#what a treasure 💕

[cocogum]

[lootsofathousandsworld]

Ash: * in her mind* Bite me~

Pffft this was in my head for a while and just had to sketch it out 😂👏🏻

[huellitaa]

🎀💭 blog revamp: complete!ㅤ۫ ㅤ۪ㅤ۫ 💭 🎀ㅤ

i know i've not been very active lately, and i apologise! i have been getting my shit together in real life and online and have been working through some personal bits. i know i often go on and off of hiatuses randomly, but i'm attempting learning consistency in all areas of my life (and managing my time better because i'm absolutely terrible at it) and tumblr seems to be one of them that i need to work on too. anyway, thank you for your patience, and look forward to my usual messy, non-consistent chaotic girly posts ♡

──★ ˙ ̟🎀 WHAT'S NEW?

my blog is now divided into two seperate parts: @hue-hearts, my music, k-pop, media, reviews, etc. blog, and @huellitaa (this blog), which is my digital diary, photo dump, glow up, chaotic it girl blog.

updated my intro post, making each of my blogs now easy to navigate and giving you all more information ♡

i still don't have a posting schedule and no i will not be using the queue. i want to post what i want when i want without being held to any kind of schedule.

[fluffs-n-stuffs]

I LOVE THEM SO MUCH ACTUALLY I'LL MISS THEM 😭😭😭💖💖💖💕💕💕

[astralcamellia]

Commission for Isi_Daddy @ vgen!

[clownfangs]

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[mobius-m-mobius]

On a less depressing note, the cast and crew's various behind the scene stuff makes Owen look like a cryptic that they sometimes manage to catch on film?? Half of those are like "oh look, Tom is attracting his attention. Quick, snap a shot!" and half is like "we took a group photo and this blurry smiling shape in the background proves that Owen Wilson is real".

Anon bless you for giving me anything at all to think about besides the Shakespearean tragedy that is the Lokius romance during this trying time 😂💖

Honestly you might have some powers of your own since normally you'd be spot on about Owen lowkey being a beautiful fever dream of talent that bikes onto set to enhance everything and everyone in his path but that behind the scenes pic Ke Huy Quan dropped today is possibly the cutest and most importantly clearest proof we have that OCW's oh so very real lmao, talk about timing ��

[comfymoth]

Man I hope you know you live up to your url, your art brings such a sense of comfort to me??? Like genuinely it’s such a boost of seratonin, the way your style looks makes me think of like,,, marshmallows lol it’s awesome

WAAAA oh my god, thank you so much!!!!! you’re gonna make me cry, seriously, it means the whole world to me to hear that :’) i’m soso glad my silly little drawings can make other people happy

[elizabeth-mitchells]

i'm starting to believe in laura lee related miracles btw

[kxsagi]

Hihihi! I just stumbled upon your blog after taking a break from Tumblr, and I adore your writing!💕

I saw that your requests are open, so I thought I'd send one! I've never done this before, lmao, so sorry if I mess something up!

I was wondering if you could write something about arguing with the BL boys and then suddenly flashing them in the middle of it, asking them if they're still mad now?

I saw that you were fine with suggestive stuff in your rules, but feel free to ignore this if it's too much! I won't ask for specific characters other than maybe Chigiri? Thank you in advance for reading this! I hope you have an amazing day!💕

“𝐧𝐨, 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐰”

a/n: thank you girlie, you're so sweet, have an amazing day as well! 😚

title is a meddle about reference chase atlantic girls ily

suggestive content inside! 

ft. itoshi rin, isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, chigiri hyoma, mikage reo, kaiser michael, karasu tabito, ness alexis, niko ikki, shidou ryusei, itoshi sae

itoshi rin

you’re squaring up with him in the kitchen, halfway into a dramatic rant about how he never wipes down the counter after making his protein shakes. 

"do you know what cleaning is, rin? do you even see crumbs or is your brain like–" 

you cut yourself off, suddenly gripping the hem of your shirt and yanking it up with the speed of a magician doing a card trick. 

just. flash. like it’s the most casual part of your sentence. 

rin freezes. his jaw clenches, his whole body goes taut like he just got sniped from a rooftop. 

he doesn’t speak. doesn’t blink. 

his eye twitches like his brain is trying to keep functioning but a giant red ERROR screen just popped up in his mind. 

“… did you just… what is wrong with you,” he hisses, voice low and stunned. 

“you still mad?” 

he looks at you like you summoned the devil. “… you are so annoying. get over here.” 

he says it like a threat, but he's already reaching for you with dangerous intent. 

argument forgotten. you’ve created a new problem. 

isagi yoichi

you two are in the living room, arms crossed, facing off like two lawyers in a petty court show. 

"you NEVER close the cereal box. it gets stale, yoichi. stale. it’s like chewing cardboard." 

he’s rolling his eyes, "it’s not that deep–" 

you sigh like you’re done. then, without warning, you lift your shirt and flash him like you’re unveiling a secret treasure. 

it takes him exactly 1.5 seconds to process what just happened. 

he literally chokes on his own spit. 

“WAIT?! wait, wait, wait–” 

his voice jumps three octaves. his hands flail like he’s trying to rewind reality. 

“did you just–?! are you crazy?! i was–i mean, we were fighting!” 

you just smile innocently. “you still mad, though?” 

he’s red from the neck up, mouth opening and closing like a fish. 

“i-i need a timeout. a breather. some water. i–” 

spends the next 10 minutes pacing in the kitchen muttering, “i’m dating a menace” with a lovesick grin, replaying the image in his head like a perv. 

nagi seishiro

he’s lying on the couch, playing games, while you rant about how he left his laundry in the washer again. 

“it’s gonna get moldy, sei! do you even care?! i’m not your maid!” 

he groans. “too loud. i can’t hear my game.” 

and that’s it. you snap. 

you walk over and lift your hoodie in one swift move, flashing him right as he scores a kill. 

he literally drops the controller. 

“woah.” eyes locked. mouth slightly open. 

he just blinks and says, “that’s not fair. now i forgot what i was mad about.” 

“you weren’t mad.” 

“exactly. we’re even now.” 

immediately lies down with his head in your lap, face smushed against your thighs like he’s done anything productive all day. 

mutters into your skin, “flash me again? i need it for my health.” 

chigiri hyoma

you’re in his room, arms crossed, glaring at him for bailing on a hangout to go to the gym again. 

“you didn’t even text. i sat there alone for 40 minutes–” 

he tries to cut in. “pretty, i told you i had–” 

you ignore him. you step closer, grab the edge of your shirt with both hands, and– 

flash. 

his jaw drops. his soul leaves his body. 

“what the hell?!” 

his face explodes in red, like he got hit by a tomato. 

“what was that? was that a power move?!” 

“you still mad at me?” 

he swallows. hard. “… i was gonna defend myself but now i wanna marry you so i win either way.” 

immediately flops onto the bed and yells into a pillow. 

refuses to look you in the eye for 10 minutes. 

whispers later, “i love you, but i’m never winning another argument again, am i?” 

mikage reo

he’s mid-speech about how you should “just let him spoil you,” and you’re mid-speech about how “you don’t need a $500 pair of slippers.” 

the room is tense. luxurious. slightly dramatic. 

you interrupt yourself mid-sentence by slipping off your oversized sweater with flair, flashing him like you’re presenting a damn exhibit. 

reo’s reaction is instant. 

his mouth slowly curves into the cockiest, hungriest smile you’ve ever seen. 

his voice drops two octaves. 

“oh? that’s how we’re playing now?” 

“you still mad?” 

“i wasn’t mad, but now i’m incredibly distracted.” 

walks toward you like a man possessed. 

says dumb flirty things like, “wanna be my sugarbaby and my therapist?” 

spoiler: you never finish the argument. 

he wires money to your account and takes off his own shirt just to match. 

kaiser michael

he’s all smug and loud, spinning around in a designer chair like he owns the universe. 

you’re arguing about his ego. 

“you can’t call yourself ‘a gift from god’ in front of my parents.” 

he smirks. “they agreed with me.” 

you stare him down. then without breaking eye contact, you pull your shirt up and flash him with zero hesitation. 

he blinks once. twice. then he smirks wider. 

“… oh, liebe. that was dangerous.” 

leans back in his chair, tongue poking the inside of his cheek like he’s trying not to get feral too fast. 

“are you still mad?” 

