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comatosebunny09 · 2 months ago

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apt 302 | sylus q.

— summary: at first, your new neighbor was as mysterious as he was handsome. after taking some time to get to know him—or forcing your way into his quiet life—you realize looks can be deceiving. — cw: gn reader, neighbors au, neighbors to friends to lovers, profanity, innuendoes, jealousy, misunderstandings, stalker ex, alcohol use, guns mentioned, self-indulgent, allusions to reincarnation, angst, pet names, sylus being an insufferable gentleman, slice of life — dividers by: @omi-resources — notes: this grew way longer than i expected, soooooo you’re gonna hate me for what comes next. anyways, thank you so much for reading! — now playing: my favorite person now - she was pretty ost — tagging: @alfredosaws, @chuppiechanchan @hao-ming-8 @antonneva @sunsets-and-crows @leighsartworks216 @grabby-smitten @nebulorra @minniestarmj @elysiums-light @saiaise @queenofstresss @beewilko @aetherscribit @libriomancer @world-of-hearts @awkwardnurse @huachengnism

Information Technology isn’t as cushy of a field as you initially thought.

Sure, you have a desk job doing the most mundane of things—working the help desk, troubleshooting devices, re-imaging computers. But your job isn’t without its drawbacks.

Sometimes, the days are long and arduous. The constant customer interaction doesn’t help matters; you’re a bit of an introvert, requiring five business days to recover from just a few hours of socializing.

So, forgive you for seeking a little respite in the form of your favorite set of pajamas and fuzzy slippers as you ease into your apartment.

The weight of the world sloughs off your shoulders when the door leading inside clicks shut behind you. You sigh gratefully, the sound of your keys clattering against your entryway table, intermingling with that of your AC humming to life.

You hang your bag and sweater on the coat rack. Trade your uncomfortable shoes for house slippers, the soreness in your heels slowly retreating. The last vestiges of sunlight creep through the slits of your blinds to bathe your home in its ethereal glow before ducking behind the horizon.

Your apartment is humble. Has a natural, minimalistic vibe with bits of decor displaying your personality sprinkled throughout. You already pay the price of a kidney and two lungs to stay here. No use investing in posh furniture when your job sometimes requires you to pick up and go at the drop of a hat.

Your stomach growls whilst you draw your curtains shut and turn on some ambient lighting via your phone. You’ll eat soon, you promise. For now, you’re on a mission.

Quietly, you move through your home in search of your laundry area, thoroughly prepared to slip into your PJs following a shower to jumpstart your weekend.

Too bad a pile of sopping wet clothes awaits you when you open your dryer door.

“Goddammit,” said under your breath as you mash the power button. It won’t turn on. Figures. You kick the offending appliance. Stupid thing must be out again.

You had set your clothes to dry before you left for work. You were looking forward to snuggling up with wine and your favorite show, donned in comfy clothes. Seems your dryer had other plans.

You should’ve replaced it months ago when it first started acting up. You had hoped to salvage it a little longer; appliances don’t come cheap these days. Besides, you’ve had a darling neighbor to fix it each time. To extend its lifespan.

Speaking of which—

Chewing your lip, you pad over your cold, hardwood floor to snatch your phone from the coffee table. Fall onto your couch cushions with a devious smile twitching your lips. It’s getting late, so you don’t think to badger him into tinkering with your dryer tonight. However, perhaps he’ll let you utilize his. At least until you can use your day off tomorrow to shop for a replacement.

You hover your thumb over his contact, his name flanked by crow emojis. Contemplate calling him, but what if he’s busy? This is usually about the time he’s leaving. Instead, you settle for opening your messaging app, already conjuring an excuse.

(You): 🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛💥💥💥 (Sylus): lol (Sylus): good morning to you too. (You): 😒😒😒 dude it’s like 6 (Sylus): 🤷‍♂️ (Sylus): im just now getting up. long day at the office. (Sylus): whats up? (You): are you busy tonight?? (Sylus): not really. 😏 what did you have in mind ? (You): pause. not like that (Sylus): 😢 (You): my dryer’s out again (Sylus): ah. want me to take a look? (You): nah you already do so much (You): is it cool if i use yours tho? 😬😬😬 (You): i’ll bring you booze (Sylus): lol (Sylus): its fine sweetie. doors unlocked. ill be in the shower. help yourself. (You): 🙏🙏🙏

You take your time gathering your saturated clothes into a basket. On your way out, you snag a bottle of Merlot from your fridge.

No matter how often you’ve been here, you don’t think you’ll ever get used to how much more… put together Sylus’ place is compared to yours.

It suits him—the black and red furniture, the stylish accents littering his apartment. It smells delightful inside, a mixture of mahogany and amber enmeshed with remnants of food. Soulful jazz flows from a record player, fitting the sepia-toned glow of floor lamps and candles flickering on every other surface.

You toe the door shut behind you. Feel so small and out of place amid his decor. You’ve only recently started coming here, having spent much of your time together inside your apartment. Regardless, you navigate his space like it’s your second home, finding his washer and dryer set.

After starting your clothes in the dryer, you wander back to the living room, hands stuffed in the pockets of your cardigan. You take some time to admire the atmosphere. Fingers skim over the various vinyls organized on a built-in bookcase on the wall.

You snort with a half-smile. You know so little about your neighbor, yet you know just enough to be this comfortable with him.

He’s a music buff; that much is for sure. He’s clearly made of money if the luxurious furniture and his car are anything to go by. You don’t press him about what he does for a living. Figure he values his privacy above all else, unlike you.

You’re an open book. The primary yapper in your acquaintanceship, prattling on about your life and aspirations. And he just sits there, wordlessly nodding with a polite smile behind the rim of his glass. Where you would otherwise be wary of being in someone’s home like this, you feel safe around him in a way that almost terrifies you.

“Admiring the decor,” teases a voice from behind.

You jolt, spinning around like you’ve been caught stealing. You’re met with a smirk beneath scarlet eyes, twinkling with mischief. Strands of white cling to Sylus’ forehead, damp from the warm spray of his shower. He towels his hair dry, maneuvering around the living set towards you.

“Hey, you,” you greet, trying to play it cool. Like your heart isn’t hammering and heat isn’t branching into your cheeks. You attempt to maintain eye contact. It’s increasingly difficult to do so with his physique peeking through his t-shirt and sweats like that.

“Hey, yourself.” There’s amusement in the deep gravel of his voice. A smile in his eyes as he studies you, draping his towel around his shoulders.

You swallow. Try to divert the subject, motioning to his record collection. “You got some new tunes, I see.”

A chuckle is dredged from the bowels of his chest. You feel it pull in your stomach. “Sure did. Got something you might like.”

God help you as he reaches around you, the fine hairs littering your body standing on end, your mouth agape like a fish out of water.

Unconsciously, you step back, your spine softly thudding against the records display. Your heartbeat’s on a warpath, and you swallow against the dryness of your throat as the veiny, sinewy muscle in his forearm stains your periphery.

He gives you a bemused look before slowly peeling a record from the shelf behind you. Steps back to fish out the vinyl and settle it on the platter, replacing the record that was just playing.

You release a breath you were unaware of holding. Good job playing it cool, dumbass.

“You alright?” Sylus quizzes with a raised brow. “You seem a little on edge tonight, sweetie.”

You sigh, schooling an unconvincing smile onto your face. Try to ignore how the term of endearment glides off his tongue so effortlessly. You wonder how many other people he addresses like that.

“Work was…rough today. Kicked my ass. I’m tired.”

A snarling sound invades the space between you, heard over the gentle croon of the new music. Your eyes fall to your stomach. You rub it placatingly. In all your haste to have some dry friggin’ clothes, you forgot to eat.

“And hungry, too,” you sheepishly add.

You glance up, and Sylus’ gaze tracks from your stomach to your face. He smirks knowingly, motioning with a nod toward his kitchen.

“Figured you didn’t eat yet. I made carbonara if you’d like some.”

You smile wryly at his back as he pads away, carrying the scent of cedarwood and bergamot with him. Where would you be without such a doting neighbor?

You track him to the kitchen. Leaning against the threshold, you watch him procure a bottle of water from his fridge. It’s so very small, dwarfed by his massive hand.

“I suddenly got called for a Teams meeting five minutes ago.”

Your heart drops, the smile nearly falling from your face. And here you thought you’d have his company over dinner.

Suddenly, he taps your nose, drawing you out of your thoughts. You hadn’t noticed when he got closer, swaddled in the static of your bodies being so close. “Where did you run off to,” he rasps, searching your gaze for something.

The proximity of your bodies grows stifling, his warm breath glazing over your skin, dizzying. When he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, he steps back, leaving you shell-shocked and utterly confused.

“In the meantime, make yourself at home. You know where everything is,” he says, brushing past you with an air of finality.

You strain your ears for the noise of a distant door shutting before you make your move, rummaging through his cupboards and drawers for a plate and cutlery. After you’ve scooped a decent helping of food onto your plate, you settle onto one of his velvet couches, cross-legged and shoveling food into your maw.

The fluttering of wings piques your interest. You’ve hardly any time to acknowledge him before a tuft of black, iridescent feathers shines from Sylus’ coffee table. The crow studies you curiously, ingesting you with his beady eyes before he preens himself.

“Me-fith-toe!” you greet around a mouthful of food.

Said crow ducks away, dodging errant crumbs and spit flying from your mouth, cawing in protest. You give him a rueful look.

Sylus has a soft spot for animals. You noted it the first time you entered his apartment, greeted by his boisterous companion. Funny; he doesn’t look like the type to have such an eccentric pet.

But Sylus has found numerous ways of pleasantly surprising you, revealing parts of himself to you bit by agonizing bit.

