#you'll be good at some things and you'll miss the flavor of some of the silliest dumbest dialogue you get to be graced with | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

allthesmutl0vers · 2 months ago

Text

Fred Weasley x F! Reader Smut

MDNI, 18+ Requests: OPEN Reblogs and comments are always appreciated.🥰💖 Request: Smut with Fred or George, female reader please! Requested By: @justgethappy Word Count: 3,251 A/N: Sorry this took me so long, I had a family emergency. But I think it might be worth the wait. 🫡🌶️🫠 Summary: You've been crushing on your best friend, Fred Weasley, for years. One night, during a game of truth or dare in the common room, you're forced to finally admit your feelings. Unbeknownst to you, he already knows and has been waiting for you to admit it so he can ravage you in the way he's only ever dreamed about. TW: Heavy spice (P! in V!- Unprotected, but on birth control), light BDSM (choking, some bondage), Oral (M & F receiving and giving), Gagging (no vomit), Possessive!Fred, Spanking, Claiming Kink, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, God Kink. (Let me know if I missed anything.)

"Nervous?" Fred asks as he sits down beside me. My heart flutters as his hand brushes mine as he leans back on his hands. How I've managed to focus on anything all of these years with him always at my side is nothing short of a miracle.

I shake my head with a small smile spreading across my lips. "Nope," Liar. I lie and lean closer, smelling fireworks and cedar. God, why does he have to smell so good? "You?" I ask as Lee sits down with an empty bottle in the middle of all of us.

Fred chuckles, biting his lower lip with a smirk as he looks me up and down. "Not even a little," he winks. He's such a flirt that for just a moment, I think he actually might be flirting with me. But that's crazy. Not only did he just break up with Katie Bell, he's my best friend, not to mention the biggest fucking flirt in the school.

"Everyone ready?" Lee asks, rubbing his hands together with a smirk. We all nod and agree, and he clears his throat. "Brilliant. Now, remember, you have to do your dare or answer your truth honestly. If you don't, you get a jinx, and we'll know you're lying anyway. Not to mention, you'll have to live with the jinx for a whole day," he laughs.

My stomach flips with nerves. I don't think I could live with 'liar' or 'wimp' painted across my forehead for a day. My plan of action is just to pick 'truth' the entire game. It's better to admit something embarrassing than have to do some horrific dare like stripping and running down the corridor and back like Lee had to do last time.

As the game goes on, I'm lucky enough to not have to bottle land on me. Angelina is dared to make out with George. Lee admits to having stolen from Honeydukes multiple times. Harry had to take a shot while doing a handstand. George had to eat an entire handful of puke-flavored Bertie Bott's Beans. (Lucky for Angelina, it was after their make out session.) And Fred was dared to give Harry a very sultry lap dance. I might just make it out of this game unscathed. At least, that's what I thought until the bottle landed on me.

"Y/n," Lee smirks. "Truth or dare, love?" He wiggles his eyebrows at me. He knows I'll pick truth, but he also knows about my crush on Fred. If I pick truth, he'll no doubt ask about it. But if I pick dare, he'll no doubt make me act on it.

I take a deep breath and sit up. "Truth," I tell him in a flat voice that contrasts the adrenaline and nervousness rushing through my veins, and settling deep in my stomach.

Lee smirks and looks at Fred before looking back at me. "Y/n, is it true you have a crush on one of our Weasley twins?" My stomach drops, and the only thing keeping me from completely passing out is the fact he didn't specifically name Fred.

I weigh the options for a moment, which is pointless because if I say no, the jinx will out me anyway. "Yes," I admit, barely above a whisper, as I feel my cheeks flush. Goddamn it, Lee.

"Which one?" Angelina asks from my other side, her eyes narrowing at me. Shit, maybe Lee should've asked if it was Fred. I know Angelina likes George, and as much as I love him, he's all hers if she wants.

"I answered my truth," I try to play it off as a joke. I can tell her in private later if I have to.

Angelina spins the bottle, then stops it as it lands on me again. "Truth or dare?" She damn near spits at me.

"That's not-"

"Pick," Angelina practically seethes.

"Truth," I answer hesitantly.

"Which one do you like? Fred or George?" She asks sternly. Merlin, I could strangle her with my bare hands right now. I say a silent prayer for George if this is what he's into. But from the look on his face, he might be rethinking Angelina. "We're waiting," she says impatiently when I don't answer right away.

"Fred," I admit, feeling the blooming jinx fade away. I watch relief wash over her face, and she smiles. I'm so glad you're relieved, bitch. Because I might just fucking die. I pull my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them, and refuse to look at Fred, who I can feel staring me down. "Let's just keep playing," I mutter, my heart not into it anymore.

When the game finally ends, I sit and watch everyone else leave before I stand and let out a huge sigh. Whatever fallout comes from admitting my feelings for Fred can wait until tomorrow. "Y/n," Fred's voice says softly behind me as I reach the stairs that lead to the girls dorms.

Guess we're dealing with it tonight.

I turn to look at my best friend as he steps closer. "Fred, I-" he cuts me off by taking my face in his hands and pressing his lips to mine harshly. Fuck, is this really happening? I lean into it, my hands finding his waist and pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.

When our lips finally part, my eyes flutter open, looking up into his eyes. "It's about bloody time you admit it," he chuckles against my lips. "Merlin, woman. You know how to keep a man waiting."

My eyebrows furrow in confusion. "What do you mean? You knew?" I ask, a soft gasp escaping my lips.

Fred chuckles, shaking his head and resting his forehead down on mine. His hands roam to my waist, gripping me tightly and making me suck in a breath. "Darling, I always knew. I was just waiting for you," he says with a smirk. "Why do you think I left Katie?" he shakes his head, lifting it and tipping my face up to his by my chin. "She isn't you," he grips me tighter, making me clench my thighs. "You take up so much damn space in my head. I couldn't cum unless I was looking at the back of her head, pretending she was you," he says huskily.

I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out, leaving me looking like a blubbering fish. He pretended someone else was me? He left someone because they weren't me? My brain is in a fog. The only thing it's able to focus on is Fred, fucking. I've imagined it so many times as I pleasure myself under my sheets. I feel my panties dampen at the thought of Fred between them, fucking me better, harder than anyone else before.

"Show me," the words escape my mouth before I can stop them.

Fred looks at me as if I just handed him a million galleons. "Don't temp me, darling. Say you don't mean it," he says huskily, his grip on my hips tightening to the point of pain, but I don't move away.

I bite my lower lip, my teeth biting into the tender flesh under his darkening gaze. "I mean it," I tell him.

Fred groans, his head tipping back before his eyes meet mine again. "Come with me."

Fred grabs my hand, leading me to his dorm room. I can see it's empty, but that doesn't mean that Lee or George won't be back soon. Fred doesn't seem bothered by it, however, given the way he spins me, pinning me to his door. One of his hands pins both of my wrists above my head, the other hand gripping my waist as he presses his lips to mine.

I hum with pleasure into the kiss, parting my lips to allow his tongue to enter when he licks my bottom lip. Fred groans, his grip on my wrists tightening as he moves to kiss down my jaw, my neck, and the sweet spot right behind my ear that turns me into putty in his hands. "Freddie," I whisper.

"Mm, yes, darling?" He hums as his other hand moves to my ass, cupping it and lifting my leg to wrap around his waist.

I hold back a moan as my desire and lust for him only grows. "What- what if they come back?" I ask with a hiss as he nips my neck.

Fred chuckles in my neck, his breath sending a pleasurable shiver down my spine. His eyes meet mine, the usual funny and kind sparkle in them long forgotten as they darken. "Don't worry about them. They won't be back tonight," he says firmly.

I nod, helpless, as he lifts me by my thighs and carries me to his bed, laying me down on my back. Fred kisses me again, kneeling between my legs as his fingers work to unbutton my top with haste. Once all of the buttons are undone, he lifts me by the small of my back as I remove it the rest of the way, taking off my bra along with it.

Fred pulls back, breaking the kiss as he looks me up and down, biting his lower lip. "Merlin, have mercy, woman," he groans. He lays me back down, propping himself up on one hand as the other moves to grope my breast, his fingers pinching and rolling my nipple between them, making me let out a whimpering moan. "You're so fucking beautiful. You have no idea how long I've waited for this."

My fingers unbutton his top, tugging on it so remove it as he leans back to finish pulling it off. "Then get to it, Weasley," I tease with a smirk. I stare at his chest with need. Merlin, quidditch does a body good. His toned and muscular shoulders, his profound abs tensing at my teasing.

Fred's hands move up my thighs painfully slow to the waistband of my skirt and panties, pulling them both down and tossing them aside in one fluid motion, leaving me bare in front of him. "Watch your tone, darling," he warns as he cups my pussy, making me gasp as he slides a finger between my folds and circles my entrance, careful not to touch my clit.

"Or else you won't let me cum?" I tease, grinding myself against his hand, desperate for his fingers to reach my clit.

Fred smirks as he leans over me again, thrusting a finger inside of me and eliciting a moan to leave my throat. "No, darling," he teases back as he curls a finger inside of me, pressing right on that spongy sweet spot inside of me, making me pant with need. "Or else I'll make you cum so hard you'll cry," he says, nipping my nipple. "Begging me to take it easy as you cum over, and over again."

I feel my walls clench around his fingers as he slides another one inside of me. "Mmm, but it seems like you want that, don't you?" Fred taunts as his thumb finally lands on my clit.

I nod, moaning softly as he works his fingers with perfect precision in and out of me as his thumb rubs my clit. "Yes... God, yes," I whimper underneath him, my nails scratching down his sides and making him shiver. I undo his pants and reach into them, grasping his rock-hard cock. Fuck, he's so big. How is that supposed to fit?

Fred groans, tilting his head back as he thrusts into my hand. "Such a good girl for me," he praises. He leans down, kissing the sweet spot behind my ear again as he whispers into my ear. "I need to taste you. I might just die if I don't," he pleads.

I tilt my head, pressing my lips to his with a moan. "Yes, Freddie. I need it," I whimper against his lips.

"Mm, then get on my face, darling. Take your seat on your throne," he says with a groan as he pulls back, taking his devious fingers with him. He takes off his pants and boxers, kicking them off to the side as he lays on his back.

I feel a blush creep onto my cheeks. "What if you can't breathe?" I ask nervously as he pulls me onto his face to ride it reverse-cowgirl.

Fred slaps my ass, making me gasp as he grips my hips. "I swear to God, darling. If you don't sit on my fucking face, then I will die. Now sit on your goddamn throne and let me eat my pussy," he demands.

He doesn't leave me with any option as he pushes my thighs apart, forcing me to sit on his face. "F-Fuck!" I moan loudly as his tongue dives inside my entrance, thrusting in and out as he devours me whole. My eyes find his long, thick cock as the tip drips with pre-cum, making my mouth water. I lean forward, pushing my pussy into his face and making him groan.

I take his cock in my hand, pumping it a few times before I lick slow circles around his tip with my tongue. Fred moans, gripping my hips tighter as his tongue lands on my clit. I take his cock in my mouth, sucking as I take him deeper in my throat, my hand pumping his cock where my mouth can't reach.

Fred smacks my ass again, drawing another moan from me around his cock. "Fuck, yes," he moans against my clit, adding the perfect amount of vibration. His hips thrust up, forcing me to take more of him down my throat. Tears prick my eyes as I gag around his cock when it hits the back of my throat. "That's it, darling. Gag for me like a good little slut," he growls.

I feel myself get wetter from the mix of his filthy words and his praise. My legs begin to shake on either side of his head as my orgasm begins to crest. "F-Freddie, I'm gonna-"

"Cum for me, darling. Give it all to me," Fred demands from beneath my thighs as he begins to suck on my clit. My hands grip the sheets, digging in as the tether inside of me snaps, and I let out a loud moan, a string of curses, and his name as Fred rides me through my orgasm with his devilish tongue.

When my orgasm finally fades, I'm a shaking, whimpering mess as he lifts me, switching up our positions and laying me on my back again. "You're so beautiful when you come undone for me," he praises softly, kissing me and allowing me to taste myself on his lips. "Do it again," he says as he lines his cock up with my entrance.

I moan and whimper as he pushes his long and thick cock inside of me. I've never taken anyone of his size before, and it hurts at first. "Relax, darling," Fred says softly, holding still as I adjust to his size. "That's my girl," he says sweetly, kissing my neck. "Are you ready?" he asks, his expression caring.

"It's not all the way in?!" I ask in shock as my body begins to relax around him.

Fred chuckles and shakes his head. "Only half-way," he smirks, nipping my bottom lip between his teeth. "Though I appreciate the sentiment," he teases.

I let out a shaky breath and smirk. "You're insufferable," I tease.

Fred hums as he pushes himself inside of me further, settling into the hilt. "Just for you," he says lovingly. He leans back, looking down at where his cock starts to thrust in and out of me, gripping my thighs. "You take me so well. Fucking made for me," he groans.

I grip the pillow above my head. "God, Freddie, it's yours," I moan softly as the pain disappears and melts into Earth-shattering pleasure.

A low growl escapes Fred's throat as his speed picks up. "Damn right, it's mine," he moans. "All," he thrusts. "Fucking," another hard thrust. "Mine," he emphasizes with a hard thrust, making me mewl and writhe under him.

"Fred, God, yes!" I cry out as he leans down, his thrusts unrelenting. His hand wraps around my throat, not cutting off my air, but cutting off the blood flow to my head.

"Don't cry out for God, he's not the one fucking you," Fred moans darkly. "I'm your God now. Cry out for me," Fred demands.

I whimper, my hands draping around his neck. "Freddie," I moan as his thrusts quicken. "Freddie, yes. You're- You're my God," I whimper.

"And you're my parishioner," he answers. "My devout little lamb," he praises as he releases my throat, allowing the blood to flow back to my brain as he sits back on his ankles. His thumb rubs my clit fast as his thrusts get harder, pounding into me with unrelenting force.

My legs begin to shake again as my orgasm threatens to crash into me like a bludger. My moans become frantic as I pull my legs up to my chest, keeping them spread wide to allow Fred's cock to reach impossibly deeper. "Freddie, I need to cum," I whimper and plead.

"Then cum, little lamb. Give me everything you have, and I will fill you up," Fred moans as his cock twitches inside of me, and his thrusts begin to stagger.

My back arches as my nails tear at the fabric of the pillow above my head. My orgasm crashes into me, setting off stars in my vision as my release washes over me. "Fred!" I cry out in a strangled cry.

Fred moans my name loudly as he thrusts into me one final time, spilling his hot cum inside of me. He rides us both through our highs before he finally withdraws his cock. He leans over me, brushing my hair from my face and tucking it gently behind my ear. "You did so well, little lamb," he praises softly, kissing the edges of my mouth.

I hum with pleasure as a smile dances across my lips. "Just for you, Freddie," I respond softly, kissing his lips.

Fred cleans us both up, tending to me with care as he wipes me down, puts on my panties, and dresses me in one of his shirts before laying back down next to me and pulling me to his chest. "You have no idea how long I've wanted you," he says softly as I cuddle into his arms, my head resting on his shoulder.

I look up at him and smile. "Was it worth the wait?"

Fred smiles and kisses my forehead. "For you? I would wait a thousand years to make you mine."

I giggle softly and kiss him back. "So I take it we're officially together?" I tease playfully.

Fred laughs softly and nods, running his fingers through my hair. "Unless you have other plans," he teases back. "Though I doubt anyone can make you feel the way I just did," he taunts with a wink.

I roll my eyes and snort a laugh. "Someone thinks highly of himself," I quip with a smirk.

"Says the one who called me 'God,'" he quips back.

I smile and snuggle closer, draping a leg over his thighs and pulling myself closer. "Fair enough. But, Freddie?"

"Hmm?" He hums tiredly.

"If you flirt with another girl again, I'll end you both," I warn him.

Fred laughs and shakes his head. "Yes, ma'am."

#harry potter smut #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley smut #fred weasly x reader #fred weasley

332 notes · View notes

ravenstargames · 11 days ago

Text

✦ Lost in Limbo Devlog #13 | 11.11.24

Feels good to be back! This is our first post-Kickstarter devlog and I'm so excited to be writing it.

First of all— Lost in Limbo was successfully funded on September 20th, 2024! 🎉🎇

Yep, it has been almost two months, but it's still something to celebrate! Thanks to every single one of you for making this possible! We didn't meet all our stretch goals (there were a lot and taxes are a pain) but that doesn't mean we are giving up on those. More on that another time.

There's a lot of things we want to show y'all, so let's jump into it!

A sneak peak of Envy's postcard!

Raquel has been working hard on getting the "special postcards from your favorite LI" ready to send them to print ASAP! Initially we were going to use art we already had of the LIs, but we thought it was more exciting to offer y'all exclusive art pieces. After this, Raquel will focus exclusively on the rework of the sprites!

We hosted a few polls and got a lot of feedback. If you missed it, you can check it here!

Astro says hello :^)

As you know, the Extended Demo will feature more locations, including a glimpse of the MC's city, Faybourne! Astro is getting the main street ready for you and your bestie as you go on about your day. I've calculated around three / four different and new locations to properly pace the demo as we imagined it in the first place!

The writing deparment (me. i'm the department) has been focusing on the Extended Demo script. I have a lot of things to play with, like the flavor choices, the personality choices, and more. I want to create a proper balance because one of the things y'all asked for was more choices, and the pacing needed a bit of fixing, as we already knew!

The Extended Demo will actually introduce characters you've heard about, like your mom, your ominous grandmother, and your bestie. So no more talking about them, you'll actually get to meet them like we wanted to!

There will also be more time with the LIs, and hopefully the amount of time you spend with each one of them will feel more balanced, too.

Programming has been an adventure! Huge shoutout to Feniks for helping me figure out how to properly make a toggle for the timed choices as well as helping me polish the personality system. What a lifesaver!

So the timed choices toggle now works perfectly. That means you'll be able to turn them off if you'd like to play the game without being jumpscared by a timer—that doesn't mean you won't be able to mess up, though, on purpose or not :^) This is a dark game, after all!

The personality choice system lets you decide how the MC reacts to things including the nature of your romance with the LI. That means dialogue will automatically change in certain parts of the game to reflect the personality of your MC, some options will be locked, some unlocked, etc. There's three different personalities available.

For colorblind folks, the choices will have a different icon when you hover over them for you to know they're different!

Also, I've started coding some extra mini cgs Kayden's been working on! There'll be more in the Extended Demo to enhance the experience, so we hope you enjoy them! :^)

All the packaging stuff has arrived to our provisional headquarters (Raquel's home), and our business cards have been secured! Every backer with physical goodies will receive one for free :^) This month has been all about managing Backerkit, orders and merch, as well as preparing the Extended Demo. We hope we can receive everything very very soon and start shipping packages starting December!

For now, that's it! There's a lot of stuff going behind the scenes, a lot of things that need attention, and a lot of planning happening. Also the catastrophe the DANA has been on our cities is keeping me a bit on edge, but I'm trying to focus on work. This Saturday I'm going on a trip to Greece with my family, so I'll disconnect then! It's our first time traveling to a different country since I was like...seven years old? And we have been saving up and preparing a lot for the trip, so we are excited :^)

I hope everyone has been taking care and doing alright! Have a huge hug from the Ravenstar Team, and see you around!

#lost in limbo #visual novel #otome #devlog

156 notes · View notes

zara-renata · 2 months ago

Text

Not my type | ao3 | part 8 of this series

a tragicomedy starring Sylus and his clueless crush

Summary: Sylus pesters you on your day off while you're at the arcade until you agree to "lend your talents" to him for the evening. So of course you show up at the designated location only to discover it's a nightclub, and you're dressed for a murder, but not on the dance floor.

Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc This story contains: slow burn, angst, grief, banter, stalking (Sylus), an ongoing one-sided misunderstanding that will be resolved in the next instalment in a way that hopefully won't destroy the romantic tension, mc with self-esteem issues, mentions of self harm, Kieran and Luke and some ocs that hopefully you'll like.

In the days following your utter humiliation at the hands of the Hunter Association’s most wanted criminal, you’re doing fine. Really. You are Fine.

You had a great time at the bookstore with Xavier, who kindly said nothing about your state of dishevelment or the glaring human bite mark on your shoulder when you answered the door that morning. You both lazily wandered between the bookshelves, leisurely reading summaries and showing each other finds that you thought the other would also enjoy. You stopped at the bookstore café and loaded up on sugary iced coffee.

“Here, try this, I think you’ll like it,” you offer your iced mocha with caramel drizzle and whipped cream to Xavier as you begin walking back home together, each carrying a shoulder tote full of manga stuffed with hot guys and big swords, after having spent probably half of this month’s paycheck in one impulse-fueled spree.

