#accidental agent of chaos | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

saintobio · 11 months ago

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓. (final part to 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍 & 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑.)

in the painful memory of what once was, sylus learns that love can't be bound where it was never meant to stay.

♱ pairings. sylus, fem!reader

♱ genre. angst, smut, boss/assistant, 18+

♱ tags. sylus's pov, reader is not l&ds!mc, sylus might be ooc, main story spoilers, razor's dance spoilers, nightplumes spoilers, lots of timeskip, fast-paced, unrequited love, profanity, petnames (kitten, sweetie), espionage, jealousy, brief smut, mentions of pregnancy/impregnation kink, mentions of accidents, suicide attempt, injuries, blood, usage of guns, usage of knife, killings, death, my own theories incorporated into the lore, sylus groveling bcos yall want him to

♱ notes. 9.5k wc. l&ds!mc is referred to here as 'diana'. THIS IS A REPOST of the original post i accidentally deleted. i already posted this several hours ago, so if you’re seeing this new one again, blame my dumbass 🤧 oh well life is life.

Sylus had a part of him that wished things could be different.

Ever since he turned away and left you that night at the alleyway, he didn’t really realize the chain of events his decision would set into motion. He simply underestimated how strongly your threats were backed by the grudge you had on him for bringing the hunter girl from Linkon into his base.

After all, you were just an assistant of his. And her, she was everything to him. It wasn’t just about the Aether Core, too—their bond stretched back into his distant past, into another planet where two of them ruled before the inhabitants of Philos came to ruin everything. Him and Diana had a connection he couldn’t sever no matter how much you had come to mean to him. And he spent years, centuries even, just to search for her.

So, how could a mere assistant he had known for less than a decade have such entitlement to her role in his life?

Eventually, days turned into weeks. Weeks into months. With your prolonged absence from the Onychinus base, Sylus’s business transactions and illicit deals had become increasingly unruly. He had grown too dependent on you as his right-hand woman, relying on your meticulous management to ensure all his illegal activities ran smoothly. Yet now, without your oversight, things were falling apart.

And while he was contemplating how to fill the void your absence had created, the office door slammed open. A subordinate soon rushed in, breathless and wide-eyed. “Boss, she’s betrayed us!” Luke exclaimed. “She’s gone to the Hunter’s Association. We got word that she was a high-ranking intelligence agent there!”

“A.K.A a spy!” yelled the other twin, Kieran, who looked equally hurt at your betrayal. “She fooled all of us. And here, we treated her like family.”

That was how Sylus learned that you had left the N109 Zone, seeking refuge in Linkon City, and had exposed critical intel on Onychinus. At the time, rage naturally exploded within him. Didn’t he take good care of you while you were here? He had given you everything, trusted you, and you had thrown it all away. Four years of falling into his trap. Four years of being his partner in crime, his right-hand woman, his lover. People even saw you as the modern day Bonnie & Clyde. Sylus couldn’t understand the root of your betrayal, couldn’t imagine how letting you slip away from his grasp would cost him so much in return.

When you vowed to do everything in your power to kill Diana, was this just a part of your grand scheme? What other machinations were you orchestrating in your pursuit of revenge?

“She’s a wild animal on loose.” Sylus looked up at the twins, maintaining a calm yet ruthless mien as he sat on the couch. He might be idly tossing a coin like he didn’t care, but inside his brain was chaos ensuing. “Where’s she now? Any news?”

It was Luke who shrugged in response. “She hasn’t been seen anywhere, boss-man.”

“We suspect the Association is hiding her,” Kieran added.

The hunter girl, Diana—the very girl you were jealous of, was sitting next to Sylus throughout the conversation. Their hands were connected by a strong energy linkage that was seemingly ignited by the Aether Cores in their bodies. They couldn’t separate themselves even if they wanted to. And God forbid you would have lost your mind tenfold had you seen their situation right now.

“That g-girl,” gasped the hunter girl, eyes wide in bewilderment at what she was hearing. “Sylus, your assistant. She did all that? She was a spy from the Hunter’s Association?”

Luke tilted her head at the girl, his beaked mask mocking her. “Oh, miss hunter! Haven’t you heard about the HIS? You should know them better than us.”

“Well.. what is the HIS?”

“Hunter Intelligence Services.” Sylus was the one who answered, releasing a deep sigh while rubbing his temples. “They’re top secret. Regular hunters wouldn’t have known about them, because they only deal with people like me.”

Diana looked between him and the twins, rubbing her wrist before moving closer to the boss of Onychinus. Her close proximity allowed him to smell her familiar sweet scent. “Is she… after me? But I don’t understand. If she’s part of the Hunter’s Association too, then shouldn’t we be colleagues?”

Kieran cleared his throat. “Ever since you came—”

“Place a bounty on her head,” Sylus interrupted the twins, and also ignored the question of the girl next to him. She didn’t need to learn the history behind you and him, or why you chose to target her. “Make sure to bring Y/N back to me. Alive.”

“Roger that, boss!”

It was his last desperate attempt to draw you back to him. Now that you had the Hunter’s Association protecting you, Sylus knew that locating you wouldn’t be as simple. Otherwise, he would have easily captured Diana long ago. He convinced himself that the bounty was to punish you, but deep down, he knew it was because he couldn’t bear to lose you to his enemies completely.

It took you a year to return to the N109 Zone.

Did you forget he had eyes and ears everywhere? He was the boss of that infamous No-Hunt Zone. Even if you leaked intel about his residences and the Onychinus base to the Hunter’s Association, Sylus still had a few tricks up his sleeve. He had hideouts in places that even you weren’t aware of, and the residents of the N109 Zone were loyal to him. Too loyal that they wouldn’t give any information to anyone no matter the consequences.

And how foolish were you to forget about Mephisto’s existence?

“Caw! Caw!”

The mechanical crow’s eyes glowed with the same red hue as Sylus’s as it landed on his arm, projecting visions of you entering the underground fight club disguised in an Onychinus uniform. It was almost farcical that you thought you could infiltrate a place Sylus frequented unnoticed.

But then, the vision shifted to you speeding on a motorcycle with a truck in hot pursuit. Sylus quickly recognized the truck’s decals—it was the hitman he often employed for dealing with his enemies, now terrorizing you in a high-speed chase. Without hesitation, Sylus grabbed his leather jacket and mounted his own bike, racing to your location in sixth gear.

He arrived just a minute too late. And what was meant to be a dramatic reunion turned into a scene of you lying unconscious and injured on the road, while the hitman grinned nearby with an expression of triumph. If it hadn’t been for your helmet, Sylus would have been met with the gruesome sight of your shattered skull.

“Mr. Sylus!” the hitman exclaimed, jumping out of his truck with arms outstretched in petty victory. “Can I get the $500,000,000 in cash?”

As Sylus’s gaze fell on your unconscious, injured body sprawled on the ground, a surge of anguish overwhelmed him in ways he couldn’t understand. But it was quickly replaced by seething rage—rage that made him summon his black-red mist, enveloping the hitman in its dark tendrils.

“I said not to harm her,” Sylus growled, his red eye glowing ominously against the desolate highway backdrop. “You failed your task.”

“P-Please, Mr. Sylus! I thought you—”

Without another word, Sylus scooped you up in his arms while his mist dealt with the hitman behind him. The hitman’s desperate cries were soon drowned out by the expanding tendrils, which tightened around him until he was engulfed. Then, in a violent burst, the mist exploded, reducing the hitman and everything around him to dust.

Sylus brought you to his underground hideout immediately after. And an unfamiliar—or perhaps strange—pang tugged at his heart as he gently laid you in bed, his gaze lingering on the road rash you obtained from the crash. The injuries were severe, with patches of skin nearly stripped away in the most brutal fashion he could think of. He could only imagine the burning pain you had to endure as soon as you skidded along the gravel, and Sylus felt his own frustrations knocking at the door knowing that he didn’t have the power to extend his fast-healing abilities to you.

“Tch. My kitten’s reckless as always, riding without the proper gear,” Sylus grumbled, looking at your unconscious body. “You’ve never been one to follow the rules, have you?”

To make up for his inability to save you on time, he applied a potent medicinal ointment all over your body and placed you in an anesthetized state while you healed. His mist enveloped you like a protective shroud the entire time you laid in bed unconscious. Every single day, Sylus tended to your wounds, changing your clothes and bandages, and applying the ointments over your bare body. He even took special care to ensure the twins did not enter your room without his permission.

Despite the care he showed, a persistent question echoed in his mind: Why am I doing this for you? You were his enemy, a traitor, and a woman who had betrayed him. It didn’t make sense.

That afternoon, feeling suffocated from this internal conflict, Sylus decided to leave you in the care of Luke and Kieran while he went to Linkon. He knew he needed space to grapple with the feelings that were driving him to care for you in the first place.

He needed to see the real woman he should be caring for.

Because you had not only exposed intel on Sylus and Onychinus to the Hunter’s Association, you also asked for them to isolate Diana so she would have no way to see or contact him. Who knew that mere feelings of jealousy would spark you to do such trivial things?

Frankly, you were insane. You were dark and twisted like him.

But in a way, it only underscored how similarly deranged the two of you were. Perhaps, in your madness, there was a strange compatibility—one that Sylus found unsettlingly fitting. The suggestion of you two being more a suitable pair than he and Diana gave him an unease that he couldn’t simply shake away.

It should be her. Her. Just her and her alone. He dedicated his whole life into finding her, yet you came into his life to ruin the foundations he had built to meet the person he was supposedly destined for. He had repeated it over and over in his mind like a broken record—the voices in his head telling him to let you go, to hurt you, to make you suffer.

However, as he stood across the pedestrian crossing, watching Diana from afar, a realization hit him like a cold gust of wind. There she was, oblivious to his presence on the other side, but the spark that once ignited in his heart whenever he saw her was gone. Now, his pulse remained steady and his heart stayed still.

With a wary glance around, mindful of any watchful eyes, he decided to pick up his phone and ring hers. It was a good thing he was able to seamlessly blend into the crowd, with his practiced nonchalance making him invisible among the throng of people. After all, he was Sylus Qin, the mastermind of Onychinus—disguise was second nature to him.

“Sylus?” Her voice came through the line, tentative and filled with a mix of emotions as she scanned the faces on the other side of the crossing.

“According to the conditions set by the Hunter’s Association, we shouldn’t be meeting again.” His voice was steady, almost detached, as he kept the phone pressed to his ear. “Or if not, you will be marked as a Tenebra.”

Her eyes eventually found him amidst the walking crowd, keeping an expression on her face that showed both longing and forlornness. “Not the first time someone has been marked a Tenebra because of you,” she managed to slip in a snarky remark in her worried expression. “Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?”

“Are you worried about me?” he nonchalantly asked, watching as she stepped off the curb when the light turned green. Each step was a step closer to him, but nothing changed the pace of his own heartbeat like it should have. Nothing stirred within him as it once did.

“You have the audacity to use a phone when you’re right in front of me,” she snapped, frustration flaring as she yanked the phone from his grasp. Without hesitation, she grabbed his arm, dragging him along with her to escape the dangers of being seen in public. They ended up in an alleyway, a place hidden from prying eyes, an irony that made Sylus chuckle under his breath. The alleyway. Why has that become such a memorable place to him? “Sylus, what’s so funny? I was so scared something happened to you! You couldn’t even call me back or text me the past few days?”

He remained expressionless as he observed her outburst. Strange. In her frantic worry, she reminded him of you, and it was a discomfiting parallel that sent chills down his spine. “I said I’d need to disappear from your life completely, so I have to tie up loose ends,” he began, each word seemingly a dagger to her heart. “We haven’t been able to resonate either way, sweetie. There’s no reason for us to keep meeting.”

“No!” she adamantly denied the thought, pulling him into an embrace. “No, you’re not allowed to disappear just like that! We need to find a way to get—”

“It’s a dangerous gamble to be caught in my world,” he said in a low voice.

But she was stubborn. “I’m already caught in it! So, please, Sylus, take me with you. Take me to the N109 Zone or wherever you’re hiding. I want to be where you are.” And in spite, she uttered words that made Sylus think twice about his perception of you. “It’s her fault that this is all happening. She’s a traitor to you and to the Association. Her loyalty isn’t with anyone but herself, Sylus. She’s the one who needs to disappear!”

Back at his hideout, Sylus was careful to ensure that Diana remained oblivious to your presence in another room. He was already grappling with how to manage the situation—torn between the woman he loved and the woman he had wronged who, ironically, were both now under the same roof. The thought of you two crossing paths was a nightmare he didn’t want to deal with, so he gave strict orders to the twins, notorious for their loose lips and loud mouths, to keep Diana far from you.

Because when Sylus returned to your room, he knew you were awake. The dark classical music playing from the vinyl record had likely stirred you from unconsciousness. It had been nearly a week since the crash, but thanks to his meticulous care, your wounds had mostly healed, leaving only faint scars behind.

“You can’t hide from me forever.” Sylus hovered over you to whisper into your ear, summoning his protective black-red mist to slowly release you. “Wake up, kitten. We have unfinished business.”

When you finally opened your eyes after what felt like an eternity, Sylus told himself it was natural to feel relieved, that it was only right for his heart to soften at the sight of you returning to consciousness. But as you awoke, the voices in his head—the damned, relentless voices—grew louder, mocking him, provoking him, and luring him into darker thoughts. His right eye began to glow like a flickering candle, and when he saw the fear on your face, the words that followed weren’t his own. They were driven by the unforgiving side of him he couldn’t control, a side that thrived on your terror. The beast that couldn’t be tamed.

She’s a traitor.

Punish her.

Hurt her.

Devour her.

While in a heated, dramatic exchange with you, Sylus was spewing words he didn’t mean. He was doing actions without regard. He was mocking your pain. Your jealousy. Your heartbreak. The drive to hurt you was strong in his head, but he fought desperately against it. The demon inside him that tried to consume his every thought. He tried to battle his own self just to protect you.