“Chicken?” you say after finally swallowing, offering a forkful of pasta to the bird. Mephisto scrutinizes the food before resigning himself to pecking at it. You smile fondly, your eyes crinkling with mirth. “Mephisto, you cannibal.”

Lulled by the occasional flap of Mephisto’s wings and Sylus’ even tone murmuring things of business somewhere far off in his home, you fall into a familiar rhythm, quietly waiting for your clothes to dry.

You spend the remainder of your evening in your neighbor’s company, drinking Merlot and judging each other’s music tastes, long after your pajamas have dried and settled in the dryer.

“So, have you boned yet?”

You choke on your waffle. Pound on your chest with the heel of your palm to dislodge it. You turn narrowed eyes on the source of the question. She merely shrugs from across the table, sipping her mimosa as if she’s asked the most innocent thing.

“Bitch.”

“What?” She appears nonplussed, setting her champagne flute down with a definitive clack. All serious when she returns your stare over crossed arms, and you know you’re in for it.

“You talk about the guy so much I figured you would’ve already, ya know…” The humping gesture she makes under the table is a bit much.

You blanch. “No, dumbass, I haven’t boned.” Your voice peters towards the end of your sentence. And you peer down at the napkin folded in your lap, heat prickling your face.

You won’t deny Sylus is good-looking. More like he could be someone modeling Prada on a catwalk. Can’t pretend you haven’t entertained the thought of being a little closer to him, too. More than just the late nights spent talking or him fixing something you broke.

You shake your head. Of all the times you’ve been tucked away in either of your apartments, he’s never made a move on you. Sure, he’s said some pretty suss things. Flirted with you outside of your usual banter.

And maybe he’s done things to confuse the ever-loving hell out of you—cooked you breakfast when you were drunk off your ass and hungover the next morning. Lended you one of his expensive record players. Shacked up at your place a few times under the guise of “coming to get Mephisto.” But—

Nah. He’s not like that. You’re just neighbors, right? Unofficial friends. Friends hang out all the time, right?

“He’s not like that,” you say brattishly, stuffing more food into your face. At least not with you.

You don’t miss your coworker’s fox-like grin spreading in your periphery. She taps her cheek thoughtfully, watching you like a smug sibling about to snitch.

“Sure, sure. If you say so. He’s still a man, though. He might not have tried you yet—”

“Hush,” you interject. The table shakes, cups rattling as you saw into your sausage with your fork and butter knife. You’re done with this conversation.

Try as you might, however, you can’t banish your thoughts revolving around him. Especially with your coworker watching you like that, silently egging you on.

He’s not that kind of guy.

He’s still a man, though.

You’ve repeated it like a mantra throughout your day, even as you mindlessly clacked away at your computer.

Work was a blur. An exhausting blur. Day gave way to the soothing exhale of night, and you were finally nestled in the quiet sanctuary of your apartment, on your couch, entertaining yourself with a game of Uno. It wasn’t much fun playing alone, but you needed a distraction from the mess of your mind when your favorite show couldn’t help.

It’s a quarter past 9 when a shuffling sound in the breezeway outside your apartment catches your attention. It’s accompanied by the echoed rasp of a recognizable voice, chuckling and murmuring indiscernible things.

You peel yourself from your couch as if on autopilot, nose pressed against the cold metal of your door as you peer through the peephole.

It’s your nightly ritual—waiting like an overzealous puppy to greet or send off your neighbor. You don’t always get the luxury of saying goodnight in person. Sometimes, he’s gone for days—weeks—at a time. You don’t know the semantics of his job, but you make it your mission to help assuage whatever burdens he shoulders whenever you can.

He’s there to help you, after all. Whether with a glass of wine, a warm meal, or his company.

So, forgive you for wanting to be a decent neighbor. And you would be tonight if not for the scene that passes through the fisheye of your peephole.

It’s Sylus, clad in something flattering and expensive. There’s no mistaking his broad back and shoulders. The purl of his voice, the wispy dusting of alabaster hair on his collar. But the smaller frame with him, well—

Your heart plummets into your stomach.

She’s pretty from what you can glean from the limited view of your peephole. Donned in a dress that’s form-fitting, voice high and light. Giggling silly things, fastened to Sylus’ side, held there by a virile arm draped around her middle. She’s drunk if the sloppy lean of her body is anything to go by. Sylus angles himself near her ear to whisper something, ushering in a new set of giggles.

You watch with your breath corked in your esophagus until they slide into his apartment together, their enmeshed voices fading from the stilled walls of the hallway.

Huh. Well, so much for him not being that type of guy.

You grapple with this new revelation, a furrow between your brows, hands falling listlessly at your sides. Numb as you drag yourself back to your couch, bouncing comically on the cushions.

You don’t even know why you’re upset. He's a grown man with a…life. You think.

It’s the first time you’ve witnessed him bringing someone to his place other than you, but it’s only natural for a guy like him to have options. He’s far from hideous. Has the gift of gab, for God’s sake. He’s charming and the very definition of masculine.

It just stings a little, knowing that it’s not…you that he’s touching like that.

So, you are definitely not flinging Uno cards onto the coffee table. Muttering things to yourself, gripping the stack in your hands so tightly, the plastic squeaks. What’s even got your undies in a bunch? The man’s not yours. You’ve never screwed around. Never really showed signs of wanting to, so it makes sense he would seek pleasures of the flesh elsewhere. His world doesn’t solely revolve around you as much as you would like for it to.

You’re halfway through a third round of angry card-flinging before a soft rap at your door nearly sends you some 30 feet into the air.

Stomping to your entrance, you peek through the peephole, and your heart works overtime when you catch sight of a wash of black and scarlet.

Internally, you scold yourself for how gullible you are. You throw the door open like you weren’t just cursing him and his stupid existence moments ago. Try to act nonplussed, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorframe with a haughty look.

Of course, he would smell good. Look good, propped against the threshold like that, an amused cant to his lips, his physique devastating beneath the tight cling of his turtleneck.

“Hey,” he greets, the sound breathy and easy like warmed honey.

“Hey, yourself.”

He studies you for a bit. Eyes flicker over your face, and you tamp down the sparkling rush of warmth that wades over your skin at the attention. Even when you’re mad at him, your attraction still finds an annoying way of creeping through the seams.

“This is going to sound incredibly strange, and feel free to tell me to piss off, but…do you mind if I crash on your couch for the night?”

You stand up straight. Blink owlishly, mouth opening and closing. “Huh?” is all you’re able to muster.

He chuckles, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this side of bashful. “Yeah. It’s a…bit of a long story, sweetie.”

“O-Okay,” you say, rigidly moving aside.

“Thanks.” The charm is back on, turned up to max capacity. He brushes past you into your apartment, falling onto your couch with a huff. Quirks a brow at the mishap on your table, the carnage having spilled onto the floor.

“I’m almost afraid to ask, but were you playing Uno by yourself?”

You ignore him, plopping cross-legged on a floor cushion adjacent to him. Bypassing the tick in your brow, you look off to the side, fighting the embarrassment threatening to take hold of your visage. Shouldn’t he be across the hall, entertaining his company?

“Shut up and grab some cards,” you grumble to dispel the green-eyed thoughts stewing in your mind.

“Bossy.” But he doesn’t contest you, gathering the abused cards to shuffle them.

The remainder of your evening slides by with comfortable quips. With booze and a break to catch up on Love Is Blind—somehow, he’d roped you into watching it.

You had no idea he was such a sap. Nearly forgotten how miffed you were mere hours ago.

He assuaged your worries with an explanation as the sun crept over the city.

The girl in his apartment was an old colleague who’d gotten drunk and convinced herself that she was anything but.

Being a good samaritan, Sylus brought her to his place to sober up since the apartment complex wasn’t too far from the main strip of bars. He didn’t want any issues when she inevitably woke up. Messing with drunk people wasn’t his thing.

So that’s how he ended up here, inhabiting your couch like he’d always been a part of the decor.

He didn’t owe you an explanation. You were just friends. Still, you couldn’t help the quiet smile that twitched your lips after he cleared the air.

At some point in the morning, you both fell asleep. He looked all serene, too big for your sofa, but comfortable. You watched his lashes flutter from your place on the floor, his lips parting with soundless exhales. Even in sleep, he maintained that guarded aura, his arms folded across his chest.

You were bleary-eyed, gathering yourself from the hardwood to fetch a blanket to drape over him. He shifted, and he was so pretty with the sun bathing him in an angelic glow like that, his hair bright like a halo.

You were about to retreat to your bedroom when an abrupt knock tore you from your reverie. You glanced at your guest, ensuring he went undisturbed. He needed the rest. He was a night owl, and something about the sun vexed him, so he typically spent his days sleeping when you weren’t impeding on his time.

You moved to the door, foregoing the peephole to open it. Big mistake.

On the other side stood Little Miss Pretty from the night prior, impatiently tapping her foot. Her hair was flattened on one side, and her dress was askew. By the looks of it, sleep hadn’t been kind to her.

“Hi, good morning,” she sighed, schooling her expression into fake politeness. She straightened herself as best she could, but the white patch of dried slob staining her chin did little to help her plight. You bit back a snicker.

“I’m looking for a friend. He lives across from you. His name’s Skye.”

You quirked a brow at that. Skye? Oh, honey…

You wondered how many other people Sylus had fed a fake alias to. Or if Sylus was even his real name.

“Haven’t seen him,” you chirped over crossed arms. Pulled the door slightly closed behind you, barring the woman from getting a peek at him, nuzzled up so cozily on your couch.

She sighed with slumped shoulders. A childish pout warped her lips. Her voice shifted into something more bratty. “You sure? Tall guy, white hair, red eyes? You can’t miss ‘em.”