“no. but you’ve signed yourself up for so much trouble.” 

five seconds later: you’re on his lap. 

he calls you a “cheater” while whispering unholy things in german. 

you never win the argument, but now neither does he. 

karasu tabito

he’s being an idiot. again. 

said something sarcastic. you called him out. now it’s five minutes of dumb back-and-forth in the hallway. 

you sigh. “you know what?” 

you reach down, pull up your shirt, and flash him like you’re changing the subject on a powerpoint slide. 

he gasps. no, squeaks. 

stumbles backward into the wall like you just slapped him with a holy vision. 

“MA’AM?!” 

staring at you like you just performed a magic trick. 

“you still mad?” 

he shakes his head, stunned. “not mad. but i might need a moment to process this. maybe therapy.” 

starts cracking jokes to cope. “was that a jumpscare or a proposal? because either way, i’m in love.” 

never stops talking about it. 

refers to it later as “the day he saw god.” 

ness alexis

you were in the middle of a heated argument (probably about kaiser). 

“why do you let him treat you like that? he’s not your boyfriend, alexis–” 

“he’s not treating me badly! you just don’t understand him!” 

and he’s got his hand on his chest, eyes glossy, one foot already stomping into a diva spiral. 

you inhale slowly. then– 

flash. shirt up. deadpan face. 

he stops. dead silent. his hands freeze mid-gesture, trembling ever so slightly. eyes wide, lips parted like he just got slapped with a romance novel. 

“... you’re weaponizing your chest.” 

“you still mad?” 

he blinks. gasps. 

covers his face with both hands, voice cracking, “y-you can’t just DO THAT! i’m vulnerable!” 

starts crying-laughing like a victorian wife who saw her husband naked for the first time. 

he’s pacing. dramatically. 

"i feel faint. lightheaded. i need to sit. or lie down. preferably on top of you. for stability." 

somehow the fight ends with him in your lap. 

whispers, "don’t tell kaiser. he’ll start using it against me." 

niko ikki

you’re arguing about him spending 6 straight hours on his game, ignoring your texts. 

“do you even remember you have a girlfriend, or is league your real soulmate?!” 

he frowns, flustered. “i was in ranked! you always say you want me to do what i love–” 

flash. 

you just hit him with a quick shirt lift and stare him down. 

his pupils dilate like he just activated his sharingan. his blue lens glasses slip down his nose. his mouth opens. closes. 

he’s buffering like a video on 2G data. 

“what the hell was that for?!” 

“you still mad at me?” 

he’s trying so hard not to look again. 

“… i’m not mad, but i’m deeply concerned for my sanity right now.” 

you smirk, turning away like the boss you are. 

behind you, he silently clenches his fist and mutters, “i love her so much it’s ruining my life.” 

texts you later from the next room: “you made me knock over my water.” 

shidou ryusei

you’re in the middle of a heated argument, likely because shidou can’t take a hint. 

“i’ve told you a thousand times to stop leaving your clothes everywhere!” 

“i literally live here. where else am i supposed to put them?” 

“on your damn body, for starters!” 

he’s grinning like the chaotic gremlin he is, clearly trying to get under your skin. 

you stare at him for a moment, silently deciding: this ends now. 

flash. 

you yank your shirt up, but keep your eyes locked on him. no warning. no hesitation. 

his face goes from smirk to confusion to full-on shock in a matter of seconds. 

his eyes widen, and he just... stops. his body visibly jerks back like he’s been hit by a truck. 

“… what the hell?” 

he snaps his head to the side like he’s trying to reset his brain, then dramatically blinks about 50 times. 

“you still mad?” 

his usual cocky, devil-may-care expression falls into full flustered chaos. 

“… no. not anymore. but you just became my new favorite person. you wanna keep doing that, or should we keep fighting?” 

he drops the argument completely and starts lowkey following you around for the rest of the day. 

mutters to himself like a love-struck fool: “this is it. she’s my queen.” 

proceeds to try to make you more mad for the rest of the week just to get another flash. it’s working. 

itoshi sae

oh, it’s on now. sae is being sae. classic emotionally distant asshole. 

you’ve been trying to get him to talk about his feelings, but he keeps brushing you off. 

“stop acting like you’re some kind of unreachable god,” you snap. 

“i’m not the problem here, you are,” he counters with that trademark smugness. 

and just when you think you’re about to lose your mind, you don’t even flinch, you just flash him. 

your shirt lifts slowly, not in a teasing way, just purely to make a point. 

his whole world crashes for a split second. sae freezes mid-sentence. he blinks. his eyes widen slightly. 

you watch the exact moment his composure starts cracking, the cool facade slipping just enough to reveal– 

“did you just–?” 

“you still mad?” 

his breath catches in his throat, voice suddenly a little hoarse. “… i’m not mad, but i might be a little… distracted now.” 

he clears his throat, trying to act like he’s in control, but it’s a losing battle. 

“gosh, you’re insufferable,” he mutters, but there’s this shift in his tone, the way his hand instinctively reaches out toward you like he's trying to anchor himself. 

you can tell he's so turned on, but he's also mad about it. 

he stares at you like you’ve just opened the gates of heaven, and he's not sure if he wants to kiss you or run from you. 

you’ve won. and he knows it. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[certifiedsexed]

I know some people on here tend to think of this as a gimmick blog so forget that I'm like, a person but I don't think some of y'all know how much it means to me to be able to teach literally anyone anything.

I'm a severely disabled person (part of why it takes me Forever to answer asks sometimes lol), I can't work and I can't finish college.

Being a legit teacher has been my dream since I was SO little and while I've gotten to teach more than a couple times, my disabilities eventually made anything like that completely impossible. Which was CRUSHING for me.

This blog was literally just a desperate last-ditch effort for me to keep up my interest in my studies and stay away from deathly depression.

To have people asking me questions so I can ramble or thanking me and saying they've learned ANYTHING AT ALL from me isn't even something I've wished for since my illness' got worse because it seemed so impossible.

(That's the biggest reason I save every ask like that instead of replying. Asks thanking me or chattering about what you've learned from me are such a treasure to me, I can't bear to post them and maybe lose them.)

I cannot express how much I appreciate y'all but thanks, fr. Much love to you all. 💕

[b1eedthefreak]

daryl with a stoner gf would be adorable I love ur work eeek 💕💕

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. Lucky Day

⌇daryl dixon x stoner!reader

⌇summary: you find a bag of weed after months of not smoking some. you and daryl get high and get…𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂

⌇warnings: weed use, oral sex (f receiving), soft high sex

⌇word count: 8.2k

a/n i absolutely saw the vision here and i hope i did this justice (i don’t smoke or anything of that sort so i tried my best to make it accurate 🫰)

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Back in Atlanta, things were bad…just but not bad enough to quit smoking.

And you didn’t mean cigarettes. You meant your stash. A miracle box of tightly rolled joints in a baggie, wrapped up in a scarf at the bottom of your duffel. You’d brought it when you fled the city thinking it’d all blow over soon, and in those first weeks, you smoked like you were trying to get high enough to escape the world entirely. Sitting on top of the RV, legs crossed and clouds floating out of your mouth while people whispered and side eyed but said nothing.

They didn’t understand. But Daryl, Daryl didn’t either, and he said something. Not in a judgy way, more like “That shit ain’t good for ya,” as he lit up another cigarette. You raised a brow. “Mmm, okay, Dixon. Go suck on your cancer stick then.” He snorted, but didn’t push it.

Eventually, the girls had asked you politely to stop smoking around them. So you had. You weren’t cruel. You knew some people were grieving, anxious, holding onto control by their fingernails, and you? You were just trying to float through it without panicking. You still smoked, but you’d hide away, perched on the roof of Dale’s RV with the moon for company.

Then Lori got pregnant.

And you stopped cold. Not because anyone asked, but because it felt wrong. You didn’t need it anymore. You had Daryl. You had hope. And after all that time, your stash had finally run dry.

Two years later, the world had shifted—even more if that was possible. Alexandria. Safety. Soft clothes and soap and patrol shifts on rotation. You and Daryl had been assigned a two-week supply run with just the two of you, and it was your favorite kind of alone time, long, quiet roads and long, quiet nights in sleeping bags zipped together.

You’d been walking in a field outside an abandoned strip of homes when you spotted the trailer. Metal door swinging on one hinge.

You turned to Daryl. “Be right back.”

He was halfway in the trunk of the car, digging through the last crate. “What?”

“I said be right back!” you called, and then you were already running, boots crunching on dry grass as the little metal trailer came into view.

Inside, it was dusty and stale, but untouched. A couch. A kitchen. Some water bottles. And in a box under the sink—

You were grinning wide, holding the bag like it was treasure when the door flew open behind you.

