#...i have a sneaking feeling i could get hate for this

[rin-may-1103]

Turn Back the Frozen Sands of Time

(I couldn't come up with a better title, lol, so we're stuck with this.)

unadulteratedsoulsweets's Prompt | Master Post | Next(to be written)

Danny didn't startle awake; he didn't gasp for unnecessary breath; he didn't cry out in pain.

No, Danny woke to the sound of nothing; the sound of wind calmly crawling through stone halls, of dust drifting through the silent air, of birds singing songs off in the distance.

This was a silence he hadn't heard in years. And for all the pain that the silence brought, he couldn't help but hold his breath, the little spark of hope settling in his heart, no, his core.

He's had years to hate, yell, and ignore his childhood. Years to accept what had been done to him. Years to forgive.

Years to grieve what had been and what could have been.

Years to wish for a chance to go back.

Years to accept he'd never would, and move on.

Opening his eyes, Danny looked at his childhood room in confused wonder. It was just as he remembered: nothing had moved from where he had left it. Loose papers scattered across an intricate desk, weapons displayed proudly on the stone walls, bright colorful paint, and tiles embedded into the stone with tedious hard work. His little jar of rocks and twigs he kept on his shelf. The horde of sweets was tucked behind books, like he had just recently added to his stash.

If he hadn't known any better, he could almost convince himself it had all been a dream. Like he hadn't walked out of this room eight years ago, walked to his first death, and right into The Fentons' arms. Like he could walk out that door and greet his brother like he had so many times before.

But he knew better; he's lived through dreams and false realities. He knows what twisted wishes and curses act like, feel like.

this wasn't a dream, this wasn't a damn wish, this was real. It was all horrifically, unbearably, dreadfully real.

And that scared him.

because he remembered being in the Ghost Zone, remembered hopping from rocky island to island in a game of tag with Dani. Remembered pranking the observants for being stuffy old geezers. Remembered hugging Clockwork and darting around the halls just to annoy the ghost. Remembered finally mastering animated Ice sculptures and sending an ice raccoon to fly to the far frozen just so Frostbite would know what he had accomplished.

But he didn't remember how he got here.

How he had gotten out of the zone, across the planet, and into a room deep inside a fortified fortress built by a cult his grandfather had led for several centuries.

One moment he had been testing just how far Fright Knight would go to follow him, and the next he's WAKING up here.

Moving to sit up, Danny froze.

His clothes were different.

He wasn't wearing his typical old tee and ripped blue jeans, nor was he wearing Tucker's hoodie and Sam's lacy skirt she'd finally convinced him to wear.

No, he was wearing a very familiar outfit. One that should be too small for him to fit in after all these years, one that had been mostly destroyed and discarded.

Sