#why is no chest “default and correct”

[rose24207]

I think he loves you more than me now

Summary: When Suho asks his sweet, introverted girlfriend who works in women’s clothing for her employee discount to help his friend Sieun, the unexpected kindness she shows earns her not just gratitude—but Sieun’s rare and heartfelt approval as someone truly good for Suho.

Ahn Suho x reader

Part one

A/N: y’all someone jinxed me. I was almost fired today for no reason help. I think it’s the authors curse. It’s finally out to get me help

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You’re still working on the first floor of the department store—women’s clothing, where nothing stays hung for more than ten minutes, and every compliment about the mess sounds more like a personal attack.

“Wow,” one lady muttered today, crinkling her nose at a blouse someone else had thrown on the floor. “You’d think someone worked here.”

You just smiled politely, the same way you always do. You’ve learned it’s not worth correcting them. Instead, you hang the blouse back up, smooth its sleeves, and continue folding shirts in the same gentle rhythm.

You’ve changed a little since Suho came into your life—well, not changed, more like grown into yourself. You’re still quiet, still introverted, still way too shy to make small talk unless it’s with someone over the age of sixty or a mannequin. But you’ve also learned to hold your head a little higher. You still hide behind your bangs sometimes, but now your lips twitch into a smile every time you remember Suho holding your hand behind the store and whispering:

“You’re my favorite person in the whole world.”

You’d nearly combusted.

This afternoon, Suho comes into the store looking stressed, his dark brows pinched and his school bag barely hanging onto one shoulder.

He weaves through the perfume counters, then the purses, skips the escalator, and takes the stairs two at a time.

You spot him before he even notices you, and you straighten the display quickly so it looks like you weren’t just admiring his walk.

He finally finds you near the cardigans.

“Babe,” he breathes, all flustered. “Do you… do you have your discount card on you?”

You blink, confused. “Uh, yeah? It’s in my pouch—why?”

He rubs the back of his neck, looking awkward for the first time since he met you. “It’s for Sieun. His shirt got ripped yesterday.”

Your eyes widen. “Ripped?”

“Bullies,” Suho mutters. “Some jerks at school. He didn’t want to tell me, but I saw the tear. Got it out of him. Then I told him we’re coming here, ‘cause you work here and you have that magic card of wonders.”

You chuckle softly. “It’s not magic, it’s a 30% employee discount.”

“Same thing,” he says with a smirk. Then, quieter: “You don’t mind, right?”

You shake your head. “Of course not. For you? For your friend? Anytime.”

He grins and kisses your forehead before dashing back upstairs. You watch him go, warmth curling in your chest.

A few minutes later, you spot them. Suho’s voice, animated and teasing, echoes down from the second floor. He’s pointing at something in the men’s section while another boy—shorter, quieter—stands with crossed arms, clearly unimpressed.

That must be Sieun.

You’ve never met him before, but Suho’s mentioned him lots of times.

"He doesn’t talk much."

"He’s insanely smart."

"He sees through everyone, like he’s reading your mind."

Also: "He never likes my girlfriends. But he will like you. I know it."

Sieun looks like someone who keeps his guard up by default. His expression is unreadable, lips pressed into a thin line. His uniform shirt is neatly ironed despite the tear Suho mentioned. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who asks for help.

But when they come down the escalator—with a couple of neatly folded shirts and a plain navy hoodie draped over his arm—you offer them your softest smile.

“Found everything?” you ask gently.

Suho nods and waves Sieun forward. “Go on.”

Sieun hesitates, then steps up and places the items on the counter. “Thank you,” he says, voice quiet but sincere. “I… appreciate this.”

You shake your head lightly. “No need to thank me. Suho told me what happened. I’m really sorry that happened to you.”

Sieun’s eyes flicker up to yours. You expect him to shut down, but instead, something in his expression softens. Maybe it’s the way you’re not making a big deal out of it.

Maybe it’s how your voice is calm, not pitiful. He watches you ring everything up, nimble fingers tapping on the register, checking tags and scanning like second nature.

“You’re fast,” he says suddenly.

You glance up, blinking. “Huh?”

“At this,” he says, nodding to the register. “You’re good at your job.”

It’s not flattery. It’s an observation. You smile a little, flustered. “Thank you.”

You hand him the final price—with your discount applied, of course—and bag the clothes neatly while Suho chats beside you about school, complaining about math. You catch Sieun watching you carefully, thoughtfully. Not in a creepy way, but more like… analyzing.

Later, after they leave, Suho texts you from the bus.

Suho 🤺: he likes u
Suho 🤺: he literally said “she’s not fake”
Suho 🤺: THATS A BIG DEAL
Suho 🤺: i think ur in the circle of trust now

You laugh so hard you nearly drop a stack of scarves.

A few days later, Sieun comes back. Alone. No Suho.

You spot him wandering the second floor and wave at him from across the balcony. He seems a little unsure of himself but eventually makes his way down.

“Suho had work,” he says as you approach. “But I needed another shirt. I didn’t want to go to another store.” I didn’t trust another worker with my cloths.

You smile at him, motioning for him to show you. “Want help finding it?”

He nods slowly. “If it’s not a bother.”

You lead him upstairs and help him check the racks. He’s surprisingly polite, following behind you like a quiet shadow.

You’re not sure what it is—maybe it’s his silence, or the way he watches things like he’s constantly solving a puzzle—but you find yourself talking a little more than usual.

“This one’s the same cut as the one you liked, but in black,” you say, holding a hanger up to the light. “I can check in the system to see if they still have the beige one, though.”

He nods, studying the shirt. “Black is fine. I trust your taste.”

You blink, a little caught off guard. “Oh.”

“I didn’t mean that to be weird,” he adds quickly. “Just that Suho’s style is… chaotic. Yours is calm. Balanced.”

You chuckle. “Yeah, he’s a little all over the place.”

Sieun looks at you, and for the first time, you see the hint of a smile tug at his lips. “But it works for him. He’s happier now.”

You glance at him, surprised. “Really?”

He nods. “He’s calmer. He jokes more. He used to get into fights all the time, not just with other kids, but with himself. Like he didn’t know where to put all the emotion. But ever since you… it’s like he found an anchor.”

Your throat tightens slightly. You weren’t expecting that.

“I didn’t do anything special,” you murmur.

“You did,” Sieun says, voice steady. “You’re kind. And consistent. He needed that.”

There’s a silence between you two—but it’s not awkward. It’s peaceful.

When you finish ringing up his items, he takes the bag with a short bow. “Thank you again.”

You smile softly. “Anytime, Sieun-ssi.”

As he turns to leave, he pauses. Then, without looking back, he adds, “For the record, I never liked any of his past girlfriends. But you…” He hesitates, then nods. “You’re different.”

Your cheeks burn with warmth as he disappears into the crowd.

That evening, Suho bursts into your messages again.

Suho 🤺: SIEUN TOLD ME WHAT HE SAID
Suho 🤺: do you know how BIG that is
Suho 🤺: he called you “consistent” 😭😭😭
Suho 🤺: I think he loves you more than me now

Wifey 🛍️: I just gave him a discount and helped him find shirts 💀
Wifey 🛍️: It’s not that deep

But deep down… it feels kind of amazing.

A week later, Sieun comes back again—this time with Suho. Suho‘s goofing off, nearly pushing Sieun into a rack near the escalator, but Suho stops to wrap an arm around your shoulders.

“My girl,” he says proudly, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “You ready to discount us into fashion icons again?”

You roll your eyes, but your smile says everything.

Sieun shakes his head but smiles softly. “Honestly, I only come here now for the service.”

And you know, without question, you’re not just Suho’s girlfriend anymore. You’re part of the circle. Fully, finally, warmly in.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane, @stxr-lilac, @geumseongjelicker, @itzzezraa

[alllgator-blood]

I MADE THESE FOREVER AGO BUT NEVER POSTED THEM, I'm not happy with the fact I haven't been drawing at all lately, so I fought through the burnout long enough to finish these. They all had a couple small things to finish and somehow that made me not post them for 2 months...

Definitely gonna do that 50 bishop questions thing when I'm done bedrotting, especially now that I have these refs up. But for now: a couple assorted fun facts below the cut

-Leshy is a comic artist, Kallamar is a painter who specializes in frescos and triptychs, and Narinder is an animator who makes flipbooks. So back when the family was all still together, those three would meet up on slow days to storyboard + make backgrounds + animate characters in flipbook form and make the dark ages equivalent to a movie!

-Heket was originally supposed to have tattoos, but I literally forget to add them every single time I draw her and frankly it'd be weird if I randomly added them now. They were those little eyes all over her chest/belly that you can see in her eldritch form, but she also had oak leaves and mushrooms on her collarbone!

-I use they/them for Kallamar by default, and tend to have slightly different ways I draw them depending on if they're feeling masc/fem/neutral in comics. The family jokes that Kallamar is the one who leeched all of Shamura's gender, because Kall is like EVERYTHING AT ONCE and Shamura is just ENDLESS VOID

-You can tell if Shamura likes you if they start using pet names or flowery symbolism rather than your actual name. Their name for Mystic Seller is "Sunshine" because they heard a follower singing that "you are my sunshine" song, and felt that same mushy feeling in their chest listening to it as they get when they look at Mystic Seller.

-I dunno when the *exact* year was that Shamura started to shrivel up and lose their muscles, but it was probably around the ~500 year mark? So you can really kinda time when a comic takes place if Shamura shows up- if they're bedridden but still jacked, it's pretty soon after the schism. And if they're all gangly and disheveled, it's pretty close to the events of the game.

-All of their crown weapons are of indigenous origin because uhhh ummm fuck you that's why. The lore reason is that Shamura was the one to teach them all how to fight, and everybody already knows my Shamura is inexplicably Lakota...also I must say MEDICINE SHIELDS ARE NOT INTENDED FOR COMBAT IRL I just thought it was the *perfect* thing to give Kall.

-I've talked about Leshy's autism a bunch of times, but only once have I said that they ALL got it. It just manifests in very different ways. Heket's most notable autism trait is "something is wrong, I need to correct it or I'll fucking implode"/injustice sensitivity. She's the MF that breaks out the measuring tape when dividing up a snack to be shared. She also is LOUD AUTISTIC so she's not yelling at you but totally sounds like she is. Kallamar is the "I'm gonna projectile vomit if I bite something soft and find something crunchy"/"if I don't cover myself in lotion 24/7 I'll scream over being trapped in my dry skin" type. So a VERY texture sensitive fella. Shamura is obviously an infodumping type who has niche special interests, but will rip you in half with their bare fucking hands if you chew gum around them or breathe through your mouth.

I have so many random stupid headcanons about these guys that I might do an entire gigantic post about it someday but rn I just want to wrap this up and go lay back down lmao

[eimiette]

minutes

࣪♡ ۪ ݁ 𓈒 ── SPENCER REID

SUMMARY: during a high-stakes stakeout, spencer reid and his partner turn their limited time into a distraction from the case at hand. GENRE: smut with plot, idiots in love CW/TAGS: soft!dom spencer (ofc), quicky, piv sex, fingering, lots of banter, est!fwb relationship, reader is referred to as a girl. this is my first spencer reid smut so b nice pls !! <3

the night had settled into a quiet lull, the kind of silence that stretched on and made time feel endless. you’d been parked outside the suspect’s house for hours, watching the shadows play tricks on your eyes while spencer sat beside you, deeply engrossed in a book he’d brought along—one that had nothing to do with the case.

you glanced over at him, unable to resist a little teasing. “you know, we’re supposed to be watching the house, not reading ‘war and peace’ for the millionth time.”

“it’s ‘the brothers karamazov’,” he corrected without looking up, his tone dry but familiar. “and i’ve only read it four times, not a million. it’s called multitasking.”

you chuckled, shaking your head. “right. because when i think of multitasking, i think of spencer reid reading existential russian literature while catching criminals.”

he looked up then, a small smile tugging at his lips. “well, it’s a good thing i’m here to broaden your definition of multitasking, isn’t it?”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the grin spreading across your face. “sure, sure. meanwhile, i’m stuck doing all the actual work. keeping an eye out, staying alert… maybe you should take notes.”

he made a show of sighing, marking his place in the book before setting it down. “i hate to break it to you, but i’m perfectly capable of watching and reading at the same time. some of us can do more than one thing.”

“oh, is that so?” you arched a brow, leaning in slightly. “then tell me, genius, what’s happening at the suspect’s house right now?”

spencer paused, his gaze shifting to the darkened windows across the street, then back to you. “the lights in the living room went off about fifteen minutes ago. bedroom lights turned on shortly after, but no one’s left the house since then. there’s a dog barking a few houses down, and someone two blocks over keeps playing the same verse of ‘take on me’ on the piano. badly, i might add.”

you blinked, momentarily stunned. “okay, first of all, how do you even—never mind, i don’t want to know. and second, why would anyone ever play just one verse of ‘take on me’? what kind of psychopath are we dealing with here?”

spencer chuckled, a real laugh that lit up his face in a way that made something warm bloom in your chest. “now that’s the real mystery,” he agreed. “maybe we should call in a second team to handle it.”

you snorted, shaking your head. “only if they’re prepared for a psychological profile of a frustrated piano player. that’s definitely outside my area of expertise.”

“mine too, surprisingly,” he said, his smile softening as his eyes met yours. “though i’m sure we could figure it out together.”

your smile matched his, and for a moment, the banter fell away. it was always like this—easy, comfortable, like you’d known each other forever. bickering was your default, but underneath it, there was something else. something steady. something you never quite acknowledged.

“hey,” you said, breaking the quiet but keeping your voice low, almost conspiratorial. “be honest. are you actually glad we got stuck on this stakeout together, or are you secretly wishing morgan was here instead?”

spencer tilted his head, pretending to consider it. “hmm, well, morgan wouldn’t keep up a running commentary of every single shadow that moves, so that would be a point in his favor.”

you scoffed, nudging his arm with your elbow. “you love my running commentary. admit it.”

he grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that always made your stomach flutter. “okay, maybe i’d miss it a little,” he conceded. “just don’t let it go to your head.”

“i knew it!” you crowed, leaning closer with a triumphant smile. “you’re not as tough as you pretend to be, dr. reid. deep down, you actually like having me around.”

his smile turned softer, almost fond, as he met your gaze. “maybe more than i let on,” he said quietly, the teasing edge slipping from his voice.

“you know,” you murmured, voice just above a whisper, “for a genius, you can be pretty slow sometimes.” he turned a page slowly, clearly fighting back a smile. “you’re just jealous because you didn’t think to bring a book.”

“why would i bring a book when i could spend my time annoying you?” you shot back, grinning when he finally glanced over at you, his eyes alight with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“mission accomplished, then,” he replied dryly. “you’ve certainly succeeded in distracting me.”

you let out a laugh. “it’s a talent, what can i say?” you leaned in a little closer, your voice dropping to a lower, more playful tone. “admit it—you like it when i distract you.”

he hummed, pretending to consider your words as he closed his book and set it on the dashboard. “i suppose it does have its perks,” he said, turning his body slightly to face you. his knee brushed against yours, a casual touch that sent a familiar thrill through you. there it was—the shift. you’d felt it countless times before, that subtle change in the air between you. it always started with harmless banter, a little back-and-forth that led to lingering touches, heated looks, and eventually, lips pressed together in the dark of the car or the shadows of a motel room. friends with benefits, that’s what you called it, though even that seemed too formal. it was more like an unspoken agreement, a mutual understanding that sometimes, the line between friends and something more blurred when the nights got long and lonely.

you arched an eyebrow at him, leaning in even closer. “and what perks would those be, exactly?”

spencer’s eyes flicked down to your lips, his smile turning a bit more mischievous. “the kind that gets me out of reading the same case notes for the third time.”

you chuckled, your heart picking up its pace as you closed the remaining distance between you. “if that’s what it takes to keep you from quoting tolstoy at me again…”

before you could finish, spencer’s lips were on yours, warm and insistent, like he’d been waiting for this. his hand slid up to cup the back of your neck, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss. it wasn’t the first time, not by a long shot, but it still sent a shiver down your spine the way it always did. he kissed you like it was something he needed, not just something to pass the time.

you tilted your head, smiling against his lips. “so, is this how you imagined the stakeout going?”

he pulled back just enough to murmur, “it’s a pretty standard ending for us, don’t you think?”

you laughed softly, your breath mingling with his. “i guess we have a type, huh?”

“apparently,” he replied, his voice low and teasing as his thumb brushed along your jaw. “can’t say i’m complaining, though.”

you hummed in agreement, fingers finding their way into his hair as you brought his lips back to yours. “good. because i’d hate for you to get bored out here,” you whispered between kisses, your words half-teasing, half-sincere.

“i can think of worse ways to spend a stakeout,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. his lips trailed down to your neck, and you let your head fall back, a satisfied smile spreading across your face.

you felt spencer’s lips brushing against your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. his kisses were warm and deliberate, a welcome distraction from the long hours of the stakeout. you leaned into his touch, but a nagging thought pulled at the edge of your mind, breaking through the haze of pleasure.

“spence,” you murmured, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. “should we really be doing this right now? i mean, we’re on a stakeout. there’s a chance the unsub could show up any minute.”

spencer’s eyes flickered with amusement, a faint smile curling at the corners of his lips. “oh, come on,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “we’ve been monitoring this place for hours. we’ve got approximately 48 minutes before the unsub’s next predicted move.”

you raised an eyebrow, trying to read his expression. “48 minutes? and how do you know that?”

he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “based on the patterns of his previous crimes, the time between his actions has been pretty consistent. it’s a safe bet we’ve got a little leeway.”

you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “so, you’re telling me that you’ve calculated the exact amount of time we have before we need to get back to being all business? kinda sexy you’ve calculated the timing on this out i must say..”

spencer’s eyes widened slightly, and he blinked at you, momentarily thrown off. “sexy? you find profiling talk sexy?”

you nodded, your gaze never leaving his. “yeah, it’s like you’re making crime analysis sound intriguing and… well, a little hot.”

he chuckled, a warm, genuine laugh that sent a thrill through you. “i’ll have to remember that. maybe i should include more of that in my briefing sessions.”

you grinned, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips. “just don’t let the team catch on. we don’t need them getting ideas.”

spencer’s fingers worked on the buttons of your shirt, his touch lingering with a hint of teasing. “you think they’d actually believe it’s my secret weapon?”

“oh, absolutely,” you replied with a smirk, helping him with his shirt. “morgan would probably have a field day with that.”

spencer’s shirt joined yours on the floor as he flashed a mischievous grin. “if that happens, it’s on you. you’re the one who brought up the idea of sexy profiling.”

“guilty as charged,” you said, pushing his trousers down with a playful nudge. “but you have to admit, you’ve got a way of making it sound pretty compelling.”

he raised an eyebrow, his fingers brushing against your thigh. “compelling, huh? is that the new standard for our stakeouts?” “maybe,” you said, leaning in closer. “or maybe it’s just a nice change of pace.”

spencer’s lips curved into a grin as he pulled you in for another kiss, his hands sliding around your waist. “i can live with that.” you responded with a playful glint in your eye, your fingers brushing against his chest as you shifted closer. with a confident move, you straddled his lap, your body aligning perfectly with his. the shift brought you eye to eye, a spark of heat dancing between you. spencer’s breath hitched slightly, his hands finding their place on your hips as he adjusted to the new closeness. “i see you’re not wasting any time,” he murmured, his voice a low, appreciative rumble.

you chuckled softly, your hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders. “why wait? we’ve got a limited window here.”

spencer’s breath hitched slightly, his hands finding their place on your hips. as he adjusted to the new closeness, his fingers slowly slid down, grazing the fabric of your skirt. the sensation of his touch against your skin made you shiver with anticipation. his hands wandered gently, exploring the curve of your hips and the edges of your skirt. his touch was light but deliberate, moving with an almost curious intensity as he traced the contours of your body. you could feel his fingers inching upwards, brushing softly against the bare skin of your thighs.

you pouted, a playful frown tugging at your lips as you looked down at him. “you’re really going to tease me like this?”

spencer met your gaze with a mix of amusement and warmth. “need you to use your words pretty girl.”

you raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming on your lips. “oh, is that how it’s going to be?”

he nodded, his touch growing more deliberate but still teasingly slow. “absolutely. tell me what you want.”

you bit your lip, the playful challenge clear in your eyes. “i want you to stop teasing and actually—”

before you could finish, spencer leaned in, his lips brushing against yours as his hands continued their exploration. his touch finally met your soaked core over your underwear, sending a jolt of sensation through you. his whisper against your lips was soft but insistent. “use your words. tell me exactly what you want.”

you parted your lips, your breath coming in soft, needy gasps. “touch me… please.”

spencer’s eyes darkened with desire as he heard your plea. his fingers slipped under the edge of your underwear, meeting the dampness of your core. he let out a low curse, his breath hitching. “fuck, you’re so wet. i should really explain the time management of our cases and unsub patterns more often if-” realizing he was losing focus, spencer shifted his attention back to you. he let out a soft curse, his fingers slipping inside you with a deliberate, smooth motion. the sudden, intimate contact made you gasp, the sensation warm and intense. spencer's fingers moved with a focused precision, sliding inside you with a smooth, deliberate motion. the warmth of his touch and the rhythmic pressure made your breath hitch, a soft whine escaping your lips as the sensation intensified.

he pressed his fingers deeper, his hand moving with a steady, measured rhythm. each thrust was controlled and purposeful, designed to maximize the pleasure that rippled through you. his palm rested firmly against your core, the heat from his hand mingling with the warmth of your skin.

as you whimpered softly, your breath coming in short, shuddering gasps, spencer leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear. “you’re doing so well,” he murmured, his voice a low, intimate rumble that sent a thrill down your spine. his thumb brushed lightly against you, adding a delicate pressure that made you whine again, the sound filled with both need and satisfaction.

you bit your lip, struggling to find the words through the haze of pleasure. “spence… i want to feel you. i want—”

he cut you off gently, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “i know. just give me a moment.” his fingers continued their rhythmic dance, his touch a tantalizing blend of warmth and pressure.

but as your need became more urgent, your voice grew more insistent. “please, i need to feel you inside me.”

spencer’s gaze grew more intense, filled with a deep, hungry longing, and he pulled his fingers away slowly, his expression a mix of affection and eagerness. “alright,” he said softly, his voice thick with desire. “i’m here.”

he reached into his wallet, retrieving a condom with a practiced ease. his lips curved into a small, knowing smile as he prepared it, a thought crossing his mind. it was probably because of you that he’d made it a habit to carry them during cases—an adjustment made in response to your playful insistence on being prepared. he tore open the wrapper and readied himself, then guided you gently but firmly into position. his hands were steady on your hips, helping you align perfectly.

as you settled into position, your breath quickening with anticipation, you glanced at him, a playful edge to your voice. “how much time do we have left?”

spencer’s eyes remained locked on yours as he checked the time. “forty minutes and thirty-two seconds—oh fuck.” the expletive slipped out as you slid onto him, the sudden, intense sensation making his breath hitch.

you leaned in closer, your breaths coming in short, heated bursts as you adjusted to the rhythm. the space between you was charged with electricity, each movement synchronized with a growing intensity.

“don’t stop,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly with pleasure.

spencer’s fingers dug into your hips, his movements becoming more deliberate as he matched your pace. “so pretty like this…” he replied, his voice low and intense. “so fucking pretty.”

as the urgency and desire between you built, spencer’s breath quickened, his hands guiding you with a steady, firm grip. each thrust was met with a soft, satisfied gasp from you, the rhythm between you becoming a fluid, intimate dance.

“doing so good for me baby,” spencer murmured, his voice barely more than a breath as he leaned in to kiss you, his lips brushing against yours with a heated, passionate intensity. his touch was everywhere—his hands on your hips, his fingers trailing along your sides.

your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as you both lost yourselves in the sensation. the car’s confined space only seemed to heighten the intimacy of the moment, making each touch and movement feel more intense, more immediate.

with each passing second, the urgency of the situation only added to the thrill. spencer’s focus was entirely on you, his eyes locked onto yours as he pushed you both towards the edge. “we’re almost there,” he breathed, his voice thick with desire and determination. “just a little longer.”

the combination of his touch, his kisses, and the urgency of the moment drove you both closer to the peak. the pleasure built steadily, every sensation amplified in the charged atmosphere. you could feel yourself unraveling, every nerve ending sensitized and every touch magnified. the sensation of him inside you was electrifying, a wave of intense pleasure crashing over you with each movement. your breaths came in ragged gasps, your body trembling as you felt yourself falling apart.

“spencer,” you gasped, your voice breaking with the intensity of the experience. your grip on his shoulders tightened, your entire body tensing as the pleasure reached its peak.

spencer’s eyes were locked onto yours, a mix of awe and desire reflected in his gaze. “i know, i know, i’m almost there,” he murmured, his voice a low, reverent whisper. his hands moved with careful precision, his touch both guiding and responding to your reactions.

as the climax hit, you felt a powerful release, your body shuddering and trembling with the intensity of the moment. your voice broke into a series of breathless cries, each one a testament to the overwhelming pleasure you were experiencing.

as the intensity of the moment enveloped you, spencer’s grip tightened on your hips, his breaths coming in sharp, uneven gasps. the way you had fallen apart, your body trembling with pleasure, had driven him to the brink.

his movements became more urgent, his focus solely on the sensation of being inside you, feeling your warmth and responsiveness. you could see the struggle in his eyes, the way his expression shifted from focused desire to complete surrender. “god, i’m close,” he gasped, his voice thick with a mix of urgency and satisfaction. his hands moved more fervently, his rhythm driven by the overwhelming sensations coursing through him.

as you clung to him, your body still trembling from your release, spencer’s movements became erratic. the pleasure built within him until he could no longer hold back. with a series of deep, shuddering breaths, he finally came undone, his body shivering with the force of his climax.

he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breaths ragged and hot against your skin. his hands still rested on your hips, holding you close as he rode out the final waves of his release.

as the intensity of the moment gradually faded, spencer’s touch softened. he pulled you close, his hands gently brushing over your skin as he helped you both come down from the high. his breath was still uneven, but his touch was tender and reassuring.

“are you okay?” he asked softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face with a mix of concern and tenderness.

you nodded, a contented smile forming. “yeah, i’m fine. you?”

spencer chuckled, slipping on his shirt. “well, we’ve got approximately 22 minutes to spare.”

you raised an eyebrow, pulling on your top. “and what are we going to do with those 22 minutes?”

he smirked, buttoning his jacket. “well, i could use a quick breather. maybe we can discuss how i should properly schedule my case briefings.”

you laughed, adjusting your clothes. “sounds like a plan. just make sure you don’t forget to factor in the importance of effective timing.” spencer’s grin widened as he straightened his collar. “duly noted. next time, i’ll make sure to account for every possible variable.”

-

꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱

[zeroseuniverse]

Final_Cut: You

Word Count: 1.6K Summary: But the camera wasn’t your webcam. It was handheld. Moving. Breathing. Someone had been there. Close enough to count your lashes. Close enough to brush hair from your forehead if they’d wanted to. Pairing: DK X Reader

Taglist: @haaruki  @agaha127 @zaycie @sh0dor1 @tinyelfperson @lezleeferguson-120  @ltfirecracker

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You never really knew your editor. Not in the traditional sense, anyway. You’d never shaken his hand or looked into his eyes. Never heard him laugh, or seen his name written down anywhere but in one sleek, unassuming corner of your shared folder. He went by DK. That was all he gave you, and in your line of work—where people overshared by default—that kind of anonymity almost felt charming. Clean. Professional.