“I betrayed you because of her!”

His laughter died down, but the amusement in his eyes only deepened, replaced by the wicked smile on his face that enjoyed seeing you suffer. “It’s always been about her, hasn’t it? You see me with her, and you can’t stand it. It eats at you, makes you act out.”

You tried to move away, but Sylus pressed his foot firmly on your wrist. She betrayed you, Sylus. Punish her.

“I’ve seen your struggle,” he continued, his voice soft but laced with corrupt satisfaction. “The way you watched me with her, the way it gnaws at you. It’s almost poetic, really.”

It wasn’t until you reached for the gun on his nightstand, pointing it at yourself, that Sylus snapped out of his dark trance. The horror in his eyes was a stark contrast to the sorrowful shine in yours as you stood there, sobbing in front of him. Each word you spoke was tailed with the pain of a heart shattered by everything he had done and said.

“...All I wanted was your love,” you choked out with tears cascading down your face, “I j-just wanted you to love me. I turned my back on the H.A. for you. I left all my friends and family for you.” Your breathing was still for a moment, but your heart had already been blown into smithereens. “All I had was you. I loved you. I devoted all my body and soul into loving you, Sylus. Why c-can’t I have even a little bit in return?”

Even as his gaze softened and a flicker of regret passed across his face, you had already made your decision when your finger tightened on the trigger. The recoil jolted your wrist, but before the bullet could find its mark, Sylus’s hand shot out and expertly deflected your aim. Instead of ending your life, the bullet shattered a window, ricocheting off the glass and disappearing into the night.

“Are you out of your mind?!” Sylus roared, his voice a thunderous mix of fury and disbelief.

You were barely responding to him as he cupped your cheeks and forced your lachrymose eyes to lock into his crimson ones. It was as though you had already resigned yourself to reality, that ending your own life would have been a better option than being with the man you hopelessly loved.

“Y/N,” Sylus tried to shake you awake, desperate for you to look into his eyes. “Y/N! Enough. Let’s end this game.”

“...I was never playing one with you.”

Sylus was overwhelmed by a profound, indescribable pain that pierced his chest. It was a pain that mirrored yours but was infinitely more intense. “I warned you many times before to never fall in love with me,” he said in a low, softened voice, “It’s for the best, and it’s what will keep you safe. Why don’t you listen?” He longed to pull you into his arms, but the crushing reality was that he only now realized how deeply he cared for you. It was devastating that his awakening had come at the cost of your near-suicide, forced by a love he was unable to return.

Was it truly too late for him to come to terms with his feelings for you? Was it too late to accept that he had fallen in love with you rather than the woman he believed he was meant to be with?

His answer came in the form of a gut-wrenching realization. It manifested in the frantic voice of Diana—the woman he believed he loved, piercing through the haze of his thoughts by yelling, “Sylus, step back!”

“No!” he shouted, his black-red mist swirling to intercept the bullet.

But his efforts came too late. The bullet had already been set in motion, and it tore through the side of your head.

It penetrated your skull with a cruel precision, not just once but twice. And the warmth of your blood seeped through his fingers as he caught your head before you fell onto the floor.

Sylus’s mind raced with the enormity of what had just happened. His face grew ashen as he looked at your bloodied head and lifeless eyes, a wave of acid welling up his chest until he couldn’t breath. But the reason for his suffocation was because of his own guilt and grief. It was at the force of a sledgehammer when he was hit with the admission that he had always been in love with you. All along, despite your tangled mess, it was you who had captured his heart in this world.

His chest tightened, his breaths coming in ragged, broken bursts, while he held you close in his arms. And your last three words, your very last words of “I… love… you…” as you stared despairingly at him was icing on this bitter cake.

No… no!

He couldn’t fucking accept it. He was losing his mind, he was going insane. He was plunging into madness. Utter hysteria. “Y/N, please,” he begged, his voice breaking as your eyes, once full of life and light, were now glazed over with the sheen of death. “Don’t leave. No, I can’t let this happen!” For the first time in a long time, he once again felt hot tears leaving his eyes. It was an emotion so rare it only ever showed toward the people he deeply cared about. “I love you too,” he struggled to say. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean what I said back there.”

Sylus held you close, disregarding the blood staining his clothes while he was consumed by agony and regret. He had driven you to this, pushed you away, and then drawn you back into his orbit only to lose you forever.

Though he may have conquered your heart, in doing so, he had only destroyed the both of you. The memory of your love and the warmth of your touch would haunt him for the rest of his days. And as he held your lifeless body, he knew that he would never be whole again.

But it shouldn’t be too late. No, it shouldn’t! He didn’t know if it was the hysteria or adrenaline kicking into him, but he had thought of an idea—no matter how immoral—that would return you back to him. He just couldn’t weigh which strong emotion he had to deal with first; should he grab the gun and shoot Diana out of anger? Or should he ignore her presence entirely and just focus on you?

Sylus chose to proceed with the latter as he carried you through the corridors of the base, his steps heavy with guilt and his shirt drenched in blood as you remained unconscious in his arms. The hunter girl had followed him in his spiritless steps, her eyes wide with confusion over his anguish.

“Sylus, why are you doing this?!” she demanded, grabbing his arm to halt his progress. “She would’ve killed you. That girl’s a traitor!”

Although he stopped in his tracks, he couldn’t really return her gaze. His eyes could only look at your lifeless ones. “That girl you shot in the head,” he spoke low and in despair, “is my woman.”

Diana was horrified. “But… but you never said—” Before she could finish, the twins intervened, holding her back from pursuing Sylus further. “What about me?”

He had already turned away. “I’ll fulfill my promise to protect you from afar, but this is where our paths part. Do not come near me again.”

Sylus stood over your unconscious body, his eyes bloodshot and tears-streaked, while his heart pounded with a mix of grief and desperation. He had summoned Philip and the finest surgeons he knew to his hideout, where you lay in a medical bed, exposed and vulnerable, as if you were a subject in a desperate experiment.

Philip arrived with a grim expression, his eyes scanning the scene with both skepticism and professional detachment. Sylus could barely contain his desperation as he demanded, “Do everything you can to save her. Even if it means infusing a high-grade protocore in her brain.” After all, he had plenty of that. Sylus had all the resources, protocores of the highest grade, each with their own purpose and capabilities.

Yet Philip hesitated, his face contorting with concern. “Mr. Sylus, you know I can’t do this. She’s gone. The best thing to do is accept—”

That was when Sylus’s composure cracked. He kicked the nearby chair out of rage, tears streaming down his face as he begged, “You’ve done it before. Do it again! Please, I need her to live!”

The sight of Sylus, usually so imposing and dominant, breaking down in front of him was shocking. Philip felt a pang of sympathy toward the Onychinus boss who was willing to do everything for a woman who was already dead. His hands trembled as he spoke, “I-I can try. But I’m warning you, Mr. Sylus… even if she survives this, there’s zero chance her memories will be the same. They may even become altered, and it will be out of our control.”

Sylus’s gaze never left you. “I don’t mind. Just do it.”

Weeks later, Sylus found himself in a secluded alleyway, meeting with a deepspace hunter who was also an enemy of his from another planet. Of course, the atmosphere was tense as both men stood in front of each other, eye-to-eye, carrying a defensive stance from one another.

They were never friends. But that day, they weren’t enemies either.

“How’s she?” Xavier broke the silence first.

Sylus answered with a low voice. “She hasn’t woken up, but she’s stable.”

“Why’d you ask to meet?”

“I want you to look after her,” the Onychinus leader began, his voice steady but carrying an undertone of desperation, “Speak to the Association about taking Y/N back and forgiving her for her betrayal. In return, I’ll step away from Diana’s life. She’s all yours. I just want Y/N to return to her normal life.”

Xavier’s expression was serious. “You’re forgetting you still have a bounty on your head.”

“And you’re forgetting you and your backtrackers destroyed the planet where I was living,” he replied in equal disdain, but only enough to trap Xavier into a wall of guilt and obligation.

“I’ll see what I can do,” said Lumiere—or, in his current form, the deepspace hunter, Xavier. “The HIS will be easy to convince. But what if she wakes up and wants to go back to the N109 Zone?”

Sylus felt a tug of deep sadness pulling at his heart. “She won’t. Her memories of me are gone for good.”

If this was his karma for hurting you, then it was definitely the worst kind.

Sylus maintained a distant watch over you after you returned to Linkon, observing from afar as you rejoined your life with the support of the Hunter’s Association and former colleagues. Each day, he sent Mephisto to monitor your whereabouts, carefully tracking your interactions and daily activities. The mechanical crow often returned with glimpses of your life, which Sylus scrutinized with intense focus as if he were watching a movie. Each glimpse offered him a sense of relief, happiness even, at knowing how easy you were settling back into your old life.

You had been officially dismissed from the Hunter’s Association due to a medical condition that rendered you unfit for duty, but they continued to cover your pension and provided free lodging—likely thanks to Xavier’s persuasive influence over the Association. The official story was that you had been sent on a dangerous mission where a Wanderer had placed you in a life-threatening predicament. The narrative praised your honor and dedication to the end. There was no mention of Sylus, Onychinus, or the N109 Zone. No hint of the life you had once led or the truth behind your memory erasure.

Yet, in a bitter twist of irony, perhaps the story you were told may not actually be farther from the truth.

After all, Sylus was the dangerous monster that sent you to that life-and-death situation.

But at least now, you were well cared for. So much so that Sylus fought to contain his jealousy whenever Mephisto’s eyes relayed visions of you sharing lunch with a physician named Dr. Zayne. He struggled to mask his irritation as he saw the man drape an arm around your shoulders while guiding you out of the hospital or wrapping a scarf around your neck to keep you warm. He would often even drive you home and send you gifts that were masked as tokens of “recovery.”

Bullshit.

Sylus clenched his fist, his thoughts of jealousy consuming him. My girl, he thought in despair, my beautiful girl is cherished by other men, while he remained imprisoned in the desolate shadows of the N109 Zone, longing for you.

Eventually, Sylus felt an overwhelming urge to see you in person. After discovering that you had taken a job at a café in Bloomshore District, he convinced himself that observing you from a distance wouldn’t cause harm. He just wanted to be near you, to ensure your safety, and to protect you from any potential threats.

As he sat on a nearby bench, Luke joined him with a comment. “Boss, you said we needed to disappear from her life.”

Kieran, taking a seat on Sylus’s other side, added, “Do you think she’d recognize us if we walked into that café? If she doesn’t, I’ll give her a hard time with my orders ‘til she remembers us!”

“Ha ha! Let’s do that!”

“Boss, let’s go!”

“Leave her be.” Sylus took a deep breath, adjusting his sunglasses and setting aside his newspaper—part of his disguise—as he watched you through the café window. He noticed the subtle traces of familiarity in your actions, but the connections that once bound you were now distant memories. “...I’m just here to make sure no one’s bothering her.”

The truth was, he wrestled with his emotions each time he visited the café you were working at. He wanted to approach you, to speak to you, but he hesitated each time because of the fear of rejection and the pain of seeing you not remember him holding him back. There were so many what-ifs in his head that it drove him insane to think about.

Because if anything, what if you were already seeing someone else? What if you were already in a relationship with that scumbag doctor from the Akso Hospital?

It was petty jealousy that drove Sylus into stepping into the café. And the first time your eyes met since you resurrected, his heart initially froze, then raced uncontrollably. His heart swelled with hope as you looked up at him, but it was quickly replaced by the lack of recognition in your eyes the moment you spoke from the counter.

“Hi. What can I get you?” you asked, treating him no differently than any other customer.

Sylus was caught off-guard, but he knew he had to play the part. “I, uh, I’ll get an Americano. Large.”

“Alright, sir. And your name, please?” you asked, following your routine without any real interest in the man before you.

But in a way, this was a relief for Sylus. It confirmed that the protocore embedded in your head was functioning as intended, and that any dark memories from the past had been completely erased, even if it meant he was no longer part of your life.

“Skye,” he said with a soft smile. “That’s my name.”

There wasn’t a single day Sylus missed visiting the café.

At first, he worried that his constant presence might seem odd, or that you might think of him as a stalker. But as the days passed, seeing you became an essential part of his routine. A day without catching a glimpse of you felt incomplete, almost maddening. Seeing you was like a drug he couldn’t get enough of.

Initially, you found his regular visits a bit strange, but gradually, the small interactions between you two evolved. Sylus began to appear at the café just when you needed him most—whether it was fixing a broken coffee machine, addressing rude customers, or simply offering a helping hand. These acts of kindness somehow transformed your view of him. What started as a customer-service relationship slowly became more personable, and in recent days, you often greeted him warmly and smiled whenever he walked in. If only you knew how badly it warmed his heart that he got to do things for you without making him feel like he was intruding in your life.

And to be honest, Sylus even felt like he might be—as Luke termed it—foolishly ”crushing” on you.

“Who knew our boss-man could be a hopeless romantic~?”

There was a time when he visited the café, only to find out from your manager that you called in sick from work. Sylus knew where you lived, but going to your place uninvited was a different story. He had to put some boundaries no matter how worried he was for you. But that was when Mephisto became useful; the mechanical crow would simply fly off to your place and observe you from outside. Then, an idea to drop a box of medicines and chocolates at your balcony was something he had thought of at the last minute.

Back in the N109 Zone, Sylus anxiously looked at his crow. “Are you sure she didn’t see you?”

“Caw! Caw!”

“Did she eat the chocolates?” he asked, exhaling a deep breath he didn’t think he was holding.

“Caw! Caw! Caaaw!” Mephisto responded, fluttering its wings as if to reassure him.

And then, that day happened.

The day Sylus finally gathered the courage to ask you out, fate had other plans. And what began as a simple gesture to offer you a ride home during a stormy night quickly escalated into something far more intense.