SLAM.

Daryl burst through with his crossbow raised, breath ragged. “The hell?! You don’t just run off like—”

You turned, held up the bag, and grinned brighter. “It’s our lucky day.”

He froze. Blinking at you. Then down at the bag.

Then he groaned and dragged a hand over his face.

“Oh my God,” you laughed. “Look at this! Untouched! Probably a whole ounce!”

“I thought you were in trouble,” he growled, stepping in. “You scared the shit outta me.”

You walked over, still grinning. “C’monnn baby! Look It’s perfectly sealed. And you’re always so tense.�� You pulled out one joint. “Let’s celebrate. Just a little?”

“I told ya,” he muttered, slinging his bow on his back, “shit don’t work on me.”

You were already fishing out your lighter, perching on the faded armrest. “Yeah, yeah. You’re so boring.”

He smirked, arms crossed. “Ain’t boring. Jus’ ain’ stupid.”

“Oh please. You smoke cigarettes like they’re air. And you’re worried about weed?”

He opened his mouth, closed it, rolled his eyes. “You ain’t gonna listen to me anyway.”

You lit the joint and took a deep inhale. Sweet and sticky. Homey. You exhaled and let your head fall back with a slow, happy sigh.

“Fuuuuck.”

Daryl watched you, annoyed. Or maybe charmed. Hard to tell with that face.

You took another hit, then stood, stepping close to him. He looked down at you with a huff.

“You’re so sexy when you give me that look.” you whispered, leaning in—and then kissed him, open-mouthed, slow, as you blew the smoke past his lips.

He coughed. Caught it in his throat, pulled back with a scowl, and then blinked, eyes soft.

“What the hell,” he rasped.

You smiled smugly. “Mmm. What was that, Dixon? Didn’t work?”

His eyes flicked to the joint in your hand. Then your mouth.

“Gimme that.”

Twenty minutes later, you were both laid out on the trailer floor, staring up at the cracked ceiling.

“…Why the hell the ceiling movin’ like that?”

You snorted. “It’s not.”

“I swear it is.”

“It’s not baby.”

“…Shit.”

He rolled over to look at you, red eyed and slow. His hair had gone fluffy from the heat, and his cheeks were pink. “This is your fault.”

“Mhm.”

He reached out to touch your wrist. Light. Barely a brush. “You’re really pretty.”

You turned toward him. “You’re really pretty.”

“Yeah?” he asked, half laughing. “I got like—scratches on my face.”

“Apocalyptic scars,” you whispered, scooting closer. “They make you even hotter.”

He swallowed hard. “Think you’re the only person who’s ever said that to me.”

You blinked. “That’s the weed talking.”

“Nah.” He tucked a hand behind your head. “It’s me talkin’. Weed just made it easier.”

You leaned in, kissed him slow. “How you feelin’?”

He smiled lazily. “Floatin’. You?”

You kissed him again. “High and horny.”

“Yeah?” he whispered, dazed. “That’s my girl.”

You ended up on the old couch, tangled in each other.

You were straddling his lap, shirt half off, hands in his hair while he kissed you like you were spun from honey. His hands traced over your back, then forward to cup your breasts—gently, reverently.

“Always want ya like this,” he whispered, mouth warm against your collarbone.

“You’re just stoned.”

“I’m always wantin’ you.” He kissed lower, down your chest, kissing over the fabric. “This just makes me say it out loud.”

You giggled, high and warm. “Yeah, baby?”

He pulled your shirt up fully and kissed one breast, then the other. “Mhm.”

You felt like you were melting.

“You’re so soft,” he mumbled. “So good.” His mouth found your nipple and sucked slow, lips plush and reverent. You gasped.

“Daryl…”

He groaned. “Love you like this. Love every part’a you.”

He rolled his hips up, and you moaned, grinding down against him, dizzy with pleasure and heat and the buzz of it all.

The sex was slow, sweet, a little sloppy. You rode him with your head tipped back, his hands on your waist, both of you giggling and moaning and whispering how much you loved each other like it was gospel.

You came first, trembling, whispering his name. He followed, face pressed to your chest, holding you like a lifeline.

After, you both lay there, sweaty and still stoned, limbs tangled and sticky and stupidly in love.

“I wanna find more trailers,” you mumbled.

Daryl snorted. “Just for the weed?”

“No,” you whispered, nose against his neck. “For you. For this. For everything.”

He kissed your forehead, smiling. “Yeah, alright. Let’s find a whole damn trailer park.”

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[heartsiebyul]

Hii what about jamil and kalim (separate) having A HUGEE crush on gn!reader!!!💕💕

how Kalim and Jamil act when they have a huge crush on you.

featuring — Scarabia : Kalim : Jamil x reader.

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☀️ Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim having a huge crush is like being caught in a sunbeam that doesn’t let up.

He’s obsessed—in the most open way. Kalim doesn’t even try to hide it. He lights up like fireworks when he sees you. He waves from across the courtyard like it’s a royal parade, calling your name loudly and excitedly: “(name)!!! You look amazing today!!”

Gives you gifts. Constantly. From shiny jewelry to random things that made him think of you, Kalim just keeps giving. “This flower reminded me of your smile!” “These sweets are your favorite, right?” He’s like a love-struck puppy with a billion-dollar budget.

Physical affection central. He hugs you. A lot. If you even breathe near looking tired, his arms are already around you. If you seem upset? He grabs both your hands and looks at you with big, worried eyes. He doesn’t even realize how touchy he’s being until Jamil sighs in the background.

Talks about you constantly. To Jamil, to the other dorm members, to strangers at the market. “Oh, (name) would LOVE this color! Did you know they write poetry? They’re so cool—” And it never stops.

Would confess in a heartbeat… and maybe he already did by accident. He blurts out things like, “I think I love you—wait! I mean, I love hanging out with you! Haha! Unless... you’d want me to say that for real?”

🐍 Jamil Viper

Jamil having a huge crush is… complicated. And exasperating. For him, anyway.

Internally panicking 24/7. Jamil is the king of suppressing feelings, but you short-circuit that system every time you laugh, speak to him, or smile his way. He’s constantly clenching his jaw, muttering to himself under his breath like, “Why are they so... ugh.”

Steals glances like his life depends on it. He’ll act like he’s focused on his work, his food, anything but you—but his eyes always drift toward you. He memorizes how you style your hair, the way you tilt your head when you're curious, your laugh. And if someone else makes you laugh? He clicks his tongue and looks away.

Avoids you to protect his own sanity. He’ll make excuses not to be around you too much because he knows he’s dangerously close to slipping up and actually being vulnerable. His excuse to himself is always something like: “I can’t afford distractions.” But the way he lingers near your favorite spots around campus says otherwise.

Small acts of care, extremely subtle. You forgot your water bottle? Somehow, there’s one on your desk, chilled. You’re late to class? He somehow "happened to be passing by" and "reluctantly" walks you there. But he’ll grumble, “Don’t get used to it.”

Absolutely hates how much he likes you. But he also holds onto every interaction like treasure. When you say his name, he replays it later while pretending he’s not smiling.

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[abyssyby]

Hi! Loved your most recent fic with our favorite family, it was so angsty but so good! I wonder if this is gonna make it even harder for the boys to say goodbye to Sylus before he goes off on a mission (and maybe even their mom when she has to travel for work too). Like, we've already seen it was tough before, but it was more of a "I'm gonna miss you" sadness but now that they've been on a mission themselves it's like, "Missions are NOT fun, they're scary, please don't go😭"

hello!!! thank you for reading two birds on a wire 🥺 genuinely one of my most favorite stories i’ve written so far so i feel incredibly blessed and i appreciate each and every reply on it 💕 — yes, the twins are definitely more reluctant to let papa go now since they know what’s in store for him on his ‘ishuns (missions).

kyros would be very time conscious. well, firstly, he’d be holding onto papa’s legs and sobbing by the door (if sy had a difficult time leaving then, he’s definitely suffering now). he’d be sobbing and begging him to stay—

“five mimits!” he doesn't know what minutes are. but sylus has stayed for 4 ‘five mimits’ now, so he’s convinced they mean ‘stay’.

his voice is squeeze out of his throat, small and pitchy, begging desperately, “five— five mimits, papa, pease! pease!”

sylus has to drag his leg all the way to the door, and take an extra ten minutes to soothe kyros in his arms before promising he’ll call or be back at a certain time.