“Not ringing a bell, hun. Sorry.”

It was taking all of you to keep up this ruse. You were fighting so hard to tamp down your amusement. This woman reminded you of an antagonist in a Korean drama, the way she was kicking and huffing about.

“Where the hell did he go,” she groused. You watched her draw her phone from the pocket of her fur coat, your throat growing dry.

Your blood turned to ice when a familiar ringtone chimed in your apartment behind you. You stiffened comically; mouth hinged open with shock.

The woman’s expression morphed into one of suspicion. She tried to look inside your home, the upbeat ring of Sylus’ phone still flooding the uncomfortable silence.

She narrowed her eyes, trying to assert her way inside. “What the fu—”

“Hey, girlie. Back the hell off before I call the police,” you warned with a hand pushed to her sternum. She insisted on being unruly, so you snatched your taser from the entryway table, the telltale blue sparks and sharp whip of static causing the woman to jolt back with alarm.

“You’re both insane!” she shouted from the hallway, the stomp of her heels reverberating off the walls as she made her way to the stairwell.

With a relieved sigh deflating your chest, you eased the door shut. Leaned against it, glancing at the man of the hour. He was still fast asleep, his leg dangling off the edge of your sofa. You smirked knowingly, shaking your head as you disappeared into your bedroom.

You’d let him sleep for as long as he needed. And you’d give him shit when he awoke about his taste in acquaintances.

(Sylus): hungry? (You): a little. was gonna make some ramen if you want (Sylus): 🤢 (Sylus): that stuffs terrible for your digestion sweetie. (Sylus): how about i make you dinner instead ? (Sylus): at the supermarket. need anything? (You): 😲😲😲 (You): you keep spoiling me and i might think you like me (Sylus): 😏 (You): nvm. no don’t need anything. lemme know when you’re back (You): i can help with groceries (Sylus): now who likes who? (You): fkdkos (Sylus): ? (You): sorry fat fingers

You have a nasty habit of not using your peephole as of late.

Your apartment came with one for a reason. Sure, your neighborhood’s been pretty tame since you’ve moved here. But that doesn’t mean the occasional weirdo doesn’t slip past security, roaming the halls and startling the other tenants.

You’ve found yourself forgoing the use of it a lot lately, given the only person who typically knocks on your door is the guy across the hall. And he usually calls or texts before he bugs you, but that doesn’t stop him from being spontaneous. You suppose today is one of those such cases after he manipulated you with dinner.

Maybe his hands are full, you muse, unlocking your door. Though you’re doubtful he can’t handle a few bags. You’ve seen him in action at the community gym, thick cords of muscle rippling beneath a tan stretch of skin.

You draw the door open with a smile, expecting to see a customary thatch of white. What confronts you instead sends a tide of dread washing over your innards.

“Oh, thank God you’re home,” breathes a voice you haven’t heard in months. A voice that still makes your body stiffen, and your blood run cold.

When your senses return, you step back into your apartment, thoroughly intending to slam the door in your ex’s face. They’re quicker, however, wedging themselves in the gap before you can shut it. Grabbing for you, a crazed look warping their features.

“Baby, please! Talk to me! I miss you!”

You bat at their hand, trying vainly to crush them, to scare them off. It’s to no avail, and you wonder if they’re coked up, giving you a run for your money as they try to bully their way into your home.

There’s a softball bat propped on the wall, and your fingers brush the base of it in your attempt to grab it. Something to defend yourself since your taser’s out of reach, tucked somewhere in your bag.

The sounds of your struggle intermingle, your voice strained and panting, please please please, and your ex’s caught between sobs of your name.

Just a little further. Just—

Suddenly, there’s no more resistance in your door. You stumble against it, a wild look in your eyes. And then, there is the noise of a brief scuffle. Of a back being shoved against a wall, of rusting plastic bags, of “Who the fuck are you?!”

Amid your panicked frenzy, you glance up to see a back to you. Barring you from the view beyond your threshold, and your body’s awash with relief as you register your savior’s form.

“You would do well to piss off,” seethes Sylus, and there’s an edge to his voice you’ve never heard before. You feel it furling in your stomach, burning your lungs. And in this moment, you don’t know who to be more afraid of.

Your ex makes a sound of protest, but you imagine the cut of Sylus’ eyes deterring them.

There is the scuffling of shoes across the concrete flooring of the breezeway, and you listen with bated breath until the cacophony fades at the foot of the stairs, willing your heart to ease down.

Scarlet eyes shift to you, brows knit with concern. “Who was that?” Sylus asks, tone cautious as if he doesn’t want to startle you more than you’ve already been.

You right yourself, smoothing out the wrinkles of your clothes. Finally grab your bat, waving it intimidatingly as you step aside to let your neighbor in.

“My stupid ex. Just know you saved their life. ‘cause I was gonna—” You make swinging gestures, the metal bat swooping in the air. The corners of Sylus’ eyes crinkle.

“Slow down before you hurt yourself.” He kneels to retrieve the bags he’d tossed down in his haste to intervene. You scurry over to help, gathering up spilled food.

Once you’re both inside, the bags placed haphazardly on the counter, you’re seated on your sofa, nursing the rush of adrenaline still spuming through you like the hot rush of a geyser.

“You need to get a restraining order,” says Sylus. He emerges from your kitchen with a tense set to his jaws, two bottles of Angry Orchard clasped between his fingers.

Plopping down beside you, an arm draped over the headrest, he shoves a bottle into your hand, side-eyeing you as he throws his head back for a swig.

You babysit the cider, the crisp condensation of it serving to ground you. “Yeah, yeah.”

“I’m not asking, sweetie.”

You bristle under the weight of his tone, feeling much like a scolded child. You know this. Should’ve done it long ago the first time your ex took it upon themselves to do surprise pop-ups at your place—at your job.

“And an alarm system.”

“I know, I know.”

“I can take you right now to look for one—”

“I got it, Sy! Fuck, I-I got it.” You release a weighted sigh, warring with yourself.

Not only do you feel silly for being so lackadaisical with your life. But now, you feel even worse for the seemingly impenetrable silence that settles between you. You didn’t mean to yell, frustration and adrenaline having burbled to the surface. He was just worried. No need to take your emotions out on him.

Sylus exhales slowly, an unreadable expression descending onto his face whilst staring at the wall.

“Sorry,” you murmur, unconsciously patting his quad. You don’t miss how he stiffens; don’t miss the tight coiling of tendons in his neck. You retract your hand, instead drumming your fingers along the bottom of your bottle.

“I’m assuming this isn’t the first time this has happened,” queries Sylus in an attempt to dispel the tense atmosphere.

You shake your head, shrinking into yourself. Stare at your lap, pulling at some frayed threads in your bottoms.

“How did they even manage to get up here?”

You shrug. The security guards at the gates aren’t always the most attentive. Besides, sometimes, the pin pad leading into the lobby malfunctions, making it easier for anyone to just slip into your complex.

Unprompted, you begin to bare yourself, explaining the possibilities of why your ex showed up.

Sylus listens attentively. Doesn’t interrupt you, watching the subtle shifts of your expressions as you speak.

You tell him that things weren’t bad in the beginning about two years ago. How your ex said and did all the right things, and they were wonderful. But they wanted something you weren’t ready for. You had some growing up to do, so you broke things off. Moved to another city, started a new job.

You didn’t bank on them following you.

The visits were random at first. Occasional run-ins at the park, the bar. Things soon blossomed into something more concerning when your ex found your new address after you relocated to another part of the city to ease the stress of the commute.

This was their second time making an appearance at your door. You knew you should’ve done something to protect yourself sooner, but you didn’t think much of it then. Figured they would live and let be. Today proved otherwise.

“You’re grossly naive, sweetie.”

You snort before gulping down the remnants of your cider. “Way to make me feel better.”

He chuckles, and it’s comforting, your thighs pressing together amid your dinky couch. “It’s what I’m here for. But I could understand how you could drive someone to such extremes.”

You glare at him. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means…”

Before you know what’s about, he’s panning in, flooding your vision with the scarlet shine of his eyes. With the wispy dance of his lashes until his breath fans over your molten cheeks. Limber fingers sneak beneath your chin, slightly tilting your head back.

Warmth wades over you. Your breath swells in your chest. Lips purse as a mysterious shade of burgundy leaks over his irises. His voice drops a few octaves, husky, the sound of it pinching in your stomach.

“It means that you’re someone worth fighting for.”

You scoff, shaking yourself away from his hold. Ignore the bashfulness creeping into your face in favor of being a cheeky little shit.

“All right, Li Shang. Getting a little too serious over there.”

He huffs a laugh in response, popping up to grab another round of ciders from your fridge.

Ingredients sat untouched on the countertop as your evening eased by. You’d settled on a pizza, catching up on shows and talking, long after the moon had pinned itself to the center of the sky.

Sylus promised to teach you how to use a gun. He had plenty and would carve out time in his schedule to take you to a range. He didn’t press much after, instead letting the weight of your evening melt from your shoulders.

He was reluctant to leave you, even after sunbeams spilled through your blinds and you snoozed so quietly, cheek propped against his shoulder.

His hand never left your thigh. Possessive in its touch as he mirrored your affections from before.

It’s strange.

Today is your birthday. You’re enjoying yourself, filled with enough alcohol to tranquilize a small goat.

Your co-workers had dragged you out. Surprised you with dinner, a cake. Took you to the strip of bars lining the streets adjacent to your apartment complex. You were all smiles until your cheeks ached, and you’d nearly thrown up from laughing so much.

Still, you feel…empty. Like something is missing. Or someone.