“Okay, but then you also have to try mine,” he smiles, holding his own cup out to you. You look at it dubiously, recalling from hearing him order that it had some sort of peppermint flavor in it.

“No way I’m drinking sugar-flavored toothpaste,” you grimace, shaking your head.

“What? Noo, it’s really good, I promise. The peppermint is really subtle. You can’t only just consume chocolate and caramel in your desserts. You’ve got to be a little more adventurous, or you might miss out on something surprising,” he earnestly advises, blue eyes wide, a little pout on his lips.

You eye the offending drink again, and then figure, why not? You’ve gone through much worse, recently, in terms of unpleasant experiences. You should try new things, of the food variety. Because you’re done trying new things of the people variety.

You take his cup and hand over yours, and you both quietly sip for a moment. Your eyes meet again, and both of you grin. “That’s really good!” you admit, and Xavier gently knocks your shoulder with his. “I told you so,” he smiles serenely.

“All right, all right. I’ll listen to my partner more from now on,” you exchange drinks again.

It was nice. Back at his place, you both lazed around on his soft couch and bean bag chair and read until the sunlight drifting through his windows was the golden-tinge of the setting sun, and his persistent yawning was so frequent that you decided to put him out of his misery. You couldn’t punish him by overstaying your welcome simply because you didn’t want to go back to your empty flat with all of your racing thoughts.

“Thanks for today, it was a really nice break,” you tell him as you’re gathering your manga volumes and slipping them back into your tote bag.

“It was,” he yawns again, tears forming at the sides of his clear bright eyes. “We should do it again soon. But I’m going to be out of town for a little while, starting tomorrow.” He gives you an apologetic look.

“Hey, no worries. I wasn’t going to demand you spend all of your leave entertaining me,” you smile, genuinely. You always miss him when he disappears mysteriously, but he’s gotten so much better at telling you when he plans to be away compared to how he was when you first partnered with him.

“I know. I just…” he pauses. “If you need me. For anything. Just send me a text, okay? I’ll come back as soon as I can. I don’t like the idea of you being left to your own devices for too long.” He gives you a teasing smile. “Who knows what other strange companions you’ll pick up if left alone for too long,” he continues, obviously referring to how you stumbled upon him in the no-hunt zone so many months ago. However, the only thing that comes to mind when he says “strange companions” is the image of narrowed scarlet eyes, a laugh that warms you like a shot of whiskey, and big, big hands.

You chuckle, totally naturally, and not nervously at all, mind racing, trying to figure out if he somehow knows that Sylus was at your place last night, and if so, if he knows who Sylus is exactly. Shit. Shit. Nope. You’re not doing this. Xavier is making an innocent joke about how the two of you met, and Sylus does not get to bulldoze into your thoughts while you’re having fun with your partner.

“I’ll be the paragon of caution, I promise,” you say solemnly. “I promise I won’t talk to any shady strangers while you’re away.” You nod firmly to him.

He smiles, seemingly reassured. “Good. Try to get some rest over the next few days. The Captain is right, you need some R&R. Even I couldn’t decipher your reports, and I feel like I’ve gotten pretty good at translating your … particular style of writing under most conditions.”

“Hey, at least I use actual words when texting,” you roll your eyes, pointing at him. He snorts softly, and you wave and make your way back to your apartment, where you proceed to spend the next few days manically cleaning your apartment and researching online for advice regarding acting, bluffing, the subtle art of reading micro-expressions and how to control your own, and in general all things you tell yourself are useful for your undercover work, and not because you anticipate having to lie to everyone you know and care about for as long as a certain hooligan continues to insert himself into your life when you least expect it.

But as the days pass, you don’t hear anything from said hooligan. The only crow feathers outside your window are of the normal variety, swaying in the branches of trees whose leaves are falling as autumn encroaches on the last days of summer in the city.

You decide, once again, to grab the memory of him by the throat and shove it down deep, with all of the other things you refuse to examine too closely. You’re probably close to running out of storage room, but that’s a problem for future you.

For present you, it’s time to hit the arcade. You haven’t been in a while. So that’s what you do, enjoying the cacophony of games music and sound effects, people laughing and shrieking as they win and lose, the too-bright lights, the scent of fried food. The wall of sound and lights and other people just having a simple, entertaining weekend afternoon is enough to drown out any overthinking you might otherwise be sucked into.

It works for a while. You spend some time beating teenagers at some 1 v 1 fighting games, beat some younger kids at your favorite motocross simulation. You manage to not make anyone cry, although for one poor kid it seemed like a close call for a minute or two, before his buddies dragged him away to get some soda as a consolation drink for being beaten within an inch of his pubescent life by the adult weirdo who demolishes children in video games.

You’re finally trying your hand at getting a few new plushies to bring home when you realize you’ve managed to go a couple hours without missing your grandmother, or Caleb. The only people who knew you, really knew you, as a child, and were therefore the scaffolding holding up the unfinished architecture of the adult you, with all of its missing floors and windows, and all the storage rooms hidden behind walls with no doors. But that scaffolding is gone now, and you can’t turn to them and reassure yourself: I am still me, right? I am still the me who I always have been, despite the scarlet voices in my head that come to me in frightening dreams, despite the endless hunger, the exquisite drowning I felt the one time I resonated with Sylus…I’m a good person. I’m a kind person. I’m a loveable person. Right? You loved me, right?

There’s no one left to ask, now. Just you, looking at yourself in the glass reflection of a claw machine, in a noisy arcade filled with people having fun. You haven’t been able to win even one plushie yet.

You take your hand off the joystick, suddenly exhausted. You will not cry in front of the stuffed llamas and penguins. They don’t deserve that.

Your phone dings.

You fish it out of one of your cargo pants pockets, and scowl when you see the name of the person texting you.

Not My Sy: I feel that Ive been more than generous in giving you sufficient time to draft your little rules, but Im starting to get bored waiting for you to send them.

You just stare at your phone, as the door of the basement that you had just slammed closed where you stuff all of your unwanted thoughts bursts open, flooding you with feelings you’re trying so hard not to feel. Just the sight of the nickname he gave himself in your phone fills you with a rush of anticipation—a thrill that aches. And that is exactly why you hadn’t sent him the rules you had insisted on imposing on his surprise visits to your place. One, because you refuse to reach out to him first and therefore lose. Lose what, you’re not sure, but you’re tired of feeling like you’re losing to him. If he wants to talk to you, he knows your number. Two, there is no longer any point to sending him the Rules. He can’t come to your place if he wants to talk to you, because the deal’s off. He can find some other place to recuperate from headaches and papercuts and someone else to manipulate and to… kiss, and bite.

You will not allow him to affect you like this anymore. You stuff your phone into your back pocket and decide to save all the tokens you still have for another day. Time to pick up some tacos and go home to binge watch a series of films that make you yell at the screen because no one can get shot that many times and not fucking die, what a load of bullshit, but you’ll keep watching anyway because the gunplay choreography is pretty badass even if it’s completely nonsensical. There’s also a dog in it. You’ve never been able to resist an anti-hero with a soft spot for animals.

Your phone dings again. You tell yourself that you won’t look. You have plans, dammit. Ones you just made, granted, but you’re not going to get roped into whatever little scheme Sylus thinks he can run on you today.

You wrap your hoodie tighter around yourself in preparation for the rush of cool autumn air as the arcade’s door swings shut behind you. Your phone dings again. You grit your teeth and reach into your pocket to flick your phone to silent.

Almost immediately, your phone begins to vibrate in your pocket. And it doesn’t stop. It just… keeps going. You jerk to a halt and just stand there, feeling it vibrate against your ass, over and over and over again. What the fuck is this lunatic doing?!

Finally, you reach for your phone again and angrily open his messages as you start moving again.

Not My Sy: Hmm, I see youve been busy in your phone settings. Cant say Im fond of the change. Allow me to fix it for you.

My Sy: Much better.

My Sy: Oh, I see how it is. A certain kitten thinks I can be left on read without any consequences. Are we feeling a little sullen today, sweetie?

My Sy: Hmm, I see that you decided not to wear one of my gifts out today on your little jaunt to one of my establishments. Probably for the best. They fit you perfectly, but expose enough skin that theyre not very practical for a brisk autumn afternoon at the arcade. Good call.

My Sy: I also dont think the teenagers you just slaughtered at the arcade could have handled the loss and the gorgeous view.

My Sy: Ah, would we prefer vibration as stimulation this afternoon? Im happy to help with that.

My Sy: Pick

My Sy: Up

My Sy: Your

My Sy: Phone

My Sy: I

My Sy: Can

My Sy: Do

My Sy: This

My Sy: All

My Sy: Day

My Sy: You

My Sy: Look

My Sy: Adorable

My Sy: When

My Sy: Youre

My Sy: Mad

My Sy: Like

My Sy: A

My Sy: Fluffy

My Sy: Little

My Sy: Kitten

My Sy: Back

My Sy Arched

My Sy: Fur

My Sy: Puffed

As the wall of messages load, you stop so quickly on the sidewalk that someone bumps into you from behind. You barely resist the urge to launch them into traffic with a one armed shoulder throw. Two more messages pop up.

My Sy: Oh I like the look on your face now

My Sy: Makes me want to grab you by the tail

The person behind you has the good sense to just keep going without saying anything to you, but that may have something to do with the fact that you’re now spinning in circles, eye darting wildly in an attempt to locate Sylus, or Mephisto, or the twins, or some security camera, so that you can take out whatever eyes are feeding Sylus your image right now.

You: where is it?

Instead of an answering text, your phone begins to vibrate in your hand, and … a picture you did not take appears on the screen along with Sylus’s incoming call.

In the photo, Sylus is leaning against your pillows, one arm leisurely bent behind his head, his bare bulky chest on full display as he lifts the phone with his other arm. You are fast asleep on top of him, face turned so that all that is visible in the picture is your hair—bedhead on full inglorious display. It is clear from the photo that you have your face smashed between Sylus’s man tits. He is smiling wide, the laughter clear in bright eyes that stare straight into the camera lens and now into you, with your mouth agape at finding this as his contact picture on your phone.

He must be texting while letting the call continue, because the notification of a new text pops up over his contact picture.

My Sy: I can work with this facial expression too.

You shut your mouth so fast and hard that your teeth click.

My Sy: While I love your teeth most of the time, well need to work on that bite.

Before your brain melts from imagining what he could do with your open mouth and how he’d handle your sharp teeth, you slam your thumb on the end call button, power down your phone, stuff it back in your pocket, and begin marching toward the metro station to get home. Fuck him. Fuck the tacos. You’ll go to Xavier’s apartment with the spare key he gave you for when he’s out of town, order takeout, and hide for the rest of the night.

Suddenly, your phone begins vibrating once again. You stop again, this time startling a pair of teenage girls who take one look at your face and cross to the other side of the street before continuing in the same direction. Great, now you’re not just pummeling children at video games, but scaring them as well. You open your phone and see Sylus calling again. You stare at the one nipple you can see in the picture. Your mouth waters. You’re not even surprised that he has fucked with your phone to the point that he can simply turn it back on remotely if you decide to turn it off.

My Sy: I told you kitten, I can do this all day. Some friendly advice: might as well accept the inevitable and pick up. Im used to your attention now. I don’t like being ignored.

The phone keeps ringing, vibrating in your hand. You let your hands hang at your sides, and tilt your head to look up into the crisp, sunny autumn sky.

You wonder if you’re strong enough for this. You can eliminate wanderers in your sleep. You can outmanoeuvre, outfight, outgun and outlast most hostile humans. You can even outsmart and outplay most people you meet when you’ve had a proper night’s sleep. But you’ve never met anyone like Sylus Qin. You can’t hide in Xavier’s flat forever. No matter how friendly you’ve become since you first partnered with him, he’d probably throw you out the window if you tried. And eventually, Sylus will come to collect what he thinks you owe him for allowing you to shoot him through the fucking heart. Wouldn’t it better to pretend to be on good terms with him, to make it as painless as possible? Instead of being a stone wall, trying to keep him and all the ways you know he can already hurt you out, you can be like water. Let him and the pain he’ll bring simply… pass right through you. Water is resilient. And if he burns you, well. You already saw it coming, right? You’ll simply dissipate into a puff of steam and float away. With enough time, you’ll heal—you’ll re-coalesce in the atmosphere, and you’ll fall back into yourself like rain. You can survive him, if you can adapt quickly enough.

You lift the phone, dig your earbuds out of one of your pockets and put them in your ears, and then answer his video call.

“Took you long enough,” Sylus’s beautiful voice flows directly into your brain.

“Sorry, I was a bit busy. Can I help you with something?” You close your eyes and will your face to relax, let your shoulders fall. You breathe in, the earthy scent of dying leaves filling your nostrils. You are water. You open your eyes.

He’s staring at you through the phone, a slight frown on his severely handsome face.

“Sylus?” You hold the phone a little closer to yourself as people flow around you on the sidewalk. When you look back, he’s still just… watching you.

“I have to admit, sweetheart, that this is not the greeting I was expecting when you finally picked up.”

“And what were you expecting?” You decide to keep walking. You’ll be fine. This will be fine. Multitasking is good. One foot in front of the other, and Sylus’s face, so distant, but still in the palm of your hand, in a small way. You can be satisfied with this.

He takes a moment, seems to choose his words carefully. “A little more life,” he responds. You let your hand holding the phone fall to your side for a moment. It will take a little while, to fully get into the headspace where whatever he says, can’t affect you. You just need a little more time. You breathe, you breathe, you breathe.

You bring the phone back up to your face, make your way through the crowd on the sidewalk. People must be scrambling to enjoy the last few bright days of the year before the long slide into the dark fall. You hadn’t expected so many to be out and about on a lazy Saturday afternoon.

“One would think you’d be used to me disappointing you by now,” you say, shrugging. “Can you tell me why you called?”

Sylus suddenly looks angry, and you resist the fear-fueled urge to throw your phone. You haven’t seen him look at you like that since… well. For a while.

“Sylus?”

“In what universe have you ever disappointed me?” he asks, voice even, controlled.

You can’t help it. You laugh. The kind of laugh that can spiral into something unhinged, if you weren’t water. Instead, it sinks into you like a stone. “Oh, I dunno, maybe this one, when you literally said ‘How disappointing’ and sneered that there was something wrong with me when I couldn’t resonate with you,” you say drily. You are water. Whatever he says next will simply ripple through you, and then fade into stillness.

But he doesn’t say anything. You peek at the phone screen. He’s looking away, his hand covering his mouth. You can’t tell what expression he’s making. Maybe Luke and Kieran are doing something silly offscreen.

In the end, none of it matters. “Okay, well, if you don’t want to tell me, I’m about to head into the metro. You can send a text if you change your mind.” Your thumb hovers over the end call button.

“I need your … particular talents this evening,” he answers right before your skin makes contact with the screen.

Oh. He really did have a reason to call— he needed your help with something dangerous.

That’s fine. You hadn’t actually had the fleeting thought that maybe he was calling because he just wanted to hear your voice, the way you never, ever found yourself feeling. Even in the past few days, since the Unfortunate Event of the Other Morning.

“And Kieran and Luke are unavailable this evening? Or anyone else from your hoard of henchmen who you can order to come back you up?” You’re being herded in a mass of other bodies into the metro station. You notice for the first time that Sylus is dressed really nicely—some sort of vest over a button down shirt. You find yourself trying to hold the phone discretely to minimize other people being able to see what you’re seeing.

“Kieran and Luke do not possess your particular talents. And besides, why would I want to see them this evening? I have to look at them on a daily basis, the last thing I want is to have to see them on a Saturday night.”

“I see. Had enough of a break from seeing me that you can stomach it again?” You smile, smooth as ice. Ice is just frozen water, right? You can ask Zayne to help—pick his brain to figure out how he stays so calm, in the face of so much chaos, not revealing a damn thing.

Sylus is just staring at you again, silver brows furrowed.

“So is it like, bring a gun to a knife fight kind of thinking? Do you really think that whatever situation you want my help with is too dangerous even for your minions?”

He just continues staring at you, and if anything, looks more displeased. You have no idea why he seems so pissed off. Maybe he’s rethinking asking for your help. You might be able to watch those movies after all.

“I see now that I've made a grave miscalculation,” he finally answers, rubbing his forehead. He suddenly sounds … tired? Or sad? You're so bad at reading other people.

You have no idea what you’re supposed to say to that, but you feel bad that he seems to be so exhausted and it sounds like your fault. You decide that you’ll help him tonight, with whatever he needs. And then maybe you will have finally, finally balanced the scales between you. And then you’ll be free.

After a few moments of you just awkwardly watching him in silence, he seems to come back to himself. “Why bring a gun to a knife fight when you can bring a grenade launcher?” He adjusts the buttons on the deep red vest under his tailored black suit jacket. The black shirt underneath the vest has its first few buttons undone, exposing his pale throat and collarbone. He’s also wearing a black leather collar, and you once again imagine a cute, bell on it, chiming with every one of his movements. You do not think about slipping a finger under the thick strip of leather and pulling him down, down to your level.

You shake your head. “I’m the grenade launcher in this little metaphor? What about you?”

“Do you even need to ask?” He pulls a watch over his hand, something antique and mechanical that probably ticks loudly when its quiet, and it clicks heavily as he fastens it on his thick wrist. You suddenly think of the night you spent searching for his brooch, the handcuffs around those same wrists, how he let them hold him there for you as your hands ran along his arms, under his soft silk robe, across—

“Then I think you’ll do just fine on your own tonight,” you clip out, wondering how much it would hurt if you slammed your face into the metro car’s heavily smudged, reinforced window in an effort to dislodge the intrusive thoughts that have become alarmingly frequent the longer you let this man stay in your life.

“Violence should be used strategically, sweetie. I would prefer to reserve the nuclear option for when it’s actually necessary. And isn’t it your job as an upstanding citizen to de-escalate conflict? Having you by my side will not only be useful for me, but is actually a public service for any bystanders.”

“I serve Linkon City, not the N109 zone.” You don’t know why you’re arguing. You had already made up your mind to help him. But the return of this familiar, smug and argumentative Sylus seems to pull you back into the pattern that is so easily repeated between the two of you.

“What an appallingly shortsighted response from someone who I know has gone to other cities and even other countries to fight wanderers in order to protect non-Linkon City citizens. Are the people of the N109 zone not also worthy of your devotion?”

It’s hot in the metro car, and you’re relieved as your stop approaches. You wait until you’re able to shoulder your way out of the mass of bodies and can breathe fresh air in order to respond freely.

“For shit’s sake Sylus, how did we go from hesitation about whether you actually need me to serve as your bodyguard tonight to me failing my duty to protect innocent people?”

“Is that honestly the only thing you can imagine when I request your talents? When did I ask you to be my bodyguard?” he asks, but before you can respond, he continues, “You’re the one who insists that you aren’t available to help people in the N109 zone tonight.”

“You, Sylus. Not people, you.” You step aside to allow a man with an adorable tiny fluffy dog move past, but it stops and sniffs you instead of moving along. You glance at the man, who’s actually quite handsome in a Finance Guy kind of way, which means he’ll be handsome to you up until the point he opens his mouth, but you can’t resist asking “May I pet this cutie?”

The guy’s face lights up. “Go ahead! Cricket loves pats.”

“Aww, Cricket is such an adorable name for such an adorably doggy!” You kneel down and offer your hand for Cricket to sniff, and then run your hand along the dog’s soft fur. It preens and arches its back, and then curls its hips around to ensure that you give it scritches near its tail.

“Aren’t you a good doggy,” you murmur, feeling the tension melt from your shoulders. You would love to have a pet, if you only had the time to take care of it. You give Cricket one final pat, and then stand back up. “Thank you, I really needed that,” you smile at Cricket’s dad.

“Anytime! Do you live in the neighborhood? Maybe, if you want—”

Suddenly you hear a loud crash on the other end of the phone, and the shock makes you wince.

“Or not,” the man rushes out. “It was just a thought.” He waves awkwardly, and then continues along his way, having to pull on Cricket's lead a little bit as the dog only reluctantly moves away from you.

You’re left standing there, wondering what the hell just happened. You look back down to your phone, where Sylus is looking somewhere off screen with a bored expression on his face. “The fuck, Sylus?”

“My apologies for interrupting your little interlude. It appears Mephisto knocked my phone off my nightstand,” he shrugs. “He’s not as well-behaved as… Cricket, it would seem.”

Interlude? What interlude? Petting a dog? “Uh, okay? I thought Mephisto isn’t a pet.”

“Correct.”

You wait for him to elaborate, but he remains serenely silent. “So why are we comparing Mephisto to a random dog on the street?”