He came recommended by another content creator you trusted. “Quiet. Fast. Reliable. Creepy good at catching your good side,” they’d said, half-laughing, not knowing how literal that would feel later.

So, you hired him. DK became the name behind the edits, the ghost in your machine. Every video you posted passed through his hands before the world ever saw it. He cleaned up the mess behind the illusion: removed your awkward pauses, trimmed your half-hearted brand plugs, warmed the lighting when your eyes looked too tired, softened your voice when it trembled.

You’d always found it eerie, in a way. How he seemed to know which frame made you look strongest. How he lingered just a moment longer on your real smile—the one you didn’t even know you gave. It was like he knew you better than you knew yourself.

At first, you chalked it up to talent. Intuition. Maybe a touch of luck.

But talent doesn’t explain how he caught the moment your expression faltered during a livestream, just before the screen glitched. It doesn’t explain how he managed to isolate your voice from a noisy café mic and leave only the breathy laugh you made when you spotted someone you liked. And it certainly doesn’t explain how, when you asked him for a behind-the-scenes edit—something raw, something real—he delivered something so intimate it made your skin crawl and your chest ache at the same time.

You watched that draft alone at midnight, curled into your blanket, half-expecting it to be a highlight reel of giggles and bloopers. But it wasn’t that. It was… you. Not the version you curated. Not the persona you wore like perfume.

No, this was you when the camera had slipped, when you forgot to mute, when your face settled into something hollow between takes. It was the moment you stared into your mirror, saying nothing. The way you brushed your fingers over a half-empty mug like you were waiting for it to fill. The sound of your breath after you ended a call and didn’t smile afterward.

And somehow, impossibly, he had footage you didn’t remember filming. A glimpse of you through a rain-streaked window. A shaky shot of you lit only by your laptop, eyes red but not crying. You blinked and replayed the segment four times, then stared at your drive.

You never recorded that.

But it was in your folder. Neatly named. Edited. Color-corrected. Yours.

You posted the video anyway. You weren’t sure why. Maybe because it felt real. Or maybe because the way he saw you was flattering in its honesty. Painful, yes—but gentle. Careful. Tender. Like someone memorizing the cracks of porcelain instead of fixing them.

The internet loved it. Flooded you with praise. “So raw.” “So real.” “So you.”

You messaged him afterward:

“That was beautiful. I felt like you saw the parts of me I never show anyone.”

He didn’t respond in words. Just a single file the next day, titled: “Final Cut_You”

You didn’t open it at first. Something about the name unsettled you, though you couldn’t explain why. It sat in your drive like a whisper behind a door you weren’t sure you wanted to open.

Meanwhile, you tried to think more about the DK you thought you knew. Tried to recall any calls, any photos, any trace of who he was beyond the edits. There were none. You hadn’t even spoken to him directly in months—just emails, maybe the occasional voice note on your end. He never replied in voice. His presence was always silent. Always watching.

You started to wonder if it had always been this way—if there had been clues you ignored. Your camera turning on by itself. Footage from a different angle. Files moved in your drive when you knew you hadn’t touched them.

Sometimes you felt him in your apartment, even when you were alone. That strange sixth sense, the weight of eyes in the walls. But when you turned, there was no one there. Just your webcam. Your blinking cursor. Your reflection, almost unfamiliar in the quiet.

Still, you didn’t stop sending him content. Maybe a part of you wanted to be seen like that. Honestly. Lovingly. Obsessively.

You opened the file one night. The “Final Cut.”

And there you were.

Not a montage. Not a highlight reel.

Just you, asleep.

The camera slowly panned closer. The room was dark, lit only by a streetlamp outside your window. You could see the rise and fall of your chest, the gentle shift of your hand against your pillow. The timestamp matched a night weeks ago. You’d fallen asleep editing late and hadn’t remembered hitting record.

But the camera wasn’t your webcam. It was handheld. Moving. Breathing.

Someone had been there. Close enough to count your lashes. Close enough to brush hair from your forehead if they’d wanted to.

The final frame held on your face for a full minute, unflinching. Then, softly, almost imperceptibly, the whisper of a voice you’d never heard before.

“You belong in every frame.”

That was the last thing on the video.

You didn’t report it. You didn’t fire him. You didn’t even change your passwords.

Instead, you stared at the screen, heart quiet in your chest, the room so still you could hear the silence breathe.

Because deep down, you already knew—

He’d been watching long before you ever hit record.

And maybe, just maybe, you were okay with that.

You didn’t speak of the video. Didn’t message him about it. Didn’t scream, didn’t cry, didn’t tell a soul.

You simply watched.

Once. Twice. Then five times more. Each viewing slower, more deliberate, like your silence was a ritual and this was your offering. You examined the shadows for a silhouette. Counted your breaths. Noted how steady the camera was—how intentional.

Someone had filmed you. Someone had been there.

He had been there.

But what unsettled you most wasn’t the invasion. It was how gentle it all was. The way the camera never violated. Never touched. Just witnessed. It wasn’t lewd. It wasn’t violent. It was reverent.

Like love, in its rawest, most unhinged form.

That was the first night you left your window open.

The second night, you wore the sweater you knew he liked—because he always lingered just a second longer in the edits when you wore it. You knew he noticed. DK noticed everything. It was in the way he paused on your fingertips brushing your jaw, or the way he let your inhale echo longer when you were talking about things you loved.

It was devotion. Warped, but careful. It made you feel chosen.

And when you left the camera running overnight, you didn’t label the file. You didn’t need to. By the next morning, it had already been moved. Already edited.

When you opened it, you found yourself sleeping again—same room, same soft rise and fall of your chest—but this time, something had changed.

The footage was warmer. Closer. Your hand had moved in the night, and the lens had followed. A shift in the light revealed the faintest blur of movement in the corner. Not a face. Just the impression of someone sitting near your bed. Waiting.

At the end of the video, he’d added music. A soft, looping instrumental you’d used once in an old vlog. You’d said it made you feel safe. He remembered.

And then—his voice.

“You see me now, don’t you?”

Not a question. A fact.

And you did. In the absence. In the edits. In the invisible fingerprints across your life. You felt him everywhere. You knew his rhythm, his restraint, his fascination with your solitude. And part of you—maybe the part you’d never dared to speak aloud—wanted it.

The next video you sent him was different.

You didn’t speak. You simply stood before the camera, holding eye contact. Still. Unmoving. Like you were letting him look. Really look.

You stayed like that for two minutes.

And when the final edit came back, it was exactly the same. No cuts. No filters. No manipulation.

Just you. Just him. Staring back.

The next file you received wasn’t in the usual folder. It arrived on a flash drive, taped inside a nondescript envelope, no return address.

You found it in your mailbox.

Your name printed in block letters.

Your real name.

The video was darker than the others. Titled only “Home.”

It opened with your front door.

From outside.

Rain dripped down the lens. Your window glowed dimly. Shadows moved inside.

The camera lingered. Patient. Unhurried.

And then the footage changed.

It was your hallway. The inside of your home. The familiar creak of the floorboards, the low hum of your fridge. Footsteps—soft, deliberate, a lover’s cadence.

Then your bedroom.

Your silhouette in bed. Sleeping.

Closer now.

And then—

Your eyes opening.

Not in fear. Not in surprise.

Just… open. As if you’d been expecting this.

The video cut to black.

And in your lap—real, physical, not digital—a note had been tucked inside the envelope.

You unfolded it slowly. Handwriting careful, almost elegant.

I’ll come when you’re ready. But I’m already yours.

You could’ve run.

You could’ve blocked him. Called the police. Changed your locks. Burned your hard drives.

But instead, that night, you lit a candle on your windowsill and left the door unlocked.

And in the quiet that followed, you laid in bed and whispered into the dark—

“…I see you.”

[juliating]

Yes your honor I'm crazed about how Spamtons' body anatomy may look like/work😵‍💫

btw down below are a few hcs to satisfy my brainworms!! AND! I mayhaps have written a fic about them 2 SNEO pics here's the AO3 link

(summary: Spamton NEO and Reader fly trough the sky with a few discoveries anatomy wise of eachother, eating/sleeping togheter. posted both on ao3 and under read more)

Alright for starters a few hc!!

What if Spamton has to calibrate with what strength he touches/grabs/holds the reader? Compared to organic beings being rather squishy; nearly all things/ppl in the darkworld are made out of hard material n stuff! My hc is that these residents in cyber city are all mechanical beings.

So some are covered in a synthetic hide to look more viewable/protect their mechanisms or to avoid dirt in joints/airvents (due to spamton being "skinless" he needs to clean his joints in order to have fluid movement which gets neglected)

The only part which generates heat is the head, so the rest of the body is equal to the ambient temperature. Metal parts underneath could get warm but the outside plastic shell doesn't since that material is a bad heat transmitter.

Balljoints are twice secured so that they can't get easily disclocated. Given trough their build they have both hinge and ball joints in one -> black gasket can rotate/ full 360° articulation

Gray areas are made of a plastic-rubbery like texture, so when folding an arm in, upper body leaning down, bending legs etc. the said area gives in! The abdomen is just one big ol' balljoint

Imagine being able to fly on Spamton NEOs' back like on a Lunala flying trough an ultra wormhole!

NEOs' eyes are permanently open with his glasses embedded in his now skin-having face. So he has a small bump from the nose bridge still is under his skin. The most 'closed' he can do is dimming them.

Btw my NEO version has both mittens and mechanical arms/legs! They're hidden in the plush in default mode. Keep in mind that despite the soft plush, there's metal underneath. Meaning it would still hurt a LOT if he'd whack you with it. And I gave him airvents on his side similiar to gills (shhh secret Big Shot Salmonid reference)

Also I think once Spamton settles down/is in a better state he goes from janky/stiff motions to almost uncanny smooth movement after he's free of any unwanted particles inside his cavities/joints (example that one super expensive Avatar animatronic)

In my head SNEO, when excited or smth similiar, sometimes forgets his own strength. Like a previously hand-raised big animal if you know what I mean

Feel free to correct any grammatical errors since English isnt my first language.

1. (First idea was with the reader fixing a more mechanical part inside Spamton's chest cavity. But then later that day I saw something nearly identical so I changed it a bit. Man my heart was doing cartwheels out of fear of looking like a copycat!!☠️)-still in work 3. (still need a plan where that one might be going)

2. Sun-blighted sky

The slight breeze feels nice. Wonder if he can feel it too. At first you were a bit hesitant by the idea but then gave in. Spamton NEO suggested that you two go to soar trough the sunless skies of cyber city. With you being held safely in his mitten like hands. His thumbs are clamped around your shoulders for a good grip. Soft enough not to hurt yet still secure.

You once asked him why he won't use his actual arms, the ones who are hidden inside the plush exterior. At that he told you that those are more for combat. Huh. Wouldn't want to image getting sliced up by those vicious looking claws of his. Or get shot with his arm cannon. Not to mention the eye lazers.

The once green wires Spamton despised so much are now commanded by his will. All thanks to you. Only after him agreeing to not go after those who apparently wronged him. Due to the NEO suits' immense weight the strings withstand constant tension. Creaking and groaning. He needs to adjust his grip every now and then since the plush material does't have a good adhesion. After a while Spamton adjusts it yet again.

Goodness gracious how beautiful the magenta armor gleams around his body. Beside it being illuminated by the chest core, looking closer, you can also see the moving grids dancing along the edges in an almost hypnotizing manner.

This time you feel the scratchy fabric in the middle of your chest. Right where your heart is. You don't see it but his face twists into one of confusion or like he suddenly remembered something. Spamton presses one of his mittens onto your sternum. It seems like he's searching for something. You panic for a moment thinking he'd rip the last remaining soul shard out.

"Hey Spam-", he interrupts you before you could even finish his name.

"WHAT IS THAT??", each word ever changing from a shrill pitch to a low, dull tone.

You can literally feel the vibration in your body every time that boisterous voice of his reverberates. Kind of similiar to those big speakers blaring music near the ferris wheel.

The mitten is loosing it's grip a bit. Fearing he may drop you accidently, you grip one of them with both arms and legs. You really dont fancy being dropped from this height. This short ordeal causes adrenaline to kick in and an increased heartbeat. Spamton shakes you off into the other one whilst stopping mid flight.

Before you could latch onto the other arm again you feel yourself being lifted up rather harshly. Similiar how one would throw their arms out to catch a falling object. Tapping the faintly glowing triangle chestpiece doesn't seem to get his attention neither.

Yelling out his name makes him stop dead in his tracks. Before you know it he flips you onto your back in one hand. Spamton pressed the side of his head on your chest, or to say on a better therm, nearly entire body. Assuming the location of his 'ears' are the same with humans this feels similiar to a doctor pressing their stethoscope in order to listen to your heartbeat.

Truth to be told you never knew how his body even worked. Whether his puppet-machine like body nor the current 'armed to the teeth' NEO suit. But Spamton once told you that he hears a bit differently than organic beings. After lifting the each side of his artificial hair you've noticed that they're located on different heights. Imitating those of a birds'. These so called 'ears' are infact just audio frequency analyzers.

So that's what has been going trough his RAM then! Of course how should he know what a heartbeat is when all residents are non organic.

The hunk of hard plastic starts to feel quite warm. If his multiple pcbs inside his head are so hot already to the point the exterior heats up then why didn't his internal fans kick in already? With the NEO suit being in Queen's basement for long sure must've taken a toll on its' heat insulation hasn't it? Spamton should know this.

Maybe he surpresses the air circulation in order to hear more. Come thinking of it the NEO suit must have some sort of manual or something. It's probably saved digitally in his database.

He sees you staring off into the distance seemingly lost in thought. Don't humans have a maintenance check every now and then? Shifting the arms holding you a bit higher he finds the sound source.

Browsing trough the previously saved records he notices that your current frequency is too high for his liking. Or maybe he picked it up wrong. Pushing the other side of his head on your sternum he's gauging it again for safety.

Hmph, your heavy breathing doesn't make it any easier to register-wait, WAIT!! Normally he barely picks it up! Only when you're stressed or [[OW! STOP, IT BURNS]]!! Was he squeezing you too much?? Maybe it's the altitude? Gah what does he know how a [[LIGhT>NERS]] body functions.

He lets the wires, which sprout from his back and connect to the projected grids in the sky, decend you both to a less death-drop height.

Now you two are hovering right above Spamtons' old house in the trash zone. The grids' colour slowly began to change from neon green to a dimmed hue. Signaling the night. In the distance you can see some Addisons glow brighter to attract more customers.

"THIS.", as he began to speak once again, voicebox crackling with static and huge teeth clanking togheter the same tact as words get send out, "THAT THUMPING [[Comming on June 5th for only 24,99€]] FROM YOUR CHEST!! IT SOUNDS FASTER THAN USUAL. SOMETHING THE MATTER [[LIGhT>NER]]??"

During talking he squished your body between his mitten hands and head. Wanting to be closer to the source. It's such a soothing sound!! He pokes his thumbs onto your ribcage out of curiosity. Hearing you yelp at that makes him stop though.

Oh right, the sensation of being touched in non protected areas makes some humans squirm away or even laugh. Rather from pain signals than enjoyment. He recalls that from the time you once roughly explained your endoskel- err just skeleton you called it. It's still so strange to him that one wrong hit to your head could end your life.

Finally snapping out of your train of thought, "Uh-, well! I think you mean my heartbeat Spamton.", signaling him to move his head away to give your some room to breathe by tapping your fingers on his forehead. He looks you dead in the eyes. On his pupil-less lenses you can see your own reflection staring right back at you.

"HEARTBEAT AS IN HEARTATTACK? AH; WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY SO THEN! YOU STILL DIDN'T ANSWER THE SECOND [[questions? ask your doctor or pharmacist]].", wanting an answer.

Aw man, you hope he doesnt interpret you being short therm startled from the suddenness from his action as a negative thing.

"Don't take this the wrong way but y'know being tossed around in the air like previously shook me up a bit. No harm done though. Also, a raised heartrate can have many factors meaning it isn't all from bad intent. I did enjoy the flight so far though!"

"RIGHT, APOLOGIES, [[want a free sample?]] HAPPEN AGAIN", not all from bad intent hm? He lifts you by the armpits again as if asking to continue the flight which you gladly accept. Rethinking he chooses to put you on his back between his head and strings.

You perch down carefully so that your body doesnt touch the wires too much. Legs bend and pressed to his sides with your hands holding onto his 'shoulders'. Well technically his wing mounts now since all of his limbs float near his body. The whole time the wires did all work work with the flying. His useless wings are mostly positioned horizontally rarely doing a flapping motion.

"SAY [[valued customer]], I DO HAVE A FEW OF MY OWN; [[three for the price of one!]] EVEN!!", anticipating your reaction. Head rotating 180 degrees to look at you for a bit, then turning back.

Wait does he mean one or three now? The ad interruption indicates three rather than one you realize. So three hearts it is huh. Like an octopus or squid. You decide to pry a bit to like he did to you beforehand.

"So are they synchronized in one single beat similiar to mine or out of sync?", hoping to get some details instead of a yes or no. Satisfied with your acknowledgment he fulfills the request. The flight speeds down a notch once more.

Show rather than tell it is. Spamton lets his arms slowly float up to where you sat. Moving his head to see you in his peripheral vision to avoid accidently knocking you off. Gently lifting you up again he maneuvers your body so that it's laying in his mitten hands. One supporting your torso, the other one letting your legs rest on.

Having you in a comfortable position, he brings you down to be eye level with the glowing triangle which sticks out of his chest. Without skewering you with it, his hands press you to the right side of it. The magenta armor the rest of your body has contact with is littered with dents and scratches which vary in sizes. Your hands reach around his body as far as they can. Trying your best to hug him.

While the thick, protective plates are getting slightly warmer from your body heat, his actual pitch black body is almost freezing to the touch. You can feel the slightest vibrations on his body from the fans keeping his processors from becomming too hot.

Inside the triangle mechanism you hear a faint whirring. It sounds akin to that of an old cd player. Must be that 'LoadedDisk' in which he uploaded his partly corrupted code back then. Leaning in closer you hear a short hum, as if a command gets processed, followed by three time-shifted clicks and pops. Whereas one resounded slower and duller than the rest. All the while he kept switching from looking straight ahead or down at you resting ever so peacefully in his arms.

"[[VALUED CUSTOMER SATISFACTION]]?", voice dripping with longed-for appreciation. Lifting you up until you're both eye to eye -or to say better eye to sensing camera. Awaiting an answer.

No matter how many times you've gotten the opportunity to gaze at Spamtons' eyes like this, it never stopped the feeling of intimidation creeping up from being directly stared at by this mighty being. Who wouldn't be, considering he's almost thrice your height now. Once the words '10/10 review' and 'would do again' came out of your mouth the colours on his eyes flickered back and forth with excitement. Grin growing wider.

He immediantly saves that sentence unbeknownst you in his memory to replay for later. Only you can give him the feeling of 'being at the top of the world' like this. Head raised with pride, he flies the rest of the route with a now non forced smile engraved on his face. Finally, finally the permanent up-turned mouthcorners portay his emotions correctly! He's positively giddy about this.

Subconsciously he starts swaying his hands, which pressed you against the now comfortale warm metal again, side to side. Unintentionally lulling you to sleep. Too caught up in his own world for him to notice.

As it was getting later you must've gotten quite hungry considering he can hear the acid chamber you call your stomach growl. Of course from spending your entire day with the now large, puppet-like salesman you haven't had the chance to eat anything.

"YOU WANT TO [[Wine n' Dine]]? I'LL DROP YOU OFF NEAR YOUR [[limited offer for cheap estatements]] COMPLETLY [[Free of charge!]]!!", asking while not looking down at you.

He waits for a response which never came. Puzzled that you didn't respond to his [[Genorisity]] nor him saying your actual name, which is already a rare occurence, he decides to spare you a glance. He moves you away from his chest and infront of his face once more. Only to find you limb with closed eyes and slightly agape mouth. So this must be the so called 'sleeping' you've mentioned a few times! An active sate of unconsciousness to recharge!!

Seems like he has to take matters into his own hands. Letting you continue sleeping, he hugs you to his still warm chestplates. Unoccupied arms winding around his body. He supports your body on his left mitten while the other one acts as a pillow. He spreads his fingers hiding inside the mitten to have a wider area available so that your legs stop dangling around. Your body sinks in a bit. This makes the hand your head rests on a suprisingly good silencer meaning not even his permanent yelling gets registered.

Ascending as high as the wires can lift him, he's navigating the ideal route. Upon finding it, he glides at the highest possible tempo the wires are able to carry him without disturbing you. Wings tucked close to his body, akin to a hawk, he dives down to the location. Moving wires making a sharp hissing sound, equal to that of a zip line ride. Still a miracle that you haven't woken up.

The speed making his pitch black hair blow back, loose strands fluttering wildly. Arriving at the destination, he settles down far enough to not alert any other Darkners living there. Letting the wires zip into his back cavity. Tapping your head; shaking you to wake you up.

You stirred, beginning to wake up. Urrghhh. Blinking a few times, your eyes adjust to the darkness. Finally being awake enough to think properly, you began to recognize the place you see. It's only a few minutes of walking to your living place! Weren't you just flying with Spamton?

Spamtons' bi-coloured glasses comming into view makes you flinch away and shield your eyes from the sudden brightness. He explains, as quietly as his voicebox allows, that you went into resting mode in his arms, so he flew you back near your home. Huh, resting mode? Curses, you didn't mean you fall asleep on him! Ah, maybe next time you can pull through without dozing off.

Feeling your stomach growl you decided to leave it for today. There's always a tomorrow. Hold on, he has got to be hungry too from all the flying and moving around. Do Darkners even need to eat or sleep in order to recharge? Well, even if he doesn't, a little kindness never hurt anyone! Expecially he needs that after all the stuff he has been trough in his life.

As far as you can recall you've never seen Spamton show any signs of tiredness nor exhaustion. More worn out from mental exhaustion and frustration. On top of that he stated that the NEO suit runs with an alternator, similiar to one of a car. Strange coincidence that he was working in the car industry before his downfall.

That's it! You're going to invite him to eat dinner with you! Hmm but you'll need to word it carefully so that he doesn't wave his hand in a dismissve 'nah don't need it' manner. Using his own tactics, how he wrapped customers around his jointed finger into buying his wares, you make him an '[[irresistable deal!!!]]' with no strings attached. Literally. Only the best learn from the best.

As if hearing your thoughts he begins to reject your offer. This time you interrupt him before he could emit the first word. A wee bit too stunned to speak from getting a taste of his own medicine, he lets the wires zip out to relink with the sky grid to blast off.

Before he could make a run for it you cling onto one of his legs. Even though clearly displeased, he gives in after several 'pretty pleases with sprinkles on top'. Oh, how he loathes being at the receiving end of hospitality even if it's from kindness rather than that behated pity of his. Corners of mouth drooping into a frown for a split second; then go back into the default smile. Forget it, he's not in the mood to banter around with that. This time he can overlook it. He'll even the deal out the first opportunity he gets.

Hovering closer to the ground, hooking your clothing scruff between his fingers, he snags you off of him and sets you down. You tell him to wait here until you're back with both of your meals. Not wanting to keep him waiting for too long you zoom to your living place. From all the hussle you haven't had any time to think about what he'd like to eat! 'Spaghetti Code' maybe? That's the only type of meal you've ever heard him mention briefly. Quickest thing would be ordering but your loan says no.

So instead of that you decide to do it yourself. Snatching multiple spaghetti packs, sauce cans and seasoning. Mentally weighting off how much you both will propably eat. Hopefully enough. Not even an hour later you're halfway finished filling up the food containers. You also bring your backbag with your laptop and seasoning incase he's preferring more. Swinging it on you take the first big container and march to him.

Upon hearing footsteps Spamton peeks around the corner of the abandoned warehouse he's sheltered in. It's you!!

"Here's the first delivery plus my laptop so that we can watch something while eating! There's still some left I'll go get the rest; you can start already if you want", you drop everything to where he's sitting, handing him the food before it cools out on the ground.

Before he can say something you're already bolting back home. Out of politeness he waits for you to come back so you can start eating together.

While waiting for your return he looks around. Busted mattresses littered everywhere. Getting up, he floats to them. He doesn't mind where and how he sits nor eats. But since you organic beings can get sick from being in the cold out for too long, he starts piling them up in a corner. Creating a makeshift bed/resting place. Balancing the food box on his floating head which stays perfectly still in place, grabbing your backbag so that they don't get dirty from him maneuvering the junk around.

Content with it he nestles in, surpresses his cooling, warming them up. He's laying on his chest, glass-triangle so sharp that it's tearing a sizeable hole into one of the mattresses. The aged filling leaving dirt stains on his [[Work-Out ready body]]!! Eurgh.

Spamton lifts his upper body. Roughly grabs and disgards the useless thing by throwing it across the warehouse room. Mattress hitting the worn wall with such brutish force that the thump echoes trough the entire building. Filling flying around like snowflakes before falling on the ground. Scowling at it, face red with anger and a twisted visage.

Borderline thinking about annihilating it with his arm cannon; he decides against it, not letting any anger get the best of him. Hypocritically speaking in the past, before NEO, he would've jumped out of joy having just one half of it. Hearing your footsteps again he picks the pieces from his head and puts them in one hand. Dimming his lights.

In the dark room the only thing one could make out, were his glasses and chest-triangle. His eyes don't light his face up that much but the triangle, even when dimmed, does. Teeth lit up from the bottom in an eerie manner. The rest of the body is shrouded in utter darkness. If someone else would walk in and see this, they'd probably die of fright on the spot.

Back once more, you carry the rest of the food. Spaghetti and sauce seperated. You were about to search for his whereabouts. Walking further into the building. The search didn't last long because he approched you from behind, without you noticing. You jumped what felt like five meters into the air as you felt a mitten-hand touching the top of your head. He can be surprisingly quiet if he wants to.

Turning around you see Spamton openly guffawing with a shit-eating grin. The same mitten petting the top of your head mockingly. "GEAHHEAHEAHEAHEA!!! NOT SO [[sales jumping up,up,up!]]!! LOOK, OVER THERE WE CAN EAT", pointing with his thumb into the room he came from. The dark room being illuminated by his eyes, chest-triangle and the holographic part of his wings.

Leading you to the corner you unzipped you backbag and set everything down in comfortable reach. Since you didn't know if Spamton is going to eat with cutlery or not, given how comically small they are in his mittens, you still got some for him. Whilst the laptop was booting up both of you took your own portion.

You sit down onto the mattress pile, plate in hand. They feel unexpectedly warm to the touch! Spamton must've been resting on them the whole time. One thing that had you do a double take though was a mattress, which looked like it got mauled and nearly torn in half, in the opposite side of the room. Filling scattered everywhere on ground and all. Huh. Wasn't like this before. Sideeying him, made him respond with a 'wasn't me!' look. Sureee.