Because one moment, he was offering you a ride. The next, he found himself in your bed, having the most passionate sex he had ever had with someone. He wasn’t even sure if he could call it that, because it felt more like he was making love to you, even if to you, he was probably just an attractive guy you unexpectedly hooked up with.

So, he had to make himself known. He had to hear his real name leaving your lips. “Sylus,” he breathed into your ear, hands tracing your curves, “Call me Sylus, kitten.”

That night, he was an insatiable man who could only be satisfied by his woman.

When he was buried far too deep inside you, he enjoyed the sight of ecstasy on your face and lavished at the sounds of your titillating moans with his every thrust. Not only did he miss the feeling of your walls tightening around his shaft, he also remembered how badly you used to want him to cum inside you.

And so, he did just that. At his climax, he released hot spurts of seed into your womb, fulfilling a wish from the past that he used to deprive you of.

But as the night progressed and the heat of the moment faded, the conversation shifted to a more profound and emotional terrain. Sylus wrestled with the urge to reveal the truth about his true identity—every painful detail and the secrets he kept from you. Yet, he knew that doing so would only complicate matters further and risk causing you more pain. The idea of hurting you again, after such a meaningful connection, was unbearable to him, especially now that you were still fragile as glass, ready to shatter at any moment.

“Why do I get the feeling that I was the one who experienced a one-sided love before?”

“No, you were loved. You were very loved. There was no one else,” he pressed, forcing you to believe the narrative with his rueful eyes staring back at you. “I was the one who wasn’t worthy of you… But I’d like to try and win your heart again this time. If you allow it.”

“Sylus… I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry for not recognizing you before. I just… I lost a chunk of my memories, and I don’t know if it’s been altered or what, but…” He caressed your back as you took a deep breath. “I’ll try to remember, okay?”

“Please don’t.” He shook his head, crestfallen as he thought of the past that was rightfully erased. “And there’s no need for apologies, sweetie. There wasn’t anything you did wrong.”

Your relationship with Sylus remained unclear since that night. And it seemed as though the roles had reversed—now he was the one left wondering where he stood in your life. Because on the surface, it did seem like you were willing to work on building a relationship with him again, but every encounter you two had were always physical rather than emotional.

Sylus found himself at your apartment frequently, three or more times a week, engaging in intense, passionate encounters. He had lost track of how many times you two could do it in a single night, exploring every possible position, in every corner of your home. He had tried his hardest to make you feel like he was the only man who was more familiar with every inch of your body than anyone else. Yet, despite the physical closeness, he sensed that the emotional barriers between you remained intact.

No matter how deeply intertwined your bodies became, the walls around your heart remained firmly in place, and Sylus knew that there was a part of you he still couldn’t reach.

That, and the fact that he was still seeing you interact a little too closely with that doctor from Akso.

It somehow didn’t surprise you when Sylus’s car showed up outside the hospital to pick you up, and you got on with a guarded look.

“How’s it for my kitten today?” Sylus asked as he secured your seatbelt, his lips brushing against yours in a quick peck. “You didn’t mention you’d be at the hospital.”

You shifted uncomfortably, avoiding his gaze. “Oh, I just... didn’t think I needed to inform you of my whereabouts.”

Dammit. He knew you weren’t officially together, but it hurt more than he cared to admit. And it didn’t help that Sylus’s pride couldn’t naturally take it, so he probed more. “That doctor. He’s not your neurologist, is he? It seems a little inappropriate for him to always be around you like that.”

“Well, I’ve known Zayne for a long time,” you merely replied, eyes focused on the view outside rather than the driver of the car. “I’d also appreciate it if you'd be less territorial over me, Sylus. I know you said we have a history together, but I don’t remember a thing, so… I hope you won’t rush me.”

The Sylus you knew back then would have been enraged. Who were you to order him around? Who were you to tell him what he should and shouldn’t do over someone he rightfully owned? But he was a changed man now, and it was all because of you. You were the beauty that tamed him into a powerless beast.

“I understand,” Sylus replied, swallowing his pride as his hands tightened around the steering wheel, focusing on the road ahead. “I apologize.”

He heard you sigh beside him, and a part of him wondered if it was out of sympathy. But before he could dwell on it, you spoke up, your tone more serious. “I was at the hospital today because I had a pregnancy scare.”

Sylus hit the brakes at the red light a bit too abruptly, his heart racing in excitement. “Are you?”

“No, thank God,” you breathed out in relief. “But... can you please stop doing it inside? I really don’t like it. It’s not smart for me to get pregnant by a man I barely know.”

His chest tightened in a way he couldn’t describe. The old you nearly begged him for a baby so he could be yours forever, but he was aware that this version of you right now was not the same. It never would be, and that was the price he had to pay for love.

“I won’t do it again.” Once again, swallowing his pride. “I’m sorry.”

You still invited him to sleep at your apartment that night, and your reason being to work on the memories of him you had lost. Time and time again did Sylus tell you it was better you didn’t remember them, but he could also understand your dilemma when you told him that you always felt like a piece of you was missing ever since that “accident”.

“And this ugly scar on my temple,” you pointed it out, settling into your side of the bed. “What kind of Wanderer did I fight for me to get a traumatic brain injury?”

Sylus placed a tender kiss on your scar. “Perhaps it was a heartless monster more terrifying than a Wanderer.”

Like me.

“Oh, well.” You pulled the sheets over your body, suggesting you two would have no action tonight. “Good night, Sylus.”

“...Sleep tight, kitten.”

You didn’t need to worry, though, because he wouldn’t have touched you even if you had explicitly asked him to. After hearing your words that afternoon—about not wanting to get pregnant by him and asking him to stop being so territorial—Sylus felt the need to pull back and be more cautious in his actions toward you. Your words had cut deep, but he understood you were only protecting yourself from a man who was, essentially, still a stranger to you.

And despite the sting, he had promised himself that he would be patient for the only woman he cared about.

However, that same night was a different story.

No, it was actually way past midnight when Sylus woke up from an agonizing scream that pierced the silence of the night, chilling him to the bone. Instinctively, his hand reached out to the side of the bed where you should have been, but the sheets were cold and empty. And then panic gripped him, forcing him to leap out of bed, his mind racing with a single horrifying thought: the protocore.

He darted outside of your bedroom and deeper into your apartment space, his eyes scanning every shadow, every corner. The image of you, eyes wild and frenzied, ravaged by the effects of the protocore, haunted him.

What if it’s happening now? What if I lose her for good?

The horrifying thought of the protocore making you berserk like a wild Wanderer was always there.

His heart nearly stopped when he saw you on the kitchen floor, curled up, your body wracked with sobs. Relief washed over him to have found you, but it was fleeting, replaced by a deeper, more insidious fear. He tried to approach you cautiously, his voice soft as he placed his hands on your shoulders, “Sweetie, are you okay?”

You flinched at his touch, and when you turned to face him, the sight made his blood run cold. Your eyes, usually so warm, were now wide and filled with tears—tears of terror, of anger. And in your trembling hand, you held a knife, its blade gleaming in the low light as you pointed it directly at his throat.

“Don’t come any closer!” you cried, your voice breaking at every word. Sylus froze, his breath catching in his throat as your sudden hostility surprised him. The knife’s tip hovered dangerously close to his skin, but it wasn’t the threat of violence that shook him—it was the raw, unfiltered pain in your eyes.

“Kitten, let’s talk about it calmly.” His voice was laced with cautiousness.

“Stop calling me that!” You swallowed hard, your grip on the knife tightening. “You! I had a nightmare... about you. But it felt real, like a memory. You were torturing me at your base, laughing... and then, you shot me in the head.”

Sylus’s heart dropped into his stomach at hearing your altered memory. He felt his soul tear apart at the edges as he stared into your tear-streaked face. “It was just a dream. It wasn’t real, kitten.”

But you weren’t listening. “But is it also not real? That you…” You uttered each word with a threatening voice, “are the boss of Onychinus?”

The question hit him like a physical blow. He opened his mouth to answer, but the words were stuck in his throat and refused to form. He was trapped. The situation felt like a dead end—he could deny that your dream was a real memory, but admitting he was the leader of Onychinus would only validate that lie.

His silence alone was an answer to you. And your expression crumbled into one of betrayal at that. “You lied to me! You’ve been lying to me this whole time. How am I supposed to believe anything you say now?”

The anger in your voice enforced the stillness of Sylus’s breath. He knew he had no saving grace from this situation, but still, he took a step closer, his hands raised in a placating gesture. “Y/N, I never wanted to hurt you—”

“Get out!” you screamed, the knife shaking in your hand. The sight of you so broken, so shattered, tore him apart. “Get the hell out of my sight! I don’t wanna see you ever again, you monster!”

But Sylus couldn’t leave—not like this, not when you were hurting because of him. So in his desperation, he lunged forward, grabbed your wrist, and forced the knife into his own chest. The sharp pain radiated through him as he plunged the blade in and stabbed himself repeatedly, his face twisted in agony, but not from the physical pain. This was nothing compared to the torment of knowing he was the source of your suffering. Again.

“Even if I can’t die,” he choked out, his voice ragged as he tried to absorb the stinging ache in his chest, “I’ll take all of this pain away from you.”

His own blood soaked his fingers, staining your hands as he released his grip on the knife. It fell on the floor as he stepped back, his heart aching more than his wounds ever could, but those wounds easily healed. The pain of losing you again, on the other hand, would never heal.

He looked at you one last time, seeing his monstrous reflection from your frightened eyes, before turning away. Sylus walked out of the apartment with heavy steps, feeling his soul crushed from your antagonism. He knew he had lost you—perhaps forever—and the realization was more than he could bear.

A haze of cigarette smoke and the clink of glasses filled the air of the bar. Sylus sat alone at the counter, his new glass of whiskey untouched as he stared blankly into the amber liquid. The sting of alcohol was nothing compared to the numbness that had settled in his heart after that agonizing night with you. Every swallow of the hard liquor was a desperate attempt to drown out the torment of recent events, but the pain lingered, and it was damn persistent and unforgiving.

As he poured himself another drink, the muffled sounds of conversation around him blended into a dull roar. That was until a familiar voice cut through the haze—someone he wished he hadn’t come across.

“Sylus?”

He looked up, squinting against the dim light, to see Diana standing before him. He hadn’t seen him for the past year or so. And surely, her presence was unexpected, but he felt a sudden tinge of irritation at the sight of her. While her, she looked both apprehensive and determined, as if she had just made a hard decision to confront him.

“H-How have you been?” she asked the question as a conversation starter, but Sylus could see the faint hint of unease in her eyes.

He then straightened up, and his posture became stiff and defensive. “I told you it’s not wise for us to cross paths,” he said curtly, his voice slurred from the alcohol but still holding a note of finality. He didn’t want to engage, not with her, not tonight.

On the one hand, Diana’s eyes flickered with an emotion he couldn’t quite place—regret, perhaps. “I… I wanted to say sorry for what happened with Y/N. I didn’t realize how much she meant to you. Xavier… told me everything. About you and her.”

The apology was genuine, but the mention of your name was a fresh wound, and he felt the anger and sadness surge again, bubbling beneath his carefully maintained exterior. He wanted to lash out, to blame her for everything, but he swallowed the words, knowing it wouldn’t change a thing. In the end, this was all his doing and he couldn’t point fingers over the mess that he alone had created.

Sylus tried to stand up, the room spinning slightly as he steadied himself. “I’m leaving.”

But Diana stepped closer, her hand reaching out as if to stop him. He simply brushed past her, his movements unsteady but undeniably distancing from her. The desire to remain composed was slipping away, replaced by the harsh reality he faced every day since you were taken from him.

He made his way to the exit, pushing through the bar’s heavy door with a forceful shove. Sylus’s next move was to lean against the wall outside as the cool winter breeze blew on his face.

“Boss.” Kieran’s voice held a note of concern as he and his twin steadied Sylus by wrapping his arms around their shoulders. “We’ll take you home.”

Luke glanced at his brother with a sad glint in his eyes before leading Sylus toward the car. “Maybe it’s time to let her go, boss.”

February nights were the coldest. And it was supposedly the day for lovers, too.

Unlike the couples that littered the riverside, Sylus stood alone, his breath forming small clouds in the frigid air. His dark coat offered little protection against the biting wind, but he stayed committed, his gaze fixed on the empty expanse before him. Four hours had passed since he had sent you the message, and each minute he stood there waiting for you felt like an eternity. The biting cold gnawed at him, but he was determined to wait even if he’d end up getting frostbite. It was the least he could do.

The frozen river’s surface glistened with a thousand points of light as the moon cast its silver glow over the landscape. And for the next thirty minutes that passed, he was still alone.

She won’t be coming, said the voice in his head. Give up.

As he prepared to leave, the ache of disappointment settled in his chest, and his heart skipped a beat as he recognized you, standing cautiously across him, your eyes wide and filled with both curiosity and trepidation. The sight of you, despite waiting in the cold for hours, instantly warmed his freezing body.

“Thank you for coming.” He took a deep breath, his voice trembling slightly as he spoke. “I won’t keep you long.”

You maintained your distance, wary of his next move. “Why did you want to meet?”

With a slow, deliberate motion, he began to peel the scarf from around your neck, and he felt a prick in his heart seeing you flinch. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

He waited until you allowed him to proceed, his fingers brushing against your skin in a touch that was both gentle and reverent. You looked at him with confusion, the chilly air fought by the warmth of your breath. Sylus was just carefully replacing the scarf with the necklace he had given you long ago, the red Beryl crystal catching the light and sending soft, radiant glimmers into the night.

Do you even recognize it?

“I’m just returning a gift, kitten.”

As he fastened the clasp behind your neck, he pressed a tender kiss to the nape of your neck, his lips lingering for a moment before he straightened. That small gesture of his was actually carried by the depth of his affection and regret. And, if you may, it was his silent apology for all that he did to you.