Kyros has mephisto tap on a gentle tinking bell to let him know the time, and eventually learns how to read big hand and small hand on the antique grandfather clock. you find him sometimes staring up at it, and when he spots you or the big twins passing by, he points up and asks, “time? what time?”

“just a little bit more,” you’d tell him, knowing the time sylus is supposed to call too.

“much more?”

“hmm, about three songs, angel.”

so he waddles over to the record player, asks you to help him put on sylus’s CDs and counts. by the end of the third classical song he’s listened to, he uncovers his ears (the last song ended with loud trumpets) and runs to the house phone/holo-caller, where sylus’s holographic face pops up.

sylus’s heart melts when Kyros or both Kyros and Lucian’s big eyes fill up his screen as the call goes through.

“papa, come home now.”

“one sleep, angel.”

kyros definitely gets huffy puffy. snuffing through his nose like an angry little dragon and stomping his little feet in disapproval. “don’t want sleep!”

“then how will it be morning?”

kyros’s brows knit together at that. sylus watches the gears turn behind his eyes. and then, softer, more hopeful— “i sleep now, papa. i make morning.”

sylus grins, cleverly cocky and effectively charmed. “good night, turtle.”

when kyros wakes, papa is always back home. either lifting him out of his bed or waiting for him by the fireplace. kyros walks up to him quietly, climbs on his lap, lays sleepily on his chest and listens to his heart. he feels much better now.

lucian is action-driven— anxiety manifested in mischief and pranks.

little pranks, essentially harmless in nature, but it effectively causes sylus delays.

"lucian?" sylus calls, voice loud but not angry. more amused.

lucian emerges from the hallway, hands behind his back. bright red eyes round and ‘innocent’. "papa?"

"did you put butter in my shoes?" he grimaces, eyeing his slippery stained socks.

"oopsie— AAA papa, no run you slip!" Lucian is giggling, sylus has phased before him and picked him up. blowing raspberries in his cheeks and nuzzling his nose to his ticklish neck. "papa!"

sylus loses all sorts of things the minute he’s set to leave. until he follows the trail of animal cracker crumbs/plastic cars/paper stars where he finds lucian tucking them away under his pillows, into his pants or in mephisto's treasure piles.

sylus confronts him about it when he gets chocolate fingerprints on an important document. with a stronger voice, exasperated and tired, he lifts lucian up by the back of his shirt just as he runs away.

lucian is already teary as sylus sets him in the crook of his elbow. "i sorry, i sorry!"

but sylus can't find it in himself to truly be mad. instead he keeps up the front (very difficultly) and scolds lucian. and then when he gets his points across, he brushes the tears away from his eyes and kisses his brows. "why are you being naughty?"

lucian is sniffling, hugging sylus around the neck, seeking forgiveness. "don't want papa— don't want papa go—"

"you can just ask me, angel." sylus says sympathetically, fingers pushing sweaty bangs away from his forehead. he presses his forehead against lucian's. "just ask, i will listen."

"you say no."

sylus's heart aches. "not always."

"yes always!" lucian says, angry little fists coming down onto sylus's chest with no real force. but sylus feels the frustration spear into his heart nonetheless. "papa go— papa go to scary mishins!"

"Lucian, I—"

"Papa will died! Fly and fall and died!" he yells. devastated, traumatized, upset. he'd been the one with his eyes peeking out his shirt during the crash landing, he'd been the one who saw the strain in sylus's eyes and the grinding teeth when he held them and yelled at his pilots during the mission. "I don't want papa died!"

Sylus squeezes his eyes shut as he accepts the soft blows of anguish loaded fists. enduring, he presses his forehead against the little boy's to calm him. "Shh... shh..."

something in lucian snaps, his voice breaks and he collapses against sylus's shoulder in sad sobs. "i scared, papa. please stay, please."

sylus feels the weight on the corners of his lips as he teeters to tears himself. he nods then, sighing in defeat. although, he was fairly certain that even without the tears, without the pranks, sylus would always find a way to say yes.

"Alright now, alright," he shushes, rocking him side to side and planting a kiss to his wet nose. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. I'm here."

"Papa—" Lucian cries. Just that— papa, papa, papa— over and over, like he'd been running from a monster. Now seeking refuge, comfort, and safety in him.

Sylus clicks his tongue, swallowing repeatedly keeping himself from crying still. He rubs lucian's heaving back, drawing slow circles to match with his breath. He hums a tune into his temple, letting his broken melody aid his fluttering heart.

It won't be easy, it will never be easy, leaving home. But he swears, he will do everything to make it easier for Lucian. And if that means staying for tonight, then he will stay.

—

this got away from me again hehe thank you for sending in this ask, reading & thinking about the twin babies! have a wonderful, wonderful day, anonnie!

✧˚ ⋆｡ read two birds on a wire here | read more with the little twins here || more sylus thoughts ✧˚ ⋆｡

[novthirty]

🐦‍⬛ OUT OF BOUNDS — you get isekai-d into the n109 zone [chapter two]

synopsis — the monotony of your university days is interrupted by a stroke of misfortune, one which lands you in the world of love and deepspace, the game you had been casually playing for the previous months. with no way to return home, sylus offers you the job of being his personal secretary. — a continuation of the one-shot “out of bounds”

pairing — sylus x non-mc! reader

tags — reader is not mc, isekai/transmigration, fluff, angst, mutual pining, slice of life, boss/employee relationship, slow burn

a/n — this chapter did not come easily to me</33 finals has been kicking my ass but i’m near the finish line at least!! for now here is a plate of teeth rotting fluff with a side of pining 💕 taking my time to develop their relationship, since it would take a lot for sylus’s heart to be swayed by someone other than the mc. but of course we’ll be back to the full angst by the next chapter ☺️☺️

ao3 | masterlist | requests are open! series masterlist | part one | part three

chapter two: pendulum— spring blooms even in the barren cityscape of the n109 zone, and before you know it, you’ve carved yourself a place in sylus’s life. but like a pendulum stuck in perpetual motion, the two of you swing back and forth— growing closer and retreating with every movement. wc: 6.8k

The arrival of spring marks four months since you stormed into Sylus’s life, upheaving everything in your path. From the moment you quite literally landed in his world, you had been a wildcard— blindsiding him at every turn. But the first time you intentionally surprise him comes when the clock strikes twelve on April 18, and he enters his office to find a cake on his desk. Decorated in black and maroon frosting, it’s lined with edible glitter and topped with his name in crooked cursive, and a crow-shaped candle, to boot. He takes a swipe— it’s a hint of cranberry and… wine? 

Moments after, you stride in from behind with Luke and Kieran, carrying gifts and wearing patterned party hats, singing a terribly off-key rendition of the birthday song. 

“Happy birthday, Sylus! Make a wish!” 

He blows the candles and makes a wish. (There’s only ever been one thing he’s truly desired.)

“Do you like the cake? The chefs helped me decorate it!” You say as you slice it into even triangles, giving him the largest piece. 

Luxurious as his precious office may be, it’s still a tight fit with the whole Onychinus family crammed inside. Luke and Kieran occupy the side chairs while you’re perched on his desk with Mephisto on your shoulder, wearing his own red party hat. (The crow stares menacingly at the crow-shaped candle left to the wayside.) You’re sitting right in his periphery, and his eyes drag downward from your oversized sweater, down to your exposed thighs clad in only shorts. His cheeks heat up and he averts his gaze, glad that you’re all too caught up in conversation to notice.

You hop off the desk once you clear your plate, clapping your hands together, “It’s present time!”

Luke and Kieran are dramatically solemn as they hand over their present, wiping away a fake tear, “We battled against hundreds of bidders to secure this for our beloved boss.”

Sylus takes the thin present, crudely wrapped with a cartoonish dinosaur paper, unravelling it to discover a vinyl record. A vintage edition, the last one missing from his collection of a late artist, one that you had likened to someone named Frank Sinatra whenever he would play it on the office sound system.

“It’s acceptable,” He says, but the twins have been with him enough to know that it’s Sylus language for ‘Thank you for this amazing gift, I will treasure it until my dying days.’ Or at least, that’s what they tell themselves as they dramatically jump in joy. 

He initially didn’t expect you to bring a present— although with your personality, he should’ve known you’d be appalled at the idea of coming empty-handed. Throughout the celebration, his eyes are immediately drawn to your uncharacteristic nervousness, which you hide well under the veneer of a joyous mood. But he can spot you fidgeting with the strings of the ribbon, the way you hesitantly place the gift on his desk. It unnerves him to see your usual force of nature dimmed, looking like a scolded puppy with your tail low and eyes sheepish.