“We’re not,” he lies. You stare at him. He seems to think for a moment, eyes moving back to the screen, taking in whatever he’s seeing on your side. Probably an unflattering view of your chin disappearing into your neck as you look directly down at your phone, still trying to weave through people on the sidewalk to get to your flat. You lower your head even further, trying to give him a good view up your nostrils, as a treat. There is no universe in which you care about what you look like to him. None. Certainly not this one. Finally, he speaks. “In any case, back to business. How about I make you a deal?”

In your happy break petting Cricket you had forgotten about the world, including what Sylus is demanding of you.

“If you come to me… and lend me your talents tonight, I’ll owe you a favor.”

You snort. “You already owe me for every day I haven’t delivered your head to my employer.”

“Then I’ll owe you a favor that I actually acknowledge owing to you,” he responds calmly. “Because I think you benefit just as much as I do from not delivering any piece of me, including my … head, to the authorities.”

You do not imagine any pieces of him. Delivering them, or doing anything else with them.

You’re finally within sight of your building. “I see. So you’ll owe me a favor. Any restrictions? Or are you actually offering me anything I want?”

“Anything you want. No restrictions, no conditions.”

“What if I told you to turn yourself in?” you ask, genuinely curious if he actually has no limits on this so-called favor.

“Done,” he says easily. Your feel your eyes widen, and he continues. “But again, for the same reasons that you haven’t already betrayed me, I don’t think that’s the favor you’ll call in.”

“And you’re really willing to place all your bets on that? Maybe I just haven’t turned you in out of laziness.” You watch him slip a pair of gloves on one big hand, and then the other, the supple leather gliding over his hands like a second skin.

“I’m all in on that bet.”

“And why’s that?”

“You are the furthest from the definition of laziness that I have ever encountered,” he says gravely. “And let’s just say, aside from the aforementioned benefits you enjoy with me walking around free, I think you’re more fond of me than you care to admit, even to yourself.”

You make a disgusted noise. “Let’s hope for your sake that your confidence isn’t misplaced.”

“Oh, there is no question that my confidence, in all things, is justified,” he smiles, one corner of his mouth quirking.

His arrogance is so thick, even through the phone, that you could gag on it. “Ugh,” is all you can say.

“Excellent. See you at 23:00. I’ll text you the address. I advise dressing appropriately and to bring the toy I left you when I had a headache, kitten.” And with that, he disconnects the call, leaving you standing in your elevator, wondering what the hell you just agreed to.

And now, here you are. Black leather pants, combat boots, a semiautomatic with red flames engraved along the hand grip in your side holster underneath your black leather jacket, various knives strapped along your forearms and in your boots. You brought two duffel bags with you. One is full of toys that might be useful if things get really ugly. The other simply contains something of Sylus’s that you’ve been wanting to return ever since he left it at your place. As you were getting ready, it occurred to that this might be the last chance you have to give it to him.

You’re standing in line in front of some upscale nightclub, waiting for your turn to be judged by the bouncer and either admitted or refused. Likely the latter, if Sylus doesn’t show up soon.

You showed up at exactly 23:00, approaching the long line with trepidation. You hadn’t realized when Sylus sent the address that it was actually a nightclub called Amnesia—a rather exclusive nightclub, with a selective policy regarding who they allow in. You hadn’t realized this until you saw the subtle sign glowing softly in the N109 zone's perpetual gloom and did a quick search on your phone. Most of the club goers are dressed in surprisingly tasteful club clothes—tightly tailored pants, artfully low necklines and backless tops, sensual dresses, except the sequins—so, so many shiny sequins. You squint and wonder how the hell you’re going to get in dressed like you’re ready for a biker rally with an arsenal big enough to stage a small coup. Mission objective number one, adequate renaissance of the target location: failed. But it’s your bedtime and you don’t even want to be here in the first place, so this is Sylus’s problem to solve. You wait. And you wait. The line inches forward. The longer you wait, the more irritated you get. Where the fuck is he? You glance at your phone, but there are no new messages.

So you dutifully stand in line, which continues forward at a very slow pace, quickly outpaced by your anger. You notice that the group of women in front of you have clearly been pre-gaming pretty hard. They’ve noticed you, and are side-eyeing your outfit. You’re worrying they’re going to say something mean, when one of them glides over to you effortlessly on very tall high heels. You straighten your spine and prepare yourself. I am a role model for the Deepspace Hunter’s Association, I will not punch a civilian in the solar plexus for saying something mean to me about the fact that I am a fashion disaster. I will not—

“You look so badass,” she grins, tossing her silky brunette hair over her shoulder. One of her friends sidles up behind her. “For real, and like, really hot. This whole look is a vibe.” She waves one beautifully manicured nail in front of you, to encompass the whole of your outfit.

You squint again, wondering if they’re making fun of you, but the entire lot of them are nodding and chattering amongst themselves. “Is it like, a cosplay event or something? Did we miss the announcement on Amnesia’s socials? I want to dress like I can murder someone with a look too!”

“Hey, I think most of our heels are sharp enough to count as weapons, right?” the first one says to her friend, and then looks at you hopefully for… confirmation? Approval?

“Oh, definitely,” you encourage her, because she really does seem earnest. “You can stomp your opponent on the foot or go for the groin! And you know, if you hold your keys like this,” you say, fishing your motorcycle keys out of your leather pants and holding the long, narrow part of the key between the knuckles of your index and middle finger while clutching the wider base in your palm, “you can use them as an improvised shiv! Just go for the eyes! Or the throat!”

You’re met with a chorus of “Ooooohs,” and wide, perfectly winged eyes. You’re feeling like a pretty good teacher when your phone dings. You fish it out of the inside of your leather jacket.

My Sy: Youre late.

You glare at the screen.

“Can you teach us that look, too? You look like you really want to end someone,” one of the women asks hesitantly. You nod.

You: no, you’re late. i’ve been standing out front since 23:00.

You look back up to your new friend and point at your eyebrows, lowering them to an exaggerated degree. She nods and tries to mimic you. Her gorgeous, perfectly plucked brows form a scowl. You nod and look back at your phone.

My Sy: Youre standing in front of the club?

You: huh, mr. sylus qin’s not as omniscient as he likes to pretend. looks like you should fire mephisto.

My Sy: No such luck, sweetie. Ive decided to put him on permanent kitten observation duty after tonight. Why are you standing out front, instead of going inside?

You point at your chin now, and lower your head so that you’re looking at the club girl like a bull about to charge. She gives you a thumbs up and lowers her head, and then stomps her foot for good measure.

You: because there’s a line. which you’d know, if you bothered to show up.

My Sy: Of course. I should have known youd obey the rules and refuse to jump the line. Another miscalculation on my part. Stay put.

You roll your eyes. Of course he expects you to just keep waiting. Maybe he needs to find a parking spot. You turn to your friend. “Yeah, you look really intimidating now! Do that to the next person who hits on you and won’t take no for an answer.” You grin at her.

She laughs and you two proceed to try to out-glare each other, until you see her eyes go wider than previous attempts. You tense when you sense a large presence behind you, but calmly turn, hand drifting to your jacket holster containing the gun Sylus gave you.

It’s just the bouncer. Or at least, you think she’s the bouncer. She’s tall, muscular, and has a tight black t-shirt with Amnesia written in small, tasteful letters in the middle, right under the collar.

“Are you…” she pauses, and checks her tablet again. “The boss’s ‘sweet little hunter?’” she intones, clearly reading the words against her will, but she manages to keep the look of disgust that you’re pretty sure is trying to fight its way onto her face from appearing with admirable professionalism.

“By boss, you mean…?” You already know the answer. Of course you do. Your anger ratchets up another notch.

“Mr. Sylus Qin,” she says. “So are you the hunter, or not?”

You nod. “All right, follow me.” She lifts the velvet rope, and your new friends wave enthusiastically and cheer loudly for you as the bouncer leads you past the crowd and into the club. You stare at the bouncer's back, where her shirt reads ‘security’ in large block letters. She has an obvious pistol harness crisscrossed over her strong shoulders with two semiautomatics strapped into each holster. This is the N109 zone after, all. It doesn’t surprise you that Sylus’s bouncers are well-armed.

Once inside, she gestures vaguely towards the back of the huge space and says “He’s waiting for you in the Lethe VIP lounge.” And then she’s gone.

You quickly scan your surroundings, assessing threats, noting exits and bottlenecks. The atmosphere is completely different than THE BOOM BOOM ROOM, the only club you’ve visited recently. This place smells expensive. No stale beer and stale sweat, but probably diffusers hidden along the walls that emit the scent of sandalwood and other subtle spices. The music is full of reverb, heavy, with slow beats, sensual—specifically composed to make the listener feel reckless and sexy after a few strong drinks. The décor is a blend of vintage details and modern sleekness, and somehow it works to create the impression of tasteful decadence.

A long, dark wooden bar lines one wall, with standing tables and booths filling the space in front of it. Vases of fresh, dark-petaled flowers sit on each surface. Beyond the seating area, the dance floor spreads out in front of a slightly raised stage, where a DJ is playing to coordinated LED lights. Acrobatic performers, faces painted to resemble crying jesters and theatrical masks, hang suspended by hoops from the ceiling above the dance floor. They slowly twist and arch their bodies through, over, and off the hoops, spinning gently over the heads of the surging dancers.

If nothing else, it has been worth coming tonight to watch one in particular, with curly ginger hair, lean chest bare, arching gracefully through a sequence, bowing their back until their foot touches the top of their head. You wonder what kind of mobility exercise routine is required to attain that level of flexibility, and make a note to do an online search—but you’re here on a mission. Although the longer you look, the less you understand why Sylus asked for your help tonight. The place is crawling with security. He has a small army on staff. Why does he need you?

As your assessing gaze continues to wander, you see two familiar figures at the far end of the bar. And a third, unfamiliar person standing with them. From across the darkened, tastefully lit room, you see a beautiful woman. She’s wearing a tasteful suit, dark hair coiled in beautiful braids. She’s laughing at something one of the twins has just said, her slender hand on his shoulder. They have the easy familiarity of people who have known each other for a long time.

She looks like who you had imagined, as Sylus told you that you had the sophistication of a cactus. You look down at your scuffed combat boots. The clunky duffel bags clutched in your gloved hands, in this beautiful nightclub full of beautiful people. You look back at Sylus’s associates. One of the twins has his masked face turned towards you, but you have no idea if he has noticed you. You turn away.

You are water. You can drown in yourself, before anyone can drown you first. You won’t give them the satisfaction. You focus on the dancers again. The handsome ginger catches your eye, and smiles. Your heart hurts, they’re so pretty.

You haven’t heard shit from Sylus since he told you to sit tight. He didn’t bother to give you proper intel about this night at all. And he clearly already has all the security he could possibly need in this edgy, sensual monstrosity of an establishment. You’re suddenly so pissed you can hardly see straight. You could be watching John Wick 16: the Penultimate Chapter right now, but instead your heart is drowning in your chest and the person he was probably dreaming about the other morning is in the same damn room. You make a fist and pound your chest, once, hard, right over your heart.

The pain brings you back to your senses. You turn away from the dancers, find a staircase leading to the upper floors of the club, and take two steps at a time, relieved that the rooms on the top floor have elegant nameplates, each named after something in mythology regarding memory and the psyche. You stop in front of a black door with the plate reading ‘Lethe’, and kick open the door. What? Your hands are fucking full.

Inside, the room is as over the top and beautiful as the lower floors of the club. You have an impression of deep maroon walls, black leather furniture, low-slung and perfect for fucking, for an orgy really, your intrusive thoughts tell you. There are people: the twins, the woman. Huh. They must have slipped upstairs while you were staring at the dancers again. And there are two men, but you only catalogue the men long enough to determine that they are not visibly armed. No threats. All you can see now is the relaxed man straight ahead of you, at the back of the room, his arms stretched wide across the back of the black leather booth, manspreading as usual.

You reach down, fling the duffel full of weapons over your shoulder, and unzip the other, incredibly full one as you stride towards the smug asshole who summoned you here.

“Finally, I was starting to—” Sylus’s voice hardly penetrates the fog of rage coursing through you.

“I have a present for you,” you interrupt him, and he perks up, a subtle smile lifting one corner of his beautiful mouth, but that’s the last you see of him before you expertly launch the absolutely stuffed duffel bag at him. It lands on his lap, where you aimed it, and the feathers he left on your bed the other morning explode into the air and gently rain down on him, covering him from head to toe in a thick layer of black. At least the landslide that has spread from him to the booth are hardly distinguishable from the leather.

You were right. The only thing you can hear in the ensuing silence is the tick of his fancy fucking watch.

You close your eyes. That felt good. You open them. He’s still sitting in the same relaxed position, but now there are black feathers caught in his silky silver hair, dusting his shoulders, filling his lap. He makes no effort to brush them off.

“You really didn’t have to, kitten,” he says peacefully into the ticking, shocked silence. "You already had my attention without launching another aerial assault."

“I know. But I couldn’t bear the thought of how sad the feathers would be, separated from you. I couldn’t just leave them to suffer on my bed.”

As soon as the words are out of your mouth, you slam your hand over it. Oh shit. If that woman really is his actual object of interest, you just made it sound like something is going on between you and Sylus that most definitely isn’t. You glance at her. She’s watching you from between the twins, and has a grin on her face. Maybe she didn’t hear…?

Someone clears their throat. You turn again, this time sweeping your gaze over the two well-dressed, handsome men, one seated next to Sylus and (you wince) who caught some of the feather fallout, and the other seated across the low table from Sylus. They’re dressed sharply, but not like they’re going clubbing. Almost like this is a… business meeting. But the dude who got caught as collateral feather damage is seated like, really close to Sylus. Now that you're actually looking at him, you realize that he’s really beautiful. Like, as pretty as Xavier. He's looking at Sylus, grinning from ear to ear. His teeth are blindingly white. Maybe it’s not the beautiful woman who Sylus was dreaming about, but this guy?

Why do you even care? You are a waterfall, drowning out any inconvenient feelings about this wanted felon. You are not a psycho who assumes that everyone who breathes the same air as Sylus is a potential romantic rival. Not even a rival, because you’re not competing. This is not a competition, you have no horse in this race, this is neither your circus nor your monkeys, you were just the hired help for the evening and it’s clear that there is a surplus of staff in the security department tonight so you’re going to go home and watch a man murder a football stadium worth of humans because of a puppy.

“Well, I’m so sorry to have interrupted,” you say, as if you had just accidentally peeked into the wrong room, instead of careening in here like a cannonball and launching a full scale feather assault on the owner of the establishment like a lunatic. “I will get out of your feathers—I mean, hair.” You bow slightly, because why the fuck not, tighten your hold on your remaining duffel. Sylus can just keep the other one—you definitely do not want a souvenir from this night. You then stride back the way you came.

You refuse to turn and look at Mister Toothpaste Commercial sitting next to Sylus again as you go. But as you approach the twins, you can’t help but take one last look at the woman since she’s standing next to your exit. You’re just curious. Nothing else. Just a curious little… lake. Because you’re water. And nothing can hurt you if you’re just a placid lake in a serene forest.

Yikes, after getting a better look at her face, you realize she is young. Like, teenager young? Okay, age gaps are fine if both parties have a certain level of maturity. Who are you to judge? You hope if she is the one he wants to bite that they’re happy together. Really. You’re just the bottom of the ocean, and you can survive great pressure.

“Are you just going to leave right after giving me such a considerate gift, without allowing me to even thank you?” Sylus’s sardonic voice seems to fill the room.

You stop, but can’t bring yourself to turn around. “No thanks necessary. It's not even a gift. Just returning property to its rightful owner.” You take another step.

“What about our deal? You still haven’t given me what we bargained for tonight.”

This time you turn your head. “I’m pretty sure you have enough security for your needs tonight. Let’s just call everything off, okay? No one owes anyone anything, and you can offer that favor to someone else.” You look at the girl, but she’s not smiling anymore—rather, she’s looking at you with… confused disgust? Fuck it’s hard to read people. Maybe she’s suffering from intestinal gas. Maybe Sylus carries around lactase tablets for both the twins and his girlfriend.

Someone clears their throat behind you. “Sir, perhaps I should return another time when you’re not so entangled in… domestic strife,” a respectful voice sounds behind you. You whip around. The man seated across from Sylus and wearing a nicely tailored blue suit is glancing between you and Sylus.

“Oh no,” you say, holding up your gloved hands. “No, sorry, this isn’t .. a domestic anything. Like, we are not like that.” You shake your head. The man suddenly looks relieved. You feel encouraged. You don’t want Mister Toothpaste Commercial or Miss Jailbait to get the wrong idea. You’re nobody.

You look at Sylus. He just looks steadily back at you, as if waiting to see what the next spectacle you have to offer will be. Why isn’t he saying anything to deny such an absurd allegation?

“So you are not the partner he wanted to introduce to me tonight, is that correct?”

He wanted to introduce his partner to this guy? Who even is this guy? You know what? None of your business. All you need to know is that he does, in fact, have a partner, and that partner, is in fact, not you, and it doesn’t matter that he helped you fall asleep a few times and touched you like you were precious, because he has a partner and that partner is not you and might be the child bride over there in the corner or the teeth whitening product model on the booth next to him. You are water so deep that you’re the Marianas trench. You’re so deep, no life can survive at all. You ignore the fact that you think you read somewhere that little weird volcanic tube worms can survive down there. Because where there’s no life, there’s no pain: the only solace of death. You’re fine. No tube worms at all.

“That’s correct. Just ask him! I mean, I’m not his type. And honestly, he’s not mine.”

The man looks alarmed for a moment, like he is afraid for you to keep going. But you do anyway. You try really hard to think about why Sylus wouldn’t be your type, when everything about him is gorgeous and intelligent and fascinating and when he wants to be, so, so sweet. “I mean, I’m only interested in someone who is tall. And who clearly spends enough time in the gym. Like, ripped. And who’s actually incredibly bright, who can make running multiple businesses look easy. And someone who seems really scary at first glance, but is actually heartbreakingly sweet when he feels like it. And funny! Who can honestly make me laugh on the worst day of my life.” You trail off. Clear your throat. “So no. Sylus is not my type.” You snap your mouth shut. You rub your heart—it must still ache from when you hit it earlier. That’s all this pain is.

The man, who has nice dark hair, and nicely trimmed facial hair, and nice shoes that may be oxfords or brogues but you have no fucking clue which, nods slowly, as if what you just said isn’t wildly awkward. “Oh, so when you said you wanted to introduce us to your partner,” he looks back curiously at Sylus, then at the woman standing with the twins. “Are you who he meant?”

Okay, is this guy just going to ignore Mister Toothpaste Commercial as a potential love interest? Maybe he’s bi-phobic. You don't know where Sylus's tastes lie. Again, not your business. You’re going to stomp your phone to smithereens the second you get out of here, you’re not going to stay at Xavier’s, because it’s too close to home. You’re going to Rafayel’s, and you’re going to sell your place. You’re going to apply for a hunter position in the arctic. You will be surrounded by snow there, all the frozen water you could ever want, and you’re never going to find yourself in such a fucked up situation ever again.

“I’m afraid not,” Sylus says. “She's not my type.”

You pause, just for a second. You don’t actually want to hear why she’s not his type, because in the end, it’s not your business. And even if you thought she was his partner there for a few minutes, you don’t want to hear him say things that might hurt her feelings. Because you know how it feels to be on the receiving end of Sylus's disdain, and it sucks.

“I’m only interested in someone who is effortlessly surprising." He looks at you. "Who uses their strength to protect the weak, instead of exploiting them. Whose tongue is sharp enough to match my own. A tongue I don’t mind surrendering myself to, to be shredded on again, and again.”

Again, there’s only the ticking of that insufferable, sexy watch on his insufferable, thick wrist.

Your heart doesn’t hurt at his description. At all. You must have just really hit it a little too hard earlier. You're a raindrop. It's your job to splatter all over the ground. You're just doing your job. You've always been very, very good at doing your job.

The person he’s describing sounds fascinating, and the perfect match for him. He'll never get bored with them, and maybe their goodness will rub off on him. Good for him. You had wanted to be friends with him, right? Before you realized that you might actually have feelings beyond hate, beyond wanting to fuck his brains out and then never speaking to him again. This is good. Your friends deserve people they can care about the way he just described caring about this person. Everyone should get to experience that in their life, at least once.

The silence and your thoughts are shattered when Miss Child Bride snorts. “Thank fuck. Cause we already went over why that would be gross.” She turns to Kieran and Luke. “Now I see what you mean. What a shitshow.”

“Right?” One of the twins responds. “So are you in?”

“Yeah. But I see your two weeks and raise you two months.”

The other twin fist bumps her. “You’re on.”

Sylus pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Clear the room,” he commands.

Kieran, Luke and Miss Jailbait all do little lackadaisical salutes and turn to leave. As the girl walks past you, she waves her hand in front of your face. You jerk back, hand instinctively going to the knife strapped on your thigh.