You look at your phone for the umpteenth time. Scroll through your messages, reliving the moment in your head.

Sylus was the first to wish you a happy birthday. It made you swell with overwhelming happiness, knowing he’d woken up so early to be the first to say it. You don’t think you’ve ever cried harder when he sent a voice message of him singing “Happy Birthday.”

God, for everything he was good at, poor baby couldn’t hold a note to dig himself out of a hole. Still, you cherished the gesture, lying in bed for the first hour you’d been awake, replaying said message and rolling around your bed like an enamored teen.

Even now, you replay the voice note, holding the speaker to your ear. It’s hard to hear it amid the live band playing and the merriment around you at the bar. Try as you might to enjoy what remains of your night, you can’t keep your thoughts from drifting back to a certain smug figure clad in black.

(You): 🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛💥💥💥 (Sylus): hows it going birthday babe? (You): 😭😭😭 (You): u shuld be her e (Sylus) im sorry sweetie. i had some work to catch up on. (Sylus): you must be having a good time. 😏 (You): fuk wrk 🖕🖕🖕 (You): am not drink ur dronk (Sylus): lol. you sound plastered. (Sylus): do i need to come rescue you? (You): hum (Sylus): ? (You): hone (You): home (Sylus): 🫤 (Sylus): we need to have a serious talk about you enabling autocorrect. (You): r u (You): home (Sylus): about to be. why ?? (Sylus): sweetie?

Somehow, you find yourself staring at the glossy, black numbers embossed on the top center of his door. 302. It’s ingrained in your memory. You’d probably find your way to his apartment with your eyes closed, driven to it by the familiar smell and homeliness it exudes.

You’re still a little tipsy. Took some time to sober up as best you could before ditching your friends and catching an Uber back to your complex. You had enough sense to gather everything you’d shown up with. Didn’t hitch a ride with any strangers regardless of how many of them tried to pull you into their arms as you stumbled out of the bar.

You had a one-track mind. Only wanted to spend the rest of your birthday with him.

With a goofy smile plastered on your face, you knock on his door. You’re singing that infectious song you can’t get out of your head when it swings open.

“Apateu-pateu, apateu-pateu,” you chant, shaking your hips from side to side.

He greets you with an omniscient smirk, eyes softening whilst leaning against the doorframe. “Well, hello, birthday babe.”

“Sup!” you return a little too enthusiastically, pitching forward until Sylus steadies you with his hands. You giggle like a drunken fool, peering at him. Hadn’t realized how good his hands felt, searing through the fabric of your top.

Come to think of it, you hadn’t noticed many things about him before. His lips are a pretty shade of pink. Skin textured, nose sharp, cheeks high. Little flecks of amber dwell between the scarlet rinse of his eyes. His hair falls into his face, damp from the shower he probably had before answering the door.

“I take it you had a good night,” he says, gaze painting a steady triangle between your eyes and mouth.

“Almost,” you whisper back, surprised by the huskiness of your voice. You lose yourself in the idle stir of his eyes. In the fragility of his smile, and you feel so safe in his hands like this.

You don’t know what compels you to do it. To conquer the space of hot, dizzying breaths between you. But, you sort of…well…

Your inhibitions hit the floor. With your fingers wrapped tenderly around his wrists, you angle yourself closer to kiss him. You almost pull away when he stiffens. But he seemingly relaxes, and his lips cautiously move against yours as he unconsciously guides you closer.

You cling to the sleeves of his sweatshirt. He encircles your waist in his powerful arms, fastening you to the hard press of his body. He kisses you like he’s waited lifetimes to do it, one hand molding around the apple of your cheek.

When your tongue sloppily prods the barrier of his teeth, he bristles. Draws away from you with a resounding smack, blinking wildly. You’re confused. Your heart sinks. You try again to draw him back in, but he gently pushes you away, shaking his head to dispel the bleariness. To chase away the spell that’s fallen over you.

“Baby, wait. No. Not…not like this,” he rasps through kiss-swollen lips, holding you by your hips. You’re wounded. A hot flush of embarrassment washes over you, and your brows knit together like those of a confused puppy.

“Wha-what’s wrong? Did I—am I—”

“No, no, you’re…you're perfect,” he soothes with a chuckle, a thumb gliding over your bottom lip. “Beautiful, even. I just…I don’t think now is a good time to do this.”

“Oh.” You deflate, a scorching film of tears clouding your vision. “Oh, okay. Um, I’ll just—yeah, I’ll go. I’ll…see you around, I guess.”

You slide out of his arms, too mortified to look back as you fumble with your keys. After he murmurs a hoarse, “good night.” Did you misread him before? Misinterpret his actions, his words?

You’re numb as you sink into your couch. Sobriety slowly creeps in. Stray tears blister your cheeks, but you don’t full-on sob. Can’t bring yourself to, instead laughing hysterically with your face buried in your hands, swallowed by the bleak loneliness of your apartment.

Happy Birthday, indeed.

#sylus x reader #sylus x you #neighbor au #neighbors to friends #friends to lovers #sylus #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #sylus love and deepspace #qin che #sylus fluff #sylus romance #lnds x reader #love and deepspace fic #gn reader #apt 302/304 series

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natalievoncatte · 5 months ago

Text

The yawn stretched Lena’s jaw to the point that she felt like a cat, baring her fangs. Naturally, it prompted a Kara Danvers Pout, which was utterly devastating. Kara looked at her over the top of her drink cup, straw still pursed in her delicate pink lips as she frowned slightly.

“How long have you been awake?”

“I had a half hour nap this morning,” Lena sighed.

She’d been in the office for three days, but she didn’t admit that.

“Leeeenaaaaaaa,” Kara said, drawing her name out into a gentle rebuke. “You promised me you’d stop doing that to yourself. I’m taking you home.”

Lena’s heart skipped and Kara abruptly jerked upright, briefly glancing at her. Lena hated when that happened, when her body betrayed her. Kara meant escort her home; Lena’s thoroughly tired mind had supplied another scenario, one where Kara carried her onto the bed, relieved her of her clothes and dove between her legs, but that was never going to happen. Lena let out a long sigh of resignation, trying to be satisfied with best-friendship.

She hoped Kara hadn’t suddenly developed telepathy.

If you took me home I’d never leave. I could make love to you for a hundred years.

Kara smiled back at Lena’s wistful look. “I mean it.”

“Okay. I can come back to it tomorrow. Besides, I’m too full of grease and cheese to stay awake. Should we…”

Lena never finished her sentence. There was a crackle in the air, a sudden wet smell of ozone, and the thunderous boom that made her ears ring.

Kara flashed in front of her at super-speed, yanking off her glasses and tossing them on the couch in a smooth motion.

Hovering in the middle of her office was some ramshackle contraption resembling a mechanical eye about the size of a basketball that scanned Kara with a faint purple energy ray.

“Kara Danvers. Supergirl. I am Zeglos, Regent of the Alotian Republic. I am calling to you from the home of my people, located in what is to you a subatomic realm we call Universe Q. We need your help, you are our only hope. The invaders are slaughtering us and razing our home. There is no time.”

Kara glanced back at Lena. “I’ll help if I can. Let me-“

“There is no time. You must come with me now.”

“Wait, hold on a second-“

The machine flashed, thrumming as it powered up, and blasted here with a wave of light that surrounded them both, and then in a crackling boom they both vanished, leaving behind the ozone smell and a faint impression of Kara’s boot heels in the carpet.

Lena stared into the empty space for a moment, then shot to her feet, snatching the phone off her desk, where it had lain ignored since Kara walked into the room.

She called Alex, shocked at the blubbering panic in her own voice. Within a few minutes, everyone was there, piling into the room. Lena warded them off from the spot where Kara had stood. Alex was cold and calm, her voice clinical, and she immediately began issuing orders. J’onn took Lena aside and gently asked her probing questions in the manner of an old detective, coaxing every meager detail of the event out of her.

Within half an hour, Brainy and Lena had set up all sorts of equipment around the room, scanning, hoping to find some energy signature or other clue that could enable them to bring Kara back from wherever she’d been taken.

It proved fruitless. They tried everything.

Minutes stretched into hours. Lena was exhausted, heavy with fatigue.

“Go home, get some sleep,” said Alex. “We can’t help her if we pass out on the floor.”

“I’ll sleep here.”

She did, throwing a thin blanket over herself on the couch. It was Alex, not Lena, who cleaned up the Big Belly Burger mess. Lena slept fitfully, showered in the en-suite attached to her office, and changed into an old hoodie that she kept there and wore when no one was looking.

It wasn’t hers. Threadbare, a maroon color faded to a soft red, the back still emblazoned with a cracked and fading Midvale Mathletes Club logo, it was Kara’s. Lena had snatched it from Kara’s sofa and put it on one night when she was feeling bold and then, as now, felt surrounded by it, the oversized garment swaddling her.

And it smelled like Kara, just enough. Kara had stared at her intently for a moment when she took it that night but said nothing, a wistful sad look on her face before the moment was broken by Wynn’s bad joke at the table. Wynn was gone now, but the hoodie remained, just as it had remained when they were fighting, when she thought she’d never see Kara again. She’d worn it then and cried herself to sleep in it.

Just like now.

A day became two. Then three. Five. Lena tried everything, pursued every theory. They called in every favor, human and alien. Brainy tried to send messages to the future. Nia dreamed fruitless dreams. Alex paced like a caged animal and Kelly kept the peace, keeping them all fed, making sure everyone slept, talking things out whenever tempers flared.

Nothing worked.

Lena even tried praying, something she hadn’t done since the last time she was in a small church in Ireland. It didn’t work this time, either.