The package is thick and lumpy in his hand, yet perfectly wrapped with a ribbon to top it off. (You wouldn’t have stood for anything less.) He delicately undoes the ribbon, carefully unwrapping the gift to find a soft knitted cardigan, with a embroidered patch of a crow sewn onto the breast pocket. 

“Did you make this yourself?” He asks, looking back up at you. 

“Yeah,” You answer, shifting hesitantly from your spot on the desk.

You don’t have a lot to your name in this world, and for a man like Sylus— who can summon nearly anything he desires with a snap of his fingers— there wasn’t a whole lot you could give. So instead, you resorted to your knitting needles, pouring your heart and effort into every stitch using some of the softest yarn you knew of (which took several spools of, considering his size, and made a significant dent in your wallet). But the days leading up to the surprise celebration still wracked you with nerves. Would it look too frumpy on him? Would it look too simple? Would a man who prefers opulence even appreciate such a simple gift?

But Sylus runs his fingers carefully over each delicate stitch, unable to comprehend how every inch of this cardigan was made with your own bare hands. People will bend over backwards to earn his favor, but no one has ever put so much genuine effort and care just to make him happy, on such a measly event as a birthday, no less. 

He doesn’t know what to say as you await his reaction, caught off guard by the heartwarming gesture you’ve just given him. And so, he ends up detracting, “How did you get my measurements?” He narrows his eyes at you mischievously. 

He spots the tick of your eyebrow as your face morphs from nervousness into annoyance. “I send in orders for your replacement clothes when they get ruined on missions,” His eyes dance with mischief as he looks away in mock skepticism.  “What's that look for? How do you think I got them?!” It turns into banter— as it always does between the two of you— but inwardly, you feel relief when he wears the cardigan immediately.

The celebration is a silly endeavor that lasts no more than an hour before he kicks everyone out of his office. But try as he might, he can’t wipe the grin off his face for the rest of the day— nor does he take off the cardigan.

When May comes, you rope him into the preparations for Luke and Kieran’s birthday. Due to your incessant nagging, he’s since downloaded your shared digital calendar— complete with monthly, weekly, daily, and hourly agendas— and chosen to ignore it. “The calendar exists for you to be on time,” You seethe whenever he steps into his office late, the little shit smirking as if you didn’t just rearrange his schedule to hell and back for that one hour-long meeting he missed. However, that doesn’t mean he’s exempt from any festivities you enforce upon the household.

The twins’ celebration is a significantly more chaotic affair than his, involving a two tiered cake and a booking for a laser tag arena. The event is more so you and Sylus babysitting the two hellions as they wreak havoc upon the civilians unfortunate enough to encounter them. It ends with a trip to the medical ward and a formal apology to the owner of the arena. But despite the casualties, it’s the most fun Luke and Kieran have had since they joined Onychinus. (Fun that wasn’t self-orchestrated, at least). 

Your presence brings a liveliness to his found family, something that grounds you all in this high-paced line of work. A presence that, little by little, seeps into his life to the point he can no longer imagine living without it.  

—————————————————————

“Is this payback for nagging you too much?” You huff after squeezing yourself into another ruffled monstrosity. 

He lounges on the plush sofa like it’s his throne, swirling a glass of wine in his hands as he watches your suffering like live entertainment. He belongs here, you think, surrounded by opulence and marbled floors. A dragon surrounded by treasures.

As if it wasn’t enough that you make sure his life keeps running smoothly, Sylus recently enlightened you with the task of accompanying him to the next protocore auction. With your closet still bare of anything other than essentials, you tried to beg off the event with the excuse of having nothing to wear— only for him to drag you to a fancy boutique. You should’ve expected it from the rich bastard. “If you don’t want to go, you can just tell me. No need to make excuses,” He drawled. “It's not like you have a choice either way, Miss Secretary.” 

Being raised in a middle-class household, your eyes widened at the array of extravagant dresses brought out for your perusal. The fanciest place you had been to up until now was the chain seafood restaurant down the block from your family home. The staff led you to a private dressing room, where you were now trying on a number of lavish dresses and shoes.

“Slave driver,” You cursed him under your breath, as you strapped yourself into another pair of heels behind the curtain.

“No one's forcing you to wear heels,” He calls from the lounging area, hearing your struggle. “With me by your side, you could wear pajamas and no one would dare say a word.” 

You stood up, balancing yourself on the thin heel and peeking out the curtain to glare at him, “I have willpower. If you’re dragging me to a fancy auction I will not look unprofessional next to you.” 

He rolls his eyes, “Sure, darling. Whatever you say.”

You muttered that to yourself for the next hour or so, I have willpower! as you tried on a number of ridiculously uncomfortable (especially for how expensive they were) garments. You believed yourself a little less with each one. 

Eventually, you settle on an elegant black dress, a practical and comfortable choice that would fit multiple occasions. He insists that you could have chosen something more extravagant; but considering this was on Sylus’s card, you didn’t want to push your luck with the price tags. He goes to the cashier to pay as you’re changing, only for you to come out to thrice the number of bags.

“This is not… just the dress and heels I tried on,” Your shoulders tense, peering into the bags and spotting the other pieces you mentioned liking, as well as more luxurious everyday items you never even glanced at, considering the purpose of your trip here was for formal wear. 

“I figured it would be practical. This won’t be the last event you’ll be accompanying me to, after all,” You internally withered as he smirked at you knowingly, “Besides, you did say your closet was looking bare, hm? Let's fix that.”

What you thought would be a quick trip turns into hours as he insists on buying you new clothes. “Everyone employed under Onychinus has a uniform budget,” He reasons with you. 

For mission gear and weapon repairs, you want to retort. You narrow your eyes every time you come out of the changing room to see twice the number of things you initially picked out. Your discomfort only grows with each stop, every shopping bag serving as a reminder of the exorbitant costs. 

By the time you get back to the compound, you intentionally look away from any receipts for your own peace of mind, instead getting to the pile of work waiting for you at home. (Home. When did this place become home?) Memorizing important guests and clients, researching proper etiquette, learning enough about protocores to not seem like a total fool at Sylus’s side. “I'm a liberal arts student, I wasn’t built for this shit,” You mutter as you flip through scientific records that look like a foreign language. You miss when protocores were just colored shapes that made your team overpowered.

Even with all the preparation you’ve done, you still find yourself wracked with nerves on the day of the auction. Though, you think you’re doing a good job of hiding it, sipping wine at Sylus’s side as he peruses the various protocores on display. Fortunately, you haven’t had to do much talking; your role so far has been taking notes and pulling up important documents when needed. 

You feel out of place in the lavish ballroom, but then again, you feel out of place in this world in general. You manage to mingle and socialize with the contacts you’re familiar with, but as the hours pass you start regretting your choice of footwear. Sylus, of course, notices. “Let's take a break,” He says halfway through the night. You follow him to a lounging room, taking a seat as he leaves to grab drinks, when a man approaches you. 

You vaguely know of him, having communicated with him— or rather, his secretary— through emails on official Onychinus business before. It’s a light conversation, he asks you where you’re from, why you’re here. You can tell his intentions by the way he leans forward, eyes glittering as his cologne invades your senses (You desperately try not to breathe in the overpowering scent). You decide to indulge him as you wait for Sylus to return; he seems nice enough, after all.

Right until you mention that you’re Sylus’s secretary. All of a sudden, his gaze turns steely and derisive— as if you’re no longer a prize to be won, but something beneath him. His compliments turn into insinuations of your character, “Some people really know how to… position themselves, huh?” He shamelessly takes a step closer, a lecherous grin on his face, “Maybe you should start thinking about who to… align with next.” 

You’ve never been a hot-headed person. But standing here, being belittled at what’s supposed to be a formal, respectable occasion, is not something your parents ever taught you to tolerate. “Excuse me, but that is extremely rude and I'd like for you to leave this table,” You respond coldly. “My boss will be returning any time soon.”

This only fuels his disparaging comments, your fist tightening against the table as he continues to degrade you to your face. Behind the two of you, Sylus overhears everything. His fist tightens around the stem of his glass as he marches over, prepared to strike it against his head— but as always, you never fail to surprise him at every turn.

It takes one more crude comment to break the camel’s back; a woman can only have so much patience. You grab his glass and throw the wine in his face, his expression morphing into one of disbelief and anger. “Leave me alone before I find something else to throw at your face,” You spat. 

The scene attracts attention from the other guests in the room as the man curses at you, pulling a gun out of his left pocket. You step back, heart bursting out of your chest at the sight of the weapon. 