“Woah there, hunter. No need to get defensive.” She grins at you.

You suppress the urge to see how big she'd be smiling if you swept her legs out from under her sensible heels and then did a diving elbow drop onto her prone form as punishment for invading your space. She might be Sylus's partner and thus owed some respect because you respect him, but you don't like when people you don't know get in your space. “What the fuck was that for?” you ask instead, because you're polite.

“Just trying to see if you're blind.”

One of the twins puts his hand on her shoulder. “Rule number four: refrain from teasing boss’s pet hunter, or else he will get angry.”

“Yeah, cause he likes to do it himself.” The other twin chimes in, putting his hand on her other shoulder. “Let’s go get you to Linda before you're fired before you’re actually hired.” They guide her out the door.

You just stand there. You feel like what just happened is really offensive, to someone, somewhere, but you have no fucking clue why.

The two men have also gotten to their feet and are now moving past you, and Mister Toothpaste Commercial is grinning at you like you just made his night for some reason. Why is everyone in here a nutcase? you wonder hypocritically. You tighten your hold on your duffel and start trailing after them.

Only to be lifted in the air by the scarlet-ink tendrils of Sylus’s evol, its energy making the hair along your arms stand on end. “Not you, kitten.”

Against your will, you find yourself being carried gently to the booth and deposited onto the surprisingly soft leather, right next to Sylus. The feathers puff up, and then settle around you again.

Wordlessly, Sylus slips the duffel’s handle from your shoulder and with a little surprised grunt of effort, sets it on his other side. Yeah, it's heavy. You brought a lot of hardware in case things went south tonight. Which they did, just not in the way you anticipated. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him sweep a look from your head to your toes. “I tell you that I need your talents and to dress appropriately, and this is what you show up wearing?” he asks, as if all of the weirdness that just happened is of no significance. He sounds genuinely curious.

“Well, yeah. I can't wear my hunter gear into the N109 zone, and figured the leather was better than my usual cargo pants and harness. If we had to fight our way out of a group of assailants, or jump out of a window onto say, a gravel surface, this is still a lot more practical than…” you pause, eyeing his attire in turn. The black suit with the scarlet vest he is wearing is clearly tailored to fit him like the gloves stretching over his huge hands. You refuse to look at his hands. The fabric of his suit lovingly embraces his broad shoulders, nips in at his narrow waist, and leaves very little to the imagination regarding what he’s… packing, on both sides of the whole package. You will not think about what he is packing. What you felt against you, the other morning—

“I see. So this is what you consider your talents?” His voice mercifully interrupts your not thinking about bulges and the ‘Is that a billy club in your pants or are you just happy to see me’ dumpster fire in your head.

“This? What do you mean by ‘this’?”

“The ability to be prepared for any violent scenario and meet it with competence, in the service of someone else.” His blood bright eyes bore into you, and you know he’s not using his aether core on you, but it kind of feels like it.

“What else could you have meant?” you ask, genuinely confused. You eliminate wanderers. You fight, apprehend and on occasion, have had to kill humans who would have killed you if you had hesitated. You can’t think of any other talents you might possess that Sylus would want. Or any other talents, at all. Even if you could remember who you were when you were a child, you’ve been a hunter long enough now that it’s hard to remember who you were before you put on the uniform and dedicated yourself to defending those who are unable to defend themselves.

“Yes, what indeed? Good question, kitten.”

“And you didn’t tell me that you wanted me to meet you at one of your nightclubs,” you mutter, the irritation surging again. “If you didn’t want me to show up and embarrass you, ready for a fight, you could have just said so.”

“Is proper intel gathering before going on a mission not part of your hunter’s handbook?” Sylus asks, running a finger along your leather-clad shoulder.

“Of course it is.”

“Then why didn’t you investigate the location of our rendezvous tonight before heading out?”

You look away from him, staring through what you now realize is a one-way mirror. The room looks out over the two floors below, each with dance floors and bars, pulsating lights, tables adorned with those strange beautiful flowers. The undulating bodies of dancers are lit dramatically from the light show pulsing to the rhythm of the music.

You frown. “Since it was you, I just assumed it was some shady warehouse or something.”

Sylus is quiet, but you feel his finger continue drifting along your shoulder until his hand comes to rest on the back of the booth near your other shoulder. “That’s an unfortunate habit you’ve had, since the first time we met.”

You turn to look at him, only to find his face so close to yours that you can count the dark striations in his red, red irises. They’re all you can see for a long moment.

“What do you mean?” you whisper, because anything else would feel like shouting in the quiet of the room, with his face so close to yours.

“Assuming things about me.”

You’re alert enough to know that he’s not just talking about your assumption that tonight would take place somewhere dangerous. Your thoughts flit to your assumption that he had… that he had been responsible for the house explosion. For your grandmother and Caleb. Your assumption that he wouldn’t have a plan for dealing with his enemies at the auction. Your assumption that he would take advantage of your nudity in the hallway of your home by looking his fill. What else have you assumed about him? You remember his bite along your shoulder, and the assumption that it was meant for someone else. “You only tell me what you feel like telling me. How else am I supposed to fill in the blanks?” you ask.

Sylus’s hand along the back of the booth drifts back to your shoulder, over the collar of your jacket, up the sensitive skin along the back of your neck. His fingers find their way into your hair, and he gently runs them through its locks. It feels so good, you have to stifle a groan of pleasure.

“You could always ask me,” he says.

“Would you even answer me? You have a habit of answering questions with other questions,” you sigh, giving in to the temptation to let your head fall back into his big palm, his fingers gently massaging your scalp. You try to let your hands rest at your sides, but jerk a little when one of them lands on his big thigh. You move it, but he grabs it with his hand that isn't busy in your hair, and rests it back on his thigh again. He’s so warm, as always. You shouldn’t want to let him touch you like this if he has someone else. You can’t bring yourself to move.

“Well, you won’t find out until you try, will you?” he asks. You let your head roll in his hand, so you can see his face.

“Who was that man sitting next to you earlier?” you ask. Maybe if you start simple, you’ll lull him into telling you the truth when you ask him what you really need to know. What you don’t want to actually know, because then the illusion of Sylus treating only you like this, the illusion that you’re special, will dissipate like mist under sunlight.

His fingers pause, but then he continues caressing you. “That’s Aidan.”

You wait. He stares at you steadily. “You’re really going to make me ask detailed follow up questions, instead of just answering the question fully?” you scowl at him, but don’t move. His hand in your hair feels too damn good. He smiles, clearly amused by your frustration.

“I don’t give away intelligence for free. I need something in return for providing you thorough responses to all of your burning questions.”

You sigh. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.

“What do you want, Sylus?” you ask. If the price is too high, you’ll somehow stand up and walk away, and live with wondering for the rest of your life about who these people in his life are, and if he belongs to someone else.

“The price will depend on the quantity of intel you request tonight,” he gently tugs on a fistful of your hair. You are boneless. You are melting into the couch from the pleasure, despite the negotiation.

“I could always use the favor you owe me for even coming out tonight,” you remind him.

“I think not. You haven’t earned that favor yet. The only thing you’ve done tonight is show up late and assault me with plumage.”

“Excuse you, I was here at exactly eleven. It’s you who were late in realizing that you didn’t exactly tell me where to find you. And as for my present, just think of it as me contributing to a more environmentally sustainable lifestyle. I could have just trashed them, but instead I re-gifted them. Now you can stuff a fleet of throw pillows or the body of an enemy to display as a warning to others.”

Sylus laughs softly. “What a delightful image.”

“I'm fucking delightful,” you sniff.

He hums in agreement. You both sit there in companionable silence, with only the distant sound of the club below and his hands moving in your hair filling the space between you. After awhile, he says, “So what will it be? Are you willing to buy now, and pay later for the opportunity to interrogate me?”

You want to know. You don’t want to know. You follow the sharp lines of his face with your eyes: his panther eyes, his aquiline nose, his generous mouth, the cut of his jaw. You’re so tired of making a decision, only to fold and abandon it in the face of his indomitable will. You want off this roller coaster ride already. You need to decide whether you’re in, and want to be a part of Sylus’s life, in whatever form he’ll have you, or out. And then, once you’ve made your decision, you need to have the steel resolve that he so effortlessly displays—if you’re in, you’ll bury your affection and misplaced hope in him, and treat him like any other friend. If you’re out, you will destroy your phone. You will move. You will ask for a transfer that will put you out of his reach for a long enough period of time that he’ll finally lose interest in toying with you. You sit up, and his hand falls away from your hair.

“Do you have a coin on you? The one you do that little villain bit with when your mind is racing?”

His eyebrows lift a little, as if he’s surprised that you noticed that he tends to fidget when he’s thinking hard. The corner of his mouth tilts up. “Villain bit?”

“Do you have it?” you repeat.

“I do.”

“May I use it for a moment?”

He stares at you, amusement fading. Whatever he sees on your face has him letting go of your hand and reaching for his pocket, but suddenly your own arm is jerked forward.

“What the—” you try to pull away, but only succeed in slightly pulling Sylus’s arm back toward you. You look down and find the scarlet-golden glimmer of the energy shackles linking your wrist to his. You haven’t been linked like this since the one and only time you managed to resonate with him.

“The fuck, Sylus?”

Sylus looks down as well, and then scowls deeply. “Why are you asking me? I was wondering what was on your mind, but was willing to let you keep your secrets for now. However, now I must insist on knowing what’s going on in that busy brain of yours.” He lifts your linked hands and gently taps your forehead with his index finger.

You try to pull away again, but he just grasps your hand in his, tightly.

You glare at him. He stares at you.

You stick your tongue out at him.

“Careful, kitten. Don’t make offers you’re not ready for me to accept.”

You look away. The club below is fascinating. You will not let him win. Finally, you hear him huff. He brings your clasped hands to his trouser pocket, slipping both into it. You feel his strong hip along the back of your hand through the cloth of his pocket. He pulls your hands out again and releases yours. And then, coin held between his index and middle finger, he solemnly offers it to you.

“Which side comes up more often than the other?” you ask as you take it from his fingers with your unlinked hand, careful not to touch him.

“Tails,” he responds immediately. You don’t trust him for a second.

If it’s heads, you’ll walk away from him and the life that allows him access to you.

If it’s tails, you’ll ask him who these people were tonight and whether he has a partner. You’ll be his friend, no matter what, and close off that needy, delusional part of yourself that hopes for more from him, and you’ll never think of it again.

You toss the coin in the air and watch it as it flashes, twisting in the air. You catch it in your palm. You take a deep breath. You open your palm.

You are the water in a bottomless well. All of the things that can hurt you are down so deep, you’ll never be able to access them again. You let the fledgling feelings for this impossible man slip quietly into the well. You’re a serene pond, reflecting an endless blue sky, and there’s nothing underneath at all.

“Who is Aidan?” you ask.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #l&ds sylus #lnds sylus #how many tags are there in this fandom this is exhausting #my fanfic #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #sylus x you #yup you #i really meant to resolve the misunderstanding in this part #but this ending up being way too long #so the big question for mc will be answered at the beginning of the next part #which is half written #i'm not going to drag it out too long #thanekrios ensured that this part is only slightly grilled cheese instead of an entire cheese board #i hope it's enjoyable

211 notes · View notes

sonotkari · 2 months ago

Text

Meaningless

Hanni Pham x Fem reader

[ Synopsis ]

When, Where, and How did you and Hanni become so close? What was the start of the yapping duo's relationship?

Fluff

[ Word Count ]

1.6k

[ a/n ]

I'm struggling with my other fics so in the meantime I'm dropping this off to feed my children (I'm sorry I just need MORE TIME) This was just something I wrote without my two brain cells actually functioning so heads up for that info! /ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\

My dearest and my loved ones dis for u bae <3

Somewhere in your mind, you'd wonder how everything started but never recall the moment. Maybe it was that one time way back in March when she sent you a picture of pudding flavor ice cream because apparently, it reminded her of you. Or maybe it was when you ranted about how you had volleyball practice almost every day with no breaks making you lose your shit soon. The question of how you became so close with Hanni had come up in your mind from time to time but it would always end up with no answer. It's really not that big of a deal, where an answer was needed asap, no, it was like those shower thoughts or maybe those random questions coming up in your head at 3 am while listening to music on your headphones, something like that. Regardless, whatever or however the conversation started, you were very grateful for it because now you have someone on your side who would listen to your random yappings whether it was about that hallway crush or that annoying History teacher who mostly talks about his life rather than teaching the class.

The memory recalls when that one time she asked about your MBTI which was trending off at that time for who knows why. You did it once before it became popular and didn't think much of it since you never really understood a thing. You just did it anyway because TikTok told you so. So why not? But to think of it now, you made a good life choice of taking a 15-minute survey with just two of your brain cells working. Because now you both were texting each other nonstop knowing you were matching MBTI's with her. "I knew it. You sound like an INFP" "What's that even supposed to mean" And in the very end, Hanni fell asleep in the middle of texting, debating whether fairies are real or not.

Most of the time the text messages and everything else were random. Except for that one time when she got into a (not so) fight with her best friend, giving her the cold shoulder. It was about something that triggered her which made her feel uneasy. You remember clearly how Hanni had asked you to come to school earlier than you usually did because she wanted company. And how she confessed she wanted to get things back to how it used to be with her best friend while crying on your shoulder in the bathroom. Encouraging her to speak her feelings to her best friend, after some days she was smiling excitedly rushing her way to you, grabbing your arms, saying she finally "did it" telling her best friend how she felt, and now they're back on track.

In class, she would be seated beside you and always giggle about small little things making you hold on for your dear life to not suddenly burst out laughing in the middle of the session because, for some reason, you were so easily affected by her. Her smile makes you smile, her laugh makes you laugh, and her cheeky grin addressed to you makes you roll your eyes and look at her in a sidelong look with a small smirk on your lips. Others would point out or look at you both with dumbfounded expressions because you both wouldn't stop giggling every 5 minutes and everyone in class already knew whose voices the giggles belonged to because of how frequently it would happen.

It was before summer break had started and you were ranting at Hanni about how you won't be seeing each other once the break starts. "You'll miss me, right?" became a habit of yours to say in your everyday convos, and her replying with a "Will I tho?" made you smack the girl's arm as a set, and that also became another one of your (bad?) habits. You wanted to squeal and jump around hearing her respond "Of course" to your ask if you could randomly call her because of how you'd probably miss her a lot and feel sad out of the blue due to the lack of her presence. Talking on a call wasn't your thing because you only have two brain cells that don't function well and you left your vocabulary somewhere making you end up in a stuttering mess but, you'd rather be a stuttering mess to Hanni than spend 2 months without hearing her voice.

One memory from another, you recall another happy moment with her. She was in the cheerleading team and you promised you'd see her cheer on the day of the game but sadly you got a high fever the night before and had to inform her you couldn't get to see her first cheer on her first game. You couldn't help but think about the disappointment in the girl's face especially when she was eager for you to come and watch. The temperature got a bit better the next day and you were debating to yourself. Yes, your head was panging in pain, yes your body was a bit hot, and yes you feel numb moving and basically doing anything. But will it be worth it to bear everything just so you could see Hanni's surprised happy expression when you go and watch her? Oh yes. You know damn well everything's worth it when it's about Hanni.

There you were in a rushing mess, running around your room while trying to get dressed, finding the other lost pair of socks while holding a cooling gel sheet for your forehead in your hand. Running wasn't good for you since it'll make your temperature go high again but all the rushed efforts will go to waste if you missed it. Is there any other choice? Of course not, silly. By the time you got to the gates of the school, all you could hear was the rhythmical beat of your heart with your panting, trying to calm yourself before you entered the gym. Of course, she was the one who noticed you first. There it was. The face. The expression. The dimples that would show every time she smiled. Excitedly rushing to you and showering you with questions about your fever state. "Weren't you not feeling well? What are you doing here― are you okay? Are you about to pass out?" "I just couldn't miss your cheer. I for sure would've regretted it if I stayed home" Your (maybe not so bad) habit had definitely influenced her as you felt a gentle smack on your arm along with a soft giggle from the girl.

The leaves began to lose their vibrant colors, crisping up and slowly falling down with the cold breeze flowing by in November. You asked Hanni to go out and hang out in this cafe your friend told you that had the best pudding in town, which she happily agreed to, and now both of you were walking in circles at the same place lost. Having no sense of direction and the Google map not being useful at all, you decided to give up going to the place. But someone doesn't seem to be happy about it. "What do you mean, let's go to a different shop?" "No, it's fine we can just go in another time. Besides it's cold and you're not very good with the cold" You looked at the flushed red tip of Hanni's ears and nose as you mumbled. "I'm not giving up. You were so excited about the pudding, so we're going to eat that goddamn pudding" And now you were walking again with Hanni by your side but this time, you were holding hands to "keep me warm if you're that worried"

"What are you smiling so giddily about?" You snap out of the memories and look at the girl looking at you with concerned looks. "You look creepy to be honest babe..." "Oh shut up" Replying with a playful snicker you stood up from your seat and walked your way to your girlfriend hugging her from the side, resting your chin on her shoulder. "Hey, do you remember how we became friends?" Shifting your gaze to her, slightly tilting your head as you asked so. "Uhh... I don't... think so..." She now looked at you with a puzzled look. "I think we just went with the flow" "Haha, wow I went with the flow and got a girlfriend? Must be a mastermind then" Smackng your arm, Hanni outed a chuckle. "Hey, remember when I used to smack you like that a lot but now we switched positions" "Oh I'm definitely influenced by you. Bad and good" You mocked an offended expression, holding your chest dramatically. "What's that supposed to mean...!?" Hanni laughed again and went back to making her coffee. "I definitely remember that one time you came to see me cheer with a fever" It was your turn to out a chuckle hearing her recall the memory. "Hey how about that one time we went out but then got lost midway?" "Yeah, and you insisted on finding the place, even making excuses to hold my hand" "Aaahhh shush! Shut up! I was 16 leave me alone!!" Hanni sheepishly laughed which made you laugh again as well.

"We had meaningless conversations all the time, talking about random stuff" Sighing softly as you linger your thoughts about your past friendship with Hanni. "What do you mean, meaningless?" Hanni was now stirring her coffee, blowing it occasionally as she fixed her gaze at you. "All the conversations we had, meant everything to me" She took a sip of her coffee along with a sigh and stared at you again. You could feel the affection from her gaze and can't help but feel your chest get warmer every second with the small smile and the little dimples on her cheeks showing.

Every moment we spent together means more than anything to me than you'll ever know.

Hanni secretly, quietly thought to her mind, while smiling at the woman she loved most.

yappers falling inlove r so cute

#kariwrites_🦦#hanni pham #pham hanni #hanni #newjeans hanni #newjeans #newjeans x reader #hanni x reader #kpop x reader #fem reader

175 notes · View notes

dontbesoweirdkira · 1 month ago

Note

AH DO I LOVE YOU RANTING

about the weaponized incompetence batsis, thing is what you said is true about them not really that insistent to force reader to the vigilante route because she DOES have a valid reason. Barbara? On a wheelchair. Jason? Tortured, dead, replaced, revived. Steph and Cass? Dead and revived. Happened too many times already to kids under Batman. If anything it's called self-preservation.

I think that honestly the being peeved and possible jealousy is also true. If reader were to be skilled than most YET refuses to join? Boy. Jealousy of her skills, peeved at her indifference.

I can see potential routes to this.

A) Reader still weaponizing her incompetence, while the Batfam has mixed feelings of jealousy, peeved, disappointment yet can't bring themselves to force her because she is right! Girly just wants to remain alive.

B) If reader is petty as fuck, going foul aka bringing up the deaths and failures of her siblings during an argument with batfam, telling him that he got blood on his hands.

C) Somehow ending up as a vigilante but again, a petty as fuck one. REFUSES to be associated with the batfam, even having a really different aesthetic and working separately. Either kill like Jason OR do everything bad minus killing to the enemy to spite Batman.

D) If she has an assassin mama, goes back to her mother's side of the family because she ain't dealing with Bruce.

Hello again! I'm happy you enjoyed the last post :)))

For an interesting plot, if you were to write it, i'd say go with the kids being upset/jealous with the reader thus thrusting her into the line of fights with them. They want her to be side by side with them. Patrol is not always about crime fighting because some nights nothing happens. It's a bonding moment. They rooftop hop and act silly, they want you there with them. They feel like you don't want to be there with them...it's hurtful. They bug Bruce about it to get him to force you into it but he allows you to choose. They might be pissed because they didn't really get a choice. You're going to be here with your siblings.

Maybe they don't fully understand your worry because all of them will obviously protect you. Especially the older ones in the group. You'll be fine. You don't get to be miss perfect, Bad things happen and you don't get to escape that out of fear.