Anyways! Once he got a portion, literally a whole box, he laid down behind you. Chest to your back and triangle by your right. Looking back at your laptop you asked him for any suggestions for what to watch. He chose a documentation about old timey cars. Suits him. Once the brand 'Cungadero' got mentioned, he perked up and moved his whole body closer. Promting you to use it as a rest.

Really opened a can of worms there. Spamton immediately began brabbling about that brand like crazed. Head twitching and turning in all different kinds of directions. Multiple voices overlapping, glitching and each one louder than the last. Not being kind to your ears. The tinnitus tomorrow will be worth it though! History, creation and build aspects. Everything. Both of you completely forgetting the food.

The armor isn't the softest material to fully lean onto though. Some raised edges dig into your skin. So you lean back forward. You see his unoccupied arm shift and feel something dropped behind you. Another mattress! Which looked more like a small pillow in his hand. Thanking him, you lean back again, starting to eat.

Or- wanted to eat. Only to find that it has gotten cold already. Eh, you can live with that.

Spamton stopped talking when he saw you hesistating and then shrugging, twirling some noodles onto your fork. He switches his vision to a thermal one, checking both of your portions and the rest of the containers. Did he really talk for so long that the spaghetti code got cold? He can fix that.

"NO. [[prices dropping by 20%!!]] THAT DOWN. PUT IT INTO THE [[boxing gloves for 49,99€]] AND GIVE IT TO ME. I'LL HEAT IT UP", a beat passes, "IF YOU PLEASE!!". Holding a hand out.

Doing so, you give it to him. Pondering if he'll just press them against his face or something. You watch as he takes every container into his hands and puts them into... INTO his mouth?! He must be warming them up inside his head! Like a big ol' microwave!! Not sure how to feel about that. There better won't be any spit on them, if he even has any to speak of. After a while he takes them out, shame he didn't do the 'Ding!' sound. Puffing out some heated air. Thankfully, for your appetite, they're as clean as they were before.

Wondering how Spamton even eats, you secretly peek at his head resting on the mattress pile about a meter away. Holding an open box to his mouth. He must've manifested a neck using magic so that the food can be passed into the main body for decoding it.

No matter how cautiously you glance at him he still picks it up. Mutual feeling; since he hasn't seen you eat either!! Normally, Addisons can just dump anything down their throats which then gets decoded into a bunch of 1s and 0s. Instead of giving energy, they receive flavour codes. But regarding formality they take bites and chew. Like [[LIGhT>NER]]s. So he assumes that humans shouldn't be too different.

He lifts his head up slightly from its' laying postion. Doing the polite route he lets his [[coral blue #2]] tongue slither inside the food box. Wrapping it around some noodles, he scoops them up and retracts it back into his mouth. Biting off any excess. His broad teeth act like a hydraulic press. Favouring crushing over cutting.

When he bites some off his upper tooth row comes down onto his bottom lip. That 'lip' functions like a black rubber gasket. Same material. Which prevents any damage/cracks incase his upper tooth row clashes too hard onto his jaw. Plus, the top one sinks in a bit in order to absorb the impact.

Ooooh it tastes DELICIS!!! Could rival the taste of his beloved Kromer!! Giving up on being patient with it he starts devouring the food like a man starved. Not caring how much sauce stains his teeth. Once finished with the first box he make short work of the second one. Throwing his head back and dumping the entire content full of greed in one go down. Before he did the same with the third, and last, box he stops himself. Wanting to savour it. Also, he has an idea for a topping he thinks you may like.

What looked like a whole week worth of food to you were only a few bites to Spamton; who was practically inhaling it according to some glances you landed. Technically he could've inhaled it, so to speak of. From your view you even saw that his bottom 'lip' shines ever so slightly at a certain angle.

Even without any projected pupils on his glasses you still felt his gaze on you from time to time. You wonder why he stopped before the third box though. Nevertheless, maybe he has his reasons or waits for something. Not thinking much of it, you continue eating and watching the rest of the documentary. You try your best to stay awake for his sake, you struggle against nodding off again.

From some opportunity windows you had, you could make out that he only bit noodles off and never chewed. At one glance to another an entire box was empty. The way he scooped portions into his mouth reminded you of a giraffe eating leaves. No surprise considering that he almost never fully closes his mout with the lack of proper functional lips or cheeks. Well atleast he seemed to enjoy it!

Halfway done with eating your portion, you hear Spamton starting to finish off the last box. What surprised you though, was on his last bite he picked up the spare fork you brought. Struggling a bit to hold it correctly. But before doing anything with it he turns to you.

"[[Stop the presses!]] THERE, WOULD YOU LIKE A [[Free samples for each product!]]??", holding one hand near your food. You move your plate acceptingly to him.

Holding his empty hand above your portion then rotating his wrist he summons a 'Pipis'; which then placed ontop of your food. After fully registering what it is you tense up, not daring to move a muscle. Why would he give you a grenade?! Despite it being smaller and having some seared spots you're still not so sure about stabbing it with your fork. You glance dumfounded at Spamton.

Looking down at you, he's awaiting you to try the 'Fried Pipis'. But apparently you don't get the memo that it's something to eat instead of an explosive this time. He summons another one and bites a chunk off of it, giving you a loopy smile. Showing you that it's save for consumption and won't blow your face off. Leaning down he looks at you expectingly.

So edible grenades it is then. You cut it into a few stripes while he gnashes down the rest of it. Picking one up you decided to give it a try. It surprisingly tastes a tad like mozzarella! Maybe the magic stuff automatically determines how it'll taste like when put into another dish.

Seeing your eyes widen in surprise makes Spamton huff out a barely audible laugh; some leftover steam warming your skin. "HEAEAEAEA [[Told ya so]]!!", waving the fork into you direction then going back to what he wanted to do before.

Doing his best to twirl some spaghetti on and putting it in his mouth, then fully closing it the best he can, and chews. Mimicking you. You only saw him dipping his head back; no swallowing or anything like that. Interesting! With both of you being finished, he takes the sauce container and licks it clean of any leftovers.

Container being cleaned he sets it aside on the ground. Not without leaving a comment of course! Patting your back in an acknowledging 'good job!' fashion.

"[[5 star rated restaurant]] DEAR CUSTOMER!!", default grin growing wider while rearranging some loose mattresses near where you sat.

Some were placed under his head so that it's propped up a hint instead of laying flat. Now you can see his face more clearly in your peripheral vision again. Seeing his teeth stained from trying to eat like you near the end. Sauce and crushed noodle bits smeared everywhere.

Normally saliva, if he had any, would clean it from its own but not in his case due to having permanent bared teeth. You can help with that!

"You've got some on your teeth right there, Spamton!", motioning with your hand at your own mouth for reference.

Upon hearing that he lets his tongue out yet again gliding over both of his rows of teeth. The rough texture leaving near to nothing left in its' wake. Well except one stray noodle piece it didn't reach one of his dimples. "ALL [[sales gone down the drain, drain]]??", staring at you. Hands resting neatly ontop of his armor while his arms are wrapped around his body.

"Eh- not quite. I can get it for you if you let me though!", lifting your hand to hover near his head, asking for permission to help incase the sudden touch startles him somehow. Which he gladly accepts with a small nod; leaning in your direction so that he fully faces you. He watches you get up and march to him, sinking in the old mattresses with each step, then plopping down on them once you're in comfortable reach of him.

Sitting cross-legged near Spamton you're about the same height as his nose. This would sure be an inconvenient time for any spontaneous movements or else he could poke an eye out by accident. Cautiously lifting your arm up to the side of his face, keeping an eye out for any twitches.

He's doing everything in his might to prevent any sudden head twitches, not wanting to knock you over nor stabbing you with his nose. Watching you swipe something off of him with your thumb, feeling the soft flesh on your thumb. Why was it shaking a little? Pfft, do you really think he'd bite your arm off or something??

Not sure what to do with it, you hold it back out to him indicating to pick it from you in his own mitten to eat. Instead, Spamton leans his head forward, seperates his teeth and licks it off of your thumb. Giving you a jolt which made your arm flinch away.

This earned you an unwanted hurt look from Spamton. Mouth corners slightly drooping. You reassure him that the flinch was only from the shock he gave you, tenderly rubbing his cheek.

It felt like you were being scratched by sandpaper. Coarse and dry. Before any contact with your skin you felt a crackling sensation which made the hairs on your entire forarm stand up. It feels like holding your hand out near static charged plastic or a high voltage plant.

Even though you kind of suspected it already, it still surprised you. Once it made contact after the first shock, you felt weaker ones pulsing in a fast paced tact. Also for some reason it was blue? But at the same time the gradient got darker, going from blue to black further down inside his mouth.

You sit back to the place before infront of Spamtons' chest. Honestly it was getting quite cold now that the mattresses cooled all the way out. Spamton doesn't seem to be heating them up anymore. Not wanting to get a cold you pull your legs up to your chest and snuggle more into one of them. Trying to keep some warmth in by additionally wrapping your arms around yourself.

Is it really that cold to you again?? The always cool temperature may be good for the residents for Cyber City but apparantly not for flesh and blood beings. He's deciding whether about heating his body up again or not, but doing this all the time can even damage his [[Work-Out ready body]]... He's not having any of that. Instead, he has a better idea!! Ah, finally getting to repay your [[Genorisity]]!!!

Some humans bond via body contact don't they? Maybe he can test the waters given the opportunity now. Only if that doesn't overstep any boundaries for you though. Thinking of it he wonders how your past life was like before you fell; but he lets that be out of mutual respect before any old wounds get reopened. He wouldn't want it either.

The synthetic wool material of his plush arms is easy to warm up. Meaning once it's around you then your body heat would be greatly insulated keeping you from being cold! And if he'd somehow get some muscle activity out of you it'd go even faster!! Arms begin to unwrap from his body, drifting to you. He taps your shoulder to get your attention. Turning your head to him you see his hands hover close by your upper arms, making an 'up' motion.

Lifting your arms up and before you know it you're hoisted up by the armpits, engulfed in white and pink fabric. The rest of Spamtons' body gets up, armor plates clattering aigainst each other. Sitting cross-legged, with you being at eye-height with his chest triangle. Holding you diagonally, main body and head leaning forward. Looming down at you he gives you a mischievous smile, making you raise an eyebrow in suspicion.

The thumbs resting on your shoulder move down to your torso. They gently dig into your sides making you squirm and huff out a few quiet laughs. From the looks of it his goal seems to be for you to move around in order to generate warmth faster. Or to cheer you up, maybe both, who knows.

Seeing the fabric getting to a comfortable heat for you he stops. After that he leans his down to snuggle into your chest to check to your heartbeat again. Even if your soulshard isn't emitting the sought after power like it used to, it still brings him an oh so great sense of comfort. Even when the metal parts of his body can't feel much.

You throw an arm around his head and ruffle trough the jagged, synthetic hair. Running strand by strand trough your fingers, evening some knots out. Under your hand you can feel the back of his head heating up, the warmth spreading trough the partly hard plastic skin up to the side his face is pressed against you. Whirring fans causing faint vibrations below your fingertips. After a while his face turns a light shade of red. Steam beginning to form inside his mouth.

Feeling you crane your neck to the side so that you can see his face more clearly. He stares back. Noticing what you might be looking at currently, he swiftly turns to the side making a half hearted grouchy expression. Upon this he hears you stifle back a chuckle and puts a mitten on your face so that you can't see his.

"Woah what was that for big guy?", you jokingly question while disheveling his hair in a kidding manner. Pushing his mitten away.

"NOTHING! [[all, for nothing at all]]!!", earlier formed steam being hissed out inbetween words.

Before you could say some more he shuts you up by hugging your body to his chest. Avoiding the sharp edges of the suit. Long teardrop shaped arms winding you around his body. Albeit with too much strenght considering he hears your spine crack.

"[[Whoopsie-daisy]]!! DIDN'T MEAN IT THAT ROUGH!!", shrieking out in surprise, easing the pressure.

Spamtons' main body falls with you back down onto the mattresses with a dull thud. Still snuggling you into his chest. Now that most noise died out the only thing you can hear are some of his mechanisms relentlessy working.

With his warm arms wrapped around your body, acting as blankets, you begin to doze off. Sensing this he dims his lights yet again. He lifts you up in order to put a mattress between you two so that you don't wake up with cuts everywhere from the sharp edges. Even if he can't sleep he still enjoys beings near you simply resting.

The last thing you register before falling asleep were teeth softly gracing the top of you head.

[datusaguy]

All TMNT Shredder’s Revenge Color References - Mona Lisa

Other Color Reference posts are linked at the bottom of this post.

I made some posts back when the first Shredder’s Revenge dlc came out detailing the references of all the additional colors (to the best of my ability). As there’s 2 new characters out, that’s plenty of new colors to detail and I’d feel wrong not checking them out again. Feel free to give me any additional info/corrections you might know and I hope you enjoy checking this out.

The focus of this post is of course Mona Lisa. I would say to also check out the Mondo Gecko post especially, but I unfortunately don’t have that finished yet. I have since put out a Mondo Gecko post linked at the bottom of you’re curious.

And on a side note, I think she’s really fun to play. I don’t really know how accurate the stars for stats are but she feels like the best combination in the game without feeling like a boss character (which Karai and Usagi did). I did grind out Survival as her already but I’ll probably do story mode as her soon.

# 1 - Default (1987 Show)

# 2 - 1992 Playmates Toy

# 3 - IDW Comics

# 4 - Venus de Milo - Stumped me for a little while as all I could think of is how this just looks like Leo’s colors. Then realized when comparing that her blues here are lighter than Leo and it immediately reminded me of Venus, the 5th turtle from the infamous TMNT Next Mutation

# 5 - Y'Gythgba (2012 Show version of Mona Lisa)

# 6 - Lita (IDW Comics) - I don’t think I’m even close to the section where Mona Lisa nor Lita appear in the IDW comics yet but from what I skimmed online, it seems like Lita is quite connected to Mona Lisa in said comics which seems to be why they chose this outfit. It definitely looks quite close visually as well which makes me confident it’s correct.

# 7 - Quarry/Sydney (2003 Show)? - Pretty unlikely it’s her as Sydney is much closer to color 5 (although I’m pretty confident that’s referencing Y'Gythgba already). The only other character I can come up with currently is Zak although I feel that would make even less sense to reference and while the hair and some of her body matches his general outfit, it also feels off.

Edit: Slash (2012) - 2 Commenters (o4o4 and kisshufan4ever) mentioned this and I’m surprised I hadn’t seen it sooner (I do recall skimming over Slash designs) but on second look, they do seem quite close.

# 8 - Red Fox? (ROTTMNT) - It seems like an odd reference to me but visually speaking, it does seem decently similar.

# 9 - K'Vathrak/Newtralizer (2012 Show) The chest doesn’t have the fading effect like the actual Newtrailizer but otherwise it seems close enough.

# 10 - Mirage - She doesn’t originate from the original black-and-white Mirage comics but she probably got this skin to be in-line with everyone else.

# 11 - NES - Basically same situation as Mirage, she’s never looked like this before but she got it to be in-line with everyone else.

# 12 - Gameboy - Same as NES

All other Color References posts:

1. Karai

2. Leonardo

3. Michelangelo

4. Raphael

5. Donatello

6. April O’ Neil

7. Splinter

8. Casey Jones

9. Usagi

10. Mona Lisa

11. Mondo Gecko

[xxfaithlynxx]

Halfway To Calm

Word Count: 20k

Hearts In The Static

Aven and the boys spar...

(I am fully aware that this chapter is more or less a massive thirst trap. 🤤🫣 Enjoy!)

Warnings: Alternate Universe - Isekai, OC insert, Polyamory / Polyamorous Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Chronic Illness, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, Found Family, Emotional Healing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, body image issues, Unreliable Narration, Protective Male Characters, rivals to lovers (sort of), past trauma, Everyone Loves Her But She Doesn’t Know Why, Heavy Angst, Fix-It Fic (but of the soul) Mental Health Themes (Depression, ADHD, pcos, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome), Suicidal ideation (past), Self-Harm Mention (Non-Graphic Flashback), Emotional Abuse (Referenced past) - Freeform, Body Dysmorphia, Trauma Recovery, Discussion of Medical Symptoms, feelings of worthlessness, Slow Healing & Difficult Conversations, themes of death, Survival, and identity

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Chapter 16:

I wasn’t used to moving like this. The deliberate stretches, the breath control, the smooth, grounded shifts of weight from foot to foot. Sylus didn’t rush me, didn’t bark instructions like a drill sergeant. He just moved, showing me, then mirroring me, until I started to feel less like I was dragging my body through quicksand and more like I could inhabit it. Even a little.

“You’re holding tension in your shoulders again,” Sylus said, stepping up beside me. He gently tapped the top of my arm with the back of his glove. “Roll them out. Loosen your stance.”

“Right,” I said, breath huffing. “Tension is kind of my default setting.”

Caleb chuckled from where he was doing lunges along the mirrored wall. “Yeah, no kidding. You look like you’re waiting for someone to throw a chair.”

“Shut up,” I muttered, though there was no bite in it. Just a kind of warmth that made its way through my chest even as my arms ached.

We were in the middle of footwork drills—Sylus having me step and pivot around invisible opponents while he occasionally tested my balance with light pressure—when Caleb clapped his gloves together and joined us in the ring. “Tag me in, champ.”

Sylus raised a brow. “You offering to spar with her?”

“Not unless she wants a live punching bag. Thought I’d walk her through some of the strikes. Your coaching voice is still terrifying.”

I cracked a smile as Caleb moved in. “I don’t know, you’re not exactly sunshine and puppies.”

“Fair,” he said, dropping into a crouch beside me and holding his gloves up. “Alright. Hit me. Show me what Sylus taught you.”

We fell into a rhythm quickly—jab, jab, cross, reset. Caleb corrected my footing a few times, but each movement started to feel smoother. More natural. My blood was pumping, but not in panic this time. In momentum. In strength.

And then the gym door hissed open.

I didn’t even have to look to know who it was. The room shifted. Or maybe it was just me.

Zayne walked in wearing dark joggers, and that long-sleeve white turtleneck clinging to his frame like a second skin, his hair damp and tousled almost like he’d run here from a shift. A towel slung over his shoulder, bottle in hand. Casual. Effortless.

My breath caught.

I stumbled mid-step, my glove glancing off Caleb’s instead of meeting it squarely.

“Eyes up, sweetheart,” Caleb teased, not missing a beat. “You’re gonna give the poor guy a complex.”

“I wasn’t—” I started, but the words tangled into nothing as Zayne’s eyes met mine across the room and his lips lifted into a faint, lopsided smile.

Sylus, still in the ring, glanced toward the doorway and exhaled through his nose. “You’re late.”

“I’m not here to fight,” Zayne said, voice smooth, still watching me. “Just curious.”

Great. So glad I’m someone’s entertainment today.

I tried to breathe through it.

Inhale. Exhale.

Ignore the way Zayne’s presence shifted the gravity in the room. Ignore how his arms looked carved from the gods, or how the dark strands of his hair curled just slightly at his nape from sweat. Focus on Caleb. Focus on—

“Nice recovery,” Caleb said, resetting his stance with a grin. “Thought we lost you there for a second.”

“I’m fine,” I muttered, my glove tapping against his. “Just… recalibrating.”

“Uh-huh. Tell that to your blush.”

I rolled my eyes and threw a jab that grazed his shoulder, making him bark out a laugh. “Feisty. I like it.”

I managed to regain some of my footing, slipping into the rhythm again—jab, cross, duck, reset. But even as I moved, I could feel him there. Zayne. Still watching.

And I couldn’t look.

Not even a glance. My eyes refused to find his. My body knew better. Like if I looked directly at him, something would crack.

Caleb paused, gloves lowering slightly. I blinked, confused—until I noticed the way Sylus was watching me. Closely. Like he was cataloguing the evasions, the slight hitch in my movement every time Zayne shifted his weight near the edge of my periphery.

“Caleb,” Sylus said, voice calm but pointed. “Switch out.”

Caleb tilted his head, looking between the two of us. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

I opened my mouth. “Wait, what?”

Sylus ignored me, turning to where Zayne had leaned casually against the mirrored wall. “You. In the ring.”

Zayne’s brows lifted slightly. “That wasn’t the plan.”

“It is now,” Sylus said, unbothered. “Aven needs to work through her distractions. And you—” his eyes flicked to me, a challenge gleaming in them—“seem to be a big one.”

I gawked at him. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I never kid about training.” He stepped back from the ring, giving Zayne a short nod. “Get in.”

Caleb, already stepping down and slipping off his gloves, gave me a crooked grin. “Have fun, pipsqueak. Try not to faint.”

I turned a glare on him that only made him chuckle harder as he snagged his water bottle and flopped onto the bench.

Zayne climbed into the ring with slow, measured steps. “You okay with this?” he asked softly once he was close enough for only me to hear.

I swallowed hard. “Do I get a choice?”

Zayne’s smile was faint, but it reached his eyes. “You always do.”

My pulse thudded in my ears. The mat beneath my feet felt just a little less stable.

I raised my gloves. “Then don’t go easy on me.”

He arched a brow. “Wasn’t planning to.”

And just like that, the ring felt smaller. The air thicker.

And I had no idea how I was supposed to focus now.

“Alright,” Sylus called from the sidelines, arms crossed, gaze sharp. “Let’s make it real.”

I blinked at him. “Real?”

“As in sparring,” he clarified. “You’ve got the basic rhythm. Time to see what happens when instinct kicks in.”

I turned a look on him that could’ve set steel on fire, but he just smirked and gestured toward Zayne like this was the most reasonable decision in the world.

Zayne didn’t move. Not yet. He was watching me—carefully. Like he could sense every flicker of tension beneath my skin. My Evol was already prickling, swirling just beneath the surface. Not in fear, exactly. But in pressure. Like a kettle about to scream.

I could feel it building behind my ribs. Every inhale pulling threadlike strands of awareness tighter. Mirror. That’s what they’d called it. And it hated being cornered.

Sylus must’ve noticed the shift because his tone gentled slightly, even though his words stayed clipped. “Aven. Keep your breathing measured. Low and steady, not shallow. Focus on your stance. Not him.”

Easier said than done when him was stepping toward me with those emerald eyes and that calm, grounding energy that had undone me in more ways than I could count.

Zayne tilted his head, his tone low and deliberate. “You’re alright.”

I forced a breath. “That’s debatable.”

“Then let me help.”

He stepped closer—just close enough to gently adjust my gloves, his fingers brushing my wrists through the padding. It wasn’t much. Barely even a touch. But his presence was like an anchor. Quiet. Solid.

“You don’t need to outfight me,” he said. “You just need to trust yourself.”

Something loosened in my chest at that. Just a fraction. Enough for me to nod.

Sylus’ voice cut through again. “Jab, cross, dodge. Reset. Use your peripheral—don’t stare him down unless you’re planning to intimidate him, which—” a snort “—would be a feat.”

“Charming,” I muttered, then raised my gloves again. “Let’s go.”

Zayne didn’t hesitate. He moved like water—smooth and efficient, not aggressive, but present. Always there. His jabs were light, testing, pushing my reactions. I parried one, missed another, and adjusted my footing.

The Evol flared again—a spark behind my eyes. I felt the room shift subtly, the lights overhead pulsing like they were adjusting to pressure. My pressure.

Zayne didn’t flinch. Didn’t call it out.

Instead, his voice reached me again—gentle, focused. “Inhale through your nose. Out through your mouth. Find your pulse. Match it.”

I did as he asked. Slowly. Tentatively. And my Evol responded. Not retreating, but leveling. Like it recognized his cadence. His calm.

We moved together in circles, gloves brushing, slipping past each other in rhythm. My awareness expanded—not just of Zayne, but of the air between us. The tension. The unspoken things curling like smoke through the space we shared.

“Good,” Sylus called. “Keep your knees loose. Don’t overextend—Zayne’s too fast for that.”

“I heard that,” Zayne said dryly, ducking my next swing with an easy grace that made me want to groan. “Still true, though.”

I grinned despite myself.

We moved again. This time, I struck faster—cleaner. Zayne blocked it, but nodded once. “Better. You’re learning.”

My Evol surged again. I felt it in my fingertips, in the heat rising across my back and shoulders. But it wasn’t suffocating this time.

It felt like possibility.

I pivoted, breath quickening, and met Zayne’s gaze without fear.

And he smiled—genuine, soft, like he saw something in me that even I hadn’t yet.

Zayne’s presence burned at the edge of my awareness like sunlight through a cracked door. I tried not to look directly at him—really, I tried—but every time I caught the glint of his jawline or the way his arms flexed beneath that fitted turtleneck, my brain misfired like a broken circuit.

Sylus must’ve noticed, because the next thing I knew, he was gesturing Zayne over with a wicked smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Zay,” he called. “Aven’s warmed up enough for you.”

I blinked at him. “Wait—what?”

Caleb burst out laughing from the edge of the ring, toweling the sweat off his neck. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

Zayne stepped to the center of the ring, his movements easy, fluid. “Only if she doesn’t run.”

“I’m not running,” I muttered, tugging my gloves tighter. My Evol shimmered behind my ribcage like a prowling cat, responding to the challenge. The air tasted sharper, thicker. Like electricity before a storm.

We circled each other slowly. Sylus barked a few instructions from the side, something about keeping my stance grounded, breathing through the tension. But Zayne—Zayne was silent. Watching. Waiting. Like he could see straight through my bravado and into the anxiety barely stitched together beneath it.

I threw the first jab. Missed.

He didn’t retaliate, only adjusted his footing and raised a taunting eyebrow. “That all you got?”

My Evol surged.

It wasn’t rage. It wasn’t fear. It was instinct. Pure and wild. I flowed around his next movement before I even knew what I was doing—ducked low, spun into his blind spot, and caught his center of balance with a swift hook behind his knee.

The world tipped.

Zayne went down.

I didn’t think. I straddled him, one knee pinning his hip, my glove poised just above his chest as his back hit the mat. His eyes went wide. Cheeks flushed scarlet.

The silence that followed was deafening.

“…Holy shit,” Caleb breathed, and then whooped like a man possessed. “SHE GOT YOU!”

Zayne tapped out with a huff of breathless laughter, his voice caught somewhere between disbelief and admiration. “Okay. Okay, you win.”

Sylus slow clapped from the edge, that unreadable gleam in his eyes. “Looks like someone’s a fast learner.”

I sat back slowly, breathing hard, pulse roaring in my ears. My Evol settled like a velvet curtain closing after a performance, wrapping warmth around the frayed edges of my nerves.

I had done that. Me.

And for the first time in a long, long while, I felt powerful in a way that didn’t frighten me.

I slid off of Zayne like I’d just woken up from a dream, legs a little shaky, heart pounding in my ears like war drums muffled under fog.

“Did I just…?” I couldn’t even finish the sentence.

Zayne sat up slowly, still grinning. “You did.”

I backed away a step, blinking. My gloves felt heavier now, like my hands were suddenly too real. Too seen.

Caleb reached me first, eyes wide and bright. “That was insane, sunshine! You just dropped Zayne Li like a sack of bricks. Do you even realize how many people would kill for that honor?”

Sylus offered me a water bottle as he approached, sweat-slicked and smirking. “Not bad for your first spar. Not bad at all.”