Before he can even aim, Sylus has already stepped in, grabbing the pistol with one hand and his neck with the other. “Ah, here I was thinking that the rules clearly stated no weapons,” His grip tightens as the man chokes in his grip, “Lucky for me, I only need my fists.” 

Though it may have been lifetimes ago, Sylus's draconic tendencies still show through his temper— and less often, his desire to protect. The moment this rat intended to hurt you, his vision turned red and his fists were no longer under his control. 

It takes your pleas to stop and Sylus nearly strangling the man before security steps in, called by passing onlookers who’d observed the entire incident. The man was powerful and could have gotten away with threats, maybe even plain murder, if only it weren’t Sylus that he crossed. “An insult to her is an insult to me,” He admonishes the organizers as they bow in apology after the whole ordeal. All the while, you’re shrinking underneath the piercing gazes of those who witnessed the events unfold.

The incident is enough for him to call it a night. You breathe a sigh of relief as you step outside. Though you were shivering inside the air-conditioned ballroom, the balmy air now brushes against your skin, summer humidity taking its course after a fleeting spring. Your heels clack against the pavement, feet dragging with every aching step as your new heels haven’t broken in yet. Sylus had forgone his usual motorcycle and had a private driver bring the two of you to the event, but with your early departure, you were left to walk aimlessly around Linkon City as you wait for the car. 

“The event was rather disappointing, really.” He languidly commented, as if he didn’t nearly strangle a man blue.

“No shit, considering you beat someone up.” You huffed, crossing your arms and walking ahead of him. “You've been eyeing one of the protocores on their display for a while. Now your plans have been derailed—“ 

“Darling, if they’re not competent enough to screen their guests properly, then they have no business selling protocores.”

“But still, this man is your business associate,” Your brows furrow as you rub your forearms, goosebumps forming from the breeze passing by. “This incident is going to cause you unnecessary trouble.”

His footsteps stop, and you turn around to face him— an uncharacteristically solemn look on his face as he takes off his jacket and drapes it across your shoulders. He says your name, “He pulled a gun on you. Do not think I won't prioritize your safety above my business ventures.” The man wasn’t even worth using his evol for, succumbing pathetically to his mere grip. His lost partnership is nothing to Onychinus. 

You shuffle your feet guiltily, drowning in the oversized blazer. Sylus offers his arm to you, “Come on. Let’s find somewhere to eat, shall we?”

You take refuge at a family-owned diner a few blocks down, the smell luring you in with the promise of greasy food. The two of you stick out like a sore thumb, with your floor-length dress and his suit, as some of the only customers left in the last hour before closing. The analog television in the corner drones with some football game, as you and Sylus feast on burgers and milkshakes after a night of experimental hors d’oeuvres you couldn’t even pronounce.

You’re dead at your feet, too weary to care much about your surroundings since you left the venue. To your surprise, it’s Sylus who breaks the silence, “I apologize for what happened earlier.” You look up in surprise, “You’ve been silent for the better part of the night, I didn’t realize it bothered you this greatly.”

The guilt slowly crept up on him, seeing how shaken you were after the incident. He forgets sometimes, that not everyone has been exposed to the dangers of his world. You were a civilian— and not only that, a good person. Soft and averse to violence in a way he never had the privilege to be. Though you may work for him now, it was only from the safety of the Onychinus compound, shielded from the darker elements of his job.

You smile wearily, “I'm just tired, don’t worry.” You set your burger down and fiddle with your hands, “To be honest… it did bother me. I've always been taught that violence should be a last resort, to only use as much force as the situation demands.

“But you’re right. There's a lot I don't understand about this world… but I know that if you’d stepped in a moment later, it could’ve gone much worse.” There’s more to the N109 Zone than the storyline you’d grown familiar with in your world, or the distant image you’ve formed from the safety of Sylus’s office. Like it or not, this would be your home for the foreseeable future, and you can’t live on the same moral framework you once did.

He smirks, “And what would I have done without my dearest secretary?”

You raise your milkshake snootily, “Crash and fall apart, of course.” 

It eases into light banter after that, something more familiar to the both of you. At some point, you even accidentally spill sauce onto his blazer still laying atop your shoulders. “Oops, sorry,” You apologize without an inch of remorse in your voice.

He’s quick to retort, “Ah yes, my designer blazer of which there were only five made in production.”

You roll your eyes and drone sarcastically, “Oh no, the millionaire stained his limited edition jacket, boo hoo.”

“I’d like you to know—” He starts again after taking a bite of his burger, looking comically serious despite the small crumb by his cheek. You suppress the urge to wipe it off for him. “—as much as I admire your courage to stand up to a man a head taller than you, I'd rather you not throw drinks at crime lords unless I'm by your side. Not even my name could protect you if he pulled out that gun even a moment earlier.” 

Though he’s managed to keep you relatively out of the spotlight, after tonight, there was bound to be more eyes on you. As much as his name affords you power and protection, it also paints a target on your back. He appreciates that you don’t stand for that kind of disrespect, but he will always put his foot down when your safety is on the line. 

You take a deep breath in, looking out the window to the soft streetlights and the clear stars of a summer night. “That was really reckless of me, I know that. I appreciate that you came to my defense, and I won't do it again. It’s just that…” You turn to face him once again, giving a lighthearted shrug, “Sometimes, this whole world still feels like a dream to me. That my actions won’t matter in the end, no consequences. That any moment now, I'll wake up, and…” 

You trail off. You like to avoid that train of thought when you can. 

“Your presence is more important than you think,” He mutters your name. Not Miss Secretary, not darling or dear, but your name. “So, you can’t disappear on me anytime soon.” I still need you around, goes unsaid. 

The clock strikes ten and the owners kick you out, “You lovebirds better get home, the trains will be running their last stop anytime soon.” Neither of you step in to correct them, bidding the elderly couple a good night.

For a minute, you’re lost in the haze of a starry sky and a full stomach, humming a song from your old world— when suddenly, you trip over a step you didn’t see, comically twisting and falling on your butt. 

He starts with a chuckle and evolves into booming laughter, Sylus absolutely losing it as you pout in offense, “You’re absolutely insufferable!” You exclaim as he cackles at your attempts to get up on the thin heel of your shoe. You’ve never seen Sylus like this, even in the game. Eyes sparkling under the glow of the streetlights, bellowing with genuine uncontrollable laughter.

You begrudgingly accept his hand even as he uses the other one to wipe his tears. “It was not that funny,” You huff— but his laugh is so ridiculous you can’t help but giggle. You continue walking, his hand never leaving yours.

Midsummer is marked by the longest days of the year, of perpetual sunshine and the drone of cicadas. The N109 Zone was anything but that, the total antithesis to what was once your home. But under this night sky— surrounded by good food and good company, the weight of his stare and his hand clutched in yours— you think that maybe, just maybe, nights could be enough for you, as well. 

—————————————————————

Over the blinding camera flashes and the roar of jeering crowds, you hold tight to the bouquet in your arms, jumping and cheering for Sylus even though you have absolutely no clue what’s going on.

It was a few days before that you stepped into his private boxing ring and found out about his upcoming match. “I don't know why I'm surprised. I bet no one knows it's actually the big bad Onychinus leader up there in the ring. You probably have some stage name, no? Something corny like dragon or crow.” His deadpan stare tells you all you need to know, “How original.”

Despite your less than enthusiastic response, like a proud parent, you still show up to the day of the match with a bouquet and a vintage camera you scavenged from the compound. “Smile for the picture!” You holler from outside the rope as he wraps his fist in tape, a deadpan stare meeting the flash. 

“What are you doing here?” He jumps the rope to meet you at the sidelines, the stands slowly filling in behind you, “This isn’t in your job description, you know.”

“I know that? I scavenged through that contract for any loophole to get out of your auctions, just so you know,” You scoffed, setting your bag down with a thump on the grimy cement floors. " Of course I'm gonna be here, it’s your match!” You blabber on about the flowers, how they’re supposed to mean fortune and good luck. But his thoughts are otherwise occupied. 

He had thought this might be a little… juvenile, for you, watching two grown men beating each other up for a medal and prestige. It seems like an activity you’d be distasteful of, but you’re here, you showed up and… are decked with all sorts of essentials, apparently. He peers into the bag to find a first aid kit fit for war, enough towels to supply a family, an electric fan, all stuffed inside a misleadingly small tote bag. His heart stutters in his chest. Not even the twins or Mephisto attend his matches.