I personally would say C option. Perfect example of weaponized incompetence . Jason would be loving you so much. Ya'll would be amazing together and everyone else is like...maybe don't be so brutal?? they'd try to split you up and explain what you are doing wrong. Doesn't work obvi and you are back to being a menace with Jay.

Bruce would intervene and maybe threaten you with going back to your moms. Or maybe he'd force you to stay back like you wanted...Who knows.

But B is my personal favorite because i live for Bruce slanderrrrrrr. Spit on him too just to add extra flavor.

All of these are good options though!! A lot for the imagination. Especially depending on how you view each character. You can get insanely dark with this if you want tooo.

#headcanon #imagines #oneshot #x reader #yandere imagines #yandere batfamily x reader #platonic batfam #platonic yandere #batfamily #yandere dick grayson #yandere nightwing #yandere batman #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #dark batfamily #batsis!reader #batfam x batsis

151 notes · View notes

theabigailthorn · 10 months ago

Note

Hi Abby! I have a question I’ve been wondering for a while, and I really hope it’s okay to ask. I’ve been a little worried about it because, idk…it’s a tough topic, and I know a lot of trans people get a bunch of bullshit flack, and I don’t want to accidentally contribute to that. That being said— do you miss anything from before you transitioned?

I’m definitely some flavor of trans, but idk what exactly 😅 and you’ve been a major hopeful figure to me. I just can’t help but wonder…is it…worth it? So many people say it is. But I’m so scared. I don’t want to lose my family or their love, even if it’s conditional. And sometimes I’m scared that I’ll miss aspects of myself as who I am now. So I wanted to ask you, because I look up to you and respect you a lot!

Sorry that this ask is a mess, I’m kind of all over the place. And obviously you don’t have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable or if these are shitty questions to ask. However! If you’re comfortable, I’d love to know your thoughts. Thank you so much for all you do — it’s more than you know.

In my experience yes it's absolutely worth it because the alternative for me was dying, so it'd have to be pretty rotten not to be worth it! But in addition to that quite grim baseline, yes I think it's the best thing I've ever done. It's allowed me to experience so much more of the variety and wonder of being a person in a way that I couldn't have imagined when I was in the closet - it's made me more intelligent, more moral, more compassionate, and closer to the people I love than ever before. There are challenges that come with it, sometimes huge challenges - especially in this time of transphobic backlash - but if you gave me a magic wish I really don't think I'd choose to have been born cis. In terms of worrying you'll miss aspects of yourself, I had that worry too - I discussed it with Mia Mulder when my egg was cracking and she said, "You will change, but you keep the good bits."

At the same time, it's important to be realistic: transition won't solve your problems and there are no consequence-free transitions. I was lucky in that there was only one person in my old life who couldn't accept me post-transition, but it was someone I loved very much and it still hurts a little - I still hope that one day we might find a way to be friends again. Transition also comes with tradeoffs and compromises, much like life!

#transition

457 notes · View notes

writingduhh · 4 months ago

Note

hii so i was wondering if you could do hansumfella x chef!reader and tyler’s doing a cooking stream and she helps him do it doesn’t turn out like ass 😇🙏🏼

You got it!! Hope this is okkk! I’m still new to writing for him so bear with me

Hansumfella || Cooking Stream

Tyler had been hyping up his cooking stream for weeks. He wanted to show off his culinary skills—or at least try to acquire some. You, his partner and a professional chef, had reluctantly agreed to help him when he had offered.

The stream started with Tyler setting up the camera, greeting his audience with his usual charm.

"Hey everyone, welcome to today's special cooking stream! I have my beautiful partner, Y/N, here to make sure I don't burn down the kitchen."

“YEESSS Y/N!”

“Finally some good food 😭”

“I missed y/n sm”

“Y/N SAVE US.”

You waved to the camera, smiling warmly. "Hi everyone! I'm here to guide Tyler and hopefully, we’ll create something delicious together. Or well, at least edible.” You jest, earning a big reaction from chat.

“BURN”

“$10 he still ruins it.”

“I can actually relax now because he won’t die.”

“Edible 💀”

The plan was to make a simple dish: spaghetti carbonara. Tyler had chosen it because it sounded fancy, but you knew it was straightforward enough for a beginner with some guidance.

"Alright, first step is to boil the pasta. Fill that pot with water and add a generous amount of salt."

Tyler followed instructions, making faces at the camera as he poured the salt. "Is this generous enough?" he asked, holding up the container.

"More," you replied with a chuckle. "You want the water to taste like the ocean." He nodded and proceeded to pour more into the pan. Once he saw the excess salt on his hands he had an idea.

“Hey y/n, y/n, look. Want something salty?” He smirks, his lips now covered in salt.

You rolled your eyes playfully, fighting a smile. "Focus, Romeo. We've got a meal to make."

“Nope. You have to taste some or I won’t help anymore.” He mumbles, lips still puckered.

“But this is your stream… Oh alright.” You playfully scoff, accepting his kiss much to the amusement of the chat.

As the water heated up, you moved on to preparing the pancetta. You showed Tyler how to dice it properly, and he mimicked your actions, though his pieces were noticeably uneven.

"Perfect," you said encouragingly. "Now, let's get that cooking in the pan. Low and slow, we want it crispy but not burnt."

The chat couldn’t help but chime in

“PERFECT?!”

“It looks like he ripped them apart by hand”

“Helll nah 💀”

“Y/n is so patient…. Couldn’t be me”

Tyler narrated every step dramatically for the audience, keeping them entertained with his usual antics. "Look at me, slicing and dicing like a pro. How am I doing, chef?" He turned to you with an exaggeratedly hopeful look.

"Not bad, but don’t quit your day job," you teased, nudging him with your elbow.

"Harsh, but fair," Tyler laughed. "I guess I’ll have to rely on my charm to keep you around."

You smirked, leaning closer. "Maybe if you cook this meal right, you'll earn a reward later." You we’re honestly quite shocked by your own words, but it was too late to take them back.

Tyler’s eyes widened, and he turned back to the camera with a grin. "You hear that, chat? High stakes tonight!"

Things started to get more chaotic when Tyler accidentally knocked over the pepper grinder, spilling peppercorns all over the counter. "Uh, that was intentional. That’s what we call 'seasoning the kitchen' in the industry…” he joked, bending down to pick them up.

You laughed, shaking your head. "Less seasoning the kitchen, more seasoning the food."

While whisking the eggs and cheese together, Tyler got a bit too enthusiastic, splattering some of the mixture onto his shirt. "Ah shit. Looks like I’m adding some extra flavor.”

You handed him a towel, still chuckling. "Try not to add yourself to the recipe."

"Noted," Tyler said, dabbing at his shirt. To his dismay he only made the stain worse.

“Ugh. Should I just take my shirt off?”

“I mean, that’s up to you.”

“Nah, I won’t. That’s only for you to see.” He winks, your face uncontrollably turning red as a sea of comments emerge.

"Alright, now comes the tricky part," you said, your tone a bit more serious. "When the pasta is done, we're going to mix it with the egg and cheese mixture off the heat, so the eggs cook gently and make a creamy sauce."

"No pressure, right?" Tyler joked, though a hint of nerves showed in his voice.

"You’ve got this," you assured him, placing a hand on his arm. "And I’m right here to help."

When it came time to drain the pasta, Tyler nearly lost the whole pot in the sink, fumbling with the colander. "Crisis averted!" he declared triumphantly, holding up the drained pasta.

You shook your head, laughing. "Careful! You almost dropped it."

Tyler made exaggerated whisking motions, earning laughs from both you and the chat. "Is this how you do it, or am I just showing off my guns?"

"Less showing off, more whisking. We want it smooth and creamy, not chunky."

"Got it, boss," Tyler said with a mock salute.

You managed the final steps together, Tyler following your lead. When they plated the carbonara, it actually looked—and smelled—delicious. Tyler took a dramatic bite on camera, his eyes widening in exaggerated delight.

"This is amazing! You’re a miracle worker, Y/N," he said, leaning in to give you a quick kiss on the cheek as his arm slung over your shoulder

You blushed, smiling at the camera. "Couldn’t have done it without my amazing assistant."

Tyler turned back to the audience with a grin. "Alright, chat, if you liked this stream, let me know, and maybe Y/N will come back for another round. What do you say?"

The chat exploded with enthusiastic responses, and Tyler wrapped up the stream with a promise to cook more often—with your help, of course. As the camera turned off, he pulled you into a warm embrace.

"Thanks for saving my bacon—literally," he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Anytime," you replied, snuggling closer. "Now, about that reward…"

#hansumfella tyler #hansumfella fanfic #hansumfella x reader #hansumfella #handsome

161 notes · View notes

kaleidoscopicbullettrain · 2 years ago

Note

dont read the other rb tags on this if you dont want to have the game spoiled, but if youre not playing the game and getting the full picture, idk how its appropriate to describe it as "bleak / harrowing / no truly good outcome to be had."

its nuanced, complex, and theres a lot of bright, shining moments that are silly and fun and you get to choose to be that source of silliness. both as the character and the player, you have the reigns to see the goodness in something or someone, or simply be the source of levity that otherwise might feel absent.

like, if its themes are heavy, yeah its not gonna be the flavor for everyone, and theres nothing wrong with that. its okay to not like something, but still understand that its not inherently unfun.

i really hope this doesn't come off mean or anything but idk how else to ask it: what makes disco elysium FUN? like, from what i've seen of it being discussed seriously the story seems to he rathrr bleak and harrowing, without a truly good outcome to be had. and that's not a bad thing! but for a game that seems rather narrative driven, it makes me wonder where the enjoyment lies. is it in the depth of the storytelling? is it an intellectual enjoyment, learning how to navigate through the senarios in different ways? is being put into a hopeless situation with seemingly ni right answers the point of the game and i'm just the wrong audience?

I mean like. Do you think a sad story isn't worth telling? If a book doesn't have a happy ending is it not worth reading? Not that I think DE is "sad" or even that it "doesn't have a happy ending" because I think those are very simplistic descriptions of a complex and nuanced game but like. It's fun because the story is engaging, the characters are interesting and you care about them, the story and world is rich and it's fun unpack and discover more about it. And it's also fun to solve a murder mystery, etc etc. I definitely wouldn't recommend it to everyone because if you don't like games with a lot of reading then it's probably not for you, but like. I don't understand the perspective that narrative games with bleak storylines/unhappy endings can't be fun. I just don't see how those two things correlate, from my perspective.

#the idea of right or wrong answers is kind of.. bleak in and of itself on how to view the game #i know a lot of games are predisposed around a *reward* and *punishment* system but #disco elysium will 100% let you fail forward #my first check fail actually allowed me to waive some of my hotel fee #you will be bad at some things and it'll still work out in your favor #you'll be good at some things and you'll miss the flavor of some of the silliest dumbest dialogue you get to be graced with #idk who showed this game to you but there is definitely ways to paint this game as unfun and bleak and depressing. if you let it be that #like a perfect run still misses so much but it seriously does reward you for having lower stats in a way that doesnt feel like a drag

50 notes · View notes

haruchi-slit · 10 months ago

Text

ADULTERY&LOLIPOPS

a/n: Shiu needs more attention ):<

synopsis: shiu has a unhealthy marriage, While you have a toxic relationship with your husband, so to soothe your frustrations, you started seeing other men... specifically Shiu.

"mhm, so what happened next, fuck- baby!" Shiu babbled, thru his kiss in your lips, tasting his lemon flavored lolipop, lustfully kissing your red swollen lips,

"Ha-! he fucking brought his woman, and had her moaning so f-fucking loud!" you hissed thru the kiss the two of you were sharing, pausing every breath as you told him,

"Oh yeah?~, then let me make you moan- so fucking loud it'll never compare to that girl's moan hmm?" Shiu says, leading his kisses down to your shoulders then to your chest, "I'd love that- s'fucking much" you answered, squirming from his touch, your lips once again collide, as he skillfully removes your bralette that was hanging for it's dear life,

"Mhm, I'mma make you scream sooo fuckin' loud." he chuckles, "should bring you oh- home sometimes, that- fucker!" you retort, struggling to form a sentence, as he trace your body with the tip of his index finger, he scoffed. He leads his hands down on your wet laced panties, he chuckles,

"Are you this stressed, Darling?" he coos, massaging your vulva in a circular motion-

"mhm, i'm so fucked up i might lose it- ah!"

you exclaimed, Shui continues to massage your vulva but he purposely miss your clit, making you beg and become soo fucking needy, so needy that you pressed his hands on your gapping pussy lips, pleasure spikes to your spine- squirming, as the pads of his palms hit your clitoral hood, holding his hand tight on your pussy, bucking your hips back in forth giving your self pleasure with every thrust you make

"Can't wait? such an impatient lady." he teased balling his hand up into a fist, preventing you to please your self using his hand..he removes his hand from you panties and sat you on his lap- removing your panties with a slight of hand,

"Please, shiu you know how much i need your fucking, it's a remedy- fuck!" you stumbled upon your words unsure if you'll convince him, he swirls his lolipop in his mouth.

"I'm all ears babe, maybe beg some more and I'll fuck your brains out huh?" he replies, playing with your vagina, teasing your entrance, but never going in it, your pussy was dripping wet on top of his clothed boner, his pants was wet from your arousal,

"Shiu, fuck- honey please...i need you, i want you so fucking much, i need you to fuck me, please, please, please, pretty- fucking please!" you cried out you had enough of his teasing and gave in, lowering your pride "please.." you said once again begging him with such damn beautiful puppy eyes gripping so tight on his thighs, he finally gave in throwing you to the couch- unbuckling his pants, freeing his boner, his cock quickly sprung out off his pants as soon he pulls his boxer out, he then loosen his necktie and removes it from his neck- he ties it around your eyes, blindfold it, you were all in fours in the couch as you let him blindfold you.

"don't come crying and complaining to me that your body hurts, you begged so good for it" Shiu says as his pants dropped to the floor, grabbing his belt from the ground he once again approached you, he grabs your ass cheeks and spat on your pussy, you jolt from the sudden contact, he smears his spat with your wetness using it as a lubricant, he pounds his hips in you leaving you with a hanging mouth, his slightly curved cock helps him to reach your gummy walls, hitting and obliterating your g-spot, abusing it at it's limit, he snaps his hips until his balls was so deep in your pussy.

"you're being too spoiled at this point

y/n."

he says smacking his belt on the fat of your ass, "aghh-!!" you screamed, as your ass vibrates from Shiu's consistent spanking with his belt, pulling your hair and his necktie on your eyes at the back whispering all the mean things that he could fucking do to you, he lets go of your hair, then he reached down to your puffed clit, rubbing it so slow, so slow that it was painfully hard to resist to become so fucking needy- your arms was holding tight on the cover of his bed, your arms were numb and hanging for its purpose, you failed to keep your arms to support your body, so your arms gave out with your hands beneath your chest and stomach, Shiu held your ass up as he props himself to thrust faster in you,

"hold my lolipop for me babe-" he says as he pops his lolipop out holding it as a cigarette, putting the bottom of the stick on your butthole, "Shiu!~" you whined as you feel the lolipop stick in your ass

"try to keep that still and I'll give you your reward sweet plum." he says as he went ballistic thrusting in and out off your pussy, making you scream in pleasure arching your back for him to hit deep in your womb, as he thrust non-stop you felt the familiar knot building up in your abdomen, you were close, and you knew that.

"shit! shit! shit! im going to c-cum, Shiu- shiu- shiu- shit! im going- im going to fucking cum!" you exclaimed as you came on top of his shaft, cumming messily on top of him, but that doesn't stop him from thrusting and rubbing your clit, he makes you see stars, stimulating your much more to the edge,

"F-fuck, y/n, baby.." he groans thrusting non-stop, "Shiu! s-stop wait i think- ugh im going to pee!" you panicked telling him to stop but he cackled at your worried state,

"your husband- hasn't made you squirt before hmm? let me be the first then~" he says thrusting once more in your overstimulated pussy, "Shiu- fuck sooo good, shit!" you screamed squirting on top of his cock as he cums in your gummy walls, shooting thick ropes of cum, your tongue lolled out, crying from pleasure, he kisses your forehead and shoulder,

"you did so fucking well baby~" he whispered on your ear as he carries you to bed.

THE NEXT DAY:

You woke up beside him, putting on your black suit, fixing your necktie, ready to go to work- "you're going to work?" shiu says as he rumbles out off bed "yes i am- coffee's on the counter, and uh..see you, see you next week?"

"yeah see you next week y/n." he smiles, as you walked your way out, "take care" he adds as you left out off his house.

#shiu kong #shiu x reader #jjk shiu #jjk smut #smut #shiu #shiu smut #shui kong smut #jjk #jjk headcanons #jjk fic #jjk shiu kong #shiutoji #sheshable #lol #shiu kong smut

273 notes · View notes

heartfullofleeches · 2 years ago

Note

Hoiiii :3 can i ask for yan! Prince where he became sick and instead of the maids taking care of him, he insist that he rather wants knight! Reader to take care of them 0:

You use the bedroom door as a shield as a bowl flies into it, shattering into a million pieces and exploding a burst of hot broth against the wall. The prince's hoarse voice drowns his screams as he violently throws his head away from the cupful of medicine.

"Let me go! I don't want it! I. Want. Y/n! Bringing them to me now!"

Your kingdom is doomed. The prince never took being sick well. In youth, having the boy sit still was like a death penalty. He'd slip out of the servant's care and infect half the castle during his daily routine of greeting everyone who worked under his father's command. The one thing that brought an end to his reign of terror was a knight in training exhausted from practice and taking refuge in his comfortable bed. The two would end up sick as dogs the following morning, but for one night they both knew peace.

You fix the blanket on your arm back to your shoulder and step inside the room. The prince tries to leap out of bed, but is stopped by the strongest of the maids tossing him into the mattress; pushing his head into the pillow like she was attempting to suffocate him the wrong way.

"Y/n!" He breaks into a coughing fit, the hands restraining him quickly darting away. "you came."

"I was taking care of more important tasks." You spread the blanket over the empty half of the bed. The prince sighs dreamily.

"Your sheet..."

He runs his cheek against its corner as you turn to the maids. "Apologies for the trouble. If one of you could bring me some more soup, you all are free to good."

The servants race for the door, tripping over each other as they shout for the elixir likes it's a blood sacrifice. You sit down on the bed, placing the back of your hand to the prince's forehead - recoiling like you've touched coals.

"You're burning up. Keep this stubbornness up and your father may outlive you."

"I'll live a thousand years longer than that living corpse long as I have you~"

"You are delirious. Drink." Lifting his chin, you shovel the lukewarm warm tea down his throat. He gags from the temperature and flavor, but forces it all down in hopes you'll comply to his commands for being good. He sticks out his tongue once you set the cup down.

"Ahhh. All gone."

"You're not a child, and it's a fluid."

The prince clings to the tail end of your armor, voice meek and pleading as he begs. "Y/n, lay with me like you did when we were kids. I've been good."

"I missed a week's worth of training because of that."

"But it was time that you spent with your favorite person in the kindgom. Please, Y/n? Everything hurts.."

He pokes out his bottom lips; quivering, as his eyes go wide. You roll your eyes and remove the binds of your chest plate, setting it aside as you swing your legs onto the bed. The prince throws his arms and one leg over you, pressing his nose and lips to your collar; falling asleep almost instantaneously. You swear to the gods if you get sick he'll be your training dummy for everyday you're off the force.

#yandere prince #Knight reader #yandere oc #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere blurb #male yandere #yandere insert #yandere x darling #yandere fluff

2K notes · View notes

hobiebrownbrowser · 1 year ago

Text

Hobie Brown x Thick Reader hcs!

Hobie Brown x FEM! Thick Reader hcs!

Kissing, cuddling, etc

It was always like this even after a concert. Hobie pulling you from the crowd just to give you a small peck on the lips or cheek before his next performance. Giving the guitar pick he just used to you and grabbing another from somewhere.

He wouldn't admit it but his favorite pick was the one you painted for him. A small pink heart in the middle of it with your initials on it. Everytime he'd look down he's reminded of your name.

He'd never miss a chance to kiss his favorite lady anywhere on her soft squishy body. Wanting nothing more but to be squished between her thighs after a long concert.

Hobie always felt like you needed time to yourself after a long day. Setting up some calming scented candles and making sure your in a good mood before swinging out. Taking a small piece of you with him since he'll miss you every swing of the way.

All he wants to do is cuddle you in his arms, caressing your back and watching you drift asleep. Placing kisses all over your face, chuckling when you finally swat him away.

Hobie will downright agree with anyone who says your beautiful. Correcting them on several occasions until they'd possibly get used to it. It happened with the first time you met his friend Pav, commenting on your beauty until they both were admiring you.