“Sylus…”

His red eyes shimmered, intensified by the bloodshot whites. Sylus stared at your face with a mixture of love and ruefulness clouding his expression. He was looking at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. And he struggled to hold back the tears that threatened to spill, with his voice breaking as he feathered the snowflakes that rested on your hair. “Take care of yourself. Always lock your doors at night and stay warm.” He took the scarf Zayne gave you, and pulled out a new one from his coat. It was a silly scarf with kitten prints all over it, that he soon carefully wrapped around your face and neck. “Wear that whenever you can.”

Your own eyes were large and rimmed with tears as though you were also hurting inside. “Why are you saying this?” you asked, keeping the weakness inside. “You sound like you’re saying goodbye.”

Sylus’s gaze was suddenly directed back to the river, but it was only because he had to avoid looking at your eyes or he would lose it. “The Association managed to track me here in Linkon and they’re still after me. I just managed to escape, but I can’t stay here,” he explained calmly, “I only came back to this city because of you… But now, I have to disappear, so don’t worry about having me around. I won’t bother you anymore.”

Your eyes widened in shock, and the tears that had been pooling your eyes finally spilled over. “Are you crazy?” you cried, seemingly unable to comprehend the words he was spewing. “You’re leaving me?”

Sylus’s heart broke at the sight of your tears, but he had to restrain any weakness by giving in. Instead, he reached out, and his hand trembled as he wiped a tear from your cheek. “I love you, Y/N.” He wanted to be the first one to say it this time. “Even if you regain all your memories of me—good or bad—I want you to know that I regret every pain I caused you. Even if you hate me, I’ll still love you. Today, tomorrow, and in our next lives.”

Sylus took one last, lingering look at you, his eyes filled with a sorrowful haze that nearly blinded his vision. He turned slowly, walking away from the river’s edge, with each step causing distance from the love he was leaving behind.

And you, you stood there, the necklace around your neck feeling heavy as you watched him disappear into the night. A surge of emotion overwhelmed you, and without thinking, you sprinted towards him. You took quick, long strides just to reach him, pulling him into a tight embrace, and crashing your lips against his in a bittersweet kiss.

Both of you cried as the kiss deepened, and you were encasing each other’s lips in a tight lock. The intensity of your emotions poured out in this poignant, intimate moment. And frankly, Sylus had never been this emotional. No one had ever seen this fragile side of him that he had always kept hidden. After all, what dominant, cruel boss of Onychinus would spill tears over a woman?

But they wouldn’t understand it. They never would.

When you finally pulled away, your eyes were red and swollen from tears. “Be careful,” you sniffled, barely unable to catch the breath you needed for the next. “Keep in touch if you can. And when I’m ready, I’ll find you.”

Sylus’s eyes were also filled with tears, but he managed a forlorn smile as he nodded. He reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle despite the heaviness of the moment. “I’ll wait,” he promised softly, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes.”

“Until we meet again.”

As he stepped back, the distance between you seemed impossibly vast, but the promise in your eyes and the love in his heart made the separation bearable, if only just. And when Sylus turned away, his heart was heavy but full of the hope that one day, you would find each other again. That one day, this distant love would become a cherished memory that you would look back on as you grow old and wrinkled, yet insurmountably happy and content with the life you had lived. With or without him.

PREVIOUS PART

#love and deepspace x reader #love & deepspace x reader #lads x reader #lads x you #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x yn #lds x reader #l&ds x reader #l&ds x you #sylus angst #sylus fanfic #l&ds sylus

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kxsagi · 25 days ago

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lmaoo u shouod write rin or someone on 1st date w reader and these 2 sketchy guys in trench coats (Isagi and bachira) following u around spying on the date but they’re so clumsy so they try to be stealthy but they’re js not 😭😭

"𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲"

a/n: omg rin would CRASH OUT 💀

(art credits go to 1954260 on pixiv)

stop #1: the café

rin had planned the day meticulously – well, as meticulously as a guy who refused to acknowledge butterflies in his stomach could manage. café, stroll in the park, then a movie. easy. low effort. high reward. minimal emotional vulnerability.

what he didn’t factor in was the pair of agents of chaos currently crouched behind a newspaper stand ten feet away, dressed in matching trench coats and sunglasses like two divorced dads trying to get custody of the same brain cell.

“target has arrived,” isagi whispered, peeking over the edge of the comic section like this was mission impossible and not rin on a date with his girlfriend.

“they look… in love,” bachira said dramatically, clutching his chest like he’d just been stabbed with a spork of emotion. “ugh. i can’t watch this. but i must. for the data.”

you leaned across the café table to take a bite of rin’s dessert, completely unaware of the way isagi accidentally snapped his pencil out of sheer excitement. “she’s sharing his tiramisu, bro, write that down. that’s soulmate behavior.”

rin paused mid-sip, eyes twitching. “… did you hear that?”

“hear what?” you blinked.

a crash echoed from behind the stand.

rin slowly turned his head. two men scrambled to rebuild a pyramid of chocolate bars they’d just knocked over. one of them tried to shield his face with a potted sunflower.

“… is that–”

“rinnie, don’t look,” you whispered, eyes widening. “just. don’t. the plant’s staring at us again.”

stop #2: the park

you suggested a walk. it was peaceful. warm sun. birds chirping. leaves rustling. very romantic. except for the very conspicuous rustling that followed you at a ten-foot distance.

you turned your head slightly. isagi and bachira had upgraded their disguises. they now wore bucket hats and held hands like confused tourists. isagi had a camera. bachira had a slice of pizza. neither looked remotely normal.

rin’s eye twitched. “do you see them?”

you laughed. “they look like they got kicked out of sesame street for insider trading.”

suddenly, flash.

“ISAGI, WHY DID YOU USE FLASH–”

“IT WAS AN ACCIDENT I SWEAR–”

rin stopped walking. turned slowly. isagi quickly pointed the camera at a pigeon. “what a majestic bird.”

“we’re just appreciating nature!” bachira chimed in. “i’m the pizza. he’s the photographer.”

“that doesn’t make sense,” rin snapped.

“neither does love,” isagi said, misty-eyed.

“i’m going to kill you with that camera.”

you tugged him forward, hiding your laughter. “c’mon, rinnie. let the wildlife roam free.”

stop #3: the movie theater

by some divine miracle, they weren’t in your theater. rin was beginning to relax. you were holding his hand. the previews were starting. life was good.

and then.

CRACKLE.

the sound of a chip bag being opened. slowly. painfully. like it was fighting for its life. you didn’t even have to look. you knew.

rin leaned in and whispered, “they’re behind us, aren’t they.”

you nodded. “row G, seats 12 and 13. left side.”

bachira coughed quietly. “pass the nachos.”

rin turned around so fast he knocked over your drink. “GET OUT.”

“this is a public screening,” isagi whispered back. “we’re here for the same movie as you guys.”

“YOU HATE THIS MO–”

“yeah, but i love you.”

“GET. OUT.”

bachira started crawling under the seats. isagi followed. both vanished like the rats they were. a kid three rows down screamed. someone yelled, “I PAID FOR THIS!”

you sipped your half-empty soda and shrugged. “i think it’s romantic. you have fanboys.”

rin groaned. “they’re not fanboys. they’re feral.”

final stop: the walk home

you and rin strolled in comfortable silence. hand in hand. the sun was setting. the chaos had finally… finally ended. or so rin thought. until bachira fell out of a tree. like. actually fell. onto the sidewalk.

“holy SH–”

“i was trying to get a wide shot of your silhouettes!” bachira said from the pavement. “for the scrapbook!”

“you’re bleeding.”

“worth it.”

isagi limped into view with a limp umbrella and a bruised ego. “our trench coats got caught on the branches.”

rin stared at them. then looked at you. then stared at them again.

“… we’re getting married in secret.”

“what?”

“amalfi coast. no witnesses. they can’t stop what they don’t know.”

you grinned. “then what would they spy on?”

isagi perked up. “wait, you’re getting married??”

rin turned and ran. dragging you with him.

behind you, the sound of two trench coat freaks yelling “WAIT FOR US!” echoed down the street.

you laughed the entire way home.

best. first. date. ever.

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk #bllk x reader #rin itoshi x reader #itoshi rin x reader #isagi yoichi x reader #yoichi isagi x reader #bachira meguru x reader #meguru bachira x reader #they're behind me aren't they

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sharkwidow · 3 months ago

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Nerf War | Avengers x Teenage reader!

✮⋆˙Summary: War broke out, and you were the culprit.

✮⋆˙Content Warning: Chaos, affection, and lots of foam darts.

✮⋆˙Word Count: 785

✮⋆˙Notes: The Avengers adore you... even if they don't easily admit it.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───

Fury left you with them like you were a fragile box.

"Take care of her, she's useful. She's a spy. And yes, she's a teenager, but don't underestimate her."

He said it dryly, but the Avengers understood the subtext. You weren't just useful. You were important. You'd been through things no one should have to go through, and Fury, that grumpy old man with a hidden heart, trusted them to give you something you never had: a family.

And at first... it was weird. Tony called you "ninja girl," Natasha analyzed you like a mirror, Steve offered you food every five minutes, and Clint gave you training arrows. Even Wanda calmly taught you how to use your abilities, as if she wasn't worried about you accidentally melting a cup.

But today... today you weren't a spy. Today you were a bored teenager in a giant tower with superheroes too busy.

So you decided to unleash hell.

Colorful. Foam. Totally harmless.

The best hell.

You snuck through the halls, sliding as only you knew how, until you left a modified Nerf gun in the kitchen. On the table. It was pointed directly at Tony Stark.

"What the...?" he said when he saw it.

A note taped to the side read: "First to shoot wins. Begin!"

Tony looked up just as a foam dart hit him in the forehead.

"Was that you?!" he yelled, running after you.

And so the war began.

Steve showed up five minutes later with a shield converted into a barricade. Natasha had two Nerf guns and terrifying accuracy. Wanda levitated darts with her magic. Clint fired from the rooftop, and Peter Parker came swinging through the window with a backpack full of ammo.

Bruce refused to participate... until a dart hit him in the back. Then, the controlled version of the Hulk launched cushions like grenades.

You were laughing so hard you almost fell down the hallway as you dodged Tony's attacks and hid behind the couch.

"She started it!" Tony yelled, pointing at you.

"And she's going to win!" you screamed, launching a barrage of darts with lethal accuracy.

At some point, Steve tripped over a poorly placed shield, Natasha got caught in a net you'd set up as a trap, and Clint was left hanging from the ceiling light, laughing like a madman.

When Thor returned to the tower from another mission and saw the mess, he simply asked, "Is this a battle? Where's my Nerf hammer?"

And that's when the chaos doubled.

Darts were flying everywhere. Peter was screaming like it was a real war, you were using your training to disappear and attack from the shadows, and Tony was already planning to build an automatic turret to shoot him.

The chaos lasted almost two hours.

Two hours of laughter, screams, pillow fights, and hearts healing without saying a word.

When it was all over, you were on the floor, laughing, with Tony lying next to you, his hair covered in darts, and Wanda using her magic to remove the ones Clint had stuck in his face.

"You're dangerous, kid," Natasha said, sitting next to you.

"Thanks," you replied with a smirk.

Steve tossed you a water bottle.

"Good strategy, agent."

And for a moment, you felt... loved. Not for what you could do. Not for your training or your skills. But simply for being you.

An orphaned teenager who had started a Nerf war so she wouldn't feel alone.

And it had worked.

"Rematch tomorrow?" Peter asked hopefully.

"Get ready, I have better plans," you replied, and everyone laughed. Even Thor.

The Avengers—your Avengers—looked at you as if you were one of them. Because you already were. From the first foam dart.

#avengers x teen!reader #marvel x reader #marvel masterlist #marvel x you #marvel moodboard #black widow x reader #tony stark x reader #thor x reader #steve rogers x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #mcu x you

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bbbbbbbbatman · 2 years ago

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Bruce (unintentional agent of chaos)

Dick (excited agent of chaos)

Jason (violent agent of chaos)

Tim (meticulous agent of chaos)

Stephanie (maniacal agent of chaos)

Damian (accidental agent of chaos)

Duke (secret agent of chaos)

Cass (quiet agent of chaos)

Alfred (trained agent of chaos)

#batman #batfam #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #stephanie brown #damian wayne #damian al ghul #duke thomas #cassandra cain #alfred pennyworth #dc #dc comics #mine

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angellic4l · 5 months ago

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nine lives - d.m

in which; derek gets injured in the field and fem!reader isn’t happy with him.

content; tw! derek has bruises from bullets, kinda graphic desc(?), nicknames (doll, sugar, ma'am, etc,), cocky!derek x annoyed!reader, inaccuracies i’m sure but who cares, derek's abs, jj cockblocks(?) i suppose.

a/n; @darkmatilda requested this everybody say thank you matilda! i’ve been slacking w posting but my wips hate me apparently. kisses! wc: 1.9k

A sickly feeling still resided in your stomach. Your head was throbbing with the constant bombardment of ‘what if?’ and a million ways the situation could’ve been avoided. This and the three distinct crashes of go bags hitting oak desks, similar to that of three gunshots - at least in your addled brain - were enough to tell you that the irritation that’s been brewing was definitely still residing.

He’d been hurt in the field.

The thought almost made you gag, the anger overpowering, consuming every part of your body until you did something about it. It felt like it was begging you to purge it, cleanse it from your body, and god did you want to. However, the more logical part of you knew that throwing up wouldn’t make the frustration go away, wouldn’t stop the onslaught of worst case scenarios in your mind’s eye. The only thing it would serve for is making you feel even worse.