When the event officially starts, you stay at his corner the whole time; from his pre-fight rituals to pep-talking during downtime, dabbing at his sweat and blasting an electric fan over him as the coach reams his ass. His own personal cheerleader supporting him from outside the ring (never mind the fact you couldn’t tell whether he was winning or not). 

It’s hard to watch, having to cringe and look away as Sylus gets brutally socked in the face, blood splattering out of his mouth as the crowds yell to finish him. It’s even harder to watch him in the locker room afterwards, head down and pride bruised.

“Let me patch you up,” You take a seat on the bench, dabbing a cotton with ointment to his split lip. You know his evol will heal everything by the time he gets home— but some bruises bloom where no one can see.

“My knuckles may be bruised, but I'm not incapacitated,” He glares at you as you bring out the ladybug-patterned bottle of ointment. Hmph. You thought it was cute. “Don’t you have more important things to do than play nurse?” His words cut more than usual, a light blow to your ego but you stand your ground.

“Unfortunately, my boss took the day off to go participate in modern day bloodsport. So no, actually. I don't have anything better to do.” You roll your eyes, twisting the bottle closed. 

“Well, you must be disappointed. You’ve wasted your day off placing bets on a losing dog.” 

He can’t hide the bitter taste in his mouth, not when he still hears the jeers of the crowd, still feels the pounding headache from being pummeled on the floor. His ambition has always been both his trump card and Achilles heel, and he wants nothing more than to push your comfort and reassurance away. (He doesn’t feel he deserves it.) But as always, you read him like a book. 

“Hmph. Who says I bet on you?” You cheekily suggest. 

He scoffs in offense, “I suggest you stop talking if you’d like to receive your paycheck intact.” 

You smile and roll your eyes. There’s your Sylus. “It's still my job to be there, win or lose. Not as your secretary but as your friend. If it helps—“ You poke his cheek. “—you’re still my big, bad, scary boss. Even if I just witnessed you get beaten to a bloody pulp.”

He's so focused on watching you pack your things, that you startle him when you wrap your arms around him. He stiffens; it’s been far too long since he experienced physical contact that wasn’t drenched in violence. But he relaxes into it, breathing in the scent of your shampoo. “Come on, let’s go home.”

—————————————————————

The nights are endless and tiresome as your insomnia persists, but as months pass by with no sign of returning to your world, you learn ways to cope. 

On some evenings, you decide to sneak into the kitchen, pulling out flour and eggs for all sorts of midnight snacks. It reminds you of a simpler, albeit more stressful time; taking a break in the wee hours of the morning, setting aside your notes to make comfort food with your roommate. 

Sylus eventually discovers your nighttime activities, slipping into the kitchen to find you covered in flour, making enough cookies to feed an army. “It seems like a rat has snuck into the kitchen,” He teases, “You do realize we have private chefs on call, right? You could have ordered food if you were hungry.” Despite his words, he still rolls up his sleeves and grabs the bowl from your hands, mixing a stubbornly resistant batch of batter. 

You silently accept the help and move on to shaping the cookies. With his help, the treats are in the unnecessarily massive oven and freshly baked within the next hour. The two of you spend the rest of the evening indulging in freshly baked cookies and talking about everything from work to the surprising amount of gossip intel you’ve accumulated about his business associates, until he asks you why you’re up this late.

“I was hungry,” You shrug, but he raises an eyebrow, knowing full well that you’re not telling the truth. You sigh, “You already know I have trouble sleeping. At least this way my hands are occupied..." These days you can’t even fall asleep at all, succumbing to deep exhaustion mere hours before your shift. 

It hadn’t escaped Sylus’s notice, the way your eyebags have deepened, your movements sluggish and back hunched, even though your work remains the same quality. He'd insisted once, that you take a day off, but you’d laughed and said, “And do what? Explore the lovely sights of the N109 Zone?”

“As an employee of Onychinus, you have full access to the medical ward. You can schedule a doctor’s consultation, if that’s what you need,” He carefully suggests.

“That would be nice,” You answer noncommittally. You don’t know how much medicine differs between your world and his, but you probably have to get that done eventually. 

The two of you clear a whole tray of cookies, leaving another for Luke and Kieran to feast on in the waking hours and cleaning the kitchen upon your insistence. “We have cleaners who can take care of this in the morning,” He complains. 

“Hush, that would be rude,” You admonish him and place a rag in his hands. He sighs and wipes the counter anyway.  

You bid him goodnight, but make no move to go to your bedroom, instead sitting at the counter scrolling through your phone. He clicks his tongue, and much to your surprise, pulls you by the arm, “What– Hey! The hell are you doing?”

“It seems I need to resort to physical force to make you rest,” He drags you down the dimly lit hallways and into your room. He hasn’t been inside of it since it was just an empty spare, collecting dust for the past years. But as the door swings open, it’s practically unrecognizable. Every nook and cranny is filled with traces of your presence; books stacked on the floor, a sweater slung over a chair. It fills him with reassurance that you’ve made yourself at home, even if you still feel out of place in this world.

“You didn’t have to manhandle me into bed,” You pout, and slightly warm when you realize the potential innuendo in your words. “I’m not a child.”

“You certainly act like one sometimes,” He retorts, “Should I sing you a lullaby?”

“Oh god, no, please—“ He smirks at the horror on your face. 

“Rockabye baby, on the tree top,” His voice croaks out shakily, in complete contrast to the absolute confidence and mischief on his face as he taunts you. You burrow yourself underneath the blankets, “When the wind blows, the cradle will—“

“Stop! Please boss, stop the torture!” You dramatically call out from beneath the covers, kicking your feet, “I'll sleep if it means i never have to listen to that again.” You glare at him with the pillows pressed to your ears.

He barks out a laugh, with a surprising lack of offense at the blatant insult towards his musical capabilities. “That better be a promise,” He bids you goodnight, shutting the door and closing the lights on his way.

As he comes down from the midnight sugar rush and the warmth of good company, he thinks, when was the last time he could laugh so easily around a person? 

—————————————————————

It becomes a somewhat regular occurrence between the two of you. Whenever the urge to bake strikes, you can expect that Sylus will be wandering in soon after, alerted by either the clanging of cookware or the smell wafting through the corridors. The kitchen becomes a refuge on sleepless nights, the two of you working in perfect synchronization with each other. Whenever you finish, he waves off your stubbornness and walks you to your room, making sure you don’t wander off again in avoidance of slumber. 

One night, he comes home from a week-long mission gone slightly wrong. What was supposed to be an infiltration of the enemy base turned into a battle of bullets, as he quickly realized that the reconnaissance team’s information was wrong. Though the opposing side was dealt a bigger blow, he’s a little more than worse for wear, dragging his feet inside the compound, knuckles bruised and stomach rumbling. It’s one of those days where he wonders the point of it all. Where everything has gone wrong, and he wants to do nothing but hibernate, the sleep deprivation and lack of real food finally getting to him despite his resilience.  

His streak of misfortune continues when his phone chimes with a text, the chef on duty informing him of a family emergency. Sylus grants him a day off with a sigh, and sets off to the kitchen to make the easiest meal he can think of right now.

You find a pathetically exhausting sight when you enter the kitchen: Sylus covered in cuts and bruises, hair ragged and bloody, chopping vegetables with the pace of a snail. You want to slam your head into the wall. “Sylus, you haven’t even changed out of your mission gear. What the hell are you doing in the kitchen?” You ask, intent on taking over but he steps away.

“The chef has taken a day off, so we’re on our own,” He continues chopping without so much as a blink of an eye.

You sigh, “It doesn’t have to mean you’re on your own. Come on, Sylus. You just got off a long mission. Let me take over,” You try pushing against him, to which he doesn’t even budge but you spot the way he winces when you press against his shoulder. “We cook together all the time, anyway. Go get cleaned up while I finish here.” 

It’s a painstakingly long back and forth between the two of you until he begrudgingly agrees to leave. By the time he comes back, freshly showered and wearing the cardigan you gave him (now one of his favorite pieces), you have not only the salad prepared but one of his favorite dishes on the stove. There’s enough for Luke and Kieran to join, “Something smells good!” Two heads pop into the kitchen as soon as the food is prepared, “I thought we were fending for ourselves tonight!” 

The four of you eat together at the dining room; it’s not a sight often seen in the compound, with how busy everyone is. But grief washes over you with the familiarity of it all, a family sitting down to have a meal together. You know it’s a privilege only you have experienced at this table, and your heart aches that they have never known it. And so, you try to bask in the coziness of a home cooked meal and good company.