Hobie wouldn't necessary pick fights but for you it was an option. If anyone were to ever be mean to you let's just say you'll never see them again after that.

Hobie was always the one to apologize first if he'd ever miss a date even if you said it was okay so many times. He'd make it up to you by buying your favorite food. Ignoring calls just to get on Miguel's bad side.

He loves to wrap his arms around your waist, occasionally squeezing everything he could grab a hold of until you were flustered. He loved it when you'd let out small giggles from being tickled.

This man loved to play fight almost everyday, tiring you out until you had no choice but to cuddle up next to him for a nap.

He'd put you first out of everything, If you were cold he'd buy steal a jacket secretly from you. Finding things that you liked and giving it too you on his days off.

This man would definitely lift you up in his arms just to give your small ass a kiss. Wrapping your legs around his waist and walking towards the exit of anywhere. He didn't give two fucks if people were watching.

He'd be the reason for you wearing tight dresses that hugs your thighs. Occasionally squeezing the back of your thigh. Wrapping his arms around your neck to pull you in for a kiss.

This man would steal anything for you. No matter how big or small it was he'd find a way.

He loves to be squished under you, best way to die in his opinion.

Hobie would buy you sweets even if he wasn't a big fan of them, getting the flavor you always picked out and tucking them in your jacket pocket for you to find later.

#spiderverse x reader #hobie brown x reader #across the spiderverse #hobart brown #hobie x you #hobie brown #fluff #hobie brown x fem!reader #hobie my beloved #hobie x y/n #hobie headcanons #hobie x reader

587 notes · View notes

nemesyaaa · 5 months ago

Text

half return. momma's boy!pope x maneater!reader.

warnings : slight smut so minors DNI.

you were a maneater, and your favorite type was momma's boy. in particular, the pogues because they were different.

you were the kind of woman everyone saw from miles away but also knew so well. you had a bad reputation. people talked a lot behind your back to say bad things but you didn't have time, either to listen, care or to respond.

oh no, you were way above these people. the attention you were looking for was not from them, but from the other side, from those who were not really rich, who were struggling to live and who lived without worrying about the consequences.

you were a maneater, so obviously there was a hungry beast in your heart and today, like every other day, the beast was hungry. the monster wanted to eat some man.

you weren't really a momma's girl, and you were hated by your boyfriends' mothers..you weren't good enough for their son. you were too mean, too vulgar, too honest. you were nothing like a daughter-in-law and yet, men dreamed of marrying you.

it wasn't a question of dream bodies, you had marks on your body, a little belly, peculiarities but you knew how to hide your insecurities. you had the attitude and the reputation.

you were like a jaguar, magnificent, confident and glorious.

today, you had a crush on a guy. pope heyward according to one of your friends. he was part of a group of pogues who were pretty well known for being troublemakers.

but him. this man, you knew he never did anything wrong. you knew he was a good boy who wanted to please his mother, and who easily fell in love with girls stronger than him.

you knew in advance that pope heyward was too nice. and that you were going to eat him so easily.

the heat was so hot. you wore a white top that barely hid the bottom of your tits, but showed off your belly piercing quite well. the sun made your precious toy sparkle. you had jewelry everywhere, strass on your teeth, dozens of rings on your fingers, more than five necklaces around your neck, and twenty bracelets around your arms. you had the money for, well, your daddy's money.

your jeans came down to your hips, exposing your black thong. physically, you couldn't be pope heyward’s type. everyone would have bet on it.

when he looked up, you met his gaze. you could sense that he was shyer than his blond friend next to him. because he, well his friend had smiled directly at you.

you had kindly ignored him because he wasn’t the one you wanted. no, you wanted the shy guy, the one who would never assume what you would make him feel.

“ hi pope ! “ you smiled.

"so rude of you to ignore me but so kook of you." said jj.

“ start by not making trouble with my friends the kooks.”

“ okay, so you'll stop sleeping with all my pogue friends.”

“ is it jealousy, jj? did you want your blow job too or you just a crybaby that much?”

the tension had started to rise and pope had cleared his throat.

" can i help you ? " he talked with a friendly voice.

"i don't know what to choose for an ice cream flavor.”

“ i can make you a personal cream if you want.”

“i don’t understand why you hate me so much jj but okay, i will just ignore you. ”

“i’'m going to smoke, pope. be careful with her.” he had placed a hand on his friend's shoulder before disappearing as if to warn him.

“don't pay attention to him. he's not mean, just a little too protective.”

“you look like you've been broken many times.”

"not really. girls don't really hang out with me.”

“they’re missing something.”

you looked at each other through the mirror window for a moment, not knowing what to say.

“are you flirting with me?”

“yes, pope heyward. i'm flirting with you.”

“ you don’t know me. "

“that’s why i want to know you. i know, i'm not your type. ”

“i don’t mean to be rude but you have a reputation as a maneater.”

“don't be a sheep who follows others people, pope. especially when you are different from the others. you are a smart person.”

“what flavors of ice cream do you want?”

“i want your favorite.”

you smiled. when you handed him the money to get your ice cream back, he politely refused.

“it’s on the house.”

“ i really want to pay. i’m a customer like any other.”

“if you want to pay so much, you can pay differently.”

" how ?"

" you can ask me out on a date? it will give you the opportunity to get to know me better."

“so smart of my boy. oh and don't tell jj about that. “

“ i don't want to lie to him. “

“ just don't tell him, pope. it's about us, only, okay ? “

“ okay. you're too pretty, i can't resist. “

“ you're the only pretty thing here. “

and that was how you started dating pope heyward.

you were a maneater so obviously pope had fallen really hard in love.

you were so different from all the girls he knew. when he was with you, he had this vital need to make you happy, to buy for you, to cut checks, to possess you, to be your only boy.

you had a strong energy, the kind that made you feel like you had it all and had it all under control. you were convincing and confident. you hated losing control. and perhaps that was the reason for your attraction to soft and naive boys.

pope's mother didn't like you. she hated when you went to their house, when you kissed her son, when you slept with him. she hated the idea of you two being together.

sometimes pope felt bad about it. he didn't want to disappoint anyone. but he couldn't be both your boy and his mother's boy.

once on a summer evening, you invited him to your place so that it was just the two of you. you showed him your room, your favorite things, your jewelry, your family photos, everything that mattered to you. then you put on some music.

he was lying there in the bed, shirtless with only his pants on, a cigarette in his lips, his eyes hanging on your moving body. he only looked at you, you were the only thing that existed.

you were beautiful. the frightening and majestic beauty of the jaguar. you moved so elegantly. you were in control of your body, you knew how to make it beautiful, how to make it so attractive.

jazz was coming out of the record player. you were in your underwear, enjoying the air coming in through the open window. you spun and spun as if the world had stopped.

you almost fell, but pope caught you in his arms.

"perfect. let's dance together, all night, momma's boy."

“don’t call me that.”

“isn’t that what you are?”

you laughed and he captured your laugh with his lips, kissing your mouth gently.

“i want to stay here forever.”

" where ? "

"in your arms. here. in my room. i just want you, pope. ”

you had started kissing every part of his face, placing wet kisses on his soft skin.

“i want you. and you want me too.”

“you know, we will have to take responsibility for our relationship.”

"i know, i know but not now. it's fun being a secret isn't it?”

you started to bite him gently, and he started to flee your small bites. this little thing had turned into a playful fight.

he had the advantage because he was on top of you, him catching every one of your thrusts. you managed to get out of his grip and rolled onto your side before getting on the bed.

he followed you, and you threw the first punch. right in the chest. he had subdued you quickly, still gently, his face right above yours.

“ where is the maneater who always wins, where is the maneater who destroys men? because i am beatin her ass right now.”

“ no, you're not. “

“ what?” you flipped him over with a smile, placing yourself on top of him.

“ you enjoy the game a little too much, pope. i'm fucking sitting on your boner and if you make a move pope heyward I'll destroy you. “

“ real queens do not destroy the throne they sit on. and if you want some child princess, take care of it. “

you had started to move slowly, gently rubbing your pussy over his bulge. you moved efficiently, enough to feel your boyfriend’s cock getting even harder against you.

you could tell he was big by the way you silently rose as his dick awoke.

this room, this sensuality, this warmth, was nothing without the music of marvin gaye.

a wet spot had appeared on his pants, and you used it to rub faster, to press your pussy harder against his erection. the sound of his grunts in sync with your moans.

he held your hands, and kissed them at the same time. he could cum now if you asked him. because you had a way of moving that made him so weak.

“ boys can't play and win. “

“ i think you're late my girl, i win since ive got a girl like you. “

his hands grabbed your thighs while you slipped harder.

“ ‘not going to cum now" he said before taking his length out of his boxers.

he rubbed the tip against your dripping pussy, you were so wet it almost dropped between your lips. he had spit in his hand, and started moving up and down on his cock, jerking off quickly

" what are you doing ? "

“you’re going to ride me, but with my cock deep inside you this time, girl.”

he had smacked your ass, letting it bounce against his palm before you pushed his cock into your pussy. hands on his abs, you began to move, riding him. the problem with this position is that you quickly started to get tired. all the power you had relegated to pope now. he understood the signal, doing the job for you with a smirk. he yanked his dick deeper into your walls, letting you feel every inch of his size. he loved your moans every time his hips hit yours.

the sound of your two bodies slapping together in the atmosphere like the noise of your golden belly chain against your skin. his movements were hard, tearing loud cries from you. you had tears in your eyes, whimpers of pleasure. he took you so well. he was a good boy who knew how to make you cry.

he was taller than you. the size kink was easily noticeable even more when his cock widened your tight hole. and also, when he started touching you, his hand covering your clit.

he had pinched it gently, teasing the little piece with his fingers. he had fun with it, tugging on it while thrusting wilder inside your body, your legs shaking on the mattress.

your hole was squeezing him and he loved how tight it was. he squeezed your clit as he sped up his movements.

"not a maneater anymore ?" he said with a smile "just a girl who wanted to be eaten by her man.”

“ oh shut up, pope heyward. “

“you're the only one making noise here baby.”

you kissed him to shut his mouth. he was right and you knew it. you knew pope loved your strass on your teeths. at first he found it weird and thought you were giving yourself a style but now he was crazy about it.

you were still a maneater but you had a boyfriend so it was different. and then, you were in love. you had learned what it was like to have a man who truly wanted you and loved you.

you were supposed to run away but you didn't want to leave him behind. the problem with nice guys was that they weren't bad. they never held a grudge against anyone, and did not get angry. pope panicked more than he got angry, for example.

when he released his cum deep inside you, you came with him. you looked at him. there was more sweat on his body. he was breathing faster.

you could tell he was proud. and he could be.

you loved every single moment with pope. he was a good boyfriend. he was intelligent, studious, kind and friendly. he worked at school, after classes.

so what you loved was when he broke the rules for you. you used to go and throw stones at his window in the evening to get him to go out. you went surfing in the dark night, bathing in the midnight moon, in calm, cold water, or you went rollerblading at a club because it was fun and the perfect place for couples.

you also spent time in bookstores. it wasn’t your thing but you loved the moment when he told you about the book he was choosing. he would start talking for hours, navigating between the shelves. you followed him and listened to him.

"sometimes, i really feel dumb. " you said.

" you don't understand anything, right ? "

" yes. i'm sorry. but i like it actually. you're pope, the smart boy, the nerdy guy, the master brain and i just love being your girlfriend but it's so new to me. i can't fully understand."

" you're not bored ? "

" never. i can't be bored when my boyfriend is so intelligent. never. what was the book already ?"

" see ? you don't want to listen to that. "

"it's just new to me. be patient and you will be the only one to get bored. "

" deal ? "

" deal. "

and you also confessed your relationship to the pogues. jj pretended to be surprised but was nice to you.

"don't break his heart, okay? he forgive everything, but not me. "

" don’t worry, i will not hurt your boyfriend. "

he turned to Pope, ignoring your bullshit words.

“you know man, i always wondered what the strass felt like while she sucks your cock.”

" JJ. "

"What? I was just asking!”

the end bc i really want to kick my ass. this is not that good. at least, i tried something 💀💀 i will work harder. i just tag @rafecameroninterlude et @oceandriveab . i'm sorry for the expectations 🫠

105 notes · View notes

what-have-i-unleashed · 2 months ago

Text

inspired by both mermaid-coded dust and this flavor of doomed kist

i'm mashing my two toxic tragic kist posts into one and here's what comes of it i guess... extremely jumbled thoughts

(cw: toxic one-sided relationship, obsession, suicidal ideation)

so dust is in love with killer, but he cannot say it. not because he's mute - he is - but because he doesn't want either killer or nightmare to know. it's a weakness, easily exploitable. so dust keeps it close to his soul, learning to mask his emotions like killer does. everything is fine, really. if he thinks about it hard enough, he gets to see and interact with killer almost every day. he knows killer doesn't have eyes for anyone else. it makes the pain in his soul somewhat more bearable. he can only watch his light in silence, unable to say the words, but at least this closeness to killer is what only he can have.

and he treasures the little moments he has with killer. when killer is exhausted and falls asleep, dust has the opportunity to engrave every detail of killer's face to his mind, every curve, every angle, every edge. every time killer laughs with joy and glee, dust perks up at that. every time killer is injured and dust has to take care of him, he takes note of how light killer is leaning on his shoulders - he takes note of the scars and cracks running on the bones of the person he has to bandage and heal over. what he can do, again and again, is remember. what he has is memory, and he intends to protect and hold close every piece of it.

everything is fine. until it isn't.

killer disappears one day without a trace. nightmare rages while his minions hurry to hide away from his wrath. yet dust remains in killer's lifeless room, hands tracing every surface of the furniture there. the room is nondescript, lacking any personality - the only sign that this is killer's room is his collection of souls and dust on the shelf. and yet, killer didn't take them with him when he disappears.

maybe he's dead, a part of dust whispers in defeat.

do you really think so, another part scoffs in disbelief.

it doesn't matter either way. dust relocates his room to killer's. nightmare doesn't care, but horror and cross do send dust some looks when he announces it. it doesn't matter - his feelings for killer are useless now, it's like mourning for something that never was. all he has left of killer are the memories.

and one day, on a mission nightmare sends him to, dust sees a familiar face again. he does a double take, unable to believe what's happening in front of his eyes. it's killer, and not just any - it's his killer. he would recognize that face anywhere. and killer is happy, genuinely so. in such a way that dust never sees before. he's with someone dust can't recognize, holding hands, leaning in with such comfort. he's happy.

and dust.

dust is...

he's...

you don't know how you feel. because the next thing you know, nightmare is there, his face sporting an gleeful expression only reserved for his unfortunate victims.

ah dust, good work finding the traitor, you hear nightmare say. but nothing is right. nothing about this is right.

killer can't be here, happy with someone else. killer is supposed to be his light out of the deep dark below where he belongs.

you should kill him, your brother says. you should have killed him a long time ago, when he pulled you out of our universe.

don't you miss home, brother?

don't you miss us?

you've hidden your feelings for everything for so long that they're burning you inside out. at this pace, you'll die - if not of a broken soul, then of your own destructive magic.

there's only one way to cure a broken soul. you know it, right?

and you're staring down at killer, your hands around his throat. you'd make him drown in his own blood. and you'd lean close, just close enough that you can almost give him the kiss of death. and you'd have turned yourself and him to your false namesake by the time the sun rises on the horizon.

but you hesitate. because you love him. you love him so much it's killing you alive. and you can't bear to die in a world without him.

and so you let him go. you watch him slip away from your hands, swept away by the new wave of his life.

time stays frozen for a moment before you feel your skull crack on the pavement. something grabs you by the leg and swings you harshly to the other side of the road. if you had a voice to laugh, you would. you spit blood, feeling strangely relieved. this is the price to pay to see killer again. how familiar. it's like everything is making sense again.

"don't think i didn't see what you did back there, dust," nightmare growls at you, holding your pathetic body up in the air by your (probably broken) shoulder. "you let him get away." the pain is excruciating, but it can't extinguish the elation in your (disgusting) soul.

i want to see him again, you mouth to an audience of no one.

you're crazy, your brother chides you. you'll choose him over me? over us?

you don't reply to your brother. you get dropped onto the ground like a marionette with its strings cut. nightmare looms over you, tentacles swishing back and forth dangerously, as you hold your (worthless) soul to him. a deal with a devil. you don't have anything else to offer anyway.

you don't care what happens to you, as long as you can see killer again. you watch impassively as the dark tentacles poise over your soul, a wave of apathy washed over you. only determination remains, its red glow cracking over your fragile soul.

you will see killer again.

if you can't have him, then no one can.

#cw toxic relationship #cw obsession #cw sui ideation #let's see how the people judge this one #i had to stop myself multiple times over writing this rip me #dust sans #murder sans #killer sans #nightmare sans #kist #love affair #colorkiller #< implied anyway but you can interpret it differently #sanshipping #sanscest #utmv #undertale au #fic: mermaid bunny

42 notes · View notes

x-press-it · 6 days ago

Text

Devilish Desires 5/9?

Dangerous Temptations, Irresistible Touch 🎞️❤️‍🔥🌹⚔️🖤💻🖱️

Sub!Logan Howlett x Dom!OC (They/Them)

Summary: Logan, typically guarded and dominant, finds himself captivated by E, a mysterious being with a devilish allure and ancient presence that challenges his control.

Context: This story unfolds 'within' the "Days of Future Past" new timeline, during Logan's early years as a history teacher at Xavier’s School. It’s set well before his consciousness from the original timeline reconnects with him in 2023, as seen at the film’s end.

Content Warnings (for the whole story): Smut 18+ (Dry humping, Edging, Unprotected p in v.) - Dom!Logan into Sub!Logan - Pet Names (Good boy, pretty boy, pet, pup, amongst others...) reversed age gap (Logan is younger) - OC Notes: Established name, backstory, powers, fighting style, female body but gender fluid character (Logan misgender them at first because he doesn't know, even in the descriptions) - Mention of other character from the MCU and subtle references to the comics for flavor (not mandatory to understand what is happening) - Flash back and mention of past trauma - Very quick mentions of drugs - Fluff with Dark Undertones: Emotional tension and possessive affection - Worship Themes: Religious imagery, reverent language and awe - Ancient Mysticism: References to otherworldly or demonic presence - Mental Health: Power dynamics, personal vulnerabilities - Trope: Rivals to lovers.

I'm back after 10 years of iatus and fairly new to how things are done on tumblr now, so sorry if I missed any warnings. Also english isn't my first language so there might be typos/weird sentences...

Notes: Got very inspired by sub!Logan and repeated listening of "Between wind and water" by Hael. Cover made with canva from an idea I got from this post. If you know who made the picture, tell me so I can credit them - Click on the divider to find the creator. Also this was meant to be an imagine turned into a full story. Just so you know, some chapters are very short, other are long. I'm in the process of editing/writing/rewriting parts so I'll post a chapter everytime I have one fully edited.

Finally, we're here! I had this chapter partialy written since ages (I think it was the first one I wrote) and it's now out for you to read \o/ It's time for some revelations :D (Sorry in advance for the bucket of lore coming your way XD ) I'm so excited, I really hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I liked writing it :D It's time to feed the hunger again :D

Need some music? I've got you I wrote the second scene with this particular song in repeat

Previously: in Devilish Desires

Chapters: 5/9?

Word Count: 8.7K / 50K+ for now

The hum of the Danger Room felt more intense from the command center, each vibration resonating in Logan's bones as he leaned against the console, eyes locked on the floor below. It had been two days since the sparring session, and in the day that followed, the team had decided E would face this trial. Logan had offered them a few words of advice about the Danger Room's unpredictability—the way it tested not only skills but instinct and resilience. Now, as night had fallen, the room thrummed with anticipation.

On the other side of the glass, E stood in the center of the vast metallic space, their posture deceptively relaxed. But Logan’s keen eyes could see the tension in their muscles, coiled like a spring, ready to be unleashed. Their hair was down, swept back into a half ponytail to keep it out of their eyes, but still falling like a thick curtain down their back, where the glint of metal—perhaps just a trick of the light—flickered beneath. The simple sport attire they wore clung to their frame, unadorned except for the three bracelets catching the cold light on their left wrist, while their bare feet flexed against the smooth floor. Their gloved fingers twitched, as if itching for movement, a restless energy building in the charged silence, waiting for the simulation to come up around them.

“They look confident,” Jean remarked, eyes narrowed with mild curiosity, but there was an edge to her voice. Logan didn’t respond, jaw tightening. There was no point sharing how skilled E was; they were about to witness it with their own eyes.

“They better be more than just confident,” Scott muttered under his breath, arms crossed as he cast a skeptical glance at Charles. The professor remained composed, hands folded on his lap, as if waiting for something only he could anticipate. With a few practiced keystrokes, Hank finally configured the simulation.