“Not bad?” Caleb scoffed. “It was poetic. The way she spun under his reach—bam! Down like a tree in a storm.”

Zayne laughed, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly still recovering his pride. “To be fair… she surprised me.”

I wasn’t sure if it was the pride in their voices or the heat rising to my cheeks, but something made me take an instinctive half-step back, shrinking inward as the energy shifted. The compliments, the attention—it flooded in too fast, overwhelming the carefully stacked walls inside my chest.

I forced a smile, nodding quickly. “Thanks, I… I didn’t think I had that in me.”

Sylus’s eyes narrowed a touch, reading past my surface like he always did. “You’ve got more than that in you, and it’s only the beginning.”

I swallowed and looked down at my gloves, fingers twitching inside the leather. The burn in my muscles couldn’t compete with the sudden weight in my stomach. My thoughts scrambled—what if I hadn’t landed it? What if it was a fluke? What if I just embarrassed myself and they’re being kind?

Zayne’s hand brushed my shoulder lightly. “Hey. Don’t go fading on us.”

My gaze darted to him, wide and a little startled.

“You earned that moment,” he said, voice lower now, not for the others. “Don’t shrink from it. Own it.”

I let out a breath that trembled on the edge of collapse and nodded.

Sylus stepped in again, his tone gentler than before. “Let’s cool down. Walk it off. You did good, Aven.”

The others began to stretch or towel off, giving me a bit of space. Caleb tossed his gloves onto a nearby bench and flopped down, still grinning like an idiot. Zayne grabbed water from the cooler, eyes flicking my way once or twice, like he wasn’t quite done being impressed.

And me?

I sat down slowly, stretching out my legs, the tremble in my hands now more from emotion than exertion. I had won. I had landed a clean takedown on someone I’d idolized through a screen for months.

But the part that hit me hardest wasn’t the win.

It was that for just a moment—I believed I could. 

“I—I’ll go grab more water,” I said quickly, standing up so fast my knees nearly buckled. I didn’t wait for a reply. Didn’t want one.

The boys blinked after me, but I was already moving—gloves off, heart racing, slipping out of the training space like the walls might press too tightly if I stayed a second longer.

The corridor leading to Sylus’ kitchen felt quieter than it should have. Dim lighting stretched long shadows across the walls, and the faint hum of something mechanical somewhere deep in the building buzzed like a gnat in my ear.

I stepped into the kitchen and leaned both palms onto the counter, trying to ground myself. The quartz was cool beneath my skin. I let the sensation anchor me as I took a slow, deliberate breath.

I should’ve felt proud.

I did… didn’t I?

But pride was such a foreign, brittle thing. It didn’t sit clean in my chest. It curled up awkwardly, bumping against doubt and the echoes of old voices that told me I was too slow, too soft, too much and never enough.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, blinking fast as the low ache behind my eyes threatened to crest.

Why does being seen always feel so close to being exposed?

I was reaching for a bottle of water when I heard the door behind me shift. I didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Zayne’s steps were quieter than they should’ve been for someone his size. Purposeful. Measured. Like he already knew how tightly wound I was.

I straightened, keeping my back to him as I opened the fridge and grabbed a few bottles, trying to seem busy. Unbothered. Normal.

But his voice still found me, soft and unobtrusive. “You okay?”

I paused, fingers curling tighter around the bottle necks. “Yeah,” I lied. “Just needed a second.”

Zayne didn’t respond right away. I could hear him take another step, then another. I didn’t move until I felt him beside me, close but not pressing.

“I’ve watched people fake that same line a thousand times,” he said, tone still low. “Usually before they pass out or break down.”

I let out a brittle breath. “Which one am I leaning toward?”

“Neither. Yet.”

I laughed—quiet and shaky. “I wasn’t expecting to win. I wasn’t expecting anything, really. I think that’s the problem. My brain doesn’t know how to handle it when I don’t fail.”

He shifted to lean against the counter beside me, arms crossed loosely over his chest. I could feel his gaze, but he didn’t force me to look back. “Maybe it’s time you let yourself handle the fact that you’re not who you used to be.”

My heart snagged on the words.

“I don’t know who I am,” I admitted, barely a whisper.

Zayne’s voice was a touch closer now. “Then maybe we can help you find out.”

I finally looked at him. And I saw it—not pity. Not surprise.

Just quiet, patient belief.

I stood there, caught in the hush between breath and collapse. The water bottles clinked together faintly in my hand, and I hated how even that felt too loud. Too much.

Zayne didn’t move to touch me—but somehow, he was still right there, a steady weight beside me that didn’t demand or threaten. Just was.

“I don’t know why it’s so hard,” I whispered, not even sure who I was talking to—him, myself, the ghosts in my head. “I train for one hour, do one thing right… and it feels like I’ve stolen someone else’s moment. Like I don’t belong in my own skin.”

I heard his breath catch, quiet and slow.

“You’re not stealing anything,” Zayne said, voice like low thunder wrapped in velvet. “You earned that win, Aven. And no one—no one—is waiting for you to fall apart. You don’t have to prove your worth every damn second you’re breathing.”

His words cracked something open in my chest. I turned toward him before I could stop myself, my throat tight and eyes already stinging.

“I spent so long learning how to disappear,” I admitted. “How to blend into corners and not take up space. And now suddenly, everyone’s watching me, waiting for me to become someone I’m not sure I can be.”

Zayne’s gaze didn’t waver. “You don’t have to be her yet. Hell, maybe you’ll never be the version of you they imagine. But you’re already more than enough for the people who see you—not the idea of you. Just… you.”

I stared at him—at this man who was supposed to be a character, a carefully coded illusion in a game that had once been my only escape. But there was nothing digital about the way his eyes held me now. They weren’t polished pixels—they were stormy and honest, and real.

The tears came anyway. Slow. Unwanted. I turned my face away, but his hand reached up, not touching, just there near my jaw, hovering like a question.

“Can I?” he asked softly.

I nodded before I could talk myself out of it.

His fingers brushed my cheek, warm and careful, catching a tear just as it slipped down. That single touch almost undid me.

My chest hitched. “Zayne, I don’t know how to exist like this. When people look at me like I matter.”

“You do matter,” he murmured. “You always did. You just needed people around you who remembered that, when you forgot.”

I let out a shaky breath. “Everything feels like it’s… breaking open.”

“Good,” he said. “Let it. Let it break. That’s how light gets in.”

I didn’t even notice how close we’d gotten until I realized I could see the subtle flecks of gold in his eyes. I could smell the warm notes of cedar and something minty on his skin. His presence wasn’t overwhelming—it was anchoring.

Like he wasn’t holding me up.

He was just standing there while I found the strength to do it myself.

“You’re not falling apart,” he said again, gentler now. “You’re just finally unraveling the parts that never belonged to you.”

I closed my eyes.

And for the first time in days—maybe longer—I let someone hold space for me without guilt.

Zayne didn’t press, didn’t fill the silence. He simply stood with me, steady and quiet, as I braved the storm behind my own ribs.

I didn’t move right away.

Not because I couldn’t… but because I didn’t want to.

For once, letting someone be close—this close—felt like breathing. Not a panic. Not a consequence. Just… breath. Quiet and full. I’d felt the same last night, with Sylus. 

So I let myself lean in.

Not fully. Not dramatically. Just a shift of weight, a subtle tilt toward him that brought my temple near his shoulder, the barest graze against the soft fabric of his workout shirt.

Zayne didn’t tense or freeze.

He adjusted almost imperceptibly, angling so I could rest more comfortably. His warmth was steady, his silence patient. There was nothing sexual about it—just presence. Reassurance. Something that felt like safety, without the illusion of permanence.

I could feel his heart beat through the space between us.

Maybe I imagined that.

But maybe I didn’t.

His voice broke the quiet after a long stretch of stillness, low and slightly amused. “So… think Sylus and Caleb have killed each other yet?”

That pulled a sound out of me. Not a laugh, exactly—more like the shape of one. My lips curved upward without permission.

I leaned back slightly to glance up at him, and he was smiling too. Not wide, not smug. Just a softened thing. Honest.

“Depends,” I murmured. “Did Sylus insult Caleb’s form again?”

“Oh, definitely,” Zayne chuckled. “And Caleb probably retaliated by doing that spin-kick showoff move he thinks makes him look cool.”

“I like that move,” I said, trying not to grin.

“He only does it when he’s annoyed. I think it’s his version of pouting.”

My grin cracked through then, sudden and real, and something in Zayne’s eyes brightened when he saw it. Like he’d just solved a puzzle no one else had dared to touch.

He tilted his head toward the door, the warmth still in his voice but laced with something more sincere. “Want to head back? Before Sylus puts Caleb through the wall?”

I nodded slowly, pushing off the counter as the weight in my chest shifted—still heavy, but less sharp. More manageable. I wasn't fine. Not by a long shot. But I wasn’t drowning in it anymore.

And maybe… that was enough for now.

Zayne stepped aside, letting me take the lead, but his hand brushed lightly against my lower back as we moved.

We were only a few steps from the gym when I paused, my fingertips trailing along the edge of the wall beside the hall, letting it ground me for a breath. Zayne slowed beside me, his posture easy, unhurried. Like he could tell I still needed a second before stepping back into all those eyes.

I turned to him, heart still unsteady but… lighter. Like the ache had reshaped into something warmer.

"Thank you," I said softly.

His brows lifted just a little. “For what?”

"For seeing me," I replied, voice steadier than I expected. “And not trying to fix it. Just… being.”

Zayne’s gaze searched mine, and something in it shifted—gentle, yes, but alert too. Like he knew I was building toward something.

I let the quiet hang for a second longer, then leaned a little closer, my voice lowering with just a thread of something playful.

"And for the record… if Sylus and Caleb are trying to kill each other, you might need to jump in shirtless. Just to break their focus.”

Zayne blinked.

Actually blinked.

His lips parted slightly, as if his brain stalled for a half-second trying to process the fact that I had said that. Then a faint, incredulous chuckle slipped from him—low, disbelieving, a flush of red creeping just above the collar of his shirt.

"Wow," he murmured, recovering slowly. “You’ve got more fight in you than I thought.”

I smirked, but didn’t answer. Just turned toward the door.

“I’ll go check on the casualties,” I said, tossing the words over my shoulder as I reached for the handle.

I didn’t look back, but I felt his grin. The kind that wrapped around you like sunlight—unexpected and a little addictive.

And then I slipped back into the gym.

Letting the air shift again.

Letting them all see that I’d come back.

The gym was a furnace of noise and movement when I stepped back inside—sweat-slicked air, the rhythmic sound of fists hitting pads, and the deep, visceral thud of knuckles meeting flesh.

I froze in the doorway.

Sylus and Caleb were in the center of the ring—both shirtless, gloved up, and circling each other like wolves with a grudge. Muscles coiled, sweat glistening along their arms and shoulders, tattoos vivid against flushed skin. They weren’t just sparring anymore—they were trying to win.

Sylus moved like a storm, low and calculated, that singular intensity sharpened like a blade. Caleb, by contrast, was fire and rhythm—unpredictable, his grin cocky even mid-pivot as he ducked a jab and countered with a brutal left hook. Neither of them looked particularly angry. They looked alive.

And maybe a little like they wanted to impress someone.

My mouth went a little dry. My brain blanked. My eyes betrayed me.

Sylus was the first to notice I’d come back in. His head snapped toward me as I hovered in the doorway, his body still half-twisting from a dodge.

Which meant Caleb caught him with a clean hit to the ribs and another jab to the shoulder, sending Sylus stumbling to the mat with a grunt.

“Shit,” Sylus spat under his breath, already pushing himself back up.

“Damn, Syl.” Caleb grinned, reaching out a gloved hand and hauling him upright. “You get distracted, or were you just admiring the view behind me?”

Sylus didn’t answer. Just shot me a look that landed somewhere between “how dare you” and “don’t stop looking.”

Caleb followed his gaze and spotted me—really looked at me—before lifting a hand in a lazy wave. “Welcome back, sweetheart. You bring the popcorn this time?”

I flushed, and would’ve probably combusted if Zayne hadn’t appeared like a shadow at my side, towel slung over his shoulder.

“Judging by that expression,” Zayne said lowly, just for me, “I’m guessing we’re both guilty of enjoying the view. You, the display of skin. Me, the fact that Sylus got what was coming to him.”

I turned to give him a look, but the smirk he wore was devastating—half-knowing, half-saintlike restraint. Like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.

“Wipe your mouth,” he added, teasing soft as a breath. “You’re staring.”

“I am not,” I hissed back, though the lie didn’t even convince me.

Zayne’s grin deepened. “Sure you’re not.”

Inside the ring, Sylus adjusted his gloves with an annoyed grunt, shooting Caleb a narrowed glance that was probably meant to be threatening but came off more sulky than anything. Caleb, of course, looked like Christmas had come early.

I exhaled slowly, trying not to melt into a puddle.

“Are they always like this?” I asked Zayne under my breath.

“Only when they think you’re watching,” he replied, “Which, let’s be real, you usually are.” 

I took a few steps into the gym, gaze sweeping over the testosterone-fueled spectacle in the ring — shirtless, sweaty, cocky, and completely aware of how they looked.

“You boys spar like you’re auditioning for a calendar shoot,” I said aloud, tone casual, “but I have to say… May and June are tied for first.”

The silence that dropped into the room was beautiful.

Caleb’s mouth dropped open. Sylus’ brows flew up, and even Zayne made a sound in the back of his throat that might’ve been a choked laugh. The quiet lasted exactly three seconds before Caleb whooped and doubled over in laughter, slapping Sylus on the shoulder with a gloved hand.

“Oh, hell yes,” he said between wheezes. “I knew there was a bite behind that sweet face.”

Sylus, still recovering from his KO and apparently now nursing a bruised ego, snorted and leaned against the ropes. “I might’ve lost the match, but at least I’m still winning the commentary.”

“Sure you are,” I shot back over my shoulder as I grabbed my gloves from where I’d left them, tugging them on one by one. “But now I need to work on my footwork before I get ambushed into another match.”

I moved to the open space near the mats and started my pacing drills — heel-to-toe, quick pivots, staying light. Just like Sylus had shown me earlier.

Footfalls padded in behind me.

“You’re dangerously sassy when you’re confident,” Caleb said, bouncing up beside me, still glowing from his match — and maybe a little from me. “Want me to help you with your stance again? Or should I just stand here and let you roast us some more?”

I grinned, biting back a laugh. “If you’re gonna help, try not to get distracted by the view.”

“Oh, damn.” He clutched at his heart like I’d just fatally wounded him. “She’s got claws, Sy!”

“Tell me about it,” Sylus muttered from the ring, now rolling his shoulder with a wince. “I lose a match and get insulted in stereo.”

“Need a rematch to soothe your ego?” Zayne asked, already walking toward the ropes. “I’m sure I can help humble you.”

Sylus arched a brow, crimson gaze sharpening. “Is that a challenge, Doctor?”

Zayne gave a soft huff of amusement as he stepped smoothly into the ring. “Consider it a prescription.”

I stifled my laughter as Caleb leaned in and whispered, “This is better than reality TV.”

Caleb’s presence was heat and motion beside me — all kinetic energy and easy swagger — but when his hands lightly touched my hips to adjust my stance, I nearly forgot how to breathe.

“Foot here,” he murmured, tapping the inside edge of my shoe with his own. “And open up this shoulder. You’re guarding too tight, which slows your balance.”

I exhaled slowly, nodding.

He shifted in behind me, his hand brushing mine as he adjusted the way I held them — looser, but still firm. “Relax. This isn’t a brawl; it’s a conversation. You’re listening to the other person’s movements with your body.”

“That’s poetic,” I muttered, trying not to focus on how close he was. How his voice dipped into something smoother, how the heat of his skin felt even through his tank top.

“Don’t sound so surprised.” His smirk curved against my cheek, breath warm. “I can be surprisingly profound when I’m not being ridiculously handsome.”

“You mean you’re ever not being ridiculously—”

A thud in the ring cut me off.

Both of us turned — and just in time to see Zayne duck beneath one of Sylus’ heavier punches, the fluid roll of muscle in his back carrying through into a clean pivot that left Sylus off-balance. Zayne’s shirt was gone, somewhere discarded on the ropes. And for a moment, all I could do was stare.

The spotlight from the far edge of the ceiling caught along the defined cut of his torso, glinting off a sheen of sweat along his collarbone and chest. But what hit me harder — deeper — was the art on his shoulder.

A tattoo.

A jade-colored tiger, curled and prowling along the breadth of his left shoulder, inked in sweeping, graceful detail. Its fangs were bared in a silent roar, and jasmine flowers wound through its limbs — soft white blooms like stars, scattered with subtle elegance. But it was the ice spear — translucent, brutal, piercing clean through the tiger’s torso — that made something in my gut twist.

It was powerful. Symbolic. A war between grace and pain.

I stumbled slightly, my breath hitching as I blinked and tried to look away.

Caleb caught me with a steady hand to my elbow, eyes darting between me and the ring. “You okay?”

“I—yeah,” I said quickly, voice too thin. “I just… didn’t know Zayne had a tattoo.”

“Neither did I,” Caleb muttered, watching him with a twinge of curiosity. “That’s new.”

Or maybe it wasn’t new.

Maybe it was just real.

Zayne wasn’t a polished pixelated doctor behind a glass screen anymore. He was warm skin and emotion and art inked into flesh — with meaning I didn’t even know how to ask about.

My heart beat harder in my chest. Not because I was afraid… but because I was feeling too much again.

And for the first time in years, I didn’t want to run from it.

I just didn’t know what to do with it either.

I tried to shift my stance back into something usable. Something that resembled the person I was ten minutes ago — the one throwing punches, working on footwork, surviving the mental maze of training without my brain dissolving into steam.

But all I could see were tattoos.

Caleb’s — the one slashing across his ribs like flame and shadow, hints of crimson ink curling just beneath the edge of his tank top. Sylus’ — that white feather and black crescent on his forearm that I’d nearly moaned over yesterday. And now Zayne with his jade tiger, laced in jasmine and impaled by ice.

What the hell was I supposed to do with all this information?

“Your breathing’s off,” Caleb said from beside me, stepping closer with a lazy grin that screamed mischief. “Unless you're trying to hyperventilate. In which case — don’t let me stop you. It’s flattering.”

“Shut up,” I muttered, cheeks going nuclear as I tried to roll my shoulders and reset my stance.

He leaned in, breath tickling the shell of my ear. “Don’t think I didn’t see where your eyes went, pipsqueak. First me, then Sylus, now Zayne. You’ve got yourself a whole inked-up harem forming.”

I groaned aloud, burying my face in my gloves for a second.

“You’re impossible,” I grumbled through the padding.

“And you’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

Another thud echoed from the ring. Both of us turned again.

Zayne landed a final blow — nothing too brutal, more a clean calculated tap to Sylus’ chest — and the white-haired menace toppled back with a grunt, landing on the mat in a sprawled heap of bared muscle, sweat, and broken pride.

“Oh, come on,” Sylus huffed, laying there like a particularly irritated cat. “You baited me.”

Zayne gave a rare, crooked smile as he stood over him, offering a hand that Sylus batted away. “You got cocky.”

“I was distracted.” Sylus flicked his gaze toward me as he sat up, red eyes narrowed. “We were all distracted.”

I blinked and realized I was still staring.

Caleb chuckled low beside me. “Told you.”

Sylus pulled himself up with a grumble and a roll of his shoulders, sweat-slicked hair falling into his eyes. “I’ll win next round.”

“Sure,” Zayne murmured, grabbing a towel and patting at his neck like he hadn’t just destroyed Sylus in front of everyone.

I felt… I don’t know. Awed? Impressed? Unraveled?

My pulse hadn’t slowed since I saw Zayne’s tattoo. And now Caleb was grinning at me like I’d handed him a birthday present wrapped in lace.

“I need water,” I mumbled.

“I’ll come with—”

“Nope. Stay here.”

I escaped before any of them could say more, ducking into the hallway and dragging in a breath.

God help me, I was in so much trouble.

I didn’t make it far.

The second I slipped through the threshold of the gym’s side doors, I collided—hard—into a broad, solid chest.

“Oof—shit, I—”

My words tangled up with the sound of a bag thudding to the floor and my hands flying to brace myself. Warmth and the scent of something earthy and clean surrounded me, and I looked up straight into Xavier’s face. His eyes were unreadable, as always—but something in them flickered the moment he registered it was me.

“Xavier—” I began, breath catching.

“Oh, hello cutie,” came Rafayel’s unmistakable, slow-drawled voice from beside him, amused and syrupy. “And here I thought we’d have to wait for a grand reveal.”

My eyes bounced between them and it was like the game had booted up in real-time. Rafayel in his black compression shirt, hugging every inch of his lean frame, shorts cut just above the knee and compression pants clinging like they’d been painted on. His hair was still tied up—messily as always—but loose strands framed his face like he’d stepped out of a damn magazine.

Xavier, meanwhile, was unmistakably the same as he’d been on my screen: white muscle shirt, black shorts with that sliver of silver at the hem, black sweatband around his wrist. The only difference was the sheer realness of him. The faint sheen of sweat at his temple. The flex of his jaw.

And the sharp flicker in his eyes as they dropped—unintentionally, I thought—down to the borrowed clothes on my frame. Sylus’ shirt. His shorts.

The look on his face was thunderous.

Before I could even lift a hand to explain—or apologize or deflect or run for the nearest exit—he stormed past me and into the gym without a single word.

“...Well,” Raf drawled again, watching the door swing closed behind his friend, “that went over smoother than expected.”

I turned to him, trying to collect the scraps of my dignity, but I could feel the heat crawling up my neck. “Don’t.”

He just smirked, slinging his bag over one shoulder and taking a slow step forward, those sea-glass eyes glittering with mischief.

“Don’t what?” he asked, lips curving. “Tell you that seeing you in Sylus’ shorts is a very bold move, Miss Universe Hop? Or that Xavier might have just aged ten years in the span of three seconds?”

I groaned, dragging my hands over my face. “This is going to be a thing, isn’t it?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, clapping a dramatic hand over his chest, “it’s already a thing.”

And with that, he winked and followed Xavier into the gym, leaving me at the doorway, flustered and trying not to die on the spot.

My feet felt heavier than they should’ve as I trailed after them.

Each step closer to the gym felt like a countdown to something I wasn’t entirely ready for. A confrontation? An explosion? A fight with too many undercurrents and too few words spoken aloud? Maybe all three. But some twisted part of me needed to see it through. Needed to know what happened next—even if it hurt.

I hesitated just outside the doorway, fingers curling around the edge of the frame.

The air inside felt hotter than before, like someone had turned the thermostat up and then snapped the dial clean off. The scent of sweat, leather, and tension hit me like a second wall.

I stepped in.

And everything stopped.

Xavier was in Sylus’ face. Not yelling. Not throwing punches. But his stance was taut, rigid with the kind of control that came right before something broke. His eyes—so pale and sharp they almost didn’t look human—were locked on Sylus like he was trying to burn through him.

“You slept with her,” Xavier bit out, voice low and cold.

The words punched the air from my lungs.

Sylus didn’t flinch. He tilted his head slightly, that maddening, unreadable calm plastered across his face like a second skin.

“I did,” he said.

And I felt the entire room contract.

“But not in the way you’re thinking.”

His voice dropped on the last word, softer now, almost… serious. Sylus-serious. Which meant it wasn’t a joke—at least not entirely. His crimson eyes met Xavier’s without falter, but there was no challenge in them. No defense, either. Just truth, and something faintly protective laced underneath it.

Xavier’s jaw clenched. His fists tightened at his sides.

Caleb, shirtless and glistening from sparring, let out a slow, “Oh, shit,” from where he stood by the edge of the ring, already halfway between moving forward and letting it all unfold.

“Xavier—” I began, too quietly.

He didn’t look at me. “Did you touch her?”

“Physically? Yes.” Sylus’ mouth twitched—whether it was a smirk or a grimace, I couldn’t tell. “But nothing you’re imagining. We talked. She cried. She bathed. I didn’t look—much. And she wore my clothes after.”

The tension cracked like thunder.

Caleb whistled low under his breath. “Well, that’s a wrap, folks. I’m gonna go grab popcorn.”

I wanted the floor to open up and eat me whole.

Xavier’s glare dropped to me for the first time since I walked in—and the expression there made my breath catch. Not disgust. Not anger. Something more complicated. Hurt, maybe. Or fear.

I opened my mouth to explain, but the words were slow in coming. “I—he stayed to make sure I didn’t spiral,” I said, voice small but steady. “That’s all.”

Sylus finally turned, meeting my eyes like a lifeline. “She had a flare. I wasn't going to leave her alone like that.”

“And what about now?” Xavier asked, quieter now. “Are you going to keep pretending this doesn’t mean something?”

Sylus didn’t answer. Not with words.

He just looked at me.

And everything in me twisted.

The weight of their stares clung to me like smoke—cloying, suffocating, filling my lungs until I couldn’t draw in a single breath without feeling like I was choking on the sheer intimacy of it.

I hadn’t asked for this spotlight.

I hadn’t asked to be the center of the universe in a moment carved from jagged truths and bruised confessions.

I opened my mouth—maybe to explain, maybe to scream—but then Caleb’s voice cut through the electric quiet like a match across sandpaper.

“Well,” he said, one hand raised lazily like he was signaling a toast, “guess this is the time I mention that I’ve also slept beside her.”

Every head turned. Including mine.

He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Not like that, of course. She’d had a nightmare. Froze up so bad I thought she was gonna pass out from fear. So I held her. We both passed out in her room.”

I couldn’t breathe.

The rush of blood through my ears drowned out the world as my Evol surged in my chest like a thousand splintering mirrors cracking all at once.

Too much.

Too many people. Too many feelings. Too many hands and hearts and eyes wrapped around something I didn’t even know how to hold for myself.

I barely heard the first sound before it consumed me.

The sharp snap of something cracking—a flash of light, the buzz of static warping the air around me—and then the scent hit me like a fist: cinnamon, burnt coffee, lemon soap. Familiar.

No. Not here. Not now.

The light in the room fractured as the world bent around me.

And suddenly, I was there.

The café.

My café.

The one from my world—small and old and stuffed with mismatched chairs and the chipped ceramic mugs I used to hoard behind the bar. I could smell it. Feel the gritty floor beneath my knees. Hear the hum of the fridge, the clink of the bell above the door. The sickening, lurching nostalgia of it all swallowed me whole.

And I collapsed—my knees hitting the gym floor before I even registered falling.

Arms wrapped around my head, I curled into myself, trembling, the tears starting to fall before I could stop them. The café shimmered around me like a dream half-lived, half-remembered. My Evol pulled it into being—not a memory, not a vision, but something that tried to exist.

I could feel the heat from the espresso machine. I could hear my old manager’s laugh. I could taste the regret in the air.

“Shit—Aven,” Caleb’s voice cracked through the haze, jolted with panic. “Guys—”

Everything spun until I saw a blur of black hair and a flash of hazel-green. Zayne—Zayne—sliding down to the floor beside me, his voice low and urgent.

“Aven. Hey, hey—look at me.”

He was close. Too close. But I didn’t flinch.

Because it was him.

His hand hovered near my arm, not touching, but present. Grounding.