Opening one of the wooden desk drawers, you take out a water bottle and guzzle almost half of it down. In the midst of all of the stress and chaos, water was the least of your priorities. From across the room, a pair of eyes can be felt tracking you, watching each and every move you make. Against your better judgement, your head snapped up to see who it was.A futile action; you had already known that it was Derek staring at you but, since the incident, you’d made it a point to avoid him. Unfortunately for you, instincts had taken over a few moments ago and now the awkward jet ride had been in vain.

Realistically, you were aware that being mad at somebody for getting shot at wasn’t particularly logical, but you couldn’t help it, and so you’d kept your distance from Morgan. In place of your usual banter on the jet was an unusual silence, your ears were void of the usual 90’s hip-hop/R&B that came with him sharing his headphones with you, and he wasn’t warming your side with his usual presence because you’d sat away from him.

Familiar voices snap you both out of the staring contest that had started to ensue, your mind quickly recognising them as Reid and Penelope’s.

“He what?” Penelope gasped, manicured hands slapping over her mouth instantaneously.

In response, Spencer’s face had fallen flat, lips pressing into a thin line, signalling he’d probably just let something slip that wasn’t already common knowledge. Clearly, he’d just accidentally informed Penelope about Derek’s incident out in the field.

“Reid,” Morgan chided, before turning his attention to the blonde who stood in front of him now, “Baby girl, I’m okay. See? Still alive and breathin’.”

“But you… And the… Oh God,” Penelope stopped and started, trailing off before starting another thought. Whether it was because she was overwhelmed by the news or didn’t want to say the words out loud, you weren’t too sure.

Watching the whole ordeal from your desk only intensified the completely unreasonable anger you felt, tongue poking the inside of your cheek. Derek’s soothing murmurs to Penelope faded into the background as the different outcomes of today played in your head.

Derek had been shot at, standard for a field agent of course, but the bullets had hit him. If it wasn’t for his vest, he would be in the hospital right now. All because he’d taken a chance and trusted a deranged psychopath to put down his weapon at the hands of the FBI. God, the overwhelming urge to smack some sense into Derek Morgan only grew as you thought about the situation, how he hadn’t waited for back up, how he’d lowered his weapon without so much as an ounce of hesitation.

The opinions you harboured on the matter weren’t fair; you weren’t there, you don’t know what had actually happened, however any and all logic was proving to be out of depth in the cauldron of agitation that had been brewing since you’d been told what had happened. You knew that it wasn’t fair to blame him. You also knew that this response definitely came from fear rather than actually being mad at him, but acknowledging that meant opening up the door for something else entirely. Some things were better left untouched, in your opinion.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Based on the terribly sluggish nature of everybody’s movements and the slow ticking of the clock looming over the room, it was obvious that nobody wanted to be at work. In full fairness, it wasn’t usual to stay at the bureau after returning from a case, but the case had wrapped up quicker than expected. Hotch had announced on the jet that Strauss had ‘asked’ if it were a possibility. You figured it was to make up for the hotel rooms they’d prepaid for, what with the new budget cuts.

After what felt like the umpteenth time you’d caught yourself staring at Derek and watching him wince in pain, you chewed the inside of your cheek while standing up and making your way over to his desk. The bullpen was free from the team; Hotch and Rossi were in their offices, as was JJ, Reid was off in Penelope’s ‘lair’, and Prentiss was in the kitchenette making coffee. By the time you’d reached Derek’s desk, you were sure you’d be missing half of your cheek with the vice-like grip your premolars had on it.

Once you were fairly certain that opening your mouth wouldn’t be followed by an onslaught of swear words or beratement, you spoke to Morgan for the first time in hours.

“Come with me.”

“You tryin’ to kidnap me, doll? If you want me that bad, you can just say so,” he teases, attempting a soft snicker at his own joke before wincing in pain slightly.

“No. Just stop being cocky and listen for once, Derek.”

For a few moments, he leaves you standing in front of his desk, waiting for a response, and feeling like an absolute idiot. Finally, he gives you a look - accompanied by a small shrug of one shoulder - that simply reads as ‘touche’ and then he’s rising from his seat. Schooling your expression to keep it impassive as you turn to lead the way, silently relieved that he’s actually cooperating with you, you remain silent as you keep walking with Derek behind you.

Just down the hall from the bullpen and the other offices the BAU consists of, there’s a small, beige, forgotten infirmary room that nobody ever uses for its original intention. That changes today, you suppose. As Derek shuts the door behind himself, he opens his mouth after taking in the secluded room and the examination table that could double as a bed, but you beat him to it.

“Sit down, Morgan.”

“Sugar, you are desperate for it, huh?”

“Sit. Down.”

He raises his hands in mock surrender, “Yes ma’am,” before sitting on the bed of green plastic covered with a thin sheet of paper.

With Derek finally sat down, you open one of the dusty cupboards and pull out one of the 15 (you counted them once) first aid kits in there before turning back to face Morgan and placing it to the left of him. Unclipping the green, plastic case and opening it up causes one of Morgan’s eyebrows to raise.

“What’s that for, sugar?”

“You. I know you’re in pain and not saying anything.”

Your tone is firm, facial expression showing nothing but exasperation with him so, he relents with a sigh before grabbing the hem of his grey t-shirt and pulling it up so that you can tend to his wounds. At the sight of his bare skin, abs exposed to you and all, your heart rate picks up and the room feels like it’s getting warmer by the minute.

“Stupid decision, by the way,” you add in a murmur, praying to whatever is out there that he can’t tell how much his chiseled torso is affecting you.

“Mama, I’m just fine. Really,” he insists, but you’re already digging through the first aid box.

Remembering what he’d been told to do by paramedics, to keep the bruises cool and wrapped, you reach for one of the ice packs in the first aid kit. Before activating it, your hand hesitantly moves towards the wrapped section of his midriff to expose the bruised skin beneath it.

Morgan hisses slightly when your finger brushes a bruise rather than the white cloth, the sound causing you to retract your hand as if he had hurt you and not the other way around. You mumble a small sorry and return your attention to the ice pack next to him, picking it up and activating it with a cracking noise.

“This gonna hurt?”

“Not as much as getting shot at.”

“What was that for?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

By now, you’re pressing the ice pack lightly to the area of injury, barely any space between the two of you as he sits on the examining table with you standing in between his legs. Your gaze finally meets his - probably a good thing, you conclude, because staring at his abs any longer might’ve made you melt - eye contact unwavering.

“Don’t play that game with me. Since I got shot, you’ve been acting differently. Avoiding me, sitting away from me on the jet, hardly even making eye contact with me, this weird hostile attitude. Why?”

“Because, Derek, you got shot at and it was stupid. You should’ve been more careful.”

“Sugar, I know you don’t believe it was my fault I got shot,” his tone softens, “What’s really going on up there, hm?”

His finger lightly taps on your forehead, again reminding you of just how close the two of you are to each other, because you didn’t even see his arm move to do it. Both of you are yet to disturb the intense eye contact happening, eyes boring into each other’s - his searching for answers in yours, yours seeking relief in his.

“I shouldn’t have been mad at you for getting shot at. I’m sorry.”

“I just wanna know why, doll.”

“You scared me. A lot,” you admit in a whisper, fighting the urge to bow your head and nuzzle into the top of his chest.

Instead, you keep your head level as the both of you stare at each other, your hand still pressing the ice pack to his lower midriff during the interaction. Visibly, his face softens with your admission, and then his lips curve into a barely there smirk.

“Yeah? You care about me, sweetheart? Awh,” he teases.

“Seriously. You don’t have nine lives, D, you can’t risk losing this one.”

“Yes, ma’am. I am so sorry for forgetting that I’m not a cat.”

“God, you can’t ever be serious, can you?”

“Hard to be serious when there’s a pretty woman tending to my wounds, angel.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you mutter and let your eyes drop to his abs between you, momentarily distracted.

“See something you like?”

As you go to reply, lips slightly parted - though the words that should’ve come out hadn’t even fully formed in your head yet - the door swings open to reveal one Jennifer Jareau. Morgan turns his head slowly to look at her while you whip your head to the right so fast it could’ve given you whiplash.

JJ’s face contorts with confusion, you presume it’s because she only expected to find you in here - and certainly not extremely close to Morgan with your hand resting on his midriff.

“I’m so sorry. I’m not interrupting something, am I?”

“No, Jayje, you’re okay,” you reassure her.

“Hotch needs everyone in the briefing room.”

“We just got back,” Morgan grumbles.

“He said it was urgent. I’ll uh, let you two… finish up,” the blond says quietly, giving the two of you an awkward smile, and then closing the door behind her.

#derek morgan fanfiction #derek morgan x reader #derek morgan x fem!reader #derek morgan x fem!bau!reader #derek morgan x you #derek morgan x self insert #derek morgan x bau!reader #derek morgan scenario #derek morgan #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #derek morgan hurt/comfort #cm #fanfiction #derek morgan x y/n #criminal minds x you #derek morgan fluff

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magical-reid · 7 months ago

Text

The rings we keep

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!FBI!Reader

Genre: fluff

Content warnings: none?

Word count: 1.6k

Summary: An FBI agent unexpectedly marries Spencer Reid in a Las Vegas hospital to fulfill his mother's wishes, leading to a complicated relationship built on convenience. As they work together on a dangerous murder case, their bond deepens, and Spencer's quiet heroism reveals that their accidental marriage might hold the potential for real love.

The badge clipped to your belt was as much a part of you as the Glock strapped to your hip. Being an FBI agent meant long hours, endless yellow tape, and the occasional brush with danger that left you rattled for days. But you loved it. You thrived in the chaos, the adrenaline, the chance to make a difference.

Still, nothing could have prepared you for the chaos of being married to Spencer Reid.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t kind or brilliant—he was both, in spades. Spencer was a walking encyclopedia with a heart that quietly held more compassion than most people knew. You hadn’t planned on marrying him, though, in fact, neither of you had planned on marrying anyone.

It had started two months ago, in a Las Vegas hospital room. Spencer’s mother, Diana, had been lucid that day—something you’d learned was both a gift and a curse. She had smiled at you as you sat next to Spencer, the three of you chatting about books, the weather, and old stories from her youth.

“You’re so good to him,” Diana had said suddenly, fixing her gaze on you.

You’d looked up, confused.

“She is,” Spencer had replied, his voice soft as he squeezed her hand.

“Marry her,” Diana had said, her words clear and direct. “Spencer, I want to see you happy. And I want to see you married before you have to leave.”

Leave. It had been a terrible misunderstanding, her mind tangling the threads of the past and present. But the plea in her voice had been real, and Spencer hadn’t been able to bear telling her no. He’d looked at you, something fragile and desperate in his eyes, and before you knew it, you’d agreed.

The walk-in chapel had been surreal. There was no big dress, no flowers—just a quick exchange of vows, a ring from a pawn shop, and Diana’s tearful smile as she watched from her seat. The moment had been oddly sweet, almost sacred.

And then the moment had passed.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You’d both agreed to annul it later, but life got in the way. Between your cases and his, you barely had time to sleep, let alone complete the paperwork. Eventually, Spencer had suggested staying married, if only for the convenience.

“It’s easier,” he’d reasoned. “Legally, I mean. Besides, it’s not like it changes anything.”

And for two months, it hadn’t.

Today, though, felt different.

The case you were working on had taken a grim turn, and your unit chief had decided to call in the BAU. You hadn’t protested—it was a particularly brutal series of murders, and their expertise was invaluable. But when you stepped into the police station that morning and saw Penelope Garcia’s face light up like Christmas, you knew she’d snooped.

“Mrs. Reid!” she chirped, her voice barely contained.

You froze mid-step, narrowing your eyes at her. “Not here,” you hissed under your breath.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she whispered conspiratorially, winking. “My lips are sealed… mostly.”

Before you could respond, your unit chief waved you into the conference room. The BAU was already seated, their attention split between a whiteboard covered in crime scene photos and a map dotted with pins.

Spencer was there, of course, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. He didn’t look up when you entered, but his presence was enough to send a twinge of nervous energy through you.

Your unit chief cleared his throat. “Agent Reid, thanks for joining us. BAU, this is Agent Y/N Reid—she’s with our unit and will be helping coordinate the case on our end.”

There was a moment of stunned silence. You saw Emily Prentiss glance at Spencer, her brow raised in mild amusement. Derek Morgan’s smirk was almost immediate, while JJ covered her mouth, clearly trying to hide her surprise.

“Reid?” Derek repeated his grin widening.

“Y/N Reid,” you said firmly, emphasizing your first name. “Yes. We’re married. No, it’s not relevant to the case.”

Penelope let out an audible squeal from the corner of the room, and you shot her a warning glare.

“It’s not relevant,” Spencer agreed, his voice calm but his ears slightly pink. “Can we move on?”

Derek chuckled but relented, turning his attention back to the board. “Alright, let’s get to it.”

The case was grim—a string of murders targeting young women who all bore a striking resemblance to one another. Blond hair, blue eyes, petite builds. They’d been abducted, held for days, then left posed in public spaces. The unsub was meticulous, methodical, and growing more confident with each kill.

By midday, the conference room was a storm of theories and strategies. Your units worked well together, bouncing ideas off one another as new leads emerged. But despite the progress, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

It wasn’t the unsub—though God knew you’d had stalkers in your line of work. No, this was different.

You looked up from your notes and caught Spencer’s gaze. He quickly looked away, pretending to focus on the map.

The weight in your chest grew heavier.

Spencer was your husband. Legally, at least. But in every other way, he was your coworker. He was brilliant and kind and occasionally maddening, but you didn’t know how to be his wife. Not really.

“Y/N?”

JJ’s voice broke through your thoughts. You blinked, realizing everyone was looking at you.

“Sorry, what?”

“I said, you and Reid should interview the victim’s roommate together. She might be more comfortable with a familiar face,” JJ said, glancing between you and Spencer.

You hesitated, but Spencer nodded. “Makes sense,” he said. “We’ll take my car.”

The drive was awkward.