Lena was seated next to Brainy on the couch, going over a design for a new device to try to follow what was by now a thoroughly cold trail. Alex stood at the balcony door, staring out into a slashing summer rain squall that buffeted the glass with distant thunder and gusts of wind.

The ozone smell tickled Lena’s nose and she looked up, just as Kara took a stumbling step out of nowhere, appearing in her office with an utterly bewildered look on her face.

“Kara?”

Alex snapped round, adding her voice to the chorus. “Kara?”

Kara stared at her sister, open-mouthed, tears welling in her eyes.

“Alex?” she said. “Alex, you’re alive? How is that possible?”

“Alive? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Kara!” Lena cried, her voice ragged in her throat.

At the sound of her voice, Kara snapped around, eyes wide. Her knees buckled and she sagged, almost falling. She stumbled forward as Lena stood and they fell into each other, Lena hurling herself, reckless, into an embrace that revealed too much. She almost climbed Kara, all but throwing her legs around her as well as her arms as she buried her face in the Kryptonian’s neck.

“Oh God. Oh Rao. I thought you would all be gone. I begged them to let me leave but they wouldn’t let me go, I had to…”

“Kara?” Alex asked, cautiously. “Why would we be gone?”

Kara barely seemed to hear her as she gently twined her fingers in Lena’s hair and wrapped her powerful arm around Lena’s waist, encircling and shielding her.

“How long has it been?”

“About a week,” Lena choked out. “I was so scared.”

“A week?” Kara blurted. “It’s only been a week here?”

Alex put a reassuring hand on Kara’s back, standing next to them. “Yeah, you were taken on Tuesday, kiddo. It’s Wednesday, the 17th.”

Kara stared past Lena, resting her chin on the shorter woman’s head, and began to sob with relief.

“Kara?” said Alex.

“Time dilation,” said Brainy.

“They told me time would pass slower up here but I didn’t believe them. I’ve been gone for… for…”

“It’s okay, Kara,” Lena whispered. “You’re okay, you’re back.”

“Eighty seven years, four months, and eighteen days,” Kara sobbed. “It’s been so long, I thought you were all dead.”

Alex stiffened. “Kara. Oh my God.”

Kara buried her face in Lena’s hair and breathed her in, shuddering. “I’d given up. All that kept me going was hoping I could see you again. This is a gift. A gift. I love you all so much.”

Kara still held her, rocking slightly, her big shoulders shaking with powerful sobs.

“Kara,” Lena whispered. “Kara, it’s okay.”

“I love you,” Kara blurted. “I love you. It’s okay if you don’t love me back, I just need to tell you, I have to tell you. All I could think about down there is how stupid I was and how stupid I’ve been and how none of the reasons I never told you made any sense,” she sucked in a breath as if she’d briefly forgotten how, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

There could be no mistaking her intent. She seethed with it, it radiated from her very bones. Lena hugged her hard, crushing her with all her might as if to crawl inside her.

“God, Kara, I’ve dreamed of hearing you say that. I love you too. Let’s… mmmph!”

Kara was kissing her. Lena’s brain briefly froze, then she realized the full magnitude of what was happening. Kara was kissing her. Kara was kissing her. Then Lena was kissing her back. There was so much in it, need and lust and adoration and an unbelievable desperation, but above all love. Lena felt her heart open as if hadn’t in a long time, like a flower unfolding to receive the nurturing warmth of morning sun.

“I’ve been waiting for this for so long,” Kara whispered when they finally broke and Lena again could breathe.

“Let me take you home,” said Lena.

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indigodreames · 1 month ago

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dom wasn't the chattiest bartender, most of the people who he served didn't like conversation so much. which, certainly worked out in his favor. that didn't mean he couldn't be, if whoever sat in front of him needed him to pipe up a bit more, he'd do so. but he could tell the moment tess came in that wasn't what she needed.

before dom could really say anything else, he slid her the drink she wanted and she downed it as quickly as it was served and already wanted another. and before he could warn her to slow down, it was like she read his mind and spoke up about just needed to drown herself in a few drinks for a little while.

dom didn't say anything and only gave a nod of his head as he poured her another drink and slid it her way. "i know you don't wanna talk, but if you change your mind later, i'm here to listen if you need me to. i won't cut you off yet, but just don't drink too quickly, alright?"

part of her was thankful dom was the one working the bar tonight. tess had worried she could end up getting a much chattier bartender; conversation was usually easy with dom – though she wondered if even he would be able to get her out of her rut tonight.

"rought... day," tess concluded with a shrug. rough week, if she was being completely honest with herself. deep down, she wished she could tell dom what was troubling her – she wished she could scream and let her tears fall freely. but she couldn't drop that sort of story on dominic, even if he had offered.

"just drink." she picked up the glass he offered her, finishing it in one go and setting it right back down. her throat burned, but the stinging was welcome after feeling nothing but numbing sadness the entire day. "again." tess slid the glass back to dom. "i know you're gonna tell me to pace myself, but i just need to... not think for a little bit." if it meant passing out right on the bar, she would.

#fatescattered #。‧ * ‧: ✧ ┊ i'm hoping for a never ending odyssey ⊱ ◜ic◞#dom doesn't mind !!!#he's worried but also trying to not hover or pry too much yk #。‧ * ‧: ✧ ┊ wake queue up i'm fever dreaming ⊱ ◜q◞#alcohol tw

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p0orbaby · 5 months ago

Text

As We Plunge into the Ocean

summary: snapshots of your pregnancy journey with leah by your side

warnings: pregnancy and its potential symptoms, duh !

a/n: thank you for the request !

word count: 1.8k

You have to hand it to Leah, she's really leaned into this whole pregnancy thing. Not that you’re surprised. She’s always been a bit of a control freak. Actually, no, she’s a lot of a control freak. But now, it’s like she’s running drills for motherhood, and you’re the center of her training program.

Month 2: The Overprotective Phase Begins

“You’re glowing,” she tells you one morning. It’s sweet until you deduce she’s actually staring at the sweat on your upper lip. You’re clammy, nauseous, and you smell like day-old toast, but sure, you’re glowing.

Leah’s taken to hovering. She’s always been protective, but now, it’s like you’re made of glass, or maybe like you’re the last good avocado in Waitrose—precious and prone to bruising. She watches you closely, eyes narrowed, as if you might spontaneously combust into a pile of hormones and ash at any moment.

“You’re going to be late for training,” you remind her, trying to shoo her out the door with your tea bag as if you’re some sort of British Gandalf.

She glances at her watch, sighs, and then gives you that look. The one that says, I’m going to worry about you while I’m gone, so don’t do anything stupid like trip over air or suddenly decide to juggle knives.

“Don’t lift anything heavy,” she warns, pulling on her jacket, but making no move toward the door. “Or stand on anything taller than a pancake”

Close enough.

“Okay, Mum,” you say, deadpan. You’re both amused and slightly exasperated because Leah’s version of protective involves a lot of hovering and unnecessary life advice.

She kisses you on the forehead before leaving, like she’s blessing you for the day ahead. Or maybe she thinks you’ll forget how to breathe without her around. Either way, it’s oddly comforting.

When she finally leaves, you flop on the sofa, determined to enjoy the fleeting freedom before she comes home and starts fluffing your pillows like you’re an elderly Victorian woman with consumption.

Month 4: The Hormone-Palooza

Leah walks in from training one afternoon to find you sitting on the kitchen floor, crying over an empty jar of pickled onions. To be fair, they were really good onions. You’d eaten the last one two hours ago, and now the world feels like a cruel, onion-less void.

“What happened?” Leah asks, dropping her kit bag and rushing over like there’s been a national emergency.

“The pickled onions,” you sob, pointing dramatically at the empty jar as if it’s committed some unspeakable crime.

She stares at the jar, then at you, and you can see the mental maths she’s doing to figure out if this is worth her calling 999. But then she just nods, like she’s made peace with your hormonal breakdowns.

“I’ll get more tomorrow,” she says, like she’s promising to fetch water from a well three villages over.

You look up at her, eyes wide and wet. “Really?”

She nods. “Really. And I’ll get the sliced red ones this time”

You sniff, feeling vaguely stupid but mostly just grateful. “You’re the best”

“I know,” she says, deadpan, and helps you off the floor like you’re a drunk at a party who just tried to wrestle your reflection in the mirror.

But Leah doesn’t make fun of you for your hormone-fueled tears. She’s too busy making sure you’re okay, which is annoying and endearing in equal measure.

Month 6: The Nesting Madness

You wake up one morning to the sound of power tools. In your half-asleep state, you briefly consider the possibility that Leah’s decided to open a B&Q in your living room.

When you manage to roll out of bed, because rolling is now the only way you can get up, you find Leah assembling a cot in the nursery. She’s wearing a headlamp like she’s about to go spelunking. Her tongue is sticking out in concentration, and there’s a distinct air of “I watched this on YouTube once, so I’m basically an expert” about her.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” you ask, leaning against the doorway, trying not to laugh.

She pauses, mid-screw, and gives you a look. “I’m following the instructions,” she says defensively, even though the manual is open to a page that looks more like IKEA hieroglyphics than anything else.

You decide not to mention that the cot is currently upside down. Instead, you settle in to watch Leah’s one-woman DIY show. It’s honestly better than whatever’s on terrestrial right now.

After a good twenty minutes, she steps back, admiring her work. You both stare at the crib, which is somehow missing two legs but is otherwise a valiant effort.

“It’s... something,” you say diplomatically.

Leah sighs, rubbing her temples. “I’ll call my dad”

You nod. “Good idea. He’s got that handyman vibe”

She gives you a mock glare. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you didn’t help”

“I’m in charge of moral support,” you reply, patting your stomach. “And the baby’s supervising”

“Lazy,” she mutters, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips.