“Aven,” he said again, softer now. “You’re safe. This isn’t real. You’re here—with me. With us.”

The walls of the café flickered.

My Evol screamed. Or maybe I did.

Zayne’s voice didn’t waver. “Breathe. One count in… hold… one count out. That’s it. I’m right here. You’re not alone. You’re not there anymore.”

Something in me fractured further—but it was different this time. Not a breaking.

A letting go.

My body shook. But the world around me—my false café—began to crumble in on itself like a dream losing form. I gripped my arms tightly, pressing into my sides until the pain anchored me.

“I don’t know how to stop it,” I whispered, voice raw.

Zayne reached out then, finally, his fingers brushing over my wrist in a silent offering.

“You don’t have to.”

I don’t remember the exact moment Zayne gathered me in his arms—only the quiet resolve in his breath as he moved like someone who’d done this before. Like someone who knew how to hold shattered things without cutting himself open.

The floor disappeared beneath me.

His chest was warm against my cheek, the steady thump of his heart louder than the chaos still fading from my ears. His arms, strong and certain, cradled me as though I wasn’t broken glass held together by trembling breath and borrowed time.

“Just breathe, Aven,” he murmured, his lips close to my temple. “You’re safe. We’ve got you.”

And I did.

One inhale. One shaky exhale.

Then another.

The café flickered once more behind my eyes before vanishing completely—swallowed by the gentle cadence of Zayne’s voice and the grounding weight of his touch.

I blinked.

The gym had returned.

The others… they were still staring.

Rafayel stood frozen, halfway between disbelief and something almost protective. His usual quips nowhere to be found, his eyes locked on the space I had just torn open with my mind.

Sylus looked pale beneath the golden tint of the overhead lights, his hands still gloved but limp at his sides, as if he’d forgotten how to use them. His jaw was set, but his crimson-burnished gaze followed every rise and fall of my chest in Zayne’s arms, like he couldn’t decide whether to say something or let the silence speak.

And Xavier…

He looked haunted.

His sapphire-silver gaze flicked toward where the mirage had lingered, then back to me. As if he’d just watched a world dissolve. A life he’d never known about suddenly laid bare in front of him.

Raf was the one who broke the silence.

“…She doesn’t belong to any one of us,” he said quietly, voice edged in something far too solemn for him. “But somehow, she’s still ours.”

My breath hitched, and I felt Zayne’s arms tighten around me reflexively, his cheek resting against my hair.

Xavier nodded once, sharp and reverent, like a vow. “That’s what makes this harder. Because that power—it hurts her. And we still don’t know how to stop it.”

“She’s learning,” Caleb’s voice added, from just over Zayne’s shoulder. He wasn’t smiling now. His tone was serious, eyes trained on where my Evol had bloomed and faded. “But that wasn’t a bleed. That was a world. A full-on manifestation.”

“She created it,” Sylus finally said, his voice low. Calculating. Almost afraid. “With scent, temperature, sensation… That wasn’t a memory. It was a reality overlay.”

I closed my eyes and leaned more into Zayne, exhaustion dragging at the edges of my consciousness like a tide pulling me back out to sea.

“I didn’t mean to…” I whispered.

Zayne’s hand smoothed over my spine once. “We know.”

I listened to their voices like echoes in a hallway, muffled but present. I wasn’t sure what scared me more—what I had done… or the way they were all looking at me like I was something precious they didn’t know how to hold.

Zayne’s arms shifted slightly around me, his posture squaring as his voice cut clean through the silence.

“If any of you say one more god damn thing about what happened last night or whenever,” he said, deadly calm, “I swear I’ll rearrange your jawlines for you.”

The weight of his threat wasn’t shouted—it didn’t have to be. It landed like steel against concrete. Cold. Heavy. Unyielding.

The room stilled.

Sylus looked away first.

Caleb gave a low grumble, eyes widening just a little—but wisely said nothing.

Xavier, always the quiet storm, opened his mouth anyway. “She’s going to need to talk about it eventually.”

“I know,” Zayne said, cutting him off without looking at him. “But not like this. Not surrounded. Not attacked. And not when she can barely breathe through the shame of what she thinks we’re all thinking.”

I flinched faintly at that, the rawness in his words mirroring my own internal static.

Rafayel exhaled sharply. “He’s not wrong, Xav. We came in too hot. All of us.”

It wasn’t an apology. But it was close. For Raf, that meant something.

Caleb stepped forward then, clearing his throat and shifting his weight like he was trying not to look too concerned. “I can come with you,” he offered to Zayne, his eyes flickering down to me. “Back to the office, or wherever. Might be good for her to have both of us.”

But I shook my head gently before Zayne could respond.

“No,” I whispered, forcing my voice to hold steady. “Thank you… but I just… I need a minute. And I think—I think Zayne’s enough for now.”

Something unreadable passed through Caleb’s face—concern, a flicker of disappointment maybe—but he nodded, stepping back without argument.

When I looked to Sylus, his crimson-hued gaze met mine for only a second before dropping, just slightly. His jaw twitched. The faintest crack in that carefully-built armor.

I didn’t know what to say to him—not after the night we’d shared. Not with all eyes still on us.

But I gave him the smallest smile I could manage anyway.

It wasn’t a bright thing. Not a fix. Just a tiny gesture to let him know I saw him.

His expression didn’t change.

But his shoulders lowered a fraction. And that was enough.

Zayne’s arm adjusted under my knees as he turned toward the door, carrying me without effort. The scent of him—snowmelt, clean linen, something just a little spicy—was grounding.

“Come on,” he murmured, softer now, only for me. “Let’s get you out of here.”

And I didn’t fight it.

Because for the first time since that awful scene in the café that didn’t belong in this world, I wanted to be carried.

Even just for a little while.

Zayne didn’t say anything more as he carried me from the gym. His steps were steady, deliberate, as though he could will some of his calm into me through the rhythm of his movement alone.

I buried my face against his shoulder, letting the quiet thrum of his heartbeat and the gentle rise and fall of his chest anchor me to the here and now. The air in the base was cooler out here, more sterile—metal and ozone, mixed with the faint scent of the citrus soap he used.

We didn’t go back to Sylus’ space. I realized that as the hallway curved, the lighting shifting from soft overhead fluorescents to warmer, recessed lighting embedded in dark matte walls. A different door. A different keycode. This was his space.

Zayne’s quarters were surprisingly minimal. The kind of quiet, tidy sanctuary that somehow still felt lived-in. Deep gray walls. Low lighting. A worn leather couch against the far wall, bookcases that actually held books. A massive window let in the ambient artificial sky of the N109 zone, lit like it was perpetually twilight.

He moved to the couch and sat slowly, shifting me just enough so I was cradled sideways across his lap, his arms still around me like he wasn’t quite ready to let go. Like I might disappear if he did.

My fingers twisted in the hem of the shirt I wore—Sylus’ shirt. Still clinging to me like a reminder of every vulnerable moment strung together since yesterday. My breathing had slowed, but that pressure inside me hadn’t gone. Not completely.

Zayne looked down at me. His voice was gentle. “You don’t have to talk.”

I hesitated.

But then… I did.

“That café…” My voice cracked. I swallowed, hard, and tried again. “That was real. From my world. That scene. The coffee shop. It was the last place I worked before I…” I broke off, my throat going dry.

Zayne didn’t press me. He just waited.

I stared at the stretch of couch beside us. At the lines on his wrist where the veins curled beneath the skin. At the strong, quiet curve of his jaw.

I exhaled.

“That was the night I jumped off the bridge.”

There was no thunderclap. No crash of realization. Just silence.

Heavy. Present.

I stared past Zayne’s shoulder, past the lines of muscle, and into the dim hush of his room. The silence stretched, waiting. And finally, I let the words come.

My voice was thin. “That was the last place I worked before I came here.”

I didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

“That night… it wasn’t dramatic. I wasn’t sobbing. I didn’t scream or write a note. I’d had an awful shift. The kind that presses on every nerve and leaves your skin too tight, your thoughts too loud. My manager berated me in front of customers. A woman asked if I was pregnant when I handed her a drink, bitching about my lack of customer service in the same breath. My tips were low. I hadn’t eaten. I couldn’t breathe.”

Zayne said nothing, just adjusted me gently in his arms as if I might unravel further if he didn’t.

“I didn’t go home after. I walked out the back door in my uniform. Didn’t clock out. Didn’t look back. I walked. Block after block. Past storefronts, past apartments, through the traffic and the noise and the wet press of night. I kept walking. I don’t even remember the moment I decided.”

My voice turned smaller.

“The bridge was quiet. Empty. Just the sound of the water and the buzz of the streetlights.”

I swallowed, throat raw now.

“I didn’t cry. I didn’t think. I just walked to the edge, leaned over the railing… and let go.”

Zayne’s hand paused mid-motion on my back.

And for a long moment, neither of us spoke. I could feel his breath stutter. Could feel the unspoken fury trembling just beneath his skin—not at me, but at the world that had stood by and watched.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said finally, low and fierce. “I just wish… you’d never had to jump to get here.”

Tears didn’t come. Just a soft ache. A dull heaviness that sat in my chest like old lead.

But I nodded into his shoulder, and whispered, “Me too.”

And in his silence, I found something like peace. Not fixed. Not whole.

But held.

Zayne hadn’t let go of me—not completely. His hand moved in quiet, soothing patterns over my upper back as we sat curled together on the wide couch in his quarters, the shadows of the room dim but warm. The light from a wall-mounted sconce spilled golden tones across his face, softening the perpetual sharpness in his features. I watched him breathe. In and out. Steady. For me.

“You didn’t have to carry me,” I murmured finally, my voice a paper-thin thread between us.

“I know,” he replied, voice low and hoarse. “But I wanted to. You’ve been strong long enough on your own.”

I looked down at my hands in my lap, fingers twisting nervously before I glanced sideways. That’s when I saw it again. The tattoo.

His arm was still loosely wrapped around me, the weight of it steady and comforting. I shifted just enough to glance up again, and my eyes caught on the ink along his left shoulder. The tiger remained—coiled, sinewy, frozen in a perpetual mid-snarl—but what struck me this time was how the jasmine wove around it, delicate blossoms curling along his skin like they belonged there.

And higher, over the swell of his shoulder and spreading partially toward his back, a fuller bloom of those same flowers—an entire cluster—inked in precise detail. Not just a flourish. A statement.

“Your tattoo…” I reached out hesitantly, stopping short of touching his skin. “When did you get it?”

Zayne followed my gaze, his eyes flicking toward the ink like he’d forgotten it was even there. “Years ago,” he said softly.

“You have more ink than I thought,” I said, my voice still quiet. “The jasmine… it’s beautiful.”

Zayne looked down, then followed my gaze. He didn’t smile right away. Instead, his expression turned thoughtful, almost distant.

“I got the flowers first,” he said after a moment. “That cluster on my shoulder—it’s for my mom. She loved jasmine. Said it smelled like peace.” His fingers flexed faintly where they rested near my hip, like he was remembering the scent himself. “She used to wear it in her hair when I was little.”

Something in my chest gave, like a seam loosening.

“And the tiger?” I asked.

“That came later. For me.” His gaze found mine, steady and open. “The spear… that’s the part I don’t talk about often. That was for the moment everything changed.”

“Changed how?” I barely breathed the words.

“I had to become someone else to survive,” he murmured. “I buried the person I was. And sometimes I wonder if he’s still there at all.”

The air between us hung heavy, but not suffocating—just full. Real. I let my gaze linger on him again, on the slightly longer strands of dark hair falling messily over his forehead, the hint of stubble ghosting his jawline, the faint hollowness under his eyes. He didn’t shimmer with perfection like he had in the game. No polished filters or cinematic lighting.

He was human.

“You look tired,” I said softly, echoing what I’d told the others before. “Like you haven’t had a good night’s sleep in years.”

He huffed a soft laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Probably haven’t.”

I wanted to say more, but instead I leaned a little closer, letting the quiet say what I couldn’t yet. The warmth between us did the rest.

Zayne shifted beneath me slightly, trying to get comfortable on the couch with me still curled against his side. His hand hadn’t moved from its resting place on my hip, though, and neither had I.

I lifted my gaze again, tracing the lines of ink on his shoulder—the curved ice spear piercing through the tiger’s body, intricate enough to catch the low light like frost etched on glass. Without thinking, I reached up, the tip of my index finger brushing along the cool skin above the spear’s path.

He startled under my touch.

A breath caught in his throat.

A flush crept up his neck, just visible under the shadow of stubble. “You really shouldn’t do that,” he muttered, trying—failing—not to react.

I raised an eyebrow, my lips twitching. “Sensitive?”

“Just… not used to being touched like that.” His eyes flicked to mine, then back to the wall across from us like it held all the answers he didn’t have. “Especially not by someone I—” He stopped himself, then cleared his throat. “Anyway.”

The silence between us softened again.

Zayne shifted gears. “Do you have any tattoos?”

I blinked, surprised. “No,” I said. “But I’ve thought about it.”

He tilted his head, his expression gentler now. “What kind of design?”

I hesitated. My voice was quiet when I answered. “Something to cover old memories. The kind that are written into your skin whether you want them or not.”

His hand twitched slightly, but he didn’t speak. Just waited.

“The one on my upper right arm,” I said. “It looks like a dog bite, but it’s not. My ex. He was drunk. Thought it was funny.” I swallowed. “I told my coworkers it was a kitchen accident.”

Zayne’s jaw tightened.

I kept going, because if I stopped, I wouldn’t finish. “And under my left arm—there are a few faint lines. Ones I made myself. When everything felt like it was caving in and I didn’t know how else to feel anything but numb. It’s where the skin’s softest. Easiest to hide.”

He turned toward me fully then, slowly, like he was afraid moving too fast might break the moment.

“I saw them,” he said, voice low. “When you were at the hospital. I didn’t want to push. But I want you to know... I see you. I’m not looking away.”

My throat closed a little at that. My fingers curled faintly into the skin over his chest. His heart beat under my touch, steady and real.

“I thought if I ever got something,” I whispered, “it’d be over that scar on my arm. Maybe a flower. Jasmine, maybe.” I gave him a soft smile. “Seems like it’s a theme around you guys.”

He huffed gently, the edge of his mouth curving.

“I’d like that,” he said. “It’d be beautiful. Just like you.”

Zayne’s eyes hadn’t left mine.

Something shimmered there—something open and raw beneath the warmth of his gaze. The hand that had rested at my side lifted just slightly, like he was considering brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. He didn’t. Instead, he exhaled slowly, grounding himself.

“I want to kiss you,” he said quietly, so quietly it almost didn’t feel real. “But only if you want me to. And only if you’re ready.”

The words settled over me like a slow tide, pulling something fragile loose from where I’d buried it. My breath caught.

My heart didn’t race—it stumbled.

My body ached with the war I fought every time someone got too close. But gods… I wanted to kiss him too.

I wanted to know what it felt like to be wanted like this. To have something slow and soft instead of bruising and rushed. To not be an afterthought. To be chosen.

But that war… it hadn’t ended. Not yet.

I swallowed hard, my voice a shaky whisper. “I… want to. I do.”

His eyes softened.

“But I can’t. Not yet.” My fingers curled lightly against the skin of his shoulder, like if I let go I’d unravel completely. “I’m sorry.”

Zayne reached for my hand. Not to pull me closer. Just to hold it, to keep it from slipping away.

“Don’t be,” he said, thumb brushing gently over my knuckles. “This isn’t a finish line, Aven. I’m not running toward anything that’ll break us if we don’t get there fast enough.”

That undid me a little more than I wanted to admit.

I ducked my head, cheeks burning. “I’m kind of a mess.”

“You’re a work in progress,” he replied, his tone warm, like it was the most obvious truth in the world. “So am I.”

I stayed there in his arms a little longer, letting the silence stretch. Letting the safety of him and the quiet press of the moment hold me together.

Because maybe—just maybe—I was still allowed to be held.

A knock tapped against the door—soft, deliberate.

Zayne and I both turned toward it, and he hesitated before speaking. “Yeah?”

The door eased open, just a crack at first. Xavier's shadow filled the threshold before his form slipped through. He didn’t make eye contact immediately—just shut the door gently behind him like he was stepping into some sacred space.

His voice was quiet, unreadable. “Can I talk to Aven? Alone.”

I felt Zayne glance down at me. He didn’t speak right away. Just… looked. As if asking with his eyes, Are you sure?

I gave the smallest nod, even though a part of me twisted up in nerves. Zayne nodded once in return, jaw tight, and gently shifted, lowering my legs from across his lap and helping me settle more fully onto the couch. He rose to his feet, but paused as he passed Xavier.

“She’s not a prize,” Zayne said, voice low and sharp enough to nick the air between them. “And you don’t get to take your shit out on her just because you’re late.”

Then he walked out.

Xavier flinched—not visibly, but I could feel it like a drop in barometric pressure. His hands curled into fists at his sides as the door clicked shut behind Zayne. He still didn’t look at me.

Silence stretched between us like a high-wire line.

I cleared my throat gently. “You can sit. If you want.”

I patted the cushion next to me, trying to soften whatever this heavy, strange thing was simmering between us. But Xavier didn’t move toward it. Instead, he started pacing.

He didn’t speak for a moment, just walked, slow and deliberate, like each step helped him assemble whatever he was about to say.

“I’m… jealous,” he finally muttered, almost too low to hear. “Of my own friends.”

I blinked. “What?”

He stopped, back turned to me. His shoulders were tense beneath the white fabric of his shirt. “They’re getting pieces of you. Moments. The kind that matter.”

He turned then, eyes finding mine—silver-blue like a storm on the verge of breaking. “And I don’t know what to do with that.”

I sat still, watching him unravel from the edges. Quiet Xavier, who rarely spoke more than was necessary, who kept his heart under lock and key—was pacing like he couldn’t keep the words inside anymore.

“I don’t talk like Raf. I don’t charm like Caleb. I don’t burn like Sylus. And I sure as hell don’t understand the way Zayne looks at you like you’re his air.”

“Xavier…”

“I know I’m intense,” he interrupted, hand raking through his hair. “I know I come off cold, like I’m two steps from disappearing into the dark. But I see you, Aven. I feel you.”

He stared at me like it cost him something. “And I don’t want to lose the chance to matter to you, too.”

I stood up slowly.

It wasn’t graceful. My knees ached from sitting curled on the couch too long, and my heart felt like it had been through a meat grinder since the moment I woke up. But something in Xavier’s voice—his confession—drew me forward like gravity. Each step I took toward him felt like I was crossing some invisible minefield. My own fears, his restraint, our histories—both real and pixelated—hovered in the space between us.

He looked at me with something raw behind his eyes. Like he expected me to flinch. To retreat. Maybe he thought I would apologize and sit back down, and the tension would dissolve into silence again.

But I didn’t.

I stopped just in front of him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his body. Close enough to really see him.

He was taller than I remembered. Maybe it was the way he carried himself here—less withdrawn, more grounded. His hair was still shaggy like in the game, but there was more gold threaded through the strands than I’d ever noticed in digital renderings. The planes of his face were sharper too—his jawline more angular, his skin a pale tone that held a faint sun-drenched undertone, like moonlight steeped in warmth.

And his eyes—God, his eyes were not the soft blue galaxies I remembered.

They were silver fire.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, voice catching. “That I overlooked you.”

His expression didn’t shift. Not at first. But his eyes flicked down—like he didn’t want me to see the way that landed.

“In the game,” I continued, “I didn’t know how to see you. I think… I think I was scared of what you were. You didn’t smile easily. You didn’t say things just to fill silence. You weren’t the loudest voice in the room.”

“I still don’t smile easily,” he murmured.

I gave a tiny laugh, my throat tight. “No. But now I know how much it means when you do.”

A long breath passed between us, tangled in the closeness.

“And here,” I whispered, “in this world... you’re not just a set of choices I didn’t make. You’re real. Your eyes are sharper. There’s so much more silver in them. And your hair—it’s blonder, more golden in the light. I didn’t know that. I didn’t know you.”

His brow furrowed, and I saw something shift in him. Something that cracked the rigid composure he always wore like armor.

“I haven’t had one of those moments with you yet,” I said softly. “But I want to. I want to know the version of you that isn’t locked behind a screen.”

I hesitated before lifting my hand and letting my fingertips graze his wrist—barely a touch. But it was enough. Enough to send a ripple through both of us. His skin was warm. Solid. And when I looked up at him again, I saw the wall in his eyes begin to crumble.

“I’m trying,” I said. “To let myself connect. With all of you. You’re not just a path I didn’t take, Xavier. You’re a person I might still choose.”

He didn’t speak. But his hand turned in mine—gentle, deliberate—and his fingers curled between mine with a care so precise it made my chest ache.

His voice was low, nearly reverent.

“Then let this be a moment.”

And I didn’t pull away.

His fingers tightened slightly around mine—barely a shift in pressure, but enough to ground me.

Xavier didn’t speak right away. He just looked at me. Not like the others had—burning or teasing or openly affectionate. No, his gaze was something quieter. Deeper. It felt like he was memorizing the lines of my face. Reading every fracture I tried to hide like it was scripture.

“I remember the first time I saw you,” he said quietly. His voice was husky, like it had been dragged across broken glass to reach me. “Under the overpass. You were curled up. Shaking. Soaking wet. You looked like the world had finally swallowed you whole.”

I swallowed, eyes flickering down as the memory slammed into me. I hadn’t let myself think too hard about that moment. About the sheer, suffocating weight of it.

“But when I saw your eyes…” His hand reached up—slow, careful—and brushed a strand of hair from my cheek. “You looked at me like you didn’t trust anyone. Not even yourself. But there was something else, too. Something underneath all that pain.”

His fingers didn’t drop. They lingered at my temple, his palm a whisper against my jaw. My breath stilled.

“I don’t know what it was. Maybe… maybe it was hope. Maybe it was stubbornness. Maybe it was just you.” His thumb ghosted over the curve of my cheekbone. “But it caught me.”

My heart cracked open like thunder in my chest.

“All the noise in my head,” he murmured, “it stopped when I looked into your eyes. And I haven’t been able to look away since.”

A shaky breath escaped me. I didn’t know how to hold this feeling. This strange, beautiful ache that curled around my ribs.

“Xavier…”

“I’m not like the others,” he said. “I know that. I don’t push. I don’t shine as bright. But I feel just as much. Maybe more.”

His hand dropped slowly, hovering just beneath my jaw like he didn’t know if he should pull away or close the distance. My skin burned where he’d touched me. Where he still almost did.

And then, because the world felt too still, too soft to leave empty, I stepped into him.

My hands pressed to his chest—flat over his heart, which beat as if it, too, didn’t know what the hell to do with this closeness. I tilted my head just enough to lean into his shoulder, my temple brushing the base of his neck. His scent was familiar now—something clean and cold and impossibly grounding.

“I see you now,” I whispered.

His arms folded around me with a reverence that unraveled something deep in my chest. Not rushed. Not hungry. Just there. As if he had always meant to be.

As if this moment had been waiting for us since the very beginning.

His arms didn’t tighten. They simply held—light, steady, like the way silence sometimes feels safest after too much noise. I stayed there with my cheek resting against his shoulder, my fingers curled slightly into the fabric of his shirt, breathing him in like maybe I could bottle this softness. Keep it in a jar for later.

“I’m trying,” I whispered. The words broke from somewhere deep inside, quiet but raw.

Xavier’s hand moved up my back, a slow arc that settled between my shoulder blades. He didn’t say anything, just waited.

“I want to let myself get closer. I want to reach for you. For all of you. But…” I trailed off, blinking hard, throat tightening.

He shifted just slightly, enough to glance down at me, his cheek brushing my temple.

“But I’m still haunted,” I admitted. “By everything I carried into this world. The scars. The self-doubt. The… the voices that used to follow me home. I spent so long believing I didn’t deserve softness. That I was only ever meant to be the background girl. The burden. The one too much and never enough all at once.”

A pause stretched, filled only by the quiet thrum of his heartbeat under my hands.

“I’ve always been the one watching love happen to other people. Never allowed to be part of it.”

His arms around me tensed, just barely.

“But now I’m here. And you're all real. Not just code on a screen. You laugh. You breathe. You hurt. And the more I see that, the more I want to be part of it. Of you.”

I finally looked up, into his face. Into those steel-cut eyes that looked more silver in this light, the soft warmth of his skin catching the edge of the dimmed overheads.

“But sometimes I still feel like I’m made of glass. One wrong move and I’ll shatter again. I can’t always tell the difference between wanting to be close and being afraid of it.”

Xavier didn’t speak. He just leaned forward, forehead pressing gently to mine. His hands settled low on my back, grounding me without a word, without pressure.

“I know,” he said, voice a hushed rasp. “And you don’t have to rush. Just let us be here with you. However you can.”

My breath caught again. Not from fear. But from the sudden, bone-deep ache of being seen. Not as a fractured girl, but as someone still holding the pieces together.

Still trying.

And he understood that.

Every unspoken bit of it.

Xavier was quiet again—his presence still grounding me, though I could feel something brimming behind the soft line of his brow. Not tension exactly, but something unresolved.

His breath ghosted across my temple as he finally spoke.

“Can I ask you something?” he murmured, his voice low, careful.

My stomach twisted slightly. “You can always ask.”

He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. “What happened with Sylus and Caleb?”

The question didn’t sting. Not really. But it did raise a spark of heat under my skin—more defensiveness than guilt. My back straightened instinctively, though I didn’t pull away.

“What do you think happened?” I asked, tilting my head, one brow lifting with a dry edge I couldn’t completely smooth over. “Because if you’ve got a mental slideshow going, I’d like to know how creative your imagination’s been.”

Xavier blinked at me, just a little thrown, and a faint huff of something like a laugh escaped him before he tried again, gentler now. “I don’t want to accuse you of anything, Aven. I just… I needed to hear it from you. Not secondhand. I’ve been picturing things that—”

“That didn’t happen,” I interrupted, voice firmer now. “I get it. You’re trying not to assume. That’s fine. But here’s the truth.”

I stepped back just slightly, not to put distance, but to look at him squarely—on equal footing.

“When I spiraled in the bath, Sylus was there. He saw me like no one ever should. Not breaking. Broken. I didn’t ask him to stay… but I didn’t ask him to leave either. He stayed because he saw me, and I couldn’t stop him. Or maybe I didn’t want to.”

Xavier didn’t flinch. He just listened.

“And with Caleb?” I exhaled, running a hand through my hair. “That night I couldn’t sleep. My nightmares had dug their claws in. He came to check on me, and I asked him to stay. Out loud. No games, no drama. Just... human need.”

I gave him a look then, softening only slightly. “Neither night was what you think it was. There were no blurred lines. Just people holding onto people because the darkness outside felt smaller than the one inside.”

He looked down for a long moment. Then back at me, his mouth a careful line, his voice quiet.

“Okay,” he said finally. “That’s what I needed. Just the truth.”

I let out a long breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “You got it.”

And then, softer, with a faint smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth, “Next time you spiral about mental images, just ask me. I’m much better at storytelling than your anxious brain.”

That pulled a reluctant laugh from him—a real one. Something flickered behind his eyes, like the storm had passed for now.

Xavier’s eyes lingered on mine—longer this time. Less storm, more focus. Like he was seeing something he hadn’t let himself before.