Spencer fidgeted with the radio, flipping through stations before settling on classical. You stared out the window, trying to ignore the growing tension between you.

“You’ve been quiet,” he said finally.

“So have you.”

He sighed, glancing at you briefly before returning his eyes to the road. “Are you… okay? With everyone knowing, I mean.”

You frowned. “It’s not like we planned this, Spencer. Besides, it was bound to come out eventually.”

“I know. But I don’t want it to make things harder for you.”

You softened at his words. Despite his sometimes awkward demeanor, Spencer had a way of saying the right thing when it mattered most.

“It’s fine,” you said. “Really.”

He nodded, though he didn’t look convinced.

The interview went smoothly, though it yielded little new information. The roommate was distraught, her hands trembling as she recounted the last time she’d seen the victim. You kept your tone gentle, and your questions open-ended, but the answers all led to the same dead ends.

When you returned to the station, the atmosphere had shifted. Penelope was typing furiously at her laptop, muttering under her breath about search parameters. Emily and Derek were deep in conversation, while Hotch stood at the head of the table, his arms crossed.

“We have a lead,” he announced as you and Spencer entered. “The unsub’s car was spotted near a bus station downtown. Surveillance footage shows him leaving the scene shortly after the last victim was found.”

He gestured to the screen, where a grainy image of a man in a baseball cap appeared. His face was partially obscured, but something about his posture sent a chill down your spine.

“The station is less than a mile from here,” Hotch continued. “We need to move quickly.”

Your team sprang into action, splitting into smaller groups to cover more ground. Spencer was assigned to the tech team with Penelope, while you were paired with Emily and Derek to canvass the area.

As you searched the bus station, your instincts prickled. Something about the unsub felt personal—too calculated, too deliberate. You couldn’t shake the feeling that he was watching, waiting.

When your phone buzzed with a text from Spencer, your heart skipped a beat.

Be careful.

You texted back a quick You too before slipping the phone into your pocket.

Hours later, the unsub made his move.

It happened fast—too fast. You were alone, having split off from Emily and Derek to follow a potential lead. The unsub cornered you in an alley, his knife glinting in the dim light.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice eerily calm. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Your blood ran cold. He knew your name.

“FBI,” you said, keeping your voice steady as you drew your weapon. “Drop the knife.”

He didn’t. Instead, he smiled—a slow, deliberate smile that made your stomach churn.

“You’re just like her,” he murmured. “So pretty. So perfect.”

Before you could respond, footsteps thundered behind you. The unsub’s smile faltered, and he turned to run, but not before Spencer tackled him to the ground.

The knife clattered to the pavement as Spencer wrestled him into submission. You moved quickly, cuffing the unsub as Spencer caught his breath.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice tight with concern.

You nodded, though your hands were shaking. “Yeah. Thanks to you.”

He offered a small smile, but his eyes lingered on you, searching for any sign of injury.

Back at the station, the unsub’s confession came easily. He’d been stalking his victims for months, studying their routines, their habits. He’d seen you on the news once, years ago, and decided you were his ideal type.

The realization made your skin crawl.

“You saved her life, pretty boy,” Derek said, clapping Spencer on the shoulder. “That’s what husbands are for, right?”

Spencer flushed, but his smile was genuine.

Later, as you packed up to leave, Spencer lingered by your side.

“You didn’t have to come after me,” you said softly.

“Yes, I did,” he replied without hesitation.

For the first time since your wedding day, you felt the weight of the ring on your finger. Maybe this marriage wasn’t as complicated as you thought.

Maybe, just maybe, it was exactly where you were meant to be.

Part 2

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x yn #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fic #magical-Reid

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er1nne · 2 months ago

Note

hi! i’m the anon who requested a new part for “the interview with drew goes viral”. you actually posted it on my birthday, so i’m sending you a huge thanks, really.

i absolutely loved it and i also wouldn’t mind if you wanted to turn this into a series too hahah.

the two of them 🥺🥺🥺 i love that drew is going to the coffee shop after her, would love to see how their relationship grows! i’m in love with them and with the you you write. thanks again!!!

hope you’re doing well, have a nice weekend xxx

another run in with drew ♡

part one, part two, part three

author's note: love how this had become a series lol, also series masterlist coming soon. give me ideas on what you want to see, your wishes are my command

(do not copy or plagiarize, original work)

You haven’t seen Drew since the coffee shop. No texts. No calls. No accidental likes on Instagram stories. Just that strange little moment—quiet, simple, unexpected—followed by nothing but silence. A silence you didn’t have time to question, at least not out loud.

Work swept you under fast. One interview turned into five, turned into twelve. There were red eyes and red carpets, layovers that bled into morning glam, emails marked urgent that weren’t, and endless voice notes from your assistant reminding you to drink water or, God forbid, actually sit down and eat. You’ve been floating from event to event, mic in hand, pretending the whirlwind is normal.

And maybe it is. Maybe this is just what success feels like when it comes all at once.

But somewhere in the back of your mind—between camera flashes and client lists—you still think about that coffee. The way his hand brushed yours when he reached for the lid. The way he looked at you like you were someone worth pausing for. Not performing for. Just… seeing.

You never followed up. Neither did he. So maybe that’s where it ends.

Until now.

You’re back on the red carpet, badge clipped, mic wired, heels biting into the carpet just enough to remind you to stand tall. Another night. Another venue. Another lineup of stars and stylists and agents crowding every inch of the step-and-repeat. Ironically enough, for a Drew Starkey interview. Even when you can't make time to see him personally the universe has a funny way of putting you two together. Meant to be? who knows.

You try not to think too hard about it—don’t give it weight. You’re here to work. You’re here to do your job. Not to chase the what-ifs of a man who left your texts untyped and your mind way too occupied on nights when you should’ve been sleeping.

Still, your fingers tighten around the mic just slightly as you read down the list of arrivals. Tom Blyth is slotted ahead of Drew. You know Tom. He’s warm, low-maintenance, the kind of actor who gives thoughtful answers and makes your job easy. You ground yourself in that—small wins. Familiar rhythms.

Your team gives you the signal, and you step forward into the chaos of flashbulbs and pre-show nerves. The cameras sweep toward you and Tom as he arrives, his publicist giving you a nod. You settle into the interview, asking your usual questions—questions you could probably recite in your sleep by now. He smiles, laughs, says something about the director’s process. You nod, respond, push the conversation where it needs to go. It’s smooth. Effortless. Just how it’s supposed to be.

Your heels click into place on the press line, the carpet beneath you plush but just unstable enough to remind you you’re balancing on borrowed time—and four inches of designer expectation. The noise is a hum—paparazzi flashes, producers shouting cues, the murmur of industry air kisses and small talk no one really means.

Then you see him.

Tom Blyth moves through the crowd like it’s parting for him on instinct. All charm and movie-star ease, dressed in something sharp and tailored, the kind of suit that looks effortless but costs more than your entire monthly invoice report. The lapels lie just right, the fabric catching the camera flashes like it knows it’s being watched. He carries himself like someone who’s used to being looked at—and knows exactly what to do with that attention.

When he stops in front of you, the grin he offers is the kind you feel—not just see. It’s practiced, yes, but not fake. It lands with just enough weight to leave a mark.

You hold your mic steady and smile back, but the energy shifts the second he opens his mouth.

“Well, well,” he says as he stops in front of you, eyeing your mic, then your face, “didn’t expect to see the best-dressed person here holding the microphone. Shouldn’t you be on this side with the rest of us?”

You smile, professional but just shy of bashful. “Careful, Tom. Keep sweet-talking me like that and I might start charging for compliments.”

“Go ahead,” he says, laughing. “As long as you let me expense it under ‘networking.’”

He winks, and you try not to let your shoulders tense under the cameras. “Let’s talk about the film, yeah? You’ve worked with some heavy hitters this year. What drew you to this script?”

He leans in slightly, enough for you to catch a trace of his cologne—something warm, amber, expensive. “Besides the fact that it gave me a reason to show up and see you again?” He pauses, grin widening. “I liked how human it felt. Honest. Flawed. I’ve been chasing those kinds of roles lately. But this one hit different.”

You nod, genuinely engaged, your mic lifting instinctively. “Do you think audiences are ready to see you in something that vulnerable? Or do you still like being everyone’s golden boy?”

“Depends,” he says. “Would you still like me if I wasn’t?”

Before you can even come up with a reply—witty or otherwise—a voice cuts through the noise, low and unmistakably familiar.

“Now he’s trying to steal my favorite interviewer.”

You turn.

Drew stands just behind Tom, casual but calculated, hands in his pockets, eyes trained on you like he’s trying to read the punchline before you’ve even delivered it.

Tom steps back half an inch, amusement flashing across his face. “Well, didn’t know I was stepping on any toes.”

“Not toes. Just territory.” Drew’s tone is light, but the message is there, coded in the way his eyes flick to you, then back to Tom like a reflex.

Tom glances between the two of you, catching it. “Didn’t mean to step on anything,” he says, chuckling under his breath. “Or anyone.”

You force a smile—tight, professional—and tilt the mic toward Drew without looking directly at him. “We’re all friends here. Right?”

“Sure we are,” Drew murmurs, eyes still on you. He doesn’t blink when you finally meet his gaze. He just lifts one brow slightly, like he knows something you don’t want to admit out loud.

Tom excuses himself down the line, sensing the shift, and you don’t blame him. The moment he walks away, the noise around you fades into a blur. Your crew’s still watching. Cameras still pointed. But all you feel is him.

Then he leans in closer—like he’s adjusting something on his suit, like he’s letting you fix his mic—but his mouth is right by your ear.

“Long week?” he asks, voice low.

Your breath catches before you can stop it. You don’t turn to face him, just nod slightly, lips pressed together. “Busy.”

“Mm,” he hums. “Too busy for coffee, huh? Maybe dinner works better instead.”

You slightly hold your mouth agape with a surprised smile decorates your face. You swallow hard. He’s not wrong.

“Sure, it that will make it up to you.”

"How about tonight? If you’re not busy after the premiere.”

You pause. Then add— Then: “There's not a such thing as 'too busy'. It’s a date, then.”

The words fall out softer than you expect, almost natural, and the moment they land, both of you flinch—just a little.

“Promise.”

That gets him.

He doesn’t smile—but something in his expression shifts. Softens. You feel the shift in his body before you see it—his shoulders ease, but the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s forcing stillness. He doesn’t smile, not exactly, but something in his face unlocks. Like your words knocked the wind out of him for half a second.

And then—

You turn your head. Just slightly. Just enough for your mouth to hover where his had been.

“Tell me something,” you whisper, breath warm against his skin. “Are you the jealous type?”

He goes still. Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t blink. Just still.

One beat. Two.

And suddenly it’s like everyone around you vanishes. The press. The handlers. Even the cameras seem quieter. Because anyone watching now sees it—the way his hand flexes at his side. The way your smile lifts just barely, slow and knowing. The air between you buzzes, hot and thick and impossible to ignore.

Then you smile for the camera—tight, sweet, unreadable. “We’re rolling, Starkey. You ready?”

He pulls back, expression unreadable. “Always.”

You lift the mic, voice smooth. “Drew Starkey, star of tonight’s premiere, joining us now…”

And just like that, you fall back into the rhythm. But your pulse is nowhere near calm. And neither is he.

And just like that, you’re back on script—two professionals, poised and polished.

But your pulse is nowhere near calm.

And his? His jaw ticks once. His eyes don’t leave you.

But this is anything but far from over.

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pedgito · 3 months ago

Text

march is over and we're heading into tlou season which i am awaiting with too much anxiety, energy has been so low over here but i've been attempting to read on nights when i have some time. as expected, lots of pedro characters but a few additional blorbos that i've been obsessed with lately.

this key will help you figure out which fics are more your vibe, or if you’re just curious of the contents before you dive in:

smut = 🌶️, fluff = ☁️ angst = ☄️

total fics listed below: 24

✎ — 𝐉𝐎𝐄𝐋 ��𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑

↝ a love so fine by @joelsdagger — ☁️, 🌶️

An evening in with your husband helps to quiet the brain noise.

↝ little lamb by @chaotic-mystery — ☁️, 🌶️

You and Joel decide on the future of you two when he sees how well you mother the lambs.

↝ in the soft light of morning by @eupheme — ☁️, 🌶️

In the morning hours like this, the promise of spring slipping through the cracks of the curtains, it’s enough to almost make him forget. Tucking away everything he’s done, forcing it back down his throat and locking it away. Here, he’s just a man.

↝ brighter times by @gutsby — 🌶️ (DDDNE, noncon)

You’ve always been Joel’s favorite. Always.

↝ stranded by @pedroscurls — 🌶️ (DDDNE, dubcon)

Your car breaks down on the side of the road and a stranger decides to help you out...and you have no choice but to accept his help.

↝ be quiet, or i'll make you by @tobeholyistobeempty — 🌶️

The world ended in disaster. You’ve lived with that knowledge for years now, and you think you’ve finally come to terms with the kind of things you’ll get from it. Pain. Loss. Destruction. The same chaos, day in day out, just in different forms. You know that at this point you’ll be lucky if you survive until tomorrow; so you take it in stride.

↝ orange colored sky by @/eupheme — ☁️, 🌶️

A soft summer weekend is spent at the lake with Joel and his family

↝ nice and slow by @joelsknees — 🌶️

A quiet horny morning with Joel. Send tweet.

✎ — 𝐉𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐀

↝ the raid (+ steve murphy) by @toxicanonymity — 🌶️ (DDDNE)

A DEA agent finds you on a drug raid, and he and his partner take you home with them. They keep you locked up and make some changes in your life, starting with getting you off drugs. They share you and have sexual tension (at the least) with each other. You happen to enjoy them... But it can't stay like this forever, can it?

↝ that won't ever be me, bebita by @iknowisoundcrazy — ☄️

Javi and Steve go missing. With los pepes at large, you and Connie wait up and worry for your loves.