“Miss Secretary, we’ve been meaning to ask,” Kieran begins after they finished recounting their recent mission, “How did you get here? I mean, we know that you came from another world and all… But how did you manage to get here? Did you mean to?”

Bless their hearts, the twins have seen so much in their life that not even the idea of other worlds can shake their curiosity. You appreciate how he carefully approaches the topic, even if you can see the eagerness plain as day on both their faces. So, as much as you don’t like to linger on this topic, you decide to indulge them. 

“No, I didn't mean to go here. In fact, I didn't even know it was possible. My world– while different– was far less developed than yours,” You delve into a sanitized version of what happened to you. A silly incident that led to you waking up in the N109 Zone, dimensions away from your own world with no way to return. You keep the anxiety hidden beneath the surface, surprised at your own ability to hide your grief.

By the time you finish, the twins have even more questions— most of which you can’t answer, except one, “Are you going to go back?”

Beside you, Sylus’s heart stutters in his chest. He can't say he hasn’t thought about it before, that he’s never considered the possibility of you leaving his life just as you had carved your place in it. But he’s never had to confront the reality of whether you even wanted to be in his life. After all, you were alone in this world with nowhere to go. What other choice did you have but to stay with him?

“Well, the question is more about if I can,” You smile bitterly. “I've scoured most of Onychinus’s resources, but there’s nothing similar to my case. And it’s not like I'm a scientist who can figure this out with time, so…” Your voice trails off in disappointment, the topic growing cold as you run your fork against the scraps left on your plate. 

It hurts him to see the look on your face, the hopelessness in your tone. He never lingered on the thought of how much it must hurt you, to be so far away from your home. It follows you until after dinner, when he insists on washing the dishes, “I can’t make the cook clean as well,” He says, yet you still linger on the island counter, staring into space.

“You'll always have a place here,” He reminds you, breaking you from your reverie. He’ll never let himself be soft for just anyone— but his guard tends to melt in the face of your presence. You look up at him in surprise, “Although you once said it’s only until you return to your world, you’ll always have a place in Onychinus. So long as you want it.”

What goes unsaid is how he cannot imagine his life without your presence. Without the post-it notes on his monitor, waiting for him at the start of each day. Without the incessant reminders you’ve somehow managed to link to his phone. (A part inside of him screams about a deeper loss; of nights spent under kitchen lights, of soft knits and your perfume permeating the office space, of your warm smile at the end of a cold, hard day.)

A soft, genuine smile transforms your face. “Thank you,” You whisper, heart still raw from recounting the most traumatic event of your life.

The sleep deprivation must be getting to him, he thinks. Under the warm kitchen lights with soft melancholy in your eyes, he thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful. He’s filled with a strong urge to lean forward just a little more, to close the distance and place his lips on yours— before he shuts his eyes tight. He shakes his head. What is he thinking? Kissing you when you’re vulnerable, kissing you when his ex-lover still lingers in his mind each day. But he can’t deny that slowly but surely, you’ve crept into his thoughts, occupying his mind more than he would like to admit. 

He longs for this domesticity he’s never known until now; cooking and cleaning together, taking care of each other at your lowest moments. He can see this being forever and that thought scares him. On this warm summer night, the last of the sunshine before the autumn cold sweeps in— he thinks, once again, of the lover that was taken from him. Of the lifetimes he’s waited for her to return, for them to live the soft life they were robbed of. But his heart is nudging him to the possibility of something new, something so precious; and he wonders when the day will come where he must make a choice.

—————————————————————

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[yokumirumerafan]

HeLLOO

Could you do demon slayer and picking y/n up/ y/n jumping in their arms? Their overall feeling about having them in their arms, carry them around <.<

~🐝

🔥 DEMON SLAYER CHARACTERS PICKING YOU UP/JUMPING INTO THEIR ARMS 🔥

EEE that's adorable <33

🔥 HASHIRA EDITION 🔥

💛 RENGOKU – "AH-HAHA! COME TO ME, MY FLAME!"

If you jump into his arms, he catches you effortlessly and spins you around like you're in a romance anime. ZERO hesitation.

Laughs boisterously and holds you like a damn warrior carrying their beloved into battle.

“You feel so light! I could hold you all day! Perhaps I shall!” *(he absolutely will.)

🌊 GIYUU – "...Why are you like this?"

You jump into his arms? He catches you, but looks dead inside.

He just stands there, holding you, processing life choices.

Secretly doesn’t want to let go. His arms tighten just a little.

“...I don’t mind.” (lowkey enjoying this but will never admit it)

🌪️ SANEMI – "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!"

If you jump? OH BOY. He catches you but stumbles back because he wasn’t expecting it.

“OI! WARN ME NEXT TIME, YOU LITTLE SH—” (but he's still holding you, so??)

Secretly loves it. Will complain but won’t put you down unless you ask.

☁️ MUICHIRO – "Oh, cool. You're up here now."

Catches you flawlessly but is completely unbothered.

Just keeps walking while carrying you like a bag of rice.

"You’re kinda light. I could carry you forever." AND HE MEANS IT.

💎 TENGEN – "AH! FINALLY, A GRAND DISPLAY OF LOVE!"

Picks you up before you even jump. Probably does it just because he can.

SPINS YOU AROUND like it’s a damn fairy tale.

“Ah, my dear, you fit so perfectly in my arms! Such flamboyance, such grace!”

💕 MITSURI – "OHMYGOSH YOU'RE SO CUTE!!!"

Excited squealing!!! Picks you up with surprising strength and cuddles you immediately.

“AHHH YOU FEEL SO NICE, LET ME HOLD YOU FOREVER!!!” (you are now trapped in hug jail.)

🦋 SHINOBU – "Ara~? How adorable~"

Catches you effortlessly but teases you mercilessly.

“Oh my, did you just throw yourself at me~? How bold~”

Pretends she minds, but secretly? She loves it.

⛰️ GYOMEI – "You are safe in my arms."

Lifts you like it’s nothing. Like air.

So gentle. Holds you like a sacred treasure.

“Do not worry. I will always catch you.” (🥺💕✨😭)

🐍 OBANAI – "Tsk. You’re so reckless."

Catches you, but acts annoyed.

Will not put you down. Like, at all.

“I suppose… I’ll hold you a little longer.” (internally screaming)

👹 UPPER MOONS & MUZAN EDITION 👹

💀 MUZAN – "Hah. How bold."

Catches you like a dramatic villain holding his helpless prey.

Smirks. Holds you effortlessly. Refuses to let you go.

“You look quite comfortable there. Perhaps I should keep you.”

🎭 DOUMA – "OH, HOW FUN! LET’S DO IT AGAIN!"

Not only catches you—he twirls you around, dips you, and makes it theatrical.

Over the top. Definitely picks you up at random just for fun.

“You fit so well in my arms! Maybe you should stay there, hm~?”

🥊 AKAZA – "…Hmph. You’re reckless."

Catches you instinctively but acts like he didn’t care.

Holds you so securely though. Like he’s protecting something precious.

“You shouldn’t do that. But… I won’t drop you.”

🩸 KOKUSHIBO – "…Hn."

Does not react outwardly. Just catches you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Won’t let go for a while. Just stares at you like he’s memorizing the moment.

“...You are safe.” (BRO IM GONNA CRY. SAFE? WITH UPPER MOON 1?)

💥 MAIN THREE & GENYA 💥

🟢 TANJIRO – "AH! BE CAREFUL!"

Catches you like an instinct. Will always catch you.

“I don’t mind carrying you! You can hold onto me as long as you want!”

Smiles the whole time. SO SOFT. Would carry you for hours.

🟡 ZENITSU – "KYAAAA Y/N-CHAAAN!"

SCREAMS. Catches you but dramatically falls to the ground.

“OH MY GOODNESS YOU FELL FROM HEAVEN JUST FOR ME!!!”

Refuses to let go. Holds onto you like a koala.

⚡ INOSUKE – "AHAA! PERFECT!"

Catches you and IMMEDIATELY STARTS RUNNING.

“HAHA! THIS IS GREAT! I HAVE CAPTURED YOU!!!”

Refuses to put you down. You are his new prize.

🔫 GENYA – "G-GAH?! WHAT THE—?!"

Catches you but immediately blushes.

“D-DAMMIT! WARN ME NEXT TIME!”

Holds you really gently though. Like you’re fragile.

💖 FINAL VERDICT: YOU ARE THEIR TREASURE. 💖

Jump into their arms anytime, babe, they ain't ever letting go. ✨😭💖