“I’ve wanted to kiss you,” he said, voice steady, low. “Badly.”

The bluntness of it almost stole the breath from my lungs.

Almost.

Instead, a slow smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth before I could even think to stop it. My arms folded across my chest, just to keep from combusting with how flustered I suddenly felt.

“You and Zayne both,” I said lightly, raising a brow.

That made him blink—once. And then his head tipped slightly as the corner of his mouth pulled upward in a real, crooked grin.

“Of course he said that,” he muttered with a soft shake of his head, but there was no bitterness—just that quiet spark I was starting to see more often in his gaze. That glint of mischief tucked beneath all that reserve. “Figures I’d be one step behind the ice prince.”

I chuckled—actually chuckled. “You're both idiots,” I said, warmth spreading under my skin like sun on frost. “But charming idiots. I’ll give you that.”

Xavier’s smile widened just a touch more as his blue-silver eyes held mine.

“But I’m your idiot, right?”

That one made my heart skip. I didn’t answer—just looked up at him, the silence between us laced with something unspoken but unmistakable.

Not yet.

But maybe… maybe getting there.

I didn’t even realize I’d moved until my hand was already there—lifting, brushing a strand of his blond hair from his face with the gentlest sweep of my fingers. It was softer than I thought it’d be. Thinner than Caleb’s, darker than Sylus’, and brighter than Zayne’s. The shaggy length curled slightly at the ends where it touched his cheekbone.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t tense. Just stilled—eyes on mine, unreadable for a moment.

Then I let my fingers trail just slightly, cupping his cheek. His skin was warm, faintly rough with the edge of stubble he hadn’t bothered shaving.

“You’re my something, all right,” I whispered with a soft smile, not entirely sure what I meant by it. But he seemed to get it.

The muscles in his jaw shifted under my palm as he turned his head just enough to lean into the touch, and I felt the breath catch somewhere beneath my ribs.

But then the weight of everything—the confusion, the desire, the unknown rules of this new version of them—pressed in again. And I dropped my hand slowly, stepping back half a pace.

My brows knit. “Can I ask you something… kind of awkward?”

His head tilted. “You can ask me anything.”

“Okay, well…” I exhaled and rubbed my palms over my thighs, trying not to combust. “Are—are you all like… together?”

He blinked. “What?”

“I mean—together, together. Like… in a relationship. With each other.”

The look on his face was pure confusion, then realization struck like lightning behind his eyes. His expression cracked into full-blown amusement, and the next thing I knew, he was laughing—genuine and warm and loud.

“Oh, gods,” he said between chuckles. “No. No, Aven. We’re not in a poly relationship with each other.”

“But you’re so—” I gestured vaguely, cheeks flaming. “Close. Handsy. You touch each other’s thighs and call each other cute pet names and make eye contact that could set wallpaper on fire!”

That only made him laugh harder. “We’ve been through hell together,” he said once he could breathe again, rubbing the corner of one eye. “You get kind of tactile when you grow up constantly almost dying beside someone.”

I stared at him, somewhere between mortified and relieved.

“So… you’re not with Sylus, or Zayne, or—”

“No. Gods, no,” he said, still smiling. “But we’re also not weird about same-sex intimacy. We’re all open-minded. Comfortable. That’s not what this is though.” He softened then, stepping closer. “What this is... what you are? That’s something else entirely.”

My throat tightened.

“Something else,” I repeated.

“Yeah,” he said. “Something we never expected.”

I let out a long breath I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding. It ghosted past my lips like the last remnants of some tension I’d been cradling for days, tucked into the folds of every overthought glance, every overlapping memory from the game that kept conflicting with the way they were here. Real. Tangible. Human.

“So… not together,” I muttered again, mostly to myself, chewing gently on the inside of my cheek.

Xavier’s smile lingered, but he didn’t speak. Just watched me—quiet, patient.

I shifted where I stood, hugging one arm with the other. “The other night… in Caleb’s room.” I glanced down at the floor. “Raf had his hand on his leg, and I—I didn’t know how to interpret it. I didn’t want to misinterpret it, but I couldn’t get it out of my head. It’s been gnawing at me ever since.”

Xavier’s tone was soft, “You thought they were—?”

I nodded, heat rising to my face again. “I mean, the game hinted at nothing, but this world’s been one contradiction after another. And I didn’t want to be… in the way. I’ve felt like that my entire life. Like if I’m not careful, I’ll ruin something by just being there.”

His gaze softened, his brow knitting as he stepped closer, one arm twitching slightly like he wanted to reach out but wasn’t sure I’d welcome it.

“You’re not in the way, Aven. Not here. Not with us. That’s not how this works.”

I blinked fast, looking anywhere but at him.

“I think…” I exhaled, voice cracking around the words. “I think I needed to hear that more than I knew.”

A silence bloomed between us, but it wasn’t heavy. It was… grounding. Still. The kind of quiet that didn’t demand anything from me.

“I’m sorry I assumed,” I said quietly. “It’s just… easier to believe I’m the outlier. The strange piece on the wrong board.”

“You’re not,” he said firmly, voice low and steady. “You’re the reason the board looks different now.”

That stopped me. My chest tightened.

I looked up at him slowly—at the silver that overtook so much of the blue in his eyes, at the calm power that simmered beneath all that quiet.

And I believed him.

For the first time in so long, I let the tiniest spark of belief take root in something that wasn’t sorrow.

Xavier cleared his throat gently, the tension slipping just slightly from his shoulders as he offered a crooked little smile. “So… how’d training go?.”

The shift in subject coaxed a quiet laugh from me, and I tilted my head. “Sylus might be a pain in the ass most of the time, but he’s a good teacher. Brutal, but good.”

His brow lifted, intrigued. “Brutal, huh?”

“Let’s just say I didn’t exactly get eased into it.” I smirked. “Caleb and Sylus had me sweating buckets, and then Zayne came in and completely threw me off my rhythm.”

Xavier snorted. “That sounds about right.”

“But…” I paused, grin widening despite myself. “I did take Zayne down in a sparring match. Full pin. I even made him blush.”

His eyes widened, a flicker of impressed surprise lighting behind them. “You took Zayne down?”

“Yup.”

Xavier shook his head with a low whistle. “And here I was thinking I’d have to protect you from them.”

I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Maybe I don’t need as much protection as you thought.”

The words hovered in the air with more weight than I meant to give them, but Xavier only smiled, soft and a little crooked. “You’re right. You’re stronger than I gave you credit for.”

There was a pause, long enough that I could see the shift in his gaze before he spoke again.

“I’m sorry, Aven,” he said. “For getting jealous. For storming into that gym and putting you in the middle of all of it.”

I blinked at him. His voice was low, laced with something that felt fragile. Sincere.

And for the first time, I didn’t flinch away from it.

Instead, I stepped forward—slowly, cautiously—and wrapped my arms around him in a hug.

His body tensed briefly like he didn’t expect it, before he melted into the gesture, arms folding gently around my shoulders.

“I probably would’ve reacted the same way,” I murmured into his shirt. “If it were me. If I saw someone I cared about with… someone else, not knowing the whole story.”

He didn’t respond right away, just held me for a moment longer than necessary.

Then: “You care about me?”

I felt him grin against my temple.

I groaned, burying my face in his chest. “Don’t let it go to your head, Xavie.”

He chuckled, voice rumbling softly through his chest. “Too late.”

I sighed, a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, and took a small step back. My fingers lingered against the hem of his shirt before I pulled away fully.

“We should probably head back,” I murmured, glancing toward the door. “You know… before they kill each other.”

Xavier blinked, his brow creasing with immediate concern. “They wouldn’t—”

I huffed a laugh and shook my head. “Xav. I was being sarcastic.”

“Oh.” He paused, then smiled, sheepish. “Right. Still working on that.”

“Clearly.”

We moved toward the door, his footsteps matching mine in quiet rhythm, the tension that had wrapped us both up beginning to loosen at the edges. The hallway greeted us with a hush, cooler air brushing against my skin as we stepped out of Zayne’s quarters. My shoulder bumped his lightly as we walked side by side, the scent of sweat and something faintly citrus drifting faintly from down the corridor—Sylus' training space wasn’t far now.

I didn’t notice Xavier’s hand reaching for mine until his fingers brushed against mine once… twice… and then curled around them fully, warm and solid and somehow gentle.

I looked up at him.

He wasn’t even looking at me, not at first—his gaze was focused ahead, like the act of holding my hand didn’t require commentary, didn’t need to be acknowledged. But then, slowly, he glanced down at me, silver-blue eyes steady, unreadable, and just a little tender.

I didn’t pull away.

The gym came into view a second later, the soft thud of fists meeting flesh and the low grunts of exertion echoing within.

The moment we stepped through the open archway, all four of them noticed.

Caleb was the first to whistle low, a grin stretching wide across his face like he’d been waiting for this exact moment. “Well, well,” he drawled, bouncing slightly on his toes with his hands on his hips. “Took you long enough, soldier boy.”

Sylus turned, towel draped around his neck, shirt back on but still clinging to him with sweat. His crimson eyes flicked from Xavier to our interlocked hands, one brow arching with slow intrigue before a ghost of a smirk pulled at his lips.

Zayne didn’t say anything. But his expression softened just a little, the tiredness behind his eyes tempered by something else. Something warm.

And then there was Raf.

“Oh finally,” he groaned with exaggerated flair, draping himself across the nearest bench like he was overcome. “I was starting to think I’d have to sit you two down with a cup of tea and a feelings chart.”

Xavier just squeezed my hand once. Steady. Grounding.

And I? I couldn’t help the heat that crept up my neck.

Xavier gave my hand another brief squeeze before finally letting it go, the weight of his fingers slipping from mine feeling… noticeable. But I didn’t have long to sit in it.

“So,” he said, casually, “Aven told me she took Zayne down earlier.”

That made every head turn.

Zayne, who had gone back to adjusting the wraps around his wrists, stilled. Caleb straightened, brows lifting. Sylus gave a low, amused grunt like he already knew what was coming. And then there was Rafayel.

Raf gasped. Actually gasped.

“You what?” His pink-blue eyes were wide as dinner plates, hair still tied in that loose, messy bun that somehow made him look both ethereal and like he'd rolled out of bed late. “Oh, my stars, you decked Zayne?”

“Didn’t deck him,” I mumbled, the heat already flooding up my face. “Just… knocked him down. One pin. A lucky one.”

“A pin is a victory,” Raf said dramatically as he hopped up from the bench, all lithe, teasing grace as he beelined toward me like a man possessed. “You must demonstrate this sorcery at once. Come on, sweetheart, floor me. I’m begging you.”

He was halfway into a playful kneel when a blur of motion zipped past.

Zayne’s arm locked around Raf’s neck in a clean headlock, lifting him off his feet like he weighed nothing at all. Raf flailed with all the grace of a wet fish.

“Zayne!” Raf shrieked, kicking his legs as he dangled slightly. “Let me love her the way she deserves, you absolute iceberg!”

Zayne just grunted and started dragging him toward the ring. “If anyone’s getting flattened next, it’s you.”

“Unhand me, you scenic glacier—”

“You want to go, Rafayel?”

“Oh, do I ever,” Raf hissed like a housecat.

Caleb was doubled over in laughter, slapping Xavier’s shoulder, who looked halfway like he might actually enjoy watching the chaos unfold.

Me? I was frozen in place, wide-eyed, heart stuttering somewhere between horror and hilarity.

Then Sylus turned toward me and quirked a brow. “So, you thought we were all dating each other?”

I buried my face in my hands.

Gods, help me.

Sylus nudged me with his elbow and jerked his chin toward the bench closest to the sparring ring, the one that offered a clear view of Raf still dangling from Zayne’s grip like a particularly mouthy cat. I followed him over, the faint bounce in my step not quite enough to disguise the way my heart was still recovering from the scene.

I sat down carefully, trying to calm the swirl of giddiness and nerves twisting in my chest. The air inside the gym was thick with sweat, testosterone, and the ever-familiar undercurrent of something more—something electric. Magnetic.

Xavier dropped into the seat beside me on the left, quiet and steady like he always was, but close enough I could feel the heat of his arm against mine. On the floor, just in front of me, Caleb settled cross-legged with all the nonchalance of someone entirely too aware of his presence—and its effect.

Sylus, standing behind me with his hands braced on the bench, leaned forward slightly. “You really thought we were all dating each other?”

I turned toward him, suspicious. “How do you know about that? You have all the rooms bugged or something?” 

From my peripheral, I could hear the smirk in Caleb’s voice before he even spoke. “Because we all assumed that’s what you thought.”

I blinked, thrown. “Wait—what?”

“Come on, cupcake,” Caleb said with a grin, tipping his head back to look up at me, eyes gleaming. “You walk into a room, see the five of us in our natural chaotic element and don’t immediately assume we’re sharing beds? You're more innocent than I thought.”

I flushed instantly, cheeks heating so fast it made my ears buzz. “I didn’t— I mean, I didn’t want to assume, I just—”

Sylus chuckled low and unhurried behind me. “Nah, she definitely assumed.”

Caleb laughed outright. “Don’t feel bad. You’re not the first to think we’ve got some five-way thing going on.”

Xavier, quiet as ever, let out a soft chuckle of his own. Then—without a word—he reached over and laced his fingers through mine again. His hand was warm and reassuring, grounding me through the waves of humiliation and affection that followed.

“I mean…” I mumbled, only half-defensive now, “Raf had his hand on Caleb’s thigh. In his room.”

“Because he’s weird,” Caleb threw over his shoulder, grinning toward the ring where Zayne and Raf were finally squaring off, tapping gloves with mock gravity. “Not because we’re dating.”

“Touch is an art form, cutie,” Raf called from the mat as if summoned, pulling that thermal muscle shirt over his head before cracking his neck with theatric flair, and tossing the garment off the ring. “And my muse is chaos.”

Zayne just rolled his eyes and raised his fists. “Let’s shut him up for a bit.”

“Try me, frosty.”

Sylus smirked behind me as he rang the bell.

And with that, it began.

The moment the match began, the noise faded into a low, pulsing hum behind my ribs.

Rafayel moved like silk in a hurricane—fluid, deliberate, and somehow always half a second ahead of the rhythm everyone else expected him to follow. Zayne, by contrast, was a controlled storm. Sharp edges, precision incarnate. His footwork carved the ring with purpose, each strike a calculated beat against Raf’s unpredictable sway.

It didn’t feel like a sparring match. It felt like a dance—one choreographed in chaos and lit by something primal.

My fingers tightened slightly around Xavier’s, and to my surprise, he tightened his hold right back. I could feel the bones in his hand shift, the gentle pressure of his thumb brushing over the side of mine like a wordless tether.

“Come on, Frostbite!” Sylus barked, leaning forward on the bench beside me, his voice laced with both sarcasm and brotherly pride.

“Knock him into next week!” Caleb added, and before I could brace myself, he leaned back against me—sprawled and utterly comfortable, his head tilted up against my knees. The contact was light, but it rooted me instantly to the moment.

A slow warmth slid down my spine. I wasn’t used to this—this proximity, this comfort, this kind of heat that bloomed inside my chest and coiled somewhere low in my belly. Something ancient and instinctual woke up in me, stirred by the clash of bodies in the ring and the feeling of Xavier’s hand in mine, of Caleb’s shoulder against my shins, or Sylus’ heavy presence to my right.

It should’ve been overwhelming. It should’ve sent me crawling back into myself.

Instead… I couldn’t stop staring.

Raf taunted Zayne mid-swing, dancing backward with a grin that was both infuriating and magnetic. “Is that all you’ve got, Zayne-iac?”

Zayne grunted, ducked a punch, and surged forward—his forearm hooking around Raf’s waist in a motion so smooth it made me forget how to blink.

Raf twisted free with a flourish. “I’m starting to think you like chasing me.”

“Shut up,” Zayne snapped, the edge of a smile cutting across his face.

They were beautiful, both of them.

Too beautiful, maybe.

The roar of their motion, the grunt of impact, the slide of muscle and sweat—all of it blurred into something alive and intoxicating.

“I think you’re drooling,” Caleb whispered just loud enough for me to hear.

I blushed immediately, my gaze snapping toward him as he tilted his head slightly, a crooked smirk pulling at his lips. “It’s okay,” he added, his voice almost conspiratorial. “Raf’s shirtless. No one blames you.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Sure you weren’t.”

Beside me, Xavier said nothing, but I felt the faintest vibration of his silent laughter through his palm. I glanced sideways at him and caught the tiniest smirk ghosting across his lips.

Oh god.

I’d been caught.

Entranced.

And part of me didn’t even care.

Because for once, the rising tide in my chest wasn’t panic or shame.

It was something warm.

Something human.

And maybe a little hungry.

It happened so fast I almost missed it.

One second, Zayne was lunging forward—shoulder dipped, eyes locked, sweat glistening along the line of his jaw—and the next, Rafayel spun. Like a ribbon pulled tight and then snapped loose, his entire body flowed in a calculated arc that used Zayne’s momentum against him.

The twist, the pivot, the drop of a shoulder—and then Zayne was on his back, blinking up at the ceiling.

Rafayel stood over him, chest heaving, his hands up and grinning like the devil himself.

And his hair.

His hair had come loose.

The messy bun had collapsed somewhere in the flurry of movement, and now those long, indigo-teal strands cascaded down his back in shimmering, oceanic waves—like a storm tide rolling over sun-washed stone. It was unfair. It was obscene. It was honestly kind of breathtaking.

My mouth might’ve been open.

I wasn’t sure.

“Son of a bitch,” Zayne muttered from the floor, blinking once, dazed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Sylus was already climbing into the ring, shaking his head as he bent to offer him a hand. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” he said, not without sympathy. “The moment your dignity decides to take a vacation mid-fall. I know it well.”

Zayne groaned and took it, letting Sylus haul him upright with a grunt. “How the hell does he move like that?”

“Chaotic mermaid magic,” Sylus deadpanned.

On the bench, Xavier hadn’t moved from my side. He was still holding my hand, still warm and quiet and steady—but I could feel his eyes flicking toward me. Watching me take it all in.

I couldn’t speak.

I couldn’t breathe.

Not because of Zayne’s fall.

Not because of the win.

But because of the image Raf made, standing in the ring with his hair tumbling down his back, sweat shining on his skin, his expression smug and proud and impossibly radiant.

It wasn’t fair.

“You okay there, sweetheart?” Caleb drawled from where he still sat in front of me, his chin resting on his forearm across my knees. His lilac-tangerine gaze sparkled with laughter. “You look like you saw a ghost. Or maybe a shirtless sea god with shampoo-commercial hair.”

I blinked.

“I—He—That—”

“You want me to go fetch you a glass of water?” he teased. “Or maybe a mop?”

I smacked his shoulder—lightly. Weakly.

But I couldn’t stop staring.

I didn’t even want to.

Because in that moment, I wasn’t thinking about trauma or scars or what I looked like in Sylus’ shorts.

I was just here—surrounded by this insane, vibrant group of men who defied everything I thought I knew.

And Raf… God.

He’d moved like freedom.

And I didn’t know what the hell I was supposed to do with that.

Rafayel draped himself over the ropes like a decadent panther basking in the sun, arms spread, one hip cocked, sweat glistening on his collarbone like it was placed there on purpose. His indigo hair, mostly out of its tie by now, slid over his shoulder like silk ink.

“So,” he drawled, fixing those sea-glass eyes on me, “what do you say, Bluebird? You and me—one round. For training, of course.” His grin was wicked. “Unless you’re worried about what my charm will do to your concentration.”

That caught everyone off guard. Even Xavier turned, brows raised slightly. Zayne scoffed like he’d been waiting for this brand of stupidity to strike. Caleb practically snorted his water.

“You serious, Raf?” Sylus muttered, already halfway smirking. “You want to spar her now?”

Raf gave him a one-shouldered shrug, still leaning on the ropes like he was posing for a magazine cover. “She bested Captain Ice Veins here—” he thumbed toward Zayne, “—and hasn’t decked me yet. It feels overdue.”

Everyone looked at me. I blinked.

And then I said, “Sure.”

The room froze.

“You—wait, what?” Caleb choked, spinning around to gawk at me.

I stepped forward and rolled my shoulders, the towel still looped loosely around my neck. “I said sure. Unless Raf’s all talk.”

“Ohhh damn,” Caleb whispered, clearly delighted. “She’s got claws now.”

Sylus gave a low whistle. “This is gonna be good.”

Zayne groaned, slumping further down the bench beside him. “Yup. We’ve officially created a monster.”

I met Raf’s gaze as I climbed onto the apron and slipped between the ropes. “Still want that round?”

His grin widened into something altogether more dangerous. “Honeydrop, I insist.”

From behind me, Xavier spoke, “Show him why we’re all a little obsessed with you.”

I flushed, turning quickly away—and heard Caleb cackle behind me. “Okay, who installed Flirty Xavier? And where can I get one?”

Xavier, of course, remained unfazed. Just quietly smug.

Inside the ring, Raf was already bouncing on the balls of his feet, gloves up, looking like a man on stage before curtain call. “Don’t hold back, cutie,” he said, voice like velvet and fire. “I’m not just a pretty face.”

I moved into position across from him, feeling the steady thrum of my Evol beneath my skin, the grin tugging at my lips. “That’s good,” I said. “Because I’ve got a thing for wrecking pretty faces.”

“Ooh, dangerous and poetic,” he purred. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

Zayne muttered from the bench, “Please do.”

Sylus chuckled low under his breath. “She might actually.”

I felt it as I faced Rafayel: that familiar tension in the air that only came right before something unforgettable. My Evol hummed, alert and waiting. The others settled into place—Caleb stretching out at the floor of the ring, Xavier shifting closer to the corner, Sylus and Zayne watching like co-captains of chaos on the bench.

And as Raf met my eyes with a devil’s smile and bowed slightly at the waist, I felt myself settle into the moment.

This was happening.

And they had no idea what I was about to bring.

The tension between us crackled like static caught in a storm. Rafayel leaned in just slightly, his gloved hands loose at his sides, his voice curling around his smile like smoke.

“You sure about this, sweetheart?” His eyes glittered, catching the overhead lights with a glint that was far too pleased with himself. “I’d hate to ruin your perfectly pretty image of me with a little bruising.”

I tilted my head and gave him the slowest, most wicked grin I could manage. “You assuming I haven’t already imagined you bruised is a little arrogant, don’t you think?”

That earned a low whistle from Caleb somewhere off to the side. “Damn. Girl came out swinging before the bell even rang.”

Raf’s smirk twitched into something more intrigued, more careful. He adjusted his stance slightly, the shift subtle but practiced, a predator coiling before a leap. “Just don’t fall in love with me when I pin you, dove. Would be a shame.”

I stepped forward with feline softness, letting my fingers trail up to my mouth as if thinking. “Aw, and here I was thinking about how pretty your hair’s gonna look when it’s plastered to the mat.”

The whistle turned into laughter from Zayne, and even Xavier let out a breathy exhale that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. Rafayel blinked, the first crack in his carefully curated composure showing like the ripple of fabric in wind.

And then I moved.

No warning, no wind-up. Just a flicker of motion—my body snapping from stillness into brutal grace as I closed the distance between us with shocking speed. I felt the whisper of Evol coil down my spine, sharp and sweet like static in my blood. My first punch was a feint, my second aiming straight for his exposed ribs. He dodged it, barely, but the surprise was written all over his face.

I let him circle me then, pretending to be off-balance, distracted. Flirty. But I was studying him, the way his feet shifted, the angle of his shoulder tilt. I mirrored it—let it flow through me like borrowed instinct—and when he lunged forward again, I twisted low and swept his leg.

Rafayel stumbled, caught himself, but now his grin had faded into something deeper. Respect.

“Oh, you’re dirty,” he breathed out, low and delighted.

“Flirt with me again and I’ll show you just how dirty I can be,” I threw back, pivoting into another calculated strike that he blocked—but only barely.

The sound of gloves hitting gloves, feet slapping the mat, and the occasional sharp exhale became our rhythm. A breathless dance of push and pull. My Evol hummed inside me, coaxing me forward, sharpening my senses without overwhelming me. I wasn’t just reacting anymore. I was choosing. Testing. Leading.

From the bench, I could hear Sylus mutter, “She’s not just sparring—she’s reading him.”

Caleb whooped. “She’s got him dancing! Look at him trying not to get flustered!”

“Rafayel flustered?” Zayne chuckled. “Never thought I’d live to see the day.”

Inside the ring, Raf’s bun had started to loosen again, indigo strands slipping from their confines, sticking to his temple. He swiped them back with a snort. “You’re trouble, Aven.”

“Better than being predictable,” I said, and this time, I caught him square in the abdomen with a punch that stole the breath from his lungs.

For the briefest moment, he froze, doubled forward, and I thought—maybe—I’d gone too far.

But then he straightened, laughing breathlessly.

“Okay, little starfish,” he rasped, shaking his head. “Now I’m in love.”

But I was far from done.

I followed, each step like I was dancing on air, the flow of my body reactive and deliberate. I wasn’t thinking—not really. I was feeling. Letting everything I’d tried to suppress rise just enough to sharpen me, not burn me. Raf came at me then, sharp and testing, his strikes controlled, fast, but I deflected, ducked, used my smaller size to slide beneath one of his sweeping punches and strike upward with a gloved fist against his stomach.

He wheezed, startled, before stumbling back again—and I chased. I pressed him, footwork quick and clean, guided by everything Sylus had drilled into me, everything my body remembered even when my brain doubted.

And I smiled. Not for a win. But for the feeling of being.

Raf grinned even as I landed another hit to his side. “Who are you?” he asked through a laugh.

“Someone trying,” I panted, “to get stronger.”

I saw the spark in his eyes before he came in fast, but I spun to avoid his strike, our gloves brushing as we countered, ducked, and collided again and again in a blur of grunts and footfalls. It was fast. Messy. Beautiful. But I didn’t lose myself.

I found myself.

And I pushed—one final shove of Evol and instinct as I used his momentum against him, locking my arm around his and using the twist of his body to send him off balance. His back hit the mat with a resonant thud, and I followed, straddling his hips with my gloved hands pressed against his chest, panting.

His eyes were wide, startled and dazzled beneath the curtain of his hair.

The room was silent. Even Zayne’s jaw was hanging slightly open.

Then—

“Holy shit again,” Caleb whispered.

“Damn,” Sylus muttered from the bench, lifting his hand in a slow, respectful clap. “Didn’t see that coming.”

Raf blinked up at me, breathless. “…Did you just possess me?”

I laughed, breath hitching in my throat. “Nope. Just… practiced.”

He chuckled, coughing once. “Okay, fine. You win. Get off me, baby wave.”

I rolled off him, legs shaking from the effort, but heart thundering with something more than adrenaline.

I’d done it.

Before I could fully process what had happened, strong arms wrapped around me from behind and lifted me off the mat.

I let out a surprised laugh as Xavier spun me once before setting me gently back down. “You were brilliant,” he murmured into my ear. “Absolutely lethal.”

“I—I just… it was instinct,” I managed, still dazed. “He let his guard down—”

“That’s the point,” Zayne cut in, striding over with his arms crossed, looking directly at Raf. “He always lets his guard down when he’s being a little too dramatic.”