↝ the morning commute by @/iknowisoundcrazy — ☄️

In the midst of Escobar’s desperate war for control in Colombia, your morning commute is disrupted when you find yourself tangled up in his latest bomb threat.

✎ — 𝐄𝐙𝐑𝐀 (𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓)

↝ like family by @max--phillips — 🌶️

Ezra had entertained dozens of your fantasies and helped you indulge in kinks you’d never even fathomed before meeting him. You trusted him implicitly, with your body, mind, and soul. You could tell him anything, and he’d take it in stride. He’d never judge you or shame you (unless that was the agreed upon point of the scene, of course). He was older than you, more experienced; he’d seen everything and then some. The stories he told are part of what drew you to him initially. Despite all this, it did not stop the panicked fear of rejection from flooding you with one accidental slip of the tongue.

↝ more by @moonlitbirdie — 🌶️ (read on ao3, DDDNE)

You want Ezra to take you while you’re asleep.

✎ — 𝐃𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐊

↝ keep driving by @thundermartini — 🌶️ (DDDNE, dubcon)

An unexpected stop in the middle of nowhere for an investigation on a Halloween Festival leads to the scariest encounter of your life.

↝ because of you by @almostempty — 🌶️ (DDDNE, noncon)

You reveal at a party that you've never cried during sex, but Dave is going to fix that for you.

↝ good kitty by @sizzlingcloudmentality — 🌶️

Dave wants a cat but ends up with you. his favorite thing to do? letting the kitty drink fresh cream.

keystrokes by @mothandpidgeon — 🌶️ (DDDNE, noncon/dubcon)

You hacked into Dave Yorks computer and found more secrets than you bargained for.

✎ — 𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋

↝ forbidden fruit by @/cavillscurls — 🌶️

Upon his return to Dorne, you give your husband a warm welcome.

✎ — 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐓 (𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐘 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒)

↝ inescapable by @cavillscurls — 🌶️ (DDDNE, dubcon)

Clint always gets what he wants—this time, you’re going to give it to him.

✎ — 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐎

↝ don't give up on me by @punkshort — ☄️, 🌶️

Should you give up on the man you love when he disappoints you, or do you give him another chance?

↝ 30,000 feet by @yxtkiwiyxt

You meet a handsome stranger on a flight.

✎ — 𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍

↝ miss possessive (+ gareth emerson) by @gracieheartspedro — 🌶️

You cannot help but be possessive over your boyfriends...wait no, boyfriend. Just your boyfriend. Not his best friend.

✎ — 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓 𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐎𝐂𝐊

↝ when he's the neighbour by @jolapeno — ☁️, 🌶️

Matt hears you through the wall.

✎ — 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐂𝐇

↝ late night visits by @stellamarielu — 🌶️

Somehow your neighbor is always finding himself at your front door hoping to find relief through casual hookups, but you both can’t deny your feelings any longer.

likes, reblogs, and comments keep the motivation alive, so if you’re taking a look at these for the first time, please leave a kind word for these writers or just reblog, even. support your writers <3

#joel miller x reader #javier peña x reader #ezra prospect x reader #matt murdock x reader #michael robinavitch x reader #dave york x reader #oberyn martell x reader #harry castillo x reader #clint freaky tales x reader #monthlyrec

216 notes · View notes

amyzworldds · 3 months ago

Text

Title: Solo Adventure

Masterlist

After a New York mishap, Seungcheol punishes Seventeen's maknae yn with a 7 PM curfew and two months of dorm-cleaning alongside Dino, Vernon, and Seungkwan. A month in, boredom drives yn to sneak out at midnight for ice cream. Pairing: Seventeen x 14th member Genre: Fluff, Humor Timeline: 2017

It had been a month since the New York disaster, and Seungcheol wasn’t messing around anymore. The two-month dorm-cleaning punishment was in full swing—Yn, Dino, Vernon, and Seungkwan were still scrubbing floors and wrestling with laundry piles—but the leader had zeroed in on the real troublemaker: YN. The boys? They were just her reluctant sidekicks, dragged along out of worry or sheer inability to say no. So, Seungcheol grounded her—and her alone—with a curfew tighter than a drum.

“7 PM, YN,” he’d declared, arms crossed like a stern dad. “You don’t leave the dorm after that unless it’s for work, with a member, or a family member’s dragging you out. That’s your punishment.”

Her parents, who’d known Seungcheol since yn was a squalling baby, were fully on board. Over a crackly phone call from their vacation abroad, her mom had chimed in, “Make it 6 PM, Seungcheol-ah! She’s been stressing us out since she could walk. Teach her a lesson!” Her dad had just laughed in the background, muttering, “Good luck, kid.”

The members tried to keep her entertained—board games, impromptu dance-offs, even letting her direct a ridiculous dorm “movie” where Hoshi played a tiger and Mingyu was a damsel in distress. “We’re not letting you sneak out again,” Joshua had said, tossing her a controller for a video game. “You’re a menace when you’re bored.”

But yn? Boredom was her kryptonite. She could handle the cleaning—grumbling through it with dramatic flair, like when she’d “accidentally” dumped a bucket of soapy water on Vernon’s head—but the curfew? The isolation? It was torture. Seungcheol even banned late nights, insisting she sleep by 11 PM. “You stay up late, you get wild ideas,” he’d said, eyeing her like she might tunnel out with a spoon.

For a month, she’d sulked, stomping around the dorm, ignoring Seungcheol’s every command with the petulance of a grounded teenager. “Two months of cleaning for all of us, but I’m the only one locked up like a criminal?!” she’d whined to anyone who’d listen. “This is unfair! Dino was there! Vernon too! Seungkwan’s got lungs—why not ground him for screaming Coups’ name in New York?!”

“Because you’re the mastermind,” Jeonghan had teased, flicking her forehead. “They’re just your minions.”

--------------------------------------------------------------

One fateful night, a month into her sentence, it all came to a head. It was a rare day off, and with her parents out of the country, yn had been cooped up in the dorm all day. No schedules, no outings, just her and the four walls of her room. She felt like a caged lion—or maybe a hyperactive hamster, pacing and plotting. By midnight, she was sprawled on her bed, wide awake, staring at the ceiling with a scowl that could curdle milk.

“This is prison,” she muttered, kicking her blankets off dramatically. “A death sentence! I’m 18, not 80! My feet are itching—they’re screaming to run free!” She flopped onto her stomach, burying her face in her pillow and fake-sobbing loud enough to wake the dead—except no one came running, because the dorm was silent, everyone else blissfully asleep.

She sat up, eyes glinting with rebellion. “That’s it. I’m done. Curfew? Psh. Grounding? Overrated. I’m sneaking out—solo mission!” She grinned, the thrill of defiance bubbling up like soda in a shaken can. “Let’s see what chaos I can stir up tonight.”

Tiptoeing out of her room, she moved like a ninja—or at least, her version of one, which involved a lot of exaggerated crouching and humming spy music under her breath. “Duh-nuh-nuh-nuh, secret agent yn, on the case!” she whispered, nearly tripping over a stray sock in the hallway. The dorm was a snoring symphony—Hoshi’s wheezy snorts, Mingyu’s deep rumbles, and Seungcheol’s occasional grumble about “schedules” in his sleep.

She crept to Dino and Vernon’s room, peeking through the cracked door. Dino was sprawled across his bunk, one leg dangling off, snoring like a chainsaw. Vernon was curled up in a ball, muttering something about “pizza” in his dreams. “Useless,” yn huffed. “They’re out cold. No backup tonight.”

Seungkwan’s room was a no-go—he bunked with Seungcheol, and waking him was a death wish. “Guess it’s just me and the night,” she said, rubbing her hands together like a cartoon villain. “Perfect. I thrive in chaos.”

She grabbed her hoodie—bright yellow, because stealth wasn’t her forte—and slipped on her sneakers, already buzzing with excitement. The anxiety of sneaking out alone? To her, it was a rollercoaster thrill. “What’s the worst that could happen?” she mused, easing the dorm door open with a creak that made her freeze. No one stirred. “Ha! I’m a genius.”

Out in the cool Seoul night, yn practically skipped down the street, her grin stretching ear to ear. “Freedom!” she whisper-shouted, twirling under a streetlight like she’d escaped Alcatraz. She had no plan—just pure, unfiltered yn energy. Maybe she’d hit a 24-hour convenience store for snacks. Maybe she’d find a park and swing until dawn. Or maybe she’d just wander and see what trouble found her first.

Back at the dorm, the clock ticked past 2 AM, and the silence held—until Seungcheol rolled over in his sleep, mumbling, “YN, don’t you dare…” His leader instincts were tingling, but he didn’t wake.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Yn was in her element, strolling through the quiet Seoul streets at 2:30 AM, a cheap convenience store ice cream cone in one hand and a bag of chips dangling from the other. Her yellow hoodie glowed under the streetlights, and she was belting out a goofy rendition of Seventeen’s latest song, swapping lyrics for nonsense. “Oh, I’m a pretty troublemaker, yeah, sneaking out ‘cause I’m the best—ooh, ice cream, don’t melt on me!” She twirled, nearly dropping her cone, then caught it with a triumphant, “Ha! Skills!”

Her solo rebellion was going swimmingly—no grumpy managers, no snoring members, just her and the night. She licked her ice cream, humming happily, when a soft whisper cut through the air. “Yn? Is that… yn?”

She froze mid-lick, turning to see five girls huddled near a bench, eyes wide and hands clasped like they’d just spotted a unicorn. “Oh my gosh, it is her!” one whispered, barely containing a squeal.

Yn’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Hey, cuties!” she chirped, bounding over with her trademark grin. “What’s up? You guys carats?”

The girls nodded frantically, too starstruck to speak at first. “Can… can we get a picture?” one finally stammered, holding up her polariod with shaky hands.

“Totally!” Yn said, striking a goofy pose with her ice cream. “But listen—don’t post it, okay? Coups oppa grounded me, and if he finds out I’m out here, I’m toast. Like, ‘cleaning-the-dorm-for-eternity’ toast.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “He’s got me on lockdown ‘til 7 PM unless I’ve got a babysitter. Can you keep it a secret?”

The fans giggled, nodding like bobbleheads. “We won’t tell! Promise!” one said, snapping a quick photo of yn mid-wink, ice cream dripping onto her sleeve.

“Sweet! You guys are the best,” Yn said, wiping her sleeve on her hoodie without a care. “Hey, wanna walk with me? I’ll buy you ice cream if you’re down—just no posting, deal?”

“Deal!” they chorused, falling into step beside her like a little entourage. Yn led them back to the 24-hour convenience store, her energy infectious as she waved her melting cone like a conductor’s baton.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Inside the store, yn played ice cream fairy, grabbing cones for everyone—strawberry for one, chocolate for another, and a weird green tea flavor for the boldest fan. “This one’s either amazing or tastes like grass,” she warned, handing it over with a laugh. They plopped onto a bench outside, and yn launched into full yap mode, regaling them with dorm tales—carefully curated for maximum fun, minimum privacy invasion.

“So, Coups oppa is, like, the worst,” she said, waving her cone for emphasis. “He’s got me grounded because of this whole New York thing—long story, don’t ask—but why am I the only one suffering? Dino was there too! And get this—Woozi keeps stealing my cola stash. I’ll hide it under my bed, and he’s like a bloodhound, sniffing it out! Then he’s all, ‘Oh, YN, didn’t see your name on it,’ while chugging it in my face!”

The fans laughed, hanging on her every word. “And the cleaning!” she groaned, flopping back on the bench dramatically. “Two months of scrubbing because of one tiny sneak-out! Mingyu keeps ‘accidentally’ leaving his sweaty gym socks everywhere, and Hoshi’s like, ‘Yn, you missed a spot!’ while he’s eating chips on the couch I just vacuumed!”

One fan, clutching her strawberry cone, giggled. “Sounds like they’re torturing you!”

“They are!” yn wailed, then grinned. “But I’m sneaky. See? Here I am, free as a bird, eating ice cream with you angels. Coups oppa can’t stop me!”

The clock ticked toward 3 AM, and YN showed no signs of slowing down. She was mid-story—“So then Jeonghan oppa pretended he lost his phone just to make me search the dorm, and it was in his pocket the whole time!”—when one fan’s phone buzzed loudly. The girl’s face paled as she answered. “Mom? Uh… I’m just out with friends… I’ll be home soon!”

The call ended, and the fans exchanged guilty looks. “Yn, we’ve gotta go,” one said hesitantly. “It’s super late, and our parents are freaking out.”

Yn pouted, her ice cream now a sticky puddle in her hand. “Aw, already? But I was just getting to the part where Seungkwan screamed so loud he woke the whole dorm!” She sighed, then perked up. “Okay, fine. You guys head home—but promise you’ll keep this on the down-low, yeah?”

“Promise!” they said, beaming. “Take care, YN! We’ll support Seventeen forever!”

“And tell Coups oppa to chill!” one added, giggling as they waved goodbye.

“Ha! Fat chance,” Yn called after them, watching them disappear into the night. She sat back, finishing her chips with a satisfied crunch. “Best fans ever. This is why I sneak out—freedom and friends!”

--------------------------------------------------------------

By the time yn tiptoed back into the dorm, it was pushing 3:30 AM. She kicked off her sneakers, tossed her hoodie onto a chair, and flopped onto her bed, still buzzing from her adventure. “Mission success,” she mumbled, pulling the covers up with a smug grin. “Coups oppa who? Grounding what?” She was out cold in seconds, dreaming of ice cream and adoring fans.

Morning came, and the dorm hummed with its usual chaos—Hoshi banging pots in the kitchen, Mingyu yelling about missing socks, Seungcheol barking orders. Yn strolled out of her room, yawning like nothing had happened, her secret triumph tucked safely away. Seungcheol eyed her suspiciously over his coffee. “You’re awfully chipper for someone who’s grounded.”