Month 8: The Belly and the Beast

By this point, your belly is so big that it has its own gravitational pull. Leah has taken to treating it like it’s a small planet she needs to orbit. You’re the sun, and she’s some overzealous moon that won’t give you any space.

“Do you need anything?” she asks for the fiftieth time that day, hovering like a helicopter parent who’s misplaced their child in a crowd.

“No,” you reply, staring at the TV, which you can barely see over your stomach.

“How about water? I could get you water. Or juice. Or something with electrolytes. Do you want electrolytes?” Leah’s pacing now, clearly itching to do something.

You eye her, bemused. “I’m fine, Leah”

“Are you sure? I could fluff your pillow, or I could—”

“Leah,” you interrupt, trying to keep a straight face, “the baby and I are okay. You don’t need to, like, feng shui the living room or whatever”

She stops pacing, looking slightly sheepish. “I’m just... I don’t know what to do with myself”

You reach out and grab her hand, pulling her to sit next to you. “You’re doing great,” you tell her, squeezing her hand. “Now, just relax. Let’s watch something. Maybe something without pregnant women, though. I can’t deal with seeing anyone else going through this”

Leah laughs, finally settling in next to you. “Deal”

Five minutes into the show, she’s already got a hand on your belly, her protective instincts kicking in even during a Netflix binge. You roll your eyes fondly but let her be. At least she’s not trying to rearrange the furniture again.

Month 9: The Home Stretch (Or, The Last Nerve)

Leah is a bundle of nerves, more wound up than a cat near a cucumber. It’s almost cute, except when she insists on triple-checking the hospital bag, which she’s already checked twice in the last hour.

“Leah, seriously, if you add one more onesie to that bag, it’s going to explode”

“I just want to make sure we have everything,” she mutters, rummaging through the bag as if it’s one of those cursed Hermione purses from Harry Potter.

“We have everything. And then some,” you assure her, eyeing the ludicrous pile of baby supplies that could probably last through an apocalypse.

She finally zips up the bag and sits down next to you. For a moment, there’s silence, and you think maybe, just maybe, she’s finally going to relax. But no. She starts tapping her foot, glancing at you every few seconds.

“Do you think—”

“No,” you cut her off, knowing exactly where this is going.

“But—”

“Leah,” you say firmly, “I love you, but if you ask me if I think the baby’s coming today one more time, I might actually lose it”

She opens her mouth, then closes it, looking like she’s physically restraining herself from speaking.

“I’m sorry,” she finally says, sighing. “I’m just... I’m excited and nervous and I feel like I’m waiting for a bomb to go off, but the bomb is cute and we’re going to love it and—”

“Leah,” you interrupt again, “you’re doing amazing. But you need to chill, or the baby’s going to think it’s coming out to meet a drill sergeant”

She cracks a smile at that. “Okay, okay, I’ll try to relax”

She doesn’t. But she does stop asking you if you’re in labor every fifteen minutes, so you’ll take that as a win.

The Grand Finale: The Delivery Room Circus

The day finally arrives. Naturally, it’s at three in the morning because why would your body ever do anything convenient? You wake Leah up by shaking her arm like you’re waking a teenager for school.

“Leah,” you say, trying to stay calm even though your insides feel like they’re being twisted into balloon animals. “It’s time”

She’s up in an instant, wide awake like she’s just heard the starting whistle at the World Cup final. She starts pacing, half-dressed, muttering about the hospital bag.

“We need to go, we need to—oh my god, where are the keys? Do we have the car seat? Should we call an ambulance? No, wait, we’re not calling an ambulance, that’s for emergencies, this is an emergency, but not that kind of emergency—”

You grab her shoulders, trying to steady her. “Leah, breathe. We’ve got time. But we do need to go”

She takes a deep breath, nodding like she’s trying to calm down a very excitable puppy. Then she’s off, running around the house like it’s an obstacle course, grabbing everything and nothing at once. You watch her in bemusement, one hand on your belly, wondering if you should tell her that she’s just thrown her shoe into the fridge.

When she finally gets it together, the drive to the hospital is an adventure in itself. Leah’s driving like she’s on her way to rob a bank, weaving through traffic and swearing under her breath at every red light.

“Leah, the baby’s not going to fall out if we don’t get there in ten minutes,” you say, trying to keep a straight face as she mutters something about the stupidly long red lights.

Finally, you make it to the hospital, where Leah practically drags you to the entrance like a deflated balloon on a string. Once inside, she’s all business, directing the nurses like she’s running a tactical operation.

The actual labour is a blur—hours of pain, and sweat, and Leah alternating between holding your hand and looking like she might faint. But she doesn’t faint. She stays with you the whole time, even when you scream at her that she’s never allowed to touch you again.

When the baby finally arrives, Leah’s expression is one of awe, relief, and sheer, overwhelming love. You’re both exhausted, but when you see her holding your baby, all of her earlier madness makes sense.

She was never just overprotective or anxious. She was just ready—ready to love, ready to care, and maybe, just maybe, ready to stop checking that bloody hospital bag.

Maybe.

Probably not.

But you love her anyway.

#leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #awfc #awfc x reader #engwnt #engwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

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cuteandhughesy · 9 days ago

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js thinking about how virgin!reader would love how casually dominant quinn is and about like the aftercare the first time she drops...

q would be so so sweet and gentle when he realizes just how fuzzy readers gone

quinn’s thrusts are just rough enough to have you feeling lifeless, laying below him loosely as he hovers above you.

“shit.” he curse lowly, eyes tranced on your dripping core as he pushes back into you. the squelching noise is intoxicating, and it has quinn picking up his pace once again—sending you into overdrive.

“fuck, quinny. you feel so fucking good.”

he moans, pushing on the back of your thighs to open you up further. your legs brush against your painfully puffy nipples, which has your core clenching around him.

“yeah?” he questions with a knowing smirk, eyes meeting your hazy gaze. “you’re so sexy.” quinn mutters. before you can register what’s happening, quinn’s calloused palm comes down against your ass, ever so exposed due to your pretzel like position. the rough smack echos through the steamy bedroom, and you squeal out.

you never expected that type of reaction from getting your ass smacked, but it seems that anything quinn’s does to you, or for you—sexual or otherwise—has you melting in his grasp.

his breath quickens at your reaction, his thrusts momentarily faltering. “you like that?”

“mhmm.” you sigh pleasantly. you feel so light and airy, your legs beginning to tremble under quinn’s strong grip. “i’m so close.”

your admission has quinn picking back up, pounding into your dripping pussy like his life depends on it. you don’t have experience outside of quinn, but you just know that he’s good at sex.

you’re whimpering, eyes pinching shut as your release approaches. your walls flutter around his dick tightly, and he almost cums right then and there. quinn’s adjusts his grip on you, grabbing the backs of your knees and prying your legs open, exposing your weeping core even further.

he’s pounding into you so hard that you can feel his tip kissing your cervix. it’s a very forgein feeling, but you don’t hate it—you almost crave it, wanting to feel it again and again.

“i’m cumming.” you whine, orgasm approaching quicker than expected.

the feeling of your walls sucking him in, holding onto his throbbing dick like it was second nature, has quinn following suit, shooting his seed into your spongy walls.

quinn’s groaning is barley audible over the blood pumping in your ears, and all you can do is fall limp against the fluffy pillows once again. you feel him pull out of you, his softening length slowly leaving your throbbing heat.

you whimper at the loss of contact, and quinn coos gently. he leans over your spent body, gently pressing a soft kiss to your jawbone, and then another to the corner of your mouth. “you did so good.”

—

(not edited)

#❣️answered #quinn hughes smut #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes

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sweetdispatch · 3 months ago

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Why are you doing this to yourself? - Q. Hughes

pairing: Quinn Hughes x girlfriend!reader

summary: Quinn's girlfriend relapsed to her old habits after his comment

warning: mentions of cheating, mentions of eating disorder, mentions of throwing up, mentions of sex (nothing graphic), swearing, angst, hurt/comfort

words: 2.4k

note: my first ever published fic!! I used a name instead of Y/N because i don't feel comfortable writing without names so sorry for that. Also, english is not my first language so apologies if there's gonna be any mistakes. I'm proud of this piece and I hope you'll enjoy reading🤍

if you are struggling with eating disorder, please talk to somebody, your family, friends or even to me, you are not alone in this!❤️‍🩹

masterlist

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Zara never had been in a healthy relationship. Since high school times, all her boyfriends were abusive towards her. As a teenager, she got into love-hate relationship with food. Always blaming herself and her look for not being good enough to have a partner. When she had been multiple times cheated on, she truly believed that’s because she’s fat and unattractive. The truth was that she was looking normal, like every teenage girl but her low self confidence let her believe that she’s the problem. Zara was skipping meals and when she ate something, she felt guilty and was forcing herself to throw up. When she graduated high school, she came back on right tracks. Yes, she still was struggling and had episodes of skipping meals but it got way better than it was back then.

When Zara met Quinn, she was impressed by how well spoken he is and very respectful towards her. She truly started to believe that she deserves to be loved. He was always giving her compliments and her confidence was growing. She never told him about how shitty exes she had and her problems with eating. She didn’t wanted a pity party from him. She truly believed that she’s a new person thanks to him. After a year of dating, Quinn had been named a new captain of the Vancouver Canucks. Zara was more than happy for him because she knew how hardworking person he is. Although she didn’t expected him to ask her to move into his apartment.

“Honey, I was just thinking that maybe you would like to move in to me? You already spent most of the time here and your work is closer from my place than yours. Plus with me having a new role in club, our schedules might go crazy and I want to spent every free minute with you”. Quinn casually said when they were laying on the couch watching a movie.

