“I did a good job, right?” Your sword rests across the ground, heavy after almost a year of fighting. “Maybe it’ll help with the ending that you wanted.”

Dokja’s face crumples, and you can feel your own throat growing thick. Dokja, I’m scared, you want to admit. For the first time in your life, there’s a choking fear that grips you as the red surrounding you blooms into a field. 

Your own wings are rapidly coming apart. 

“Dokja, I don’t want to die,” you mumble. Struggling, you curl and uncurl your hands into fists, but you can no longer feel them. 

“Dokja,” you try again. You can no longer see him, but whether it’s from the salt clouding your vision, or the haze of limbo, you cannot tell. 

There is a phantom pressure that lingers on your face. 

“Dokja,” you gurgle, mouth iron-hot with arterial blood. “Don’t leave me alone—please.”

No response is given, but that sepulchral presence seems to remain—this time, those hands brush and cradle your face. 

You cannot tell if it’s him or death itself, but you don’t think death would kiss you like that. 

As if he could possibly breathe life back into you, his ghostly lips move against yours. Desperately, so urgently you half-wonder at his panic. 

Dokja, you want to ask. You’re already dead, right?

Right? 

With the final scraps of your vision, you watch as he pulls back—his tears pattering across your face—watch as his mouth moves for a final time.

I can’t live without you.

But by then, it is too late.

The words go unheard, and Dokja is alone once again.