Below them, the virtual reality sprang to life, the soft whisper of machinery and the flicker of artificial lights surrounding E's silhouette. The walls shifted, blocks emerging from all around the room as pixels spread over their surfaces, multiplying and transforming into the textured sprawl of an urban maze—alleys and crumbling rooftops taking shape around them. The objective was simple: evade, outmaneuver, survive. A test of adaptability.

E moved, graceful and quick, weaving through the fake streets, their movements precise and calculating. Logan's eyes followed every twist, every sudden dart, watching as their focus turned sharp. He knew that they were dancing on the edge of instinct and training, the latter being a completely new experience.

“Fast,” Kitty admitted, a touch of surprise lacing her words.

Scott's arms tightened across his chest, eyes fixed on E as they moved fluidly through the simulation. “Speed doesn’t always win fights,” he countered, his gaze unwavering as he frowned at the holographic city. The hint of critique in his tone made the others nod in agreement, their silence suffocating.

But Logan couldn’t help the snort that escaped him, a brief flash of irritation twisting his features. He masked it quickly by clearing his throat, but the sharp sound had already drawn their attention. Eyes shifted to him, brows lifting in question, but he remained silent, jaw set tightly as he turned his gaze back to the floor below.

“I don’t see why you insisted on this, Charles,” Hank said, the low rumble of his voice cutting through the quiet hum of the room. His analytical eyes narrowed slightly as E’s pace faltered. What was happening? Logan's hands twitched at his sides—something was wrong. Tension rippled through the command center as each person silently judged every move they witnessed. E was keeping up, for now, but not without effort.

“Yeah, what’s so special? Just another pretty face with tricks,” Bobby added with a short, dismissive laugh. Logan’s jaw clenched tighter, muscles shifting under his skin.

Charles steepled his fingers, leaning forward in his wheelchair with an unreadable expression. “Patience, my friends. There’s potential there. Untapped, but it’s there,” he said calmly, though the confidence in his voice was met with a few skeptical glances.

Logan’s teeth ground together as he watched them scrutinize, his muscles coiled with something raw, protective. This wasn’t just a trial for E; it felt like a trial for him, too, as if every dismissive comment was a thinly veiled accusation that he was thinking with something other than his brain.

Suddenly, a part of the simulated cityscape fractured with a metallic groan and came crashing down toward E. They twisted sharply, eyes wide, narrowly rolling out of the way as debris shattered where they had just stood. Dust plumed around them, and for a heartbeat, everything seemed to slow. Logan's hands clenched around air, claws itching, muscles flexing as if ready to leap down there himself.

The murmurs intensified, no longer masked by civility. Each comment jabbed at Logan, who could see the slight stutter in E’s movement below—a shadow of hesitation—as the room adjusted, shifting to create new streets ahead while the terrain behind dissolved seamlessly into nothing.

“That was close. They’re fast, sure, but is it enough?” The criticism in Scott’s voice was borderline caustic, hitting Logan like a sudden blow to the stomach.

“Enough!” he said, voice cutting through the low chatter. Heads turned, surprised. He rarely broke his silence, rarely defended anyone outside his trusted circle. “You all stepped into that room as first-timers once, too.” The statement wasn’t loud, but it was like a shot ringing out, silencing any further mutters.

Silence hung for a breath. They exchanged glances, eyes sharp with wariness, doubt simmering just beneath. The shift was palpable, the tension stretching taut as realization sunk in: they thought he was under their influence, as if E’s enigmatic pull was some kind of intoxicating drug.

Below, E stumbled, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through their poise. The sight struck Logan, a sudden twist in his gut. “That’s it,” he muttered, blood boiling, as he pushed off from the console, ignoring the startled looks as he strode toward the door.

“Logan, where are you—” Jean started, but he was already gone, the metallic door sliding shut behind him.

Their back pressed against the rough façade of an artificial, crumbling building, muscles taut as they scanned the street past the corner they were hiding behind, E’s heart raced. The air hummed with the ambient sound of clanking metal and distant combat. The Danger Room was more relentless than they had expected, its projections more immersive and intricate than they could have imagined. Every inch of their being screamed for focus, but exhaustion—and most of all, hunger—gnawed at their resolve. The weight of the command center's watchful eyes, laced with thinly veiled animosity, chipped away at their energy reserves, a constant, draining reminder of how unwelcome they truly were. They had known this would be difficult, but not this punishing.

As they prepared to move forward, a flicker of movement caught their attention—a shimmering distortion in the air, just a few feet from them, cracking the illusion for a heartbeat. What now? Frustration and irritation surged within them as the projection rippled, revealing a familiar form stepping through the pixels. E’s eyes widened in surprise. Logan. His expression was stormy, unreadable as always, with a raw determination etched on his face. The glint of his left claws, half-drawn, made their breath catch for a split second before they realized he wasn’t there to attack. He moved swiftly to hide beside them, his back pressed against the artificial building. The air between them buzzed with the charge of their connection. Concern.

“What the hell are you doing here?” E whispered, their voice harsher than intended. The slight breathlessness in their tone betrayed them, and Logan’s keen senses didn’t miss it, catching the faint tremor at the edge of their stance.

His brows furrowed, deepening the lines carved by years of battle and unyielding reliability. “You look like hell,” he said bluntly, eyes searching theirs for the truth they stubbornly tried to hide. Up close, E could see the muscles in his jaw clenching, his instincts coiled tight. The primal protectiveness that had driven him past Jean’s concerned call was written in every line of his posture.

Above them, in the observation deck, the palpable, hostile energy grew, stoked by Logan’s intervention. E gritted their teeth, feeling its force like a storm pressing down on them, threatening to break through their resolve. They held their breath, adapting to the oppressive weight with each rapid heartbeat.

“I’m fine,” E countered sharply once they regained control of their voice, though the claim rang hollow. They turned away, ready to press on, but Logan’s voice caught them like a tether.

“You’re not,” he growled, inching closer, casting a shadow that darkened the line of their vision. The cold, glaring artificial sun above was a poor mimic of real warmth, but Logan’s presence radiated heat, grounding them amidst the surreal chaos.

A silence stretched between them and E hesitated, a moment’s pause in which the weight of their exhaustion threatened to spill over. The edge of their allure had dulled, they knew it—no subtle shimmer beneath their skin, no echo of energy. Where vitality had thrummed, there was now a draining emptiness, a void that was craving his touch, his admiration.

Logan’s gaze sharpened as he took in the rapid rise and fall of their chest, the glazed weariness in their guarded eyes, the dullness to their horns, the fine sheen of sweat glistening on their neck, and the way their fingers twitched inside their gloves as if struggling to suppress a tremor. He couldn’t ignore how different they seemed from the fierce, fluid form they’d shown two days ago. His instincts screamed at him to act, to pull them out of this self-inflicted trial.

“E,” he said, his tone softer now, the rough edge replaced with something raw, familiar. His right hand lifted, hesitating before landing on their shoulder, a steady weight that offered comfort.

They met his eyes, the defiance in their stare wavering briefly. For a breath, the noise of the Danger Room dulled, replaced by the heat between them. The test, the hunger, the harsh judgments—everything faded as Logan’s gaze anchored them. They nodded once, forcing a small smirk that Logan didn’t buy for a second.

“I’m good enough,” they murmured, the sharp edge of confidence slipping.

Logan didn’t flinch. His gaze didn’t waver, and the concern etched into his rugged features went far deeper than simple vigilance. It was something fiercer, more personal. “Don’t push it. You don’t have to prove anything.”

“I do, actually,” E said, glancing at the command center before meeting his eyes again.

The animosity above seemed to swell, the silent disapproval pricking at them like thorns, likely fed by Logan’s gesture. They rolled their shoulders, shrugging off his hand in an effort to appease the unspoken hostility growing from the observation deck. They couldn’t keep up with this for much longer. They had to end this soon, or the consequences—ones they wouldn’t dare imagine—would catch up to them.

With a deep breath, they set their jaw, the mask of sharp confidence snapping back into place. Pushing off from the wall, they squared their shoulders.

“Let’s finish this,” they said, their voice steady despite the strain.

Logan didn’t respond, but the look in his eyes as he fell into step beside them spoke volumes. This was no ordinary training exercise. The stakes had shifted, and he would be damned if he let anything happen to them.

With a shared glance, they pushed forward, moving through the chaos. The mechanical whisper of the Danger Room came back to life around them, roaring in E’s ears as they navigated the labyrinthine maze of twisted metal and simulated war-torn streets. Every turn, every shadow, tested their resolve. Every step was weighted by exhaustion, their body teetering on the edge of collapse, finding strength only in Logan’s unwavering presence at their side. The extraction point glimmered in the distance, a brief beacon of hope.

But that hope was short-lived.

A metallic groan rumbled through the air as a shadow stretched across the ground. E’s eyes snapped upward, and their breath caught in their chest. Towering above them, metal plating glinting under the harsh artificial light, stood a sentinel—its towering form ominous and all too real. The red glow of its eyes sent a shiver down their spine as it powered up, joints whirring with deadly intent.

“What the actual fuck?” they whispered, eyes wide as a brilliant laser beam split the air, barely missing them. They dove to the side, rolling onto the cracked pavement and pushing themselves up against a wall for protection, breathless.

Logan’s gaze darkened as he pressed his back next to them, his eyes narrowing to sharp slits as he processed the sight. “Really, guys?” he muttered, low and venomous, clearly directed at Scott and Hank, who undoubtedly had a hand in programming this nightmare. Fury coiled tight in his muscles, but he didn’t let it show. There was no time for anger—only action.

“What’s that thing?” E’s voice, despite its edge, wavered.

“Listen,” Logan said, gripping their arm and forcing their wide eyes to lock with his. “That’s a sentinel. A robot designed to kill every mutant it sees. We need to take it down.” His voice was as unyielding as steel, but beneath it lay something softer—belief. He trusted them.

E’s pulse hammered against their temples, but Logan’s resolve wrapped around them like a shield, momentarily blunting the razor-sharp hostility pricking at them from the command center. They nodded, swallowing hard as they reached behind their back, fingers parting the curtain of their black hair as they curled around the cool metal of two big metal rings. With a swift motion, they pulled the circular weapons free, their sharp edges catching the artificial light. Chakrams.

Logan’s brow arched, the barest hint of amusement twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Where did you—”

He didn’t get to finish. The sentinel’s red eyes flared, and another beam cut through the air. E’s eyes widened as they registered the attack a heartbeat before it struck. With a surge of adrenaline, they shoved Logan hard, propelling him out of harm’s way as they dove in the opposite direction. The ground shook beneath them as the beam exploded against the wall, scorching the surface where they'd stood mere seconds ago, debris scattering like shrapnel.

They hit the ground with a grunt, pain sparking up their shoulder, but there was no time to dwell on it. Pushing themselves up, E glanced over at Logan, who was already rising, eyes narrowed with a mix of frustration and admiration.

“No time to chat, pretty boy,” E muttered, gripping their chakrams between their indexes and thumbs as they locked eyes with him. Logan gave a sharp nod, the sound of his claws unsheathing a cold metallic promise.

Together, they moved with the seamless coordination of two souls bound by an unspoken connection—like a red thread pulling them through the chaos, guiding their every move. E darted forward, using their agility to keep the sentinel’s attention, chakrams slicing through the air with deadly precision. Each throw found a weak point—joints, sensors, anywhere that could be chipped away to disrupt its functioning—before returning to their fingers, drawn back by the essence they had infused into the circular weapons long ago. The sentinel’s massive hand swung in retaliation, narrowly missing them as they twisted out of its reach.

Logan took the opening, charging up the sentinel’s back with the ferocity of a man who knew how to make every second count. His claws gleamed as he latched onto the metal plating, scaling the behemoth with a speed that defied logic. Sparks flew as he plunged his claws into the nape of its neck, tearing through wires and circuits with a snarl.

The sentinel stuttered, its movements jerking as it faltered. With a final, violent lurch, it began to collapse, metal shrieking as it toppled forward like a giant felled by time itself. Logan leapt down, landing in a crouch just as the robot crashed to the ground with a sound that echoed through the chamber.

E turned, breath heaving, as the dust settled around them. Relief surged in their chest, but the victory was fleeting. A sudden noise—an ominous creak—rippled through the air. E’s eyes snapped up just in time to see a chunk of debris, dislodged from a nearby structure, plummeting toward them.

Before they could react, Logan was there, moving faster than seemed possible. He grabbed them by the waist, yanking them to the side as the debris smashed into the ground where they had just stood. The impact threw up a pixeled cloud of dust, metal dressed in a stone-like sheen skittering across the cracked surface.

Logan’s arm stayed wrapped around them, the weight of his protective embrace more solid than the chaos surrounding them. For a moment, everything was silent except the pounding of their hearts. E looked up at him, eyes wide and stunned, and caught the raw, unguarded look on his face—one that spoke of fear and relief mingled with something deeper.

“You good?” he rasped, voice low and tight.

E nodded slowly, catching their breath as he released them from his hold. The warmth lingered on their skin and their throat became dry, forcing them to clear it. “Yeah,” they whispered, the reality of their near miss finally sinking in. The sentinel was down, but it wasn’t over. Not yet. Though, with Logan’s eyes locked on theirs, the weight of the hostile energy above felt a little less suffocating.

Around them, the holographic shield shimmered and fizzled out, leaving an eerie silence in its wake as the walls of the Danger Room shifted and retracted, returning the space to its usual stark, featureless expanse. The air was thick with tension, the adrenaline still pumping in their veins.

E couldn’t help but smirk, the exhaustion still gnawing at them but not enough to mask the small victory. “I think we make a pretty good team,” they said, their voice betraying the tremor of weariness that ran deep.

Logan shot them a sideways glance, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips despite the concern still written on his face. “Yeah, just don’t get used to me saving your ass,” he muttered, though his words lacked the usual bite. Beneath the gruff tone, there was something softer—almost affectionate.

E raised an eyebrow, a challenge dancing in their tired gaze. “Oh, don’t worry,” they teased back, reaching behind and slipping their chakrams into the small crochets sewn into the back of their tunic, where they rested securely, hidden beneath their long, disheveled hair. They opened their mouth to say more, wiping sweat from their neck, but before the words could form, the door to the Danger Room slid open with a hiss.

Logan’s instincts flared to life, sharper than ever. He moved in front of E without hesitation, his broad form a solid wall between them and the approaching team. His eyes darkened with barely suppressed rage, chest heaving as he fought to control it.

“What the hell, guys?” Logan’s voice cut through the silence, rough and seething. “This was supposed to be training. You used a fucking sentinel? On someone who’s never used the Danger Room before?” His glare was as raw as his voice, daring anyone to challenge him.

Scott’s jaw tightened, meeting Logan’s gaze with a stoic defiance. “We needed to see what they could do in a non-controlled environment,” he countered, his cool tone only fueling Logan’s fury further. The tension between them thickened, crackling with unspoken animosity.

Logan took a step forward, fists clenched, eyes blazing with unrestrained aggression. His face flushed red, a clear warning that he was dangerously close to losing it.

“Logan.” The calm, steady voice of Charles Xavier sliced through the tension, his wheelchair gliding smoothly between them. His eyes held a mix of reproach and understanding. “It was indeed a bit too much,” he acknowledged, addressing the group. “But we’ve learned something valuable. E showed they can work with the team. They fought well with Logan.”

A small scoff escaped Scott’s lips, the sound turning Logan’s rage into a furnace. “Of course, they did,” Scott muttered under his breath, his gaze flicking between them. “It’s easy for lovers to fight in sync.”

The words struck like a match to gasoline, igniting the fire in Logan’s chest. His jaw clenched so tightly it felt like his teeth might crack. He moved forward, but a cold hand—trembling, far lighter than it should have been—landed on his forearm. The movement froze him, and he glanced down, meeting E’s gaze. Their face was pale, drawn, the defiance in their eyes replaced with an exhaustion so profound it was almost tangible. Their knees buckled slightly, and in an instant, Logan’s anger was gone, replaced by a wave of deep, gut-wrenching concern.

He reached out, catching them in his arms, steadying them as their body swayed. “Easy,” he growled, his voice softening, becoming more protective. His focus shifted entirely to them, every instinct urging him to shield them from the glare of the team.

With a quick glance at the others, Logan’s eyes hardened again, colder than ice. “This isn’t over,” he spat, teeth bared in a silent promise, his words dripping with warning. He didn’t care to explain further, focusing instead on E. Without another word, he gently guided them out of the Danger Room, his movements deliberate as he shielded them from the questions, the stares, and the storm he would unleash later.

For now, only one thing mattered—getting them out of there and making sure they were okay.

The walk to E’s bedroom felt longer than it should have. Logan's arm stayed firmly wrapped around their waist, guiding them as their steps faltered. They leaned on him heavily, their usually sharp gaze clouded with exhaustion.

When they finally reached the door, Logan pushed it open, leading them inside and helping them sit down on the edge of the bed. E reached over their shoulder, carefully pulling the chakrams from their tunic and placing them on the bed beside them, the metallic weight a comfort against the soft fabric. With a sigh, they removed their gloves, setting them beside the weapons.

Logan stayed close, his eyes scanning their face, searching for any sign of what was wrong. Their breathing was ragged, an unusual warmth radiating from them as sweat slid down their skin. Their fingers clutched the blanket beneath them, as though it was the only thing holding them steady.

He sat beside them, the mattress dipping under his weight. He didn’t want to leave, not when they looked like they were hanging by a thread.

“Logan…” Their voice broke, weaker than he’d ever heard it, and a tremor ran through them. There was more than just exhaustion—there was fear in their tone that made something in his chest tighten.

He shifted closer, brows furrowing as he studied them. “You okay? You look like hell.”

A faint, breathless laugh escaped them, but there was no humor in it. “Thanks… exactly what I needed to hear.” The words came out flat, without their usual teasing edge. They tried to stand, legs trembling beneath them. “I just need an hour… outside, and I’ll be fine. It’s… nothing.”

Logan’s reflexes were quicker than their unsteady movements. Rising too, his hand shot out, grabbing their arm before they could collapse. “No way in hell you’re goin’ anywhere like that. You’re burnin’ up.”

“I’ll be fine…” E muttered, trying to pull away, but there was no strength behind it.

He tightened his hold, eyes narrowing. “Are you on somethin’? Drugs?” His free hand shot to their forehead before settling on their cheek, searching their eyes for any sign of intoxication.

They laughed again, hollow and cracked, leaning into his touch instinctively. “I wish it were that simple.”

Logan’s frustration flared, his patience thinning as he gripped both their shoulders between his hands. “What do you mean by that?”

Their eyes met his—dark and shadowed with exhaustion, and something else. Something resigned. “I can’t live on food alone, Logan. I need… more.”

“The hell does that mean?” He wasn’t sure if he was angry, worried, or both. No, definitely both.

They swallowed hard, gaze falling as their voice dropped to a whisper. “Emotions. Desire, joy, lust… worship.” The last word left their lips like a breath, carrying a desperate weight that made his gut twist.

He went rigid, realization dawning on him. It was starting to make sense—the way they came at him at first, their playful behavior, the way their energy surged when they sparred, how they seemed to pull at him without even trying. It wasn’t just empowerment, it was sustenance.

“Negative energy drains me,” they continued, each word sounding like it took effort. “Criticism, doubt, disdain… it’s why I’m like this. Because of the team’s… distrust. But you… you’re like a damn buffet to me.” Their gaze locked onto his, more serious than he’d ever seen it, a deep, ravenous hunger veiling their vision. “Your healing ability… it’s dangerous for me. It makes me want to eat you alive. It’s hard to resist.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, processing their words. Finally, he asked, “So, what the hell do you need to feel better?”

E’s hand trembled as it reached up to cup his cheek. Their touch was light, hesitant, but it felt like fire against his skin. “There’s a solution… but I won’t force you. I’d rather die than hurt anyone again.”

Logan’s eyes searched theirs, taking in the raw pain and sadness—a vulnerability he’d only glimpsed until now. Something deep inside him shifted.

“If I can help… just tell me.”

Their eyes flashed with desperation, a glimmer of something dark and intense. “Kneel.”

He stiffened, caught off guard. The command hung between them like a challenge. Their tone wasn’t harsh, but it carried weight he couldn’t ignore. He could push back, deflect, but then they whispered, “Please.” The word, almost a cry, trembled out of their lips.

The softness of it cut through his defenses. With a grunt, he exhaled sharply and sank to one knee, his eyes never leaving theirs, still unsure but unable to pull away.

E moved closer, the fabric of their sweatpants brushing against his nose, their unique scent—spice wrapped in smoke—filling his senses and clouding his thoughts. Their tail slipped free, caressing his cheek like a soft, warm breeze. As the energy between them shifted, Logan caught sight of their horns subtly lengthening, the tips darkening to a crimson hue that shimmered with a subtle pulse.