“It’s a huge step in our relationship Quinny… but I’m ready for it. I would love to move into your place”. Zara said and kissed his cheek.

Next week, the couple was packing Zara’s things from her place to later put them in Quinn’s apartment. Most of the things were already in his place but they still had to pick up the rest. They life living together was like a honeymoon until Quinn got into fixation about healthy food. He was always cooking for both of them and tried to keep balanced diet. Zara started having flashbacks to her life from high school, when she was trying to keep being super healthy but she said nothing to Quinn. One day, she haven’t ate breakfast because she was running late and later, completely forgot about lunch. On her way back to their apartment, she decided to buy pizza for dinner because she wasn’t in a mood for cooking. Zara ate the whole thing on one sitting finishing projects for work. When Quinn came home after the game, he saw the box. He thought she left him some of the pizza but it was just an empty box.

“Wow, you must been really hungry that you ate whole pizza and haven’t even left ma piece”. He joked, hoverer her face fell down when she realized that she ate an entire pizza this afternoon.

“Yeah, I haven’t got time in the morning to eat breakfast and later forgot to go and grab a lunch.” Zara admitted to him ashamed.

“Honey, we talk about it. You have to eat healthy”. Although Quinn meant eating three meals per day but she interpreted this otherwise.

“I know, I’m sorry”. She went to hug him and started asking him about today’s game just to change the topic.

He haven’t missed the way her face fell when he joked but decided not to mention this. Next days were hard for Zara. She had all time in her head Quinn’s words. Every evening when she was getting ready to take shower, she was looking on her body in mirror’s reflection. She started to see how her thighs got bigger and how her stomach wasn’t perfectly flat. She started to wear baggy clothes to cover her body from the world. She was also pushing Quinn away when he wanted to have sex with her. He saw those changes but he thought that she’s just overworked and tired. He haven’t asked anything but tried to be supportive as much as he could.

When Quinn had to left her for a roadie, Zara completely lost it. No one was there to make sure she’s eating proper meals. She started skipping breakfast. On lunch, she was only eating salads. When she was at home, she haven't cooked dinner. She thought that’s the best for her to started looking more attractive for Quinn.

After a week, Quinn came back home and decided to buy them takeout food from their favorite Italian place. He knew, she probably haven’t ate dinner and was waiting for him to eat together. When Quinn stepped into their place, he met unfamiliar cold. Zara wasn’t there to kiss and hug him like she was always doing when he was back from roadie. He saw her sitting in living room and watching a movie.

“Hi honey. I hope you are hungry because I bought us carbonara from the Italian place you love”. He said and kissed her forehead.

“Actually, I’m not hungry babe but feel free to eat yours. I’ll just eat it tomorrow”. She said.

“Okay. Have you ate dinner already?” He asked concerned.

“Well no, but…”

“Then take your pretty ass to the table because you have to eat”. Quinn said surprised at her words.

“I’m really not hungry Quinn”. She started getting irritated at him.

“I’m not playing with you Zara. You either gonna eat with me or I’m gonna force you to do it”. He said firmly.

Knowing that she’s in a lost position, she gave up and went to sit with him at the dinner table. She ate half of her portion and excused herself to the bathroom. In that moment, she was delighted that the bathroom is far from the living room and Quinn couldn’t hear her. Feeling the guilt of eating pasta, she forced herself to throw up. After she was done, she brushed her teeth and came back.

“I can’t eat anymore Quinny. I’ll pack the pasta and bring it to work with me for lunch". She said, knowing that she’s gonna throw the pasta to the trash the minute she leave the apartment for work tomorrow.

“Yeah, sure. What about bath together and just laying in our bed. I’m so tired”. He proposed.

“Sounds like a plan babe.” She went and kissed him.

Two days later, when Quinn and Zara were making out, he started to pull up her hoodie. She stopped him. Quinn finally decided to confront her. He was done with her not wanting to be intimate with him. He also saw that she wasn’t eating breakfast at home, always excusing herself with running late.

“What’s happening with you lately?” He asked in the nicest way he could.

“I don’t know about what you are talking about”.

“Cut the bullshit. I know you are skipping breakfast. I am not dumb not to see you always acting, like you are late and not eating breakfast when we both know it’s a lie. Also, I don’t know what I did wrong to you, but you always push me away when I try to have sex with you. So tell me, what’s happening”. He started getting mad at her with every minute.

“Quinn, I’m telling you, nothing is happening”. She was too ashamed to admit to him her problems and decided to lie.

“Fucking hell Zara. I know you for almost two years. We live together. I know you like the back of my hand. I know that something is wrong with you. You know that I’m here for you to listen and help”. He tried so hard not to yell at her.

“I’m not gonna stand here and listen to you accusations. Everything is fine!” She screamed the last sentence and left, feeling guilt for not telling him truth.

After the argument, both of them were giving each other cold shoulder. She stopped eating at all, even the salads for lunch. He wanted so hard to find out what’s going on with her but after her reaction, he decided not to push her and wait until she tell him.

Couple days later, he accidently walked into the bathroom when she was taking shower. When he saw her, Quinn thought he’s gonna cry. Her ribs was visible through her skin. She looked so skinny that it started to terrify him. He left and went to their bedroom thinking how he should ask her about it without getting into another argument.

“Hey, can we talk?” He asked unsure of her reaction.

“Sure, What’s up?”

“I saw you in the shower”.

“Oh”. That’s all she could say.

“Look, I know something is happening with you and I don’t want to push you but your body looks unhealthy. Why are you doing this to yourself?” He said not knowing where the conversation will take him. She sat quietly for couple minutes before she spoke to him.

“Can you promise me that you won’t get mad at me when I tell you?” She haven’t been looking at him, she kept her eyes on her hands.

“I promise honey”. He saw that she was playing with her nails and decided to replace it with his hand.

“I have a weird relationship with food. I’ve been struggling with it since high school. Every guy I’ve dated cheated one me and I thought it’s my fault. I started eating super healthy but when I saw it’s not getting me anywhere, I decided to skip meals. When I ate something, I felt guilty about it and forced myself to throw up. After graduation, it got better. Sure, I had episodes of skipping meals when I was triggered but it was getting better”. She said with her tears rolling down her face.

“Oh honey, I’m so sorry to hear that”. He hugged her tightly and started to smoothing her hair. After couple of minutes, he decided to ask.

“What was your trigger this time?”

“I don’t think you want to know”. Zara didn’t wanted to make him feel guilty.

“I want to know”. He said softly.

“Remember when you get back home the other day and saw the empty box of pizza?” He nodded.

“This was my trigger. When you pointed out that I ate the whole pizza and said that I have to eat healthy. I felt that you’ll find me unattractive and will cheat on me like others”. She said completely ignoring his presence. He signed, mad at himself for even saying that.

“Zara, I’m so fucking sorry for making you feel this way. It was never my intention. I was just joking but I see now how hurtful it was for you. Please forgive me”. He said with voice full of guilt.

“It’s okay Quinny, you didn’t know”.

“It’s not okay. God, I made you feel bad and I’ll never forgive myself for that”. After couple seconds, Quinn asked again.

“When I brought the pasta after I got back home from roadie and forced you to eat with me, did you… Did you throw up when you excused yourself to the bathroom?” He asked not sure if he’s ready to hear the answer. When Zara haven’t said anything, he knew how big damage he had done.

He hugged her tightly and kissed her forehead. She was crying into his shoulder when he was whispering apologies into her ear.

The next morning, Quinn made breakfast for both of them. When she saw the plate, he was fast to explain.

“I know you struggle now but I want you to eat something. I’m not gonna be forcing the full meal into you and you don’t have to eat all of it. At least try. Step by step”. She felt the love and respect in his voice and decided to bite a little bit of the toast. Before she left, he gave her paper bag.

“I’ve made you lunch. Again, I’m not forcing you but at least eat the granola bar. I love you.” He kissed her cheek.

“Thank you Quinny. Love you too.” She said and gave him a kiss.

Quinn started reading books about eating disorder and was learning everything to know how to help her and not make her feel even worst. He wanted to be the best boyfriend to her knowing that he’s responsible for her relapse into old habits. When he had time, he was preparing her favorite dishes. He made one cupboard in the kitchen with her favorite snacks. Never pushed her to eat full meals but wanted her to eat something.

When Quinn had to leave her for roadie for the first time since she told him about her relationship with food, he was scared. He didn’t wanted her to skip meals while he’s gone but he also knew that he can’t ask her directly if she ate. He decided to face time her every time he knew she was supposed to eat breakfast, lunch or dinner just to check up on her and see if she’s eating at that time.

Two weeks later, Quinn came back home and could smell a steak. He was surprised because he haven’t saw Zara in the kitchen for the past two months. The minute he entered the room she said.

“I thought you might be hungry. I’ve cooked you steak with fries”. She said and went to hug him.

“What about you honey?”

“I already ate dinner”.

“Zara”. He said knowing that she’s lying.

“I’m joking. I’ve made myself pasta with pesto”.

“Good that you have jokes on you but please, let’s not joke about it”. He said firmly.

“I’m sorry Quinny”. After seeing his reaction, she felt bad for even joking about this.

“Hey! Don’t be puffy, it’s fine. I just want to be sure you’re fed and healthy”.

“Ay, ay captain. Now let’s eat before it gets cold”. She grabbed his hand and went to the table with him. After they ate dinner, he said.

“It was delicious honey. I’m so happy you’re back on right tracks. I’m proud of you and I mean it”.

“I don’t know if I would make it without your support. Thank you for everything. I love you”. She went to kiss him but he deepened the kiss.

“Quinn I have to do the dishes, can it wait?” She asked.