“Just happy to be alive, oppa!” she chirped, dodging his gaze to grab a juice box. “Cleaning duty’s got me in high spirits!”

“Uh-huh,” he muttered, but let it slide. Vernon shuffled by, squinting at her. “You look… rested.”

“Sleep’s my superpower,” she said, winking. Dino just groaned, lugging a laundry basket past her. “Why am I still suffering and you’re all perky?”

“Positive vibes, Dino-yah!” she sang, skipping off to avoid further questions.

The fans kept their word—no photos surfaced, no whispers spread. Twitter stayed blissfully quiet, and Seungcheol’s spidey senses didn’t ping. Yn had pulled off the perfect midnight sneak-out: no evidence, no fallout, just a night of ice cream, laughter, and a little rebellion to keep her sane.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Next day, fan meeting was in full swing, a buzzing sea of Carats clutching albums and grinning ear to ear as Seventeen signed away. YN sat smack in the middle, flanked by Seungcheol on her left and Jun on her right, her energy dialed up to eleven. She was in her element—winking at fans, doodling little hearts on their albums, and tossing out playful banter like confetti.

“Yn, you’re my favorite troublemaker!” one fan gushed, sliding her album over.

“Aw, thanks! I try,” Yn chirped, scribbling her signature with a flourish and adding a tiny bunny sketch. She handed it back with a grin, oblivious to the storm brewing just a few fans down the line.

Next up was a girl with a sweet smile, her eyes twinkling with something yn couldn’t quite place. “Hi, yn,” she whispered, leaning in close. “I’m one of the girls you bought ice cream for at 3 AM.”

Yn’s pen froze mid-heart. Her eyes ballooned, darting to Seungcheol and Jun, who were busy charming their own fans—Seungcheol nodding at a question about his favorite food, Jun doodling a cat on someone’s album. She snapped her gaze back to the girl, pressing a finger to her lips with a frantic “Shhh!” before plastering on a grin. “Hey, good to see you too!” she said, a little too loudly, signing the album with a shaky hand.

The girl giggled, then slid a polaroid across the table. “Can you sign this too? It’s us from that night!” It was a goofy shot—yn in her yellow hoodie, ice cream dripping down her wrist, flanked by five girls striking silly poses with their own cones. The date and time were stamped in the corner: two days ago, 3:12 AM.

Yn’s brain short-circuited. It’s fine, it’s fine, she won’t show anyone, she told herself, forcing a laugh. “Love this pic! Our little secret, right?” She scrawled her signature across it, adding a winking emoji, then handed it back with a conspiratorial wink. The girl nodded, tucking it into her album, and moved down the line, blissfully happy.

The girl reached Seungcheol next, still beaming. “Hi, Coups! You’re so cool!” she said, sliding her album over. He smiled warmly, chatting about the tour as he signed with his usual neat precision. But as he flipped the album closed, the polaroid slipped out, fluttering to the table unnoticed. The girl didn’t see it, too busy gushing about his leadership skills, and Seungcheol didn’t either, handing the album back with a “Take care!”

The signing wrapped up, and the members shifted gears—fans settled into their seats, and the stage turned into a playground. Hoshi pranced around in a tiger onesie a fan had gifted, Mingyu tried on a pair of oversized sunglasses, and yn was busy tormenting Woozi, belting an off-key version of “Adore U” right in his ear. “Woozi-yah, love meeee!” she warbled, dodging his swat with a cackle.

Jun, meanwhile, lounged at the table, sipping an iced coffee and fiddling with a plush cat toy. “This is cute,” he mumbled, squeezing its paw—until his eyes caught something under the pile of gifts. A Polaroid, half-buried under a scarf. He tugged it free, squinting at the image, and his jaw dropped.

“Yo, what?!” he yelped, holding it up to the light. There was yn, grinning like a fool with ice cream smeared on her face, surrounded by five girls mid-laugh. The date glared back at him: two days ago, 3:12 AM. “No way. No way!”

Yn, still oblivious, was now trying to drape a flower crown on Woozi’s head. “Hold still, you grumpy gremlin!” she laughed, completely missing Jun’s growing grin.

Jun grabbed his mic, voice booming across the venue. “Hey, carats! Who’s this in the picture?!” He waved the Polaroid like a flag, then turned to Seungcheol with a devilish smirk. “Coups, come look at this!”

The fans erupted in curious cheers, craning their necks. Seungcheol, mid-conversation with Joshua about a fan-made banner, frowned and ambled over. “What’s so funny, Jun?”

Yn’s head whipped around, and when she saw the polaroid in Jun’s hand, her eyes ballooned to saucer size. “Oh no,” she whispered, dropping the flower crown. She bolted across the stage, arms flailing. “JUN, GIVE ME THAT!”

But Seungcheol was faster. He snatched it from Jun’s hand, holding it out of her reach as she leapt like a frantic cat. “What’s this, huh?” he said, scanning the photo. His smile froze as he clocked the date—two days ago, 3:12 AM. His gaze slid to yn, who skidded to a stop, hands clasped in a desperate plea.

“Coups oppa, it’s not what it looks like!” she squeaked, her voice hitting a pitch only dogs could hear.

“Not what it looks like?!” Seungcheol roared, holding the Polaroid up for the members to see. “This is you, two nights ago, at 3 AM, with ice cream and fans! You’re grounded, yn! 7 PM curfew! What part of that didn’t stick?!”

The fans gasped, then giggled, the girl from the signing sinking low in her seat. “I didn’t mean to!” she whispered to her friend, mortified. “It just fell out!”

Jun was doubled over, laughing so hard he nearly dropped his coffee. “She’s unstoppable! Grounded and still sneaking out for ice cream? Legend!”

Yn lunged again, but Seungcheol sidestepped, waving the photo like a prosecutor with evidence. “You’re dead, kid. Dead! What’s your excuse this time?”

“I was bored!” Yn wailed, flopping dramatically onto the stage. “You locked me up like a prisoner! I needed air! Ice cream! Freedom! And those fans were so nice—they didn’t post it, see? No harm done!”

“No harm?!” Seungcheol barked, though a tiny smirk tugged at his lips. “You’re lucky they didn’t, or we’d be trending again—‘Seventeen’s Maknae Escapes Jail for Ice Cream!’”

The members piled on—Hoshi howling, “She’s a ninja!” while Vernon muttered, “I knew she’d crack eventually,” and Seungkwan clutched Dino, whining, “Why am I not surprised?” Woozi just sighed, finally free of her singing, and deadpanned, “Can we trade her for a quieter maknae?”

The fans cheered, loving the chaos, as yn scrambled to her feet, pointing at Jun. “This is your fault! Why’d you pick it up?!”

Jun grinned, tossing the cat toy at her. “Because it’s hilarious! You’re a walking disaster, and I live for it!”

Seungcheol shook his head, tucking the Polaroid. “This is evidence. And your grounding? Extended. 6 PM curfew now, thanks to your parents’ brilliant suggestion. And don’t even think about sneaking out again—I’m putting bells on your door.”

“Bells?!” YN gasped, clutching her chest like she’d been shot. “That’s inhumane! I’m not a cat!”

Seungcheol stood center stage, the incriminating photo still in his hand, his leader glare dialed up to maximum. The members were scattered around him—Jun still snickering, Woozi nursing a headache, and yn sprawled dramatically on the floor, fake-crying about her extended curfew. The fans buzzed with excitement, loving every second of the chaos.

Seungcheol raised the mic, his voice cutting through the chatter. “Okay, whose Polaroid is this? Who’s the mastermind behind this evidence?”

A timid hand shot up from the crowd. It was the girl from the signing, her face a mix of guilt and glee. “Uh… me?” she squeaked, sinking lower in her seat as every eye turned to her.

Seungcheol sighed, marching to the edge of the stage and hopping down to her row. “Here,” he said, handing the Polaroid back with a stern look. “Keep it safe this time—and maybe don’t let it fall into the wrong hands, yeah?” He flashed a quick smile, softening the edge just enough to make her blush, then climbed back up, mic in hand.

The girl clutched the photo, whispering to her friend, “He’s so cool even when he’s mad!” The crowd cooed, and Seungcheol shook his head, turning his attention to the fans at large.

“Alright, listen up, Carats,” he said, pacing like a disappointed dad. “You’re all amazing, but some of you? You’re part of yn’s trouble squad now! I know she’s a handful—” he shot a glare at yn, who stuck her tongue out—“but if she sneaks out again and you run into her at 3 AM, tell me. Send me a text, a carrier pigeon, whatever! I need to know what she’s up to!”

The fans giggled, and one brave soul shouted, “What’s your number, oppa?!”

He smirked, wagging a finger. “Nice try, but no. Seriously, though—what did she do that night to keep you all so quiet? Spill it!”

The girl with the Polaroid piped up, voice shaky but proud. “She bought us ice cream and told us funny stories about you guys! She said Woozi steals her cola and Hoshi tortures her with cleaning!”

Woozi groaned from his seat, muttering, “It’s not stealing if it’s in the fridge,” while Hoshi cackled, “She’s just mad I’m a better tiger than her!”

Seungcheol’s eyes narrowed at the crowd. “Ice cream at 3 AM? And you all just went along with it? How old are you guys—teens, right? What were you doing out that late? Don’t your parents worry?!”

The fans squirmed, some laughing nervously. “We were just… hanging out!” one called, earning a chorus of agreement.

“Hanging out’ at 3 AM?!” Seungcheol barked, throwing his hands up. “You’re as bad as her! Next time, go home and sleep—don’t let yn rope you into her chaos!”

Yn popped up from the floor, grabbing her mic with a grin. “Oh, come on, Appa Coups! You’re stricter than my real dad! These Carats are my heroes—they kept me company while you had me locked up like Rapunzel!”

The crowd erupted in laughter, chanting “Appa Coups! Appa Coups!” Seungcheol’s face twitched, caught between annoyance and amusement. “Appa, huh? You wanna talk parents? Your mom and dad text me every week thanking me for dealing with you! ‘Seungcheol-ah, you’re a saint,’ they say. ‘We’re so sorry she’s your problem now!’”

Yn gasped, clutching her chest. “Lies! They love me! You’re just mad because I’m aging you faster than a bad dye job! Look at those stress lines—because of me, you’re gonna be gray by 25!”

Seungcheol smirked, leaning into the mic. “Oh, I’m way past that. Thanks to you, I don’t even want kids anymore! One yn is enough—I’d rather adopt a rock. Less trouble!”

The fans roared, and yn flopped back onto the stage, wailing, “I’m a blessing, not a curse! Tell him, carats!” The crowd cheered wildly, waving their lightsticks in solidarity.

Dino, who’d been quietly basking in the chaos-free zone, grabbed his mic with a grin brighter than the stage lights. “Wait, wait, wait—can I just say something? For the first time since I met yn, I’m safe! She didn’t drag me into this one! I slept through it like a normal person!”

The fans cooed, and Seungkwan jumped in, mic in hand. “Same! I was snoring with Coups hyung—no alley chases, no dumpster dives! I’m free!”

Vernon nodded sagely, sipping a water bottle. “First time in years I didn’t wake up to her plotting. It’s a miracle.”

Dino spun to the crowd, eyes gleaming with fan-service energy. “You don’t get it, Carats—she’s a manipulator! Every time, it’s the same! ‘Dino-yah, it’ll be quick,’ she says. ‘Just a snack run!’ Next thing I know, we’re lost in New York, hiding from fans, and I’m cleaning toilets for two months! She’s got those puppy eyes—‘Please, Dino, I’ll die without you!’—and I fall for it every time!”

Yn sat up, pointing at him. “Excuse you, I don’t manipulate! I inspire! You love my adventures—admit it!”

“Love?!” Dino yelped, clutching his hair. “I loved sleeping last night! That’s the real win! You should’ve seen her in New York—‘Dino, let’s sneak out, it’s fine!’—and then we’re running from a mob, and I’m praying to survive!”

Seungkwan nodded furiously. “She’s a menace! That night in New York, I screamed so loud I woke myself up, and she’s just laughing like it’s a game! I’m still traumatized!”

Vernon smirked, leaning into his mic. “She’s like a chaos magnet. I only went because I didn’t wanna be the guy who let her die. Now I’m just glad I’m not grounded too.”

The fans were in stitches, shouting “Poor Dino!” and “Save Vernon!” while yn pouted, crossing her arms. “You’re all so dramatic! I’m the victim here—grounded, belled like a cat, and now betrayed by my own maknae line!”

Seungcheol stepped forward, waving the crowd down. “Alright, enough—here’s the deal, Carats. You’re my spies now. If yn sneaks out again, you tell me. I’ll give you a signed album or something—just keep her in line, because clearly I can’t!”

The fans cheered, and one yelled, “We’ll protect you, Appa Coups!” He flashed a thumbs-up, then turned to yn with a mock glare. “And you—6 PM curfew starts tonight. Try me again, and I’m chaining you to the dorm.”

Yn flopped back, kicking her legs like a toddler. “This is oppression! Carats, save me from Appa Coups!” The crowd laughed, chanting her name, and she popped up to blow them kisses. “I love you all—even if you’re snitches now!”

Jun, still giggling, tossed the cat toy at her. “You’re never beating the troublemaker title, yn. Own it!”

Dino leaned into Seungkwan, whispering loud enough for the mic to catch, “Finally, I’m not the fall guy. I might cry.”

“Cry later,” Seungkwan shot back, “we’ve still got laundry duty because of her last stunt!”

The fan meeting rolled on, the members diving back into gift-opening and fan games, but the air buzzed with yn’s latest legend. Seungcheol kept one eye on her, the polaroid incident filed away as ammo for future lectures. The fans, now honorary S.Coups spies, adored their chaotic maknae even more—and yn? She was already plotting how to sneak past her new 6 PM jail sentence, because no amount of scolding could dim her wild spark.

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