“Is there anything about me you find attractive?” Their voice was softer now, teasing but tinged with need.

Logan's gaze flickered to their hips for the briefest moment before he forced himself to look back up. “Maybe,” he muttered, heat pooling in his lower belly.

E sighed, their tail trailing down his neck. “I can feel that. Your pulse… it’s quickening. It’s not enough to make me better… but it’s a start.”

Their fingers slid into his hair, gentle but firm, tilting his head back slightly. “Tell me, Logan. What would you do to me if I let you touch me?”

He swallowed hard, his breath shallow, unable to fight the images their words conjured. The pull in his chest tightened as if they tugged on it, firm and relentless. His voice dropped, low and feral. “I’d… I’d hold you by the hips. Smell you.”

E shuddered at his confession, eyes closing as they soaked in his desire, a deep sigh escaping their lips. The strength they had lost was starting to return, slow but sure, coursing through their veins like a lifeline.

“You’re not allowed to touch me,” they whispered, their voice more commanding now as they felt his muscles tense under their tail. “But I grant you the right to imagine it.”

The impact of their words hit him harder than he expected, his reason struggling to keep control. His jaw clenched, and he felt E’s hand lightly combing through his hair, each stroke sending a sharp pulse of heat down his spine. The weight of their touch made his blood rush faster, thrumming beneath his skin, coaxing everything he’d tried to keep buried to the surface without apology.

“Keep going,” they ordered in a breath. “What else do you want to do to me?”

Logan groaned low as E's hand tightened in his hair, forcing his gaze to meet theirs. Their eyes burned with something primal, hunger so raw that there was no room for hesitation. He knew that look, but this time, it wasn’t controlled or smooth—there was desperation hidden beneath it, like a storm tearing through their soul, destroying everything in its wake. And that desperation was pulling at him, unraveling every shred of restraint he had left.

E's lips curled into a smile as they felt his struggle. “Tell me, pretty boy,” they cooed softly, their voice laced with an intoxicating sweetness.

He clenched his teeth, eyes shutting tight, fighting to push back the images flickering through his mind. He didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to admit it. But their power, the praise, their sultry words, were messing with him in ways he couldn’t resist, coaxing out the desires he kept buried deep inside. The energy swirling around them was intoxicating.

E's fingers curled tighter, pulling his head back, forcing him to look at them again. “Use your words. Be a good boy,” they continued, their tail caressing his neck. “You know you want to.”

Logan growled, fighting the urge to let it all out. The shame mixed with desire was like a drug to them. He could feel it—E's energy was returning, and with it, the confidence they had lost just moments ago. Their posture shifted, becoming more commanding, more certain, towering over him.

“Words! Now!” Their voice crackled like thunder in his mind, no longer a request but an order, sharp and insistent.

His pulse pounded in his neck, and he knew they felt it too—the barely controlled beast inside him, clawing to break free. “You sure you can handle that?” he muttered, voice rough and strained, as though dragging each word up from the depths of his soul. The restraint cost him dearly, but their nearness made it impossible to hold back.

E’s eyes, dark with a hunger that now matched his own, met his. “I need it, Logan. I need you.”

The simple admission shattered the last of his resolve. Their gaze pulled him in, command and vulnerability twisting him tighter. His breath came harsh, uneven, his lips parted as the words slipped out before he could stop them. “You want to know what I’d do?” His voice dropped to a low growl, fingers curling at his sides, desperate to act on the vivid images in his mind. “I’d pull you so close there wouldn’t be an inch left between us. Make you feel every bit of what you’ve done to me.”

A shiver ran through them, their chest rising as they drew in a shaky breath. The tension between them thickened, electric. Confidence surged in them, and they leaned into him, letting his energy flow through them like a wildfire finding dry kindling, a soft laughter bubbling in their chest.

“Don’t stop.” Their voice, now more than a whisper, carried an edge of authority. “Tell me everything that runs through that gorgeous head of yours.”

Logan’s breath hitched, muscles tensed with the war waged inside him. His gaze turned predatory, and he felt the last barrier of control splinter. He drew closer, his forehead almost touching their leg, so their scent—spice wrapped in smoke—was the only thing filling his thoughts. “I’d take my time… pulling your pants down. Start with your thighs, kiss every inch—”

Something snapped inside them. E gasped, the intense rush faltering as their grip on the bond loosened. A sudden softness overtook their movements, the intoxicating power that radiated from them wavering.

They stepped back abruptly as they came back to their senses, eyes wide with a mix of concern and regret. The haze in Logan’s mind lifted, confusion colliding with clarity, his pulse still thrumming with the heat of the moment. He blinked, shaking his head as he caught his breath, eyes searching theirs. “What… what was that?” he asked, his voice soft with confusion.

“I’m sorry, I should have been more careful,” they whispered, kneeling in front of him, their hands trembling slightly as they reached for his cheek and shoulder, their composure slipping. E’s fingers brushed back a strand of his hair, gentle. “I got carried away. It… can happen sometimes, when the hunger is too strong. I lost control. I pushed too far. I’m so sorry.” They studied him, their eyes scanning his face for any sign of damage. “Are you okay?” E asked softly, their voice more tentative now.

“I guess so,” Logan muttered, still unsure of what had just happened.

E slowly rose to their feet, one hand extended toward him. He exhaled, the last embers of their moment cooling, and took their offered hand. The tension between them now mixed with lingering desire and mutual understanding.

Logan felt the force of E’s strength as they effortlessly pulled him up, the realization hitting him that they were back to their full power. Despite the energy that coursed through them, embarrassment was written all over their face. “Thank you, Logan.” Their voice still carried the worry they’d shown a few seconds ago. He caught the shift in their demeanor, but his response came naturally. “It’s okay.”

E, however, wasn’t so easily soothed. Sitting on the edge of their bed, they shook their head, avoiding his gaze. "No. It’s not okay," they muttered. "A normal person could have been seriously hurt from that.” Their words trailed off, and Logan could see the craving still burning behind their eyes—a flicker of something deeper, darker, barely restrained. “Good thing you heal fast…"

Their horns had returned to their smaller size now, but he knew that look. The hunger wasn’t gone.

Logan’s eyes couldn’t leave them, and he sat beside them, the bed protesting under his weight. "You're not done, are you?" His tone was blunt but laced with understanding. "You need more."

E sighed, and for a moment, their confident, commanding presence crumbled, leaving them looking small, vulnerable, and uncertain. "Yeah, I do," they admitted quietly. "I've been hungry… for most of my life. Pretty much since the day I awakened… which cost me someone’s life."

Logan didn’t push for details, though the weight of their words hinted at a story full of pain and regret. If they wanted to share it, they would. He wasn’t the type to force anyone into reliving their worst memories.

Instead, he asked a more practical question. "How do you usually deal with it? The hunger, I mean."

E's gaze shifted, as if deciding how much to tell him. "I find people who agree to let me… feed on them." The word clearly didn’t sit right with them, the frown on their face making it obvious. "I go to clubs, feed on the emotions in the crowd, or find a lover who’s up for a night of pleasure."

Logan's brow furrowed, caught off guard by the ease with which they said it. He wasn’t a prude, not by a long shot, but the detachment in their voice was something else. It sparked his curiosity.

"What do you mean? You can feed on… sex?" His voice was rough, but the question hung between them, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied their reaction.

A sad smile tugged at their lips. "Yeah, I can. I only did it once… and someone died." They hesitated for a moment before continuing. "I make them feel good instead. I feed on their emotions, not their life force. I'm a giver, only."

Logan blinked as the realization hit him. "So if you have sex with someone, they die?" The weight of it settled in his mind. "So that means… you haven’t… since?"

E shrugged, their expression resigned. "I haven’t had sex in the way you conceive it in roughly… 250 years, give or take… maybe it’s 260. Time gets blurry after a while."

"Wow…" was all Logan could manage, his mind reeling from the thought. A pretty thing like them, not having been with anyone in… centuries? His thoughts drifted, imagining it, and he felt his face warm slightly before he caught himself. But before he could hide it, E chuckled.

"I can sense you’re thinking about me again," they warned, a hint of humor glinting in their eyes despite the sadness. "Did I get too much into your head?"

Logan grunted, but a smirk tugged at his lips. "You wish." Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something here, something raw and uncharted. An opportunity that could satisfy the primal part of him always searching for more—a connection that might, even for a moment, quiet his restless spirit.

“How do you keep the hunger in control around the kids here?” His voice softened as he spoke, more carefully this time, a rare edge of concern threading through his words.

A long, strained silence filled the space between them. E’s expression darkened, the raw vulnerability that slipped through making Logan’s chest tighten. Their shoulders slumped, and for a moment, they looked impossibly small, their strength faltering under the weight of their admission. “I don’t.” The words were soft, but the heaviness in them rang louder than any shout. “I haven’t properly fed since I got here… which is also why… I had that meltdown.” E’s gaze faltered, a rare crack in their usually unshakable facade. "I don’t want to hurt them, Logan. They're just kids. Too innocent. I… I don’t want to corrupt them with this."

Logan’s throat tightened as he processed the weight of their words. Their restraint was admirable, but the flicker of concern in his chest grew into something heavier, a gnawing worry that lodged deep. What if he hadn’t been there to help? Who would they have turned to? The thought unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

“Maybe…” He hesitated, unsure whether his next words would cross a line. But they were already on the tip of his tongue, and his protective instincts pushed him to speak. “Maybe we could work out an arrangement.”

E looked at him, brow furrowing in confusion, the weight of his offer hanging in the air. “What do you mean?”

He leaned forward, his voice low but deliberate, eyes never leaving theirs. “Well, if I’m a walking buffet, might as well grab a bite now and then, right?” He tried to keep his tone gruff, but the underlying implication was clear—he wasn’t just talking about feeding.

They stared at him, disbelief written all over their face. Logan added quickly, “To keep the kids safe, you know…” His voice dropped, edged with something deeper—a personal stake he couldn’t quite define.

E’s chuckle filled the room again, their eyes gleaming with amusement. “Convenient,” they said, seeing through his cover but not arguing. If Logan was offering, who were they to say no?

“I mean,” he carried on, voice low and rough, as he tried to push past the weight of their amusement. “No strings attached, you know? Just a quick fix once in a while. Maybe you could try bein’ a little selfish. Not just givin’, but takin’ too, to blow off some steam.” He leaned in a little closer, his words edging toward a challenge, a hint of something dangerous in the way he spoke.

A slow, teasing smirk spread across E’s lips, their eyes gleaming with something dark and playful and Logan couldn’t help but remember how he first thought they would be trouble. And, oh boy, had he been right. It was written all over their face again, but hell, maybe that’s what made life worth livin’. Though, instead of jumping into his offer, E shrugged, playing it cool. “Yeah, sure,” they said nonchalantly, “if you’re up for it… And if you think you can handle my games." Their eyes glinted with amusement, but they left the offer hang in the air for a few heartbeats. "Maybe we can work something out.” There was another pause. “Just to keep the kids safe.”

Logan chuckled, the sound rough but laced with genuine amusement. “Of course. Just to keep the kids safe.” Though, the words were more loaded than either of them were willing to admit.

Their eyes met, an unspoken understanding flickering between them before silence settled, thick and charged. Then, E stood, a shift in their demeanor as they moved with purpose. “So, if we’re going to do this, might as well make it good for the both of us, right? What do you like most?” They flashed a playful smile. “Guy? Girl?”

As they spoke, their form shimmered, shifting into a strikingly handsome man. Logan’s brow lifted, eyes narrowing as he assessed the change with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. The ease with which they wore this unfamiliar face made him feel both intrigued and guarded, muscles unconsciously tensing in response. Before he could fully process the thought, E shifted back into their original form, and he felt his heartbeat slow to its usual rhythm.

“Want me to look like someone you know?” they teased, voice laced with something darker, a playful glint sharp in their eyes. Logan’s gut clenched as E’s features rippled, reshaping into Ororo’s elegant visage. The sight tugged at a memory of storms and shared battles, sparking a flicker of warmth that was swiftly overtaken by wariness. Then Scott’s face emerged, stern and self-assured, making Logan’s teeth clench involuntarily—old rivalries resurfacing for a brief, silent heartbeat. But it was the final shift that gutted him: Jean. The phantom ache hit him hard, a rush of regret and want tangled in an old wound he thought long scarred over. He forced himself to stay stoic, the turmoil in his chest hidden beneath a practiced frown. E’s eyes glimmered with mischief as they returned to their usual form, gaze locking with his in an unspoken challenge.

But they weren’t done.

“What about plain old me?" The question carried a whisper of vulnerability, softening the edges of their usual bravado. Before Logan could catch his breath, they morphed again, this time into something unexpected: tanned skin glowing warmly, innocent blue eyes staring back at him, long, wavy brown hair that spilled down to their knees. The transformation stunned him, a contrast so striking it made the breath catch in his throat. The unfamiliar curve of their smile, the way their presence seemed more tender yet powerful—it tugged at something primal, something he hadn’t expected.

Logan’s gaze lingered, caught off guard as curiosity tangled with an unexpected coil of desire. He felt his senses sharpen, instinct flaring as the tension between caution and temptation thrummed just beneath his skin, daring him to stay composed, even as the line between control and surrender blurred at the edges.

Hell, they knew exactly what they were doin'.

He let out a low breath, eyes steady on them. "Take the one you like most," he said finally, his voice thick with the weight of it all. "I’m good with whatever. Might as well be comfortable, you know." There was a small pause before a few more words slipped out. "But I gotta admit…" He smirked, unable to hold back. "Leaves some interestin' ideas."

There was a spark of amusement in his eyes now, the prospect of what could come. So many versions of them, so many ways this could go.

Logan kept his cool on the outside, but his thoughts were racing. He wasn’t exactly shy about what he liked, and the way E changed forms so effortlessly was unlike anything he'd seen. The possibilities? Endless. And for a guy who'd lived as long as he had, it took something special to surprise him.

But as much as his mind wandered over the many options in front of him, there was still that feeling — something deeper than just lust. Maybe it was the way E seemed so guarded under the teasing and power. The way they tried to make everything sound casual, even though Logan could see the weight of their long, lonely existence hanging on their shoulders. It made him pause.

He leaned back again, his hands on the mattress behind him, taking in their latest form — tanned skin, long brown hair, blue eyes. It was tempting to let them become someone else, someone new every time. But then, something clicked. “You don’t have to change for me, you know,” he said, voice a little softer, but still with that signature gruffness. “I kinda like you the way you are.”

The smirk on E’s face flickered, like they weren’t expecting that. It wasn’t just the words — it was the way he said it. Like he actually meant it. They stood there for a second longer, holding his gaze, before they shifted back into the form they always wore until now. Still powerful, still beautiful, but now with a hint of vulnerability they didn’t usually show.

Logan’s lips twitched, just a hint of a smile. “Besides,” he added, his voice dropping lower, “I’m not exactly picky. Just as long as you can handle me.”

E chuckled, walking closer. “I think I can manage,” they said, though there was a glimmer of something else in their eyes now. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was relief. Whatever it was, Logan wasn’t sure yet. But he’d figure it out eventually. After all, it wasn't just about keeping the kids safe anymore. There was something more brewing here, and Logan could feel it.

But for now, he played along, letting the tension between them hang in the air. He knew this arrangement was going to get messy, but hey, hadn’t that been always the case for him? At least this time, he’ll get some fun out of it.

Logan smirked, still taking in everything E had just shown him. He’d seen a lot in his time, but nothing like this. It was a display of pure power, confidence, and—hell, he couldn’t deny it—beauty. His curiosity got the better of him as he spoke, voice low. "What’s your real form, anyway?" he asked, genuinely intrigued. "And… is E even your real name?"

E smirked, clearly enjoying the effect they were having on him. Slowly, they shifted back into the form of the young woman with the long, wavy brown hair that cascaded down to nearly touch their knees, tanned skin glowing faintly in the dim light. Their piercing blue eyes locked with his, intense and unyielding. The two horns above their hairline, now fully extended, had the sheen of polished obsidian, gradually darkening to a deep red at the tips, adding an almost regal fierceness to their look. Their thin tail moved with a life of its own, curling toward his cheek as it had earlier, the only constant in their shifting forms.

A pair of feathered wings unfurled from their back, the inky black plumage fading to a crimson red at the edges, casting subtle shadows across the room. It was an image of raw power and allure, both ominous and breathtaking in equal measure. But what really got him was the way their hips swayed as they moved closer, drawing his attention like gravity itself.

"This is my real form," they said, their voice soft but laced with power. "Once, I was Amrit, Amrit Kaur Singh. But that was centuries ago. When they revealed themselves…” Their wings twitched at their back, a subtle shift betraying old memories. “I became Ezekiel. Ezekiel Nepharael.” E let the name float in the air between them for a couple of heartbeats. “I sometimes go by Eki or Zeek, depending on whether I’m feeling more… feminine or masculine. But for most people, I’m just E."

Logan felt like his mouth had gone dry, his eyes glued to them as the energy in the room practically buzzed around them. The wings, the tail, the horns—it was like nothing he’d ever seen, but damn if it wasn’t mesmerizing. His throat felt tight as he tried to form words.

"You like what you see, pretty boy?" E teased, their smirk widening as they stepped closer once again, a playful gleam in their eye. It wasn’t even a question, more like a statement of an universal fact. They could feel his reaction, sense the heat of his desire.

Logan, despite himself, nodded, a muscle in his jaw tightening as he struggled to keep composed. "Yeah…" he managed, the word caught somewhere between disbelief and desire, his voice rough and breathless under the weight of it all.

E’s smile softened, though, almost tender, like they were savoring every drop of the power they felt from him. It wasn’t just lust—they could feel the admiration, the curiosity. They took a slow breath, as if inhaling his energy, their smile growing even more gentle before they pulled back, releasing the hold they had on him.

Logan blinked, shaking his head as if snapping out of a spell. “I mean…” he cleared his throat, regaining a bit of his composure. “Yeah, that’s… that’s okay, I guess.” A smug smile curled on his lips.

E chuckled softly, the sound rich with amusement. They shifted back to their favorite form, casually sitting on the bed, still exuding the same undeniable confidence as if they were wearing something far more formal than their simple sportswear. "So," they said with a playful smile, "how do you propose we handle this arrangement, Mr. Howlett?"

Logan cleared his throat again, his gaze meeting theirs with an edge of concern. "I’m not gonna sell my soul to the devil, right?" he asked, half-joking, but there was a quiet unease gnawing at him, like something deep inside was warning him.

E chuckled again, shaking their head. "No, don’t worry. I’m only in the business of pleasure, not deals. And I’m a giver, remember?"

"Right," Logan muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he mulled over the details. "Well… whenever you’re feeling… peckish, just knock on my door. I’ll do the same. If one of us doesn’t feel like it, then nothing happens. No strings. I don’t owe you anything, you don’t owe me anything."

E nodded, clearly pleased with the terms. "Fair enough," they said, but their smile turned sly again as they leaned forward, adding, "Anything you’d rather avoid? Things you don’t like doing?"

Logan's mind flashed to the moment they'd almost shared a kiss under the stars a couple of nights ago. He felt a shudder at the memory of the pull he'd felt, like he was going to be drained dry. "No kissing," he said firmly. "Also… maybe we should keep this between us. No one can know. And… well, if something makes either of us uncomfortable, we stop. No explanations.” He paused, briefly considering, but nothing else seemed necessary. “Yeah, that’s it. That’s all I ask."

E’s smile softened, genuine this time. They nodded. "Agreed. I’ll have the paperwork for you tomorrow." Their eyes sparkled with amusement, and despite himself, Logan chuckled.

"What?" E asked, amused. "I’m still a lawyer, pretty boy," they teased.

This time, the nickname sent a new warmth through Logan’s chest, one he wasn’t quite prepared for. Clearing his throat again, he stood up. "Well, if you don’t need me tonight, I’ll see you around, counselor."

E smirked, watching him intently, their eyes sweeping over his broad shoulders and the way he moved. "Of course you will," they purred, their voice low and full of promise.

He was halfway to the door when they called out. "Logan?" They waited until he turned to look back at them, their eyes softer now. "Thanks again. And… goodnight."

He gave them a small nod, his voice low as he responded, "You too." Without another word, he left the room, the weight of their offer—and whatever this was between them—still lingering heavy in his mind.

To be continued…

Notes: Curious about what does E looks like? Check out their moodboard. If you enjoyed it, don't forget to comment and spread the love 😊 More on the way!

✨ Masterlist ✨

Don't forget to follow the tags "Devilish Desires" and "xpressit writings" to stay tuned for the next chapters 😁

🔖 @quillycrow

24 notes · View notes