“Oh hell no. I haven’t had my time with you for two months and I want to show you how much I love you and how much I adore your body. I want to make sure my girl knows that she’s gorgeous”

He lifted her up and carried her to the bedroom where they had fun all night long.

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes oneshot #nhl #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #vancouver canucks #v' work

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puckinghischier · 4 months ago

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Just thinking about how Quinn would help recreate one of your favorite scenes from your books

so my brain went straight to a *spicy* scene when i read this but then it derailed a bit bc i truly believe he’d try so hard to make it perfect but something would go comically wrong

bc he would try to be so romantic with it. like, having a whole lil set up when you get home and re-reading the scene over and over again until you walk in the door to make sure he gets it just right

but in the moment, once you’re in the bedroom and the festivities begin, he’d be second guessing himself the whole time, worrying he’s doing something wrong or it’s not the right time for a certain move.

quinn would be hovered above you, trailing his lips down your body while running through the text in his mind after committing it to memory. you’d be so lost in the feeling of his lips you wouldn’t even realize he’s reaching over towards the small bed side table.

when you feel his lips leave your skin, you’d open your eyes and whine at the lost contact, propping yourself up on your elbows to see why he stopped.

“quinn…what are you doing?” you’d ask him skeptically, being met with the sight of him holding himself above you with one arm while holding the book in his other hand, reading over a paragraph while mumbling to himself.

“i can’t remember what position they’re in after this. had to check, just give me a second,” he doesn’t even look at you as he speaks, too caught up in visualizing the words.

you bring your hands up to your face to muffle your laughter, not wanting to make him feel bad since he’s trying so hard, but of course he would be double checking the source in the middle of foreplay.

“okay, i think i got it, but i need you to sit up a little bit more and turn on your side,” he finally decides, putting the book facedown on the mattress next to you and guiding your body with his now free hands.

you follow his instructions, falling back under his spell when he continues his exploration of your skin.

after he removes what little clothing you had on, he buries his head between your legs, repeating every movement that he remembers being described. every flick of his tongue, curl of his fingers, growl, moan, and whine is exactly as described in the book. the only difference is that he spells his name on your clit with his tongue. he can’t deny the idea was one that even he was eager to partake in, loving the idea of his name being etched in-between your folds.

you’re almost at your limit, your limbs jelly-like and pit in your stomach ready to explode when he slips his finger out of you and the heat of his mouth on your core is gone.

panting, you let out a frustrated groan.

“q, need more, almost there, please” you plead with a whine, squirming around, trying to find his body.

“just a second, need to know if i’m leaving anything out, i feel like i missed something,” he mumbles, licking your juices off of his lips, carefully picking the book back up so he doesn’t damage any of the pages with your arousal.

“quinn, you have three seconds to put the fucking book down and finish what you started before i’m finishing it myself,” you bark at him, fantasy be damned.

“but, i’m just trying to make sure-“

“i don’t care! i don’t care if it’s right, i just need your tongue inside of me, now,” you growl out at him, reaching over and ripping the book from his hands, throwing it across the room.

quinn feels his dick twitch at your anger, suddenly forgetting all about the plan and the check list in his head.

“noted,” he gulps in anticipation, licking his lips while staring at your open legs, deciding the only scene he needs to worry about is the one right in front of him.

#alliyaps #tell me he wouldn’t do something like this #you can’t #because he totally would #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes fanfiction #quinn hughes one shot #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes smut #quinn hughes imagine #hockey #nhl #vancouver canucks #qh43

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vrystalius · 3 months ago

Text

pt.2 // NSFW Alphabet — Muzan Kibutsuji

Part two of the NSFW Alphabet, all about the demon king.

Pairing: Muzan x afab!reader

Here is part one.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving)

Receiving

The only time Muzan openly moans to show his satisfaction is when you suck him off. He loves it. The wetness, warmth, tightness and your gaging while you try and take him all in one go is entertaining to him. Seeing your teary eyes and pretty lips all stretched out makes him want to grab a fistful of your hair and pull you even more onto his length, wanting to see just how much can you can take of him down your throat. The imagine alone makes his thighs shiver and tremble.

Giving

It’s his favourite meal and favourite way to please you, even if he is quite the selfish lover. Sometimes he’ll intentionally be slow and teasing to make your hip buckle against him. Muzan needs to see how much you want it, how much you want him. He can control the length and width of his tongue at free will and be rest assured that you two will try every tongue-combination on earth to find out how to make you cum the hardest and quickest.

P = Pace (Is he fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

On most nights, Muzan is rough and fast, overwhelming you with the pace, his hips snapping against yours faster than you can process. But sometimes, when he is in a sappy mood, he likes to be more cuddly. Especially when apart from you for a period of time (two days max), that’s where he wants to be a little cuddlier. Emphasis on little. He’s bury his face in your neck or trail kisses and bites all down your body while he grinds his hips against yours in a calmer rhythm, before lifting his head and analysing your expression. Then, he’d lift his torso to hover over you while beginning to get faster and much, much harder.

Sometimes, Muzan even growls. That’s only happens if you get lucky and he lost in the sauce, literally.

Q = Quickie (his opinions on quickies)

They’re convenient and as the name states, quick. It’s fast and convenient relief from any stress or anger he has been holding, and besides, he can spend more time admiring you like that. It’s hot to see Muzan unravel before you for just a moment, how he was struggling with opening his shirt that he just resolves to ripping it open, or how messy his hair feels when you run your fingers through it and how flustered he gets after finishing. He’d turn his back and you and pull his pants properly back up, slipping his belt back in and scowling at the missing buttons in his expensive vest. It’s also kind of funny seeing Muzan become a little awkward and not knowing what to do with you now. Normally, you’d be laying in bed and maybe cuddling or talk about whatever, but he can’t really do that now, can he?

“Th-Thank you. I’ll be seeing you later in my chambers, I assume.”

R = Risk (Is he game to experiment?)

Depends on what you mean with risk. Muzan does not want to risk being seen by any other demon, god forbid upper moons. If you suggest testing out different things to use in the bedroom, like toys, restrains, kinks or whatnot, he might be down for it. It depends how submissive you want him to be during those try-outs. He might secretly want to be submissive, but not openly just yet. He’s embarrassed of wanting that.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can he go for? how long does he last?)

Muzan can last forever and how many rounds you want him to. He’ll adapt to your stamina and how much of him you can handle at once, but sometimes he’ll convince you to go for a couple more rounds— your all-time record of rounds was 8. He regards it as improvement from the 2 rounds before, but he wants to increase that number by a little…

T = Toys (does he own toys? does he use them?)

No, no toys. He wants you to get pleasure through him— Muzan gets moody when he catches you masturbate. How dare you not come to him when you’re in the mood?

U = Unfair (how much does he tease?)

If he weren’t the king of demons, Muzan is the king of teasing, both physically and mentally. He withholds himself until you beg for him to finally take you. Once he does, it won’t be like you wanted it though. His hips would rest against yours, waiting for you to whimper and stutter that you want him to move. Muzan likes to be overwhelmingly fast afterwards, asking you if you like it how to scream his name. His shit-eating grin makes your thighs shiver even harder while his fingers keep teasing his clit, flicking and chuckling at your reactions.

“What do you want me to do, hm? Faster? Come on, hun. Spell it out for me.”

V = Volume (how loud is he, what sounds does he make)

Muzan growls, hums and grunts, but not very loudly. He’ll show how much he enjoys by blushing and his hands desperately clinging into you while his brows furrow together. He’s trying very hard not to become undone right in front of you, keeping up the facade of a cool and collected even while pounding himself into you. One time, you felt his chest vibrate against yours in a purring manner. You never asked him about that, fearing that he might get pissy about being exposed like that.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for him)

Muzan possesses five brains and likes to store photographic-memories inside them (although certain memories about a certain someone would rather be forgotten), and those memories include you. He likes to remember every single detail about when you two have sex, every area he touched before, every single facial expression you blessed his eyes with before, what makes you moan the loudest, the list goes on… Those memories and sights serve him well during solo-sessions, but he appreciates them the most when you are with him. That way he can create more pictures to remember, but also use past memories to recreate the old sights for future use.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes…)

You can’t really describe it— he can change it at will. The only thing that stays consistent is the pale colour and his pride for it.

Y = Yearning (how high is his sex drive?)

His sex drive isn’t particularly high, he adapts to your needs. Or that’s what Muzan has been telling himself— He’s fairly needy and expects you to meet them. He’d cuddle up behind you while you are busy, pressing his whole body up against you and letting his hands roam shamelessly while mumbling into your ear why he wants you right now and how much he wants to feel you around him. He’ll talk dirty and tease you with his hands until you either shoo him away or give in.

“Whatever do you mean by that? I am not too much. Be grateful that I love you or else I would’ve slice your head off.”

Z = Zzz (how quickly he falls asleep afterwards)

He doesn’t need sleep and therefore likes to stay awake to watch over you. Muzan’s fingers would gently run through your messed up hair, gently massaging your scalp while holding you close against his body while you sleep. A small smile would rest on his face while seeing you so vulnerable. You’re like a bunny walking into the jaws of a wolf— so naive you are. That’s what’s so enticing about you, isn’t it? His fingers would slowly move from your hair to the warm skin of your shoulders, his sharp nails almost breaking your delicate skin. During those moments he truly realises how much he fell for you.

🎃

My Tamagotchi just arrived!! It’s the hashira version, meaning my Tsugoku is going to evolve into one of the hashira depending on how I care for it. I’m so excited for it! Also, tomorrow is the start of my trick or treat event. Please send in some requests for it if you like!

Anways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <3

Here’s my event masterlist 🎃

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