“Excuse me?” Rafayel said, eyes narrowed. “I’ll have you know—”

“—that you just got decked by a woman you were actively flirting with mid-fight,” Caleb finished for him, grinning. “You kinda had it coming.”

Sylus approached from the side, his usual brooding air lightened by a small, rare smile. “Not gonna lie. That was satisfying to watch.”

“Stop,” I groaned, hiding my face in my gloves as laughter bubbled up around me.

“Oh, don’t be shy now,” Caleb teased, nudging my shoulder. “You bodied him. Didn’t even hesitate, he didn’t even see it coming.”

“I knew exactly what hit me,” Raf grumbled dramatically from the mat, sprawled like a particularly pretty seaweed casualty. “Betrayal. Treachery. And thighs.”

Caleb flopped down beside me with a smirk. “I gotta say, I’ve never seen someone fold ‘Sparkle Shark’ like a beach chair before.”

��I’ll have you know,” Rafayel snapped from the mat, “my dramatic fall was intentional. It was a narrative choice.”

“Sure it was,” Xavier said smoothly, slipping his fingers into mine again without a word of fanfare. “But you still lost.”

I glanced at the others—Caleb beaming, Zayne shaking his head in disbelief, Sylus offering a slow, deliberate clap—and I felt the heat bloom in my cheeks. I couldn’t hide behind my hair, couldn’t vanish under my Evol, couldn’t pretend I hadn’t just won.

“Okay, okay, stop looking at me like that,” I mumbled, tugging my gloves down over my wrists.

“Like what?” Caleb teased. “Like you’re our badass little underdog who just wrecked the prettiest distraction in the room?”

“Exactly that,” Zayne said, elbowing Sylus, who nodded.

“We’re all doomed,” Raf muttered, rolling to his back, one arm flung over his forehead. “Next, she’ll take down ‘Tactical Thirst Trap’ or even you, ‘Fifty Shades of Scowl’.”

“You say that like it’s a challenge,” I shot back, smiling now. Watching Sylus and Caleb both roll their eyes.

Xavier leaned in, voice low near my ear. “I really, really hope it is.”

And just like that—I was glowing again. Not from Evol, but from them. From this.

From finally standing in the center of something that felt like it might not break me.

It might actually build me.

Raf finally pushed himself up to a seated position, hair wild and loose down his back, sweat-slicked and gleaming like a banner of indigo stormlight. He gave me a theatrical bow from the floor. “Well played, Miss Firecracker. I surrender. Officially. Eternally. Should we… go again?”

The boys groaned in unison.

I laughed—actually laughed—and the sound felt foreign in my chest. Light. Giddy. It rippled through the gym like a second win. “Not unless you want to lose again in front of your adoring audience.”

Rafayel flopped dramatically onto his back, arms sprawled like a sea-princess felled by heartbreak. “You wound me. Not physically, of course—though my pride lies in critical condition. Someone alert the trauma team.”

“You are the trauma team,” Zayne muttered as he dropped onto a bench nearby, dragging a towel across his neck. “And the cause.”

“I heard that, Captain Control.” Raf shot him a lazy grin without opening his eyes.

Caleb crouched beside him, smirking. “You okay down there, drama wave?”

Rafayel cracked one eye open. “I’m surviving. Barely. But if someone were to offer ice cream or a backrub—or vengeance—I might find the will to rise again.”

I rolled my shoulders and straightened up, every nerve still humming from the match, from winning. And not just barely. I’d flattened him, Evol or not.

And they saw it.

Their surprise had rippled through the room like static through water. Even now, I could feel the heat of their gazes, a strange cocktail of admiration, disbelief, and something quieter—warmer.

I let myself bask. Just a little.

“Well,” I said, turning in a slow circle with arms spread, “if anyone wants to kiss the champion’s hand, now’s your chance. Offers expire in five minutes.”

“Cocky and dangerous,” Xavier said, walking toward me with that glint in his eye again. “We might be in trouble.”

Before I could react, he scooped me up—lifted me right off the floor in one of those deceptively effortless moves—and spun me once, a rare grin flickering across his face.

I let out a squeak that quickly turned into a laugh. “Xav! Put me down before Raffy declares a duel in my honor.”

“I am considering it,” Raf drawled from the floor. “I had dibs on post-victory theatrics, thank you.”

“Get in line,” Caleb said, stepping around Xavier with an expression I couldn’t quite read—pride maybe, or something just shy of it. “That was impressive, pipsqueak.”

“Thanks,” I said, still catching my breath, heart thumping hard against Xavier’s chest before he finally set me back on my feet.

Zayne didn’t say anything now, but when I glanced his way, he was watching me. Not scowling. Not calculating. Just watching.

His towel was draped across his shoulders, his dark hair tousled and damp with sweat. And for once, that wall of silence he usually wore like armor didn’t seem so impenetrable.

Raf pushed himself upright at last and made a great show of brushing off his knees. “All right, now that we’ve established Aven as the Supreme Menace of the Gym, does anyone else need their ego handed back in pieces today? No? Good.”

“I like her,” Xavier said quietly beside me. “I liked her before. But now I’m very invested.”

“Still not giving you a rematch,” I said over my shoulder to Raf, relishing the play of this moment, this strange warmth curling beneath my ribs.

“Rematch? Minnow, I wouldn’t survive it.” He sauntered toward the water cooler, limping dramatically. “But don’t be surprised if I write a tragic ballad in your honor. With backing vocals.”

“That’s right,” Caleb muttered, dry. “She’s part of Team Tragedy now.”

“Correction,” Raf called, lifting a bottle to toast me. “She’s Queen of the Simptanic. May we all drown gloriously in her wake.”

I snorted. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Lies. It got me back on my feet.”

I shook my head and sat on the edge of the ring, breathing deep, letting the sweat cool on my skin, and the aftershocks settle in my limbs. They were still looking at me.

Still surprised.

Still here.

And for the first time, I didn’t want to disappear from it.

Xavier drifted toward Rafayel with a slow, deliberate stretch of his shoulders, cracking his neck like he was warming up for a round of light sparring—or performance art. Raf, naturally, opened his arms like he was welcoming a long-lost lover and not the threat of another loss.

“I’m emotionally fragile right now,” Raf said, sipping from a water bottle like it was wine. “Go easy on me.”

Xavier smirked. “No promises.”

Their voices faded into the background, the sound of their footwork echoing lightly across the gym floor.

I stayed where I was, perched on the ring’s edge, legs dangling over the side, heartbeat still thrumming through my veins like a drumbeat I didn’t want to stop.

And then I felt them behind me.

Sylus. Caleb. Zayne.

They weren’t crowding me—none of them even touched me—but their presence was a tide I could feel, pressing gently against the edges of whatever emotional dam was left inside me.

“I haven’t seen Raf caught that off guard in a long time,” Caleb said first. His voice was low, but laced with something warm. “Not even when he joined me for ops training.”

Sylus huffed quietly, but it wasn’t disbelief. It was something like pride, strained around the edges. “He didn’t even register the shift until it was too late. You moved through his rhythm like you’d known it forever.”

I tilted my head, unsure if I was supposed to respond or just... absorb.

Zayne stepped around me slightly, catching my gaze. His eyes weren’t hard. They were open—steady in that quiet, grounding way that only Zayne could be. “You let your Evol breathe, didn’t you?”

I nodded slowly. “A little.”

No judgment. No interrogation. Just the flicker of understanding, like he knew exactly what that meant.

“Good,” he said simply. “You should. It’s yours.”

I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until that moment. Until I let it go and felt something deeper ease in my chest.

Caleb lowered himself beside me on the ring, not touching, just close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his skin. “I don’t know all of the hell you went through to learn how to feel your own power like that... but it’s yours, and you used it with control. Precision. Purpose.” He nudged my knee lightly with his. “That’s not dangerous. That’s brilliant.”

I blinked down at my hands, still tingling faintly from the match, still marked faintly with silver threadlines of Evol. It had burst through me when I fought, yes—but not recklessly. Not like before.

It had listened.

Sylus moved to stand in front of me, his eyes steady but gentler than I’d ever seen them in a moment like this. The weight of his scrutiny felt like pressure, not pain.

“You didn’t lose control,” he said, like it was the most important thing in the world. “You chose your opening. You saw the flow, and you took it. I’ve seen a hundred evolvers burn out trying to do what you just did naturally.”

His mouth curved, just barely. “You were meant for this.”

Something flickered in my chest. A crack of warmth. A ripple of hope.

Zayne’s voice cut in quietly beside him. “And you didn’t just win.” He paused, thoughtful. “You belonged.”

I couldn’t speak. Not right away.

My throat tightened, and the heat behind my eyes returned—but this time, it wasn’t shame or grief or exhaustion.

It was the impossible weight of being seen.

I looked between them—Sylus with his storm-held eyes, Caleb with that battle-scarred heart just barely peeking through, Zayne with his iron-clad steadiness that made the world feel a little less breakable.

They weren’t questioning me.

They were claiming me.

Not like a prize.

Like a teammate.

Like someone who had finally stepped onto the battlefield—not as dead weight, not as something to protect, but as someone they could trust to fight back.

I swallowed hard. My voice came quiet. “You really think so?”

Sylus’s lips quirked again. “No.”

He reached out, gentle fingers brushing a single strand of sweat-damp hair from my temple.

“I know so.”

╰──────༺♡༻──────╯

[codingquill]

What happens when you start your computer ? ( Booting a computer )

We studied this in the lecture today, and it was quite interesting. What makes something a hundred times simpler than it is? Creating a story about it. That's why I made this super fun dialog that will help you understand it all.

I've set up a drive to compile everything I create related to the Linux operating system. Feel free to explore it for more details on the topics discussed in the conversation below. Check it out here.

Have a fun read, my dear coders!

In the digital expanse of the computer, Pixel, the inquisitive parasite, is on a microventure with Binary, a wise digital guide. Together, they delve into the electronic wonders, uncovering the secrets hidden in the machine's core.

Pixel: (zooming around) Hey there! Pixel here, on a mission to demystify the tech wonders . There's a creature named Binary who knows all the ins and outs. Let's find them!

Binary: (appearing with a flicker of pixels) Pixel, greetings! Ready to explore what happens inside here?

Pixel: Absolutely! I want the full scoop. How does this thing come alive when the human outside clicks on "start"?

Binary: (with a digital chuckle) Ah, the magic of user interaction. Follow me, and I'll reveal the secrets.

(They traverse through the circuits, arriving at a glowing portal.)

Pixel: (inquiring) What's the deal with this glowing door?

Binary: (hovering) Pixel, behold the BIOS - our machine's awakening. When the human clicks "start," the BIOS kicks in, checking if our components are ready for action.

(They proceed to observe a tiny program in action.)

Pixel: (curious) Look at that little messenger running around. What's it up to?

Binary: (explaining) That, Pixel, is the bootloader. It plays courier between the BIOS and the operating system, bringing it to life.

Pixel: (excitedly buzzing) Okay! How does the computer know where to find the operating system?

Binary: Ah, Pixel, that's a tale that takes us deep into the heart of the hard disk. Follow me.

(They weave through the digital pathways, arriving at the hard disk.)

Pixel: (curious) Huh? Tell me everything!

Binary: Within this hard disk lies the treasure chest of the operating system. Let's start with the Master Boot Record (MBR).

(They approach the MBR, Binary pointing to its intricate code.)

Binary: The MBR is like the keeper of the keys. It holds crucial information about our partitions and how to find the operating system.

Pixel: (wide-eyed) What's inside?

Binary: (pointing) Take a look. This is the primary boot loader, the first spark that ignites the OS journey.

(They travel into the MBR, where lines of code reveal the primary boot loader.)

Pixel: (in awe) This tiny thing sets the whole show in motion?

Binary: (explaining) Indeed. It knows how to find the kernel of the operating system, which is the core of its existence.

(They proceed to the first partition, where the Linux kernel resides.)

Pixel: (peering into the files) This is where the OS lives, right?

Binary: (nodding) Correct, Pixel. Here lies the Linux kernel. Notice those configuration files? They're like the OS's guidebook, all written in text.

(They venture to another partition, finding it empty.)

Pixel: (confused) What's the story with this empty space?

Binary: (smirking) Sometimes, Pixel, there are barren lands on the hard disk, waiting for a purpose. It's a canvas yet to be painted.

Pixel: (reflecting) Wow! It's like a whole universe in here. I had no idea the operating system had its roots in the hard disk.

(They continue their microventure, navigating the binary landscapes of the computer's inner world.Pixel gazes at the screen where choices appear.)

Pixel: What's happening here?

Binary: (revealing) This is where the user picks the operating system. The computer patiently waits for a decision. If none comes, it follows the default path.

(They delve deeper into the digital code, where applications start blooming.)

Pixel: (amazed) It's like a digital garden of applications! What's the enchantment behind this?

Binary: (sharing) Here, Pixel, is where the applications sprout to life. The operating system nurtures them, and they blossom into the programs you see on the screen.

Pixel: (excited) But how does the machine know when the human clicks "start"?

Binary: It's the BIOS that senses this initiation. When the human triggers "start," the BIOS awakens, and we embark on this mesmerizing journey.

[durgetavoc]

One thing you need to know about me: I love using colors to tell a story. I think colors are a great way to "show, don’t tell" and are used across various visual media—lighting, scenery, costumes…

Here, I’d like to dive into the companions' outfits—their default ones, since that’s the first thing we see of them during character selection and the first meeting. First impressions are crucial in conveying something about a character. And because I don’t want this post to be three pages long, I’m going to focus on the meaning of the color red.

Below are my musings:

Astarion : This one’s the easiest, and a lot of people have already talked about it, so I’ll be quick. Red is inherent to the nature of a vampire. In Astarion’s case, it appears both in his red eyes and in the very subtle red fabric we see beneath several layers of clothing. We could definitely discuss the placement of this color—why the chest? Why not around his neck? After all, vampires bite their victims there, and Astarion is also a victim himself. Personally, I like to think the red fabric runs down to his stomach, perhaps symbolizing hunger more than the act of transformation. It reflects his state of mind when we first meet him in Act 1. It might also nod to Astarion’s seductive (and sexualized) persona, considering that we, the viewers, have to search between his clothes to notice that red.

Karlach : Another easy one—Karlach is a red tiefling, and the color of her skin plays into the initial misunderstanding with Wyll. We assume she’s a devil. But beyond that, her mechanical heart emphasizes this red hue—a heart that’s dangerous for her and needs to be repaired as best we can. I’d also point out the red streaks in her hair, which align well with her naturally loud, demonstrative personality.

Wyll : Now we’re getting into slightly more interpretive territory. The prevalence of red in his outfit might seem surprising at first, but I don’t think it’s a coincidence. Wyll has the personality of a hero, and he wears his colors proudly. To me, the red evokes his warlock powers directly. Notice how the red flows from top to bottom, like a gleam—that immediately brings to mind the Eldritch Blast spell, which is emblematic of the warlock class. Wyll isn’t particularly ashamed of his pact with Mizora, since he uses those powers to protect others.

Gale : My personal favorite. Notice how Gale wears a nearly solid-colored garment—except for one side of his chest. Conveniently, it's the same spot where we know his orb is located. An orb that’s dangerous to both him and everyone around him. That, my friends, is show, don’t tell at its finest.

Lae'zel : This one’s a bit more specific to Gith lore—I'm no expert, so feel free to correct me. For me, the fact that the red appears as rubies embedded in Lae'zel’s armor (armor also worn by other Githyanki) is a nod to Tiamat, the chromatic dragon with a different-colored head for each element—including red. Red dragons, in particular, are allies of the Githyanki and serve them as steeds. Lae'zel’s biggest dream is to ride one, a privilege reserved only for commanders.

Shadowheart : No, you’re not imagining it—she doesn’t wear red. I found that kind of funny, since she’s the only character without it. I could have just left her out, but I think her lack of red is also meaningful. And it felt unfair to talk about everyone else except her. Instead of red, she wears large black gems—like onyx—one on her tiara, and another over her chest armor. Shar is the Lady of Loss, the Dark Lady, the Nightbringer… and the colors black and purple are favored in her worship. Shadowheart’s life revolves around her goddess, so it’s only natural that her color scheme reflects this. Once again, her design is consistent with the story being told through her character.

We could stop here and call it a day, but there’s still one more character we haven’t talked about…

The Dark Urge.

Oh, I could go on forever about their character design—I just LOVE them.

See, they’re a white dragonborn—but they’re clearly not all white. Their eyes and many of their scales are red.

I love how the red looks like it’s been sprayed on, like blood stains. It’s not just on their neck—it’s everywhere, nestled between each white scale, almost as if it’s holding the whole form together (even inside their hands!!).

The parallel with blood is obvious. But see—they could’ve just gone with a red dragonborn. They didn’t. They chose a white one.

White often symbolizes innocence or purity. The Dark Urge has amnesia—they’re unaware of their nature. You could argue they’re innocent in that sense, since they don’t remember the origins of their dark urges. Red, on the other hand, clearly recalls their murderous nature—and thus, Bhaal.

This visual contrast represents the character’s inner conflict: red is just as important as white in their design. It’s literally part of them—woven through their body, deep within. You can’t ignore the red in the white, nor the white in the red.

Since we know the Dark Urge can either redeem or embrace their nature… these two colors are all we need to understand them.

[gettinshiggywithit]

「"ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʜɪᴍ?!"」

Scenario:- “May I please. Have some headcanons of possessive bf atsushi”(@diagonal-queen)

Pairing(s):- Atsushi x gn! Reader (romantic) | akutagawa x gn!reader (platonic)

Genre:- fluff?/crack? Idrk….

Type:- oneshot

W/c:-1.22k

A/N:-HIYA! Here’s a little atsushi oneshot requested by our favorite queen @diagonal-queen!atsushi is a little ooc i think? And also i hc that aku would be a genuinely sweet person outside of the mafia🥲.sorry for spelling and grammar mistakes!

Hmm okay this is an interesting one.

First of all I don’t think atsushi would be possessive…he knows he doesn’t ‘own’ you and that youre ur own person.

Does he get insecure and ask for reassurance later? Very much so.

But there is one person I see him being possessive around.just one!

Can you guess who?

If you guessed our resident emo boy aquaduct,then you my friend are correct~

Let’s set the scene shall we~

For unspecified reasons,atsushi is told he has to partner up with akutagawa.okay fine.he’s used to the coat clad carpetmuncher so he knows he can handle it.

What makes him suddenly not want to go through with it is dazai telling him that you’d be accompanying them too-

“BUT DAZAI WHY DOES Y/N HAVE TO GO?! IM PERFECTLY CAPABLE OF DOING THIS JOB ON MY OWN!”

“’Sushi it’s fine I don’t mi-”

“now now,y/n’s ability might be useful that’s the only reason we’re letting them accompany you.”

“BUT I-”

You place your hand on his arm and squeezy it lightly to reassure him that its okay.

He begrudgingly sighs and accepts that you’ll be hanging around akutagawa for the entirety of this mission

He’s actually nervous…

You were a naturally chatty and curious person…what if you triggered akutagawa to use rashoumon?! What if he hurt you???!!!

Noticing his glazed over eyes and nervous expression,you kiss him on his cheek to bring him out of his head and back to earth.

“’sushi,it’s fine.dont worry I’ll be fine.i can hold my own.i promise” you smile up at him (or down or directly at depending on ur height~)

And he relaxes.

You’ll be fine…it’s fine!

-skip to while youre on the actual mission-

He was wrong! He was SO wrong!

The moment he sees akutagawa he pushes you behind him and stands between you two.

But nothing could have prepared him for what came next-

“RYUU???????”

“y/n?”

“WAIT YOU KNOW EACHOTHER?!”

*Cue shook and confused tiger boi*

“Oh yeahh I met his sister at the Laundromat the other day and we just became friends by default ig?”

“0_0”

“it’s not that difficult of an idea to comprehend,weretiger.are you truly that daft?”

BOI IS SO MUCH MORE INSECURE NOW THAT HE KNOWS U AND AKU ARE ACTUALLY FRIENDS AND SEEM QUITE CLOSE?????

I MEAN YALL ARE ON A NICKNAME BASIS NOW??!

AND BY AKUTAGAWA’S STANDARDS THAT’S PRETTY CLOSE….

“but y/n…he’s a criminal! HE’S FROM THE MAFIA!”

“I didn’t know that ‘sushi :’) I just thought they were two nice people….and honestly ryuu isn’t all that bad…”

“DON’T CALL HIM THAT! HE MIGHT KILL YOU!”

“don’t be foolish weretiger.i would do no such thing,for unlike you,y/n is an actually tolerable human bein.now if it’s someone’s death you wish to witness I can gladly make arrangements. *cue the activation of rashoumon*”

You:- !!!!!

“umm no no.thats not what he meant ryuu…put rashoumon back…. Please?” you said, your hands on akutagawa’s chest trying to keep him as far away from atsushi as possible without actually using any force.

Atsushi :- o_0

No because what was that??? Why were you Touching him????!!

He was so confused tbhh

He was even more surprised when aku sighs,retracts rashoumon,gently takes your hands off of him and puts his hands in his pockets before turning on him heels and simply saying “fine.just come on.we have an objective to accomplish”

Atsushi’s jaw :- dropped

You:- skipping after the emo fella ,your fingers intertwined with your boyfriend’s.

Okay no why?what? huh????

He physically shakes his head to clear it from all his racing thoughts.

He took only one thing from that entire interaction; he could Not let akutagawa get anywhere Near you.at least not when he was around.and he most Certainly couldn’t let that man lay a single finger on you!

He stops walking causing you to do so too.

The ceasing of the sound of footsteps behind him causes akutagawa to also stop and turn back to face you.

“sushi? What’s wrong?”

He suddenly leans forward to kiss your nose,causing you to blush hard and simultaneously causing akutagawa to roll his eyes and keep walking.

  During the entire mission he keeps initiating little acts of pda,whether it was holding your hand,shoulder or wait or shielding you from whatever was around.atsushi did NOT let you be away from him for more than 5 milliseconds!

Akutagawa didn’t really care but when the time came where he needed to be beside you for even a second,maybe to say something or even if he had to move you away from an oncoming threat,atsushi would just spring in between the two of you and truth be told even you found it a little irritating…

Yes you loved your boyfriend and yes you would never cheat or leave him for someone,but this was getting ridiculous! You and akutagawa were just friends!

It really wasn’t as deep as atsushi felt it was…and besides,you were closest to gin…not ryunosuke!

So after the mission (thank God his little fit wasn’t detrimental to your overall success!) you pulled him aside and asked him what was up.

The look in your eyes was both pleading him to tell the truth and a little angry he wasn’t being honest outright.

And ofc,kitty boi caved.

How could he not?

He told you everything.how he felt weird for you knowing akutagawa and how close you seemed to be.

To which you sighed,cupped his cheek and told him clearly that you and he were nothing more than friends.and that you weren’t even that close to him.just his sister.

Atsushi exhaled at that and you pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.

Akutagawa immediately looked away.

And when you were done you took atsushi’s hand and were about to go on your way until-

“just one one thing,”

“hmm-”

He pulled you in for a kiss,it was honestly perfect,and had it been a different time and place maybe things could have progressed but alas you were on a mission and not at home.

Nevertheless,as his lips captured yours,he pulled you in closer by the waist,and you leaned further into it.

About 5-10 seconds in akutagawa REALLY felt awkward and coughed….you were gonna miss your rendezvous point.

Once you both heard his cough,only you felt embarrassed,and when you tried to pull away he lightly bit your bottom,causing your eyes to widen.after which he released both you and your lip and just gave you a quick peck on the nose and his cute little smile.

You all ignored what had happened and even akutagawa didn’t seem to give a dam.

Atsushi actually looked kinda happy ngl,and ofc the entire way back he had his arm either around your waist or on the small of your back.

(when yall get home if he’s still feeling it mayhaps you end up with a little hickey two? Mayhaps😉)

Tagging:- @kemis-world @diagonal-queen

All rights reserved © 2023 gettinshiggywithit . Please do not repost, modify or claim as yours.

[thatfanfictionchick]

This is intended to be...archival, for myself, mostly. But if you find it interesting you should definitely check out Ikemen Villains!

Ikevil Event - Wrapped in Wicked Romance pt.1

Jude's Route Premium End

·✦...·✧

The moment the man with the bowler hat spotted Jude…

…he put his arm around my neck and pressed a gun to my temple.

(No…)

Jude: “Ha! Looks good on ya, Kate.”

(If he tells the man he doesn't want to negotiate…)

(He'll kill me…)

A chill came over me, my entire body trembling with fear. 

And Jude looked like he was thoroughly enjoying it. 

Jude: “Haha. Lovin’ that look in your eyes. Ya scared? It's scary, huh?”

Jude: “Want me to help ya?”

(Of course I do!)

I nodded frantically. 

Jude: “Hm, that right?”

(Well, will you help me or won't you?! Make up your mind!)

Man in Bowler Hat: “That's enough of your sweet reunion.”

Jude: “That's a shame. I wouldn't mind watchin’ for a bit longer.”

Jude shifted his gaze from me to the man and narrowed his amethyst eyes. 

Jude: “Seems like you're runnin’ quite the business outta the warehouse we rented ya.”

Jude: “Now, if you were just buyin’ ‘n sellin’ guns ‘n other dirty shit, that'd be fine.”

Jude: “But don't ya remember the contract ya signed with me? When I toldja, NO human traffickin’.”

(Human trafficking?!)

Man in Bowler Hat: “Can't you just look the other way?”

Man in Bowler Hat: “Even the poor can sell at a great price!”

Man in Bowler Hat: “I can line your pockets and help you clean all the filth out of London Harbor!”

Jude: “...Hah.”

Man in Bowler Hat: “I know you love watching the misfortune of others, and I know you love money. So you can overlook this, right?”

Man in Bowler Hat: “If you say yes, I'll return your woman to you unharmed.”

(So he broke his contract and used the warehouse he rented from Jude for human trafficking.)

(He's threatening him so he'll look the other way.)

When I felt his arm around my neck, revulsion raced through me. 

(I don't want to die, but…)

(I also don't want to be the only person who gets saved because Jude overlooked his crimes. Not at the expense of others.)

(That would leave a really bad taste in my mouth.)

I bit my lip to steel myself and looked over at Jude. 

I tensed my stomach to keep myself from shaking. 

Kate: “Jude, I take it back. Don't worry about me.”

Jude: “Oh?”

Jude: “Honestly, you're real hopeless, y'know that?”

For some reason, that exasperated, pitying grin made my heart skip a beat. 

(Wh-why?)

(There's a gun to my head, why am I focusing on him…?)

Jude: “But I ain't here to listen to your requests, princess. So behave for me, will ya?”

His smile disappeared as he glared at the man. 

Jude: “Seems like ya think you've got the upper hand here.”

Jude: “Also seems like there's a lotta misunderstandings ‘bout me, so lemme correct ‘em.”

Jude: “Number one. It's true I like watchin’ people's misfortunes. And I do like money. But there's one thing I like more than all of that.”

Jude: “And that's when rich pigs like ya who play it safe while others suffer get what's comin’ to ‘em.”

Man in Bowler Hat: “...Huh?”

Just then, the sound of gunshots and screams tore through the air.

(What?!)

The guards surrounding the man in the bowler hat collapsed in the darkness. 

Man in Bowler Hat: “Wh-what the hell's going on?!”

Jude took advantage of the man's confusion and quickly closed the distance. He grabbed the hand that held the gun and twisted it. 

Jude: “Two. No matter what weakness ya try to exploit, I'll never forgive anyone who defaults on a contract.”

Man in Bowler Hat: “Argh!”

Jude: “Three.”

Kate: “...Ah!”

Jude grabbed me and roughly jerked me away from the man. 

Jude: “No matter what, she's gonna be comin’ back to me unharmed.”

Jude kneed the man hard in the gut, making him collapse on the spot. 

(He saved me again…)

He pulled me close to his chest, the sensation soothing my pounding heartbeat. 

(M-my heart isn't pounding because he saved me or is holding me…)

(It's because I'm scared… It has to be.)

I was making excuses to myself. And then, Jude pointed the gun at the man. 

Jude: “Don't worry. I'm not gonna hand ya over to any coppers.”

Jude: “In exchange, you're gonna become a test subject for some nice ‘n dangerous research we got goin’ on.”

Jude: “Dunno the joy of manual labor, do ya? Well, ya will now!”

The man was foaming and convulsing, then groaned in pain and passed out. 

Jude: “Ellis, carry him.”

Jude called out and Ellis appeared from the darkness. 

(It was Ellis who shot the guards.)

He was holding a handgun so casually it almost looked like a toy. 

Ellis: “How do you feel, Jude? You seem pretty happy right now.”

Jude: “The hell I ain't happy. Take this guy to the lab ‘n have the doc look at him.”

Ellis: “...Got it.”

Ellis looked a little disappointed, but he dragged the guy out of the warehouse. 

Kate: “...You’re not going to kill him?”

Jude: “I accepted this job from Queenie on the condition that if I destroyed his organization, they'd leave his life or death up to me.”

(Why would he want that…?)

Jude: “An easy death’d be too good for shitty people like him who get rich off other's suffering.”

Jude: “If ya do somethin’ vile, ya get it back in return. Ain't it fair for him to go through the same hell he caused before dyin’?”

Kate: “...This was a mission?”

Jude: “Yeah, so what if it was?”

Kate: “Then you didn't come to rescue me because I got kidnapped by chance?”

Jude: “No way in hell that was by chance. They knew I'd sniffed out their business.”

Jude: “And I knew they'd target somethin’ involvin’ me if they could.”

Jude: “If I sent ya wanderin’ ‘round here, it'd only be natural for ‘em to target ya, right?”

Kate: “So that's why you left me alone?”

Jude: “Why’re ya askin’ questions ya know the answer to, huh?”

Kate: “I could've been killed!”

Jude: “Nah, I don't screw up like that. Wouldn't let my bait get killed. Be a waste of ya, wouldn't it?”

(Did he just say he used me as bait?!)

Kate: “You are the worst…”

Jude: “You keep sayin’ that. Dontcha know any other words?”

Jude lit a cigarette and started walking out of the warehouse like he'd just finished a shift at work. 

But before he left, he gave a swift kick to Jack, who was lying on the ground groaning like the other guards. 

-outside-

Kate: “...Since my mission is to get to know you better, can I ask you something?”

Kate: “You said you were going to use him for research. What kind of research?”

Jude: “Somethin’ that's got not a single lick to do with ya.”

(Since Jude said it was dangerous, it must be quite bad… What kind of research needs humans, anyway?)

(I wonder if he'll end up hating Jude so badly afterwards that he'd want to kill him.)

I thought of the person who'd pointed the knife at him in the alley that afternoon. 

(How can he live so casually with people wanting to kill him 24/7?)

Kate: “The more you make people suffer, the more they're going to hate you.”

Kate: “So why are you so cruel?”

Jude: “It's the price ya pay for a fun hobby.”

Kate: “Even if you have to risk your life?”

Jude: “Ask a lotta questions, don’tcha?”

Jude stopped in his tracks and turned around to look at me. 

I jammed down my heels into an abrupt halt, so I didn't collide with him. 

And then he leaned in so close his nose almost touched mine. 

Jude: “If ya want, I could torment ya till ya hate me enough to wanna kill me too.”

The dark amusement in his eyes made something hot flare inside of me. 

Jude: “...Heh. I'm jokin’.”

He smiled with satisfaction, then took another drag off his cigarette. 

Jude: “You've never suffered once in your life, have ya, princess? So ya wouldn't get it.”

(I don't get it, and I don't want to either.)

(He's a cold, arrogant sadist.)

(He put my life in danger today… but he also protected me.)

If he'd really made that promise with me with malicious intent…

I wouldn't have survived this day.

-flashback-

Jude: “Don't go makin’ promises so easily, princess. You're gonna learn that lesson by the end of the day.”

-end flashback-

True to his word, I learned the rules of this dark world I'd entered. 

And the darkness surrounding him was probably why he knew the importance of making a promise. 

(I'm grateful, but at the same time I'm really frustrated.)

Kate: “Thank you… for today.”

Jude: “Ya don't sound like ya mean it. How ‘bout sayin’ it again with a smile?”

(How about I slap that smirk off your face instead?)

Kate: “I learned the dangers of making promises. I'll be more careful next time.”

I plastered a big smile on my face, as wide as I could manage. 

Jude: “That's better than nothin’.”

Jude laughed and then roughly grabbed my chin. 

Kate: “H-hey!”

Jude: “Ya were smart enough to keep your promise to Victor ‘n me.”

Jude: “But I saved your life twice today.”

Jude: “So ya owe me two things.”

(He says that even though he's the one who put it in danger in the first place?)

Jude: “Now, how're ya gonna repay your lover for helpin’ ya?”

Fin.

·✦...·✧

[main page]

[httpiastri]

this took way longer than expected but im back!

quick warning: this ask is really really long so putting that separation banner thing might help but if not, i hope this doesn’t bother anyone who has this pop up on their dash 😞🙏 (and please don’t hate me if it does)

important timestamps in pepe’s stream:

0:33 — pepe smiles and waves

1:21 — idk what this is but it’s so cute

3:54 — he got embarrassed 😭😭

9:03 — this is just attractive tbh

12:38 — 😊😊 (but really though why is he so casually attractive this is so unfair)

16:03 — his laugh…

12:33 — praising his mum

18:13 — from “i’m so sad” (x3) to “just get good mate”

18:37 — chitter chatter

19:32 — laugh

20:15 — quick flex 🤭😋

30:25 — his inner dork shows up and starts rating pokémon for us

42:19 — quick drop of the f-word

43:05 — bro idk this is just so cute he looks like that one specific picture of an otter begging for food with its paws together 😭😭

51:55 — quick mention of an incident (or backstory?) regarding his name that he proceeds to not tell us about

53:09 — this isn’t really pepe but christian has such a stupid sense of humour and icl i laughed

1:00:40 — christian’s stupid humour shows up again and this si the exact kind of joke i’d laugh so hard at and make under very specific circumstances and PEPE’S laugh is just so endearing here i love him so much

1:02:38 — pepe is good at chess, according to christian. don’t know if this is true— i used to play too but i forgot the rules and my family exclusively plays checkers (everyone’s insanely good at it) so i currently have zero knowledge about chess.

1:04:32 — “too tall 😞😞” (again, not for me, because my head would be right at chest level, as you so perfectly put into perspective for me😋😋)

1:05:55 — “kimi was always perfect” talk by christian and pepe

1:07:07 — pepe’s upset, christian says exactly what i’d say to him (this is just sweet tbh)

1:09:40 — quick stretch 🥰🥰

1:10:58 — i might be biased but i just think he’s so good at explaining and putting into perspective what exactly happens/happened during the race for us non-drivers

1:11:20 — ^^

1:11:37 — also so endearing

1:12:50 — sportsmanship or whatever but i love that he’s so respectful towards everyone

1:13:38 — kendall jenner mention by christian, also don’t knowwhat it is about this moment but it made me feel something about their friendship with sebastian (i don’t know how to put this feeling into words but i think they are mostly positive feelings)

1:24:33 — quick little dance to gata only (why’s he literally doing my default dance though 😭😭) but it’s okay i just think it’s so adorable

1:25:25 — CORRECTION: he can bench 138kg… which is insane to me but also he can do 150 on leg press?? that’s like three of me bro that’s so scary (🥰🤭😍😊) to think about

1:27:10 — christian reacts to pepe’s fitness the way i would (insanely)

1:38:56 — driving driving 🏎️🏎️ (really long section where i wanted to stare at him but was also enchanted and captivated by the smooth driving)

1:50:16 — “that’s what they said” joke 🤨📸

1:54:55 — quick thumbs up and a smile (what a lovable sweetheart)

2:12:00 — quick 🫶 followed by him crossing his arms

i’m sure there are more significant moments than this (like when he accidentally launched a tomato at christian in their game ((this is significant to me because again, i have a really stupid sense of humour and laughed really hard at that too)) but this is all i recorded and they’re mainly significant because they made me feel things (🤥🤥)

okay that’s it, bye bye!! some of the timestamps at the start (ish) might be a little off and you might’ve already watched the entire video but i hope this was helpful for you and anyone who may come across this (tbh this wasn’t an entirely selfless endeavour but anyway)— until next time (if and when new pepe content is dropped)!

p.s. i hope you also have a lovely lovely day ahead jackie!!

- 🪷

i'm very late but omFG i love you so much? you're crazy good ????? this was such a pleasure to read and watch, thank u sm 😭💗

(ppl cant hate since its about pepe <3<3 sorry not sorry guys)

0:33 and 1:21 – such a gorgeous boy :(( i love him so much :(((( i also don't really understand what's happening at 1:21 but his smile and laughter after makes me melt

3:54 – HE'S SO EMBARRASSED LMAO WHAT A CUTIE ?? he just doesn't stop laughing, and the little blush on his cheeks... the way his voice changes and 😭

9:03 – he's SO attractive and for what? he's not even doing anything?? but the arms around the chair..... and like i'm a knuckle cracker and hand/finger stretcher as well so whenever he does it i just melt bcs i find it so hot :( also him when chris goes "ÖÖÖÖÖÖ" into the mic and then complaining about the music being so loud idK HES JUST SO CUTE DOING PRETTY MUCH NOTHING BYE–

12:38 – casually attractive is a very fitting term for him... how is it possible ???

16:03 – I WANNA SCREAM AND CRY ?????? no his smile is the most adorable thing ever. i rlly wanna make a pepe laughter compilation but then i would never do anything productive ever again....

16:33 – mum mention <3<3 boys who are appreciative of their mothers <3<3<3<3

18:13 – the switchup 😭 and also him emphasizing "so", like "i'm SO sad"....... and also also his laughter after it 😭 and when he does that kind of like chortle thing? like at the back of his mouth thing? idk what it's called in english, someone help????? idk it's adorable anyway

18:37 – my bestie translated for me but i still understood nothing 💔 HE SOUNDS SO CUTE THO like him speaking spanish is always so 💗

19:32 – BABYYYYYYY!!!!! he is the most adorable person ever, im not even kidding

20:15 – oh i'm totally okay, no worries 👍

30:25 – I LOVE THIS i have no knowledge of pokemons (that was an overstatement, i know stuff but i haven't played since i was like 10) but i love that sm, dorky boys >>>>> the way he speaks about them is so cute idc. also him saying that pokemon is a very important thing to him is so 😭

42:19 – i definitely did not clip this the second i first read through this ask.... no but like why was that so attractive 🫠🫠 not fair (also him apologizing for it?? b a b y)

43:05 – IM CRYING I KNOW JUST WHAT U MEAN BUT I CANT FIND IT 😭😭

adorable tho ^^

51:55 – why does he not say more about this?? wth??? can someone fill me in ??????????? (fits very well with something i've written for the college!pepe fic tho 🤭)

53:09 & 1:00:40 – i love chris :(( i love both of their senses of humor omg, and pepe's laugh yet again..... my heart is going crazy

1:02:38 – okay i actually know NO chess, like i know the rules but nothing else. i don't even like it usually, but pepe playing chess........ why is that attractive 🫠🫠 and being able to talk while doing it also? he looks so smart? and even doing speed chess???? waaaaaaah 😭 and chris praising him 🙃 (checkers is so cool tho, i do not know the rules but anytime i watch anyone play it im very impressed)

1:04:32 – not too tall for you 🥰 that makes me very happy 🥰 i used to have a thing for boys the same height as me but not anymore so pepe bby you're definitely not too tall <3<3

1:05:55 – i forget sometimes that drivers like them are around the same age as kimi and would've driven against him in karting lol, like i forget that even pepe and kimi are in the same category rn ?? idk life is just 😵‍💫😵‍💫

1:07:07 – "i'm always going to think you're doing a good job" 🥺 so relatable 🥺 also pepe's grin when he's being praised.......

1:09:40 – oh im alright, thanks for asking 🫡🫡 no issues, my heart definitely isn't going crazy

1:10:58 – oh yes definitely !! as someone who can't even drive a regular car, i still understand very well? and all of the details are so interesting, i love hearing them talk about it. being nerdy about the stuff you like is soooo attractive ??? idk maybe that's just me tho

1:11:37 – nyeoooommmm 🥺 baby

1:12:50 – love love love that, i feel like the two of them are quite often very honest in interviews and such? like when they went on the feeder series pod together, they had no issues criticizing stuff they don't like. and so like the same here, they aren't just saying this because they're friends with gabri i feel, it's just honesty and 🥺 it's very endearing

1:13:38 – that was so random 😭 also funny how he mentioned seb but didn't then think about the fact that seb was there and probs could've ran into her ?? 😭 but yea idk their trio friendship is so endearing idk

1:24:33 – more spanish making me weak in my knees even as im sitting down 😶 aND CUTIE DANCE!!!!!! god he rlly got my thoughts running... like listening to songs in spanish with him and dancing and him singing along and just ??? no i cant take it (ALSO PLS THATS SO CUTE KSDHFFK DANCE W HIM!!!)

1:25:25 – okay so like two days ago when i went to the gym, i was like "ain't no way pepe is gonna beat me in leg press" so i went and did 160kg just out of pure stubbornness 😶 i've never done over like 110 or 120kg but i was determined. however, i did *not* attempt to beat him in bench because i can only do max like 60kg LMAO so nope. but yeah it's definitely insane...... scary in a good way 🥰

1:27:10 – chris is very relatableeeeeeeeeeee 🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠🫠 gosh

1:38:56 – him driving is so...... also idk why i love the sight of him wearing gloves for the sim AAAAAAA like i know it's not an uncommon thing but still like... idk it's just attractive 😶 and him driving that smoothly and easily while also chatting???? stop it pepe im blushing-

1:50:16 – ......no comment

1:54:55 – prettiest baby boy in the world, i kid you not

2:12:00 – who allowed him to first be the cutest cutie ever and then cross his arms like that, eye-

again tysm!! this stream gave me new hope in life 😭 whenever i feel bad i just go and watch it and...... well yeah 🥺 hope you have a lovely lovely weekend darling!!!! <3<3

[wehaveimagineshere]

Hey I don't know if either of you would be comfortable with doing this (totally chill if not) but could I request something for Carlos Oliveira comforting his s/o through an anxiety episode? My doctor is moving around my medication and the adjustment is making my anxiety attacks/depressive tendencies worse and im also scared to go to sleep due to nightmare issues.

iirc the Ren (the RE mod) only does scenarios but if I'm wrong any format is fine. Thanks for reading. You two have a nice day.

Anxiety and depression sucks, anon. I hope your new medication works soon and the demons are pushed back. I'm proud of you for fighting through it, for waking up every day <3

You're my first Resident Evil request! :D And for Carlos no less! Thank you so much, and I hope this scenario helps you <3

You didn't specify gender or pronouns, so it defaults to AFAB and she/her.

~*~*~

Your grip on the bathroom sink counter turns your knuckles white, your chest squeezing as you stare at your pajamas heaped next to the sink. Next to the toothpaste, that you inevitably have to use. Next to the toothbrush, your first step in this nightly ritual.

Maybe skipping all of this for one night wouldn't hurt. Maybe, maybe you could just go to bed with the clothes on your back, jeans and bra and socks included.

The familiar acid behind your eyes burns, throat constricting as you grip that counter for dear life. A short inhale, a whooshed exhale.

You don't want to do this.

Pressing your lips together to hide their quiver, you crouch down to escape the mirror, to escape the evidence as tears slip past. You grip the counter so hard it hurts, but the pain doesn't register as the tide erupts, filling your chest and lungs and limbs and--

Did you do anything productive today? Did you do it all the right way? Your hamper is full, why didn't you do your laundry? That lunch meat in your fridge is about to go bad and all you had today was toast instead. You need to eat or you'll feel worse, but what's the point? Every day leads to night and night leads to--

"I'm home!"

The call cuts into your thoughts, pausing them for just a moment before they shift direction.

Inhaling feels like swallowing glass as you rise, loosening your white knuckled grip to wipe at your wet face, to rub at your red eyes. Fingers tangling in your shirt, you almost whimper as your arm gets stuck in the fabric and you almost rip the seams in your haste.

Tossing the shirt onto the floor, you fumble as you regret the decision, trying and failing to grab it. Chest heaving, your fingers can't stop shaking as you try desperately to unlatch your bra, to be seen as being at least half way into getting dressed like a normal person.

"Honey?"

He's in the bedroom now and your fingers can't grab the hooks, they won't bend like you want them to and they won't stop shaking shaking shaking--

"Hey. Hey hey hey." Warm hands gently grip your upper arms, turning you to face him as his brown eyes dart. You know he notes the redness in your face and eyes, your inability to take a damn breath, the movements you can't stop as you choke down the tears--

"Hey," he breathes again, running his hands down your arms to guide your fingers away from your back and into his palms. "Take a deep breath." You nearly choke, and he squeezes your fingers, thumb running along your knuckles. "Inhale." You try again. "Good, good. Now exhale."

You do, feeling that damn lower lip quiver again and trap it between your teeth.

"One more time. Good."

This is ridiculous, you're ridiculous, why can't you just be normal like everyone else?

"Hey." Laying one hand on top of your other, his free hand cups your cheek, a thumb brushing away a stray tear. "You're safe, you're okay, I'm here. What do you need?"

You need to have normal dreams. You need to be able to plan your day without worrying about the wildest, stupidest things. You need to be able to make your breakfast without worrying if you're putting the correct things in the recycling even though you've put them there a hundred times already.

All that comes out is a broken sob.

"Can I hug you?"

A sniff, a small nod, and your cheek is pressed against his chest as he wraps you in his warmth. One arm snakes around your waist as another goes around your shoulders, his hand resting lightly against the back of your neck.

The tears come fully then, sobs wracking your body. Gripping him tight, Carlos your pillar in the storm, you break apart. Know you can shatter and he'll help you pick up the pieces, loving every shard put back into place, no matter how crooked the final picture becomes.

Fingers play with your hair soothingly as you ride out the panic, as it drains you so completely, as you soak Carlos' shirt with your tears. It could've been minutes or hours but eventually the river dries up, your lungs can take a deeper gulp of air, and your fingers can relax their death grip on his shirt.

"'M'sorry," you mumble out.

"For what?" His voice rumbles in his chest, against your cheek. "For being the biggest badass I've ever known?"

Trying to scoff but only achieving a small huff of air, you croak out, "'M'not."

"Of course you are." He rests his chin on the crown of your head. "You're the bravest person I know."

You roll your eyes.

"I felt that." You feel him pause. "Hey, do something for me." Turning you both so your eyes are directed at the mirror, he continues, "What do you see?"

Weakness, stupidity, uselessness, futility--

"I see a woman who got her pajamas ready even though she doesn't want to sleep." His fingers graze against your neck, knowing the movement will keep your eyes focused on your reflection. "I see a woman who woke up not feeling well but got out of bed anyway."

"I can't stay in bed all day," you mumble.

"That's what I'm talking about. You could stay in bed all day, but you don't. You could just drink a shit ton of coffee to stay awake, but you don't. You could call out of work, but you don't." He rubs his cheek against your head, presses his lips in for a quick kiss. "It's easy to do what I do and shoot things, but what you do? I don't know if I could do that."

A few more tears slip out, but this time accompanied with a small smile on your lips. Strained, pained, but a smile nonetheless.

"And to still look stunning doing it all?" He smiles wide, giving you a wink through the mirror. "Strong and good looking."

That smile pulls just a little wider. "I look like shit."

"You look like you just beat the hell out of some demons and walked away the winner. That's sexy. Hell is literally a part of a demon's make up."

The scoff sounds a little bit more like a scoff now. "Looking like I just climbed out of a ditch is sexy?"

"Hell yeah it is. I ever tell you the color of your eyes pop after you've cried?"

"No."

"Well, the color of your eyes pop after you cry." He cups your cheeks and turns your face to his, his nose brushing against yours as he squints. "Beautiful."

"You're so cheesy."

"Does it work?"

You press your lips together and squint in faux contemplation.

"I'm taking that as a yes."

Rolling your eyes, the smile finally breaks free.

"There it is," he smiles back, giving a peck of a kiss on your nose. "You'll be okay?"

Wiping a hand across your eyes, you exhale heavily. "I'll be okay."

"So..." A hand leaves a cheek to snake down your shoulder blades, and you raise an eyebrow as he asks with a light, playful smile, "Need help with this?" A finger slips under your bra strap, right against the clasp.

"Aiming to practice, are you?"

"I don't need practice, princess. Taking off a bra is easy."

"Y'okay, big guy." Sharing a smile, you shake your head. "I'll be alright. Thank you."

That smile morphs into a genuine one. "You're welcome." Stepping back, he gives you a long, searching look before flashing a relieved smile and padding back into the bedroom. "Hurry up and get dressed!"

"So bossy!" you call, turning back to your pajamas. Your hands rests atop the fabric, muscles threatening to lock again.

"I wanna cuddle!"

A huff of a laugh escapes your nose, taking with it the rest of the tension running through your body, and you hurriedly free the girls before slipping on your pajama shirt.

[corvids-corner]

Sometimes you’ll be having a bad dysphoria day and stressing over what to wear to a party and even wear your binder etc., and then later while drunk you’ll get misgendered in the funniest way possible and you’re not even upset about it bc like, oh right, none of this even matters, we’re all just apes with slightly varying phenotypes taking wild stabs in the dark at the complex inner workings of each other’s minds and there will be ones who get closer to the truth and ones who are wildly off target even if they mean well, you could wear the gayest outfit ever and straight people will still default to thinking everyone else is straight, you can have a mustache and a deeper voice and a flat chest and people will still assume you’re a woman because you’re short and not skinny and maybe because you have long hair, and ofc women can have all those things, so why not? As long as they’re kind and get it right after you correct them that’s all that really matters I guess, sorry for the ramble I’m not sober and I’ve had a weird day

[maryeve-the-bitch]

au where romano is a clothes designer and tailor for a modelling company. He makes extravagant clothes for the models and make them fit the models. He likes his jobs. He gets to dress up beautiful women and men.

one of his design was a tight short dress, showing the man's legs and a bit of the chest. The designed was more of a fantasy type than a real one that he would submit to his bosses, but Francis was passing by when he saw what Romano was working on and he immediately grabbed the paper to look at it better. Romano urged him to give the paper back and told him he shouldn't be here and to let him work in peace. But Francis actually liked the design.

One day there is a new model and bitch is french. Romano hates the french by default, but he can't deny the man is pretty. He tried to be civil with the french, but Francis sometimes act like a diva. Francis was hired to especially wear clothes traditionally made for women like dresses and skirts but the company wants to make dresses and skirts for men, because "folks today like to break gender norms" (also because i say so) and Romano was mandated to design clothes for him (and the clothes need to be approved by his bosses but they usually like his designs with a few corrections). He actually like designing dresses and such and for a man's body, it sounds even more amazing.

He fainted to throw the paper in the trash, leaving Francis sad as he left, but he grabbed it back, folded it and put it in his pocket. In case...

"Are you going to make me wear this?"

"No! Give it back already!"

"Oh I know you would like to see me in this" Francis teased

"Absolutely not! That was a practice design. I'll destroy it"

"Please don't! I love it. I want to wear it"

"You do?...Well too bad. I'm not making it"

"Why not?" Francis made a puppy face.

"The bosses won't approve it. I'll keep working on another one." Romano took the design back.

Another model called Antonio was hired and Romano was thrilled to work with him when he met him. He is even more pretty than Francis, according to him. He has such a well toned round ass, thighs to match and an angelic face. Alas, Francis quickly befriended him before Romano's awkward ass could do anything. And it almost looks like Francis was all over him, touching him and standing too close to his taste. It was making him both mad and horny, making his work harder than it is. They weren't making gay porn.

[fulcrumstardust]

Did you say 👀👀 Halloween fic 👀👀 tell us more 👀👀

yes hello thank you for giving me attention 🥰

maybe you were already there last year when I made my followers build a fic! then life happened etc, so I didn't deliver but I'm back at it 🎃👻🍬🦇💀🧡

for reference this was the winning result of my polls:

strangers meeting for the first time

instant connection/attraction, no chill

sneak out and do chaotic activities

dom!Cassian

slutty preview under the cut:

“Like you’re not wondering how I would fuck you,” he whispers in her ear, moving his head before he continues. “I bet you’re tired of those pizza guys pretending to be nice and charming who don’t give you what you need. Maybe you do it yourself so it’s not awkward afterward. Or you just say you had a good time and run for the closest exit available.”

Hey, now. This is so uncomfortably specific and yet deadly on target, what the fuck.

“Wow, and you know all that just by looking at me?” Jyn snarls. “Are you psychic?”

“You're not that hard to read.”. 

Finishing off the wounded, okay. The funny thing is, Jyn’s default response to emotional damage is not going to weekly therapy. Quite the opposite, in fact. The best defense is offense, or something. So, of course, her first instinct when a random stranger decides to sexually profile her in the middle of a crypt is to ask for credentials. She might be fucked up but she’s no coward. Take that, shithead. 

“So what’s your move? Go on, let’s see why you talk such a big game. Do your thing.” 

She waits, defying chin up, hoping that’ll shut him up. 

“Not here.”

Imagine her surprise when the first thing she registers is a sinking, burning disappointment. Yeah, she wanted to call his bluff, sure. But that doesn’t mean the man isn’t factually correct. And maybe if he bent her over a coffin, she’d calm down. Just throwing ideas out there. 

Jyn pushes him away, looking to get some personal space. “You're sending mixed signals, man. I don't like that.” 

Before she can move, Cassian pulls her back by the waist. This is getting danger-close to warranting a fist fight. If the dude keeps pushing his handsy luck… 

“My thing,” he explains with a neutral tone, “is to be in charge. Exclusively. I don't think you'd enjoy it here.”

Jyn unclenches her fists, staying put. Her shoulder against his comfortable chest. Thinking about it. “What, like, some kinky shit with chains and leather?”

Cassian’s laugh brushes over her face. His hands are back on her, somehow, and she still doesn't hate the electricity she feels at the contact. Maybe she should. Especially when his voice gets an octave lower and her self-control keeps checking out. 

“I don't need chains to make you beg. But I can put on gloves if you ask nicely.” 

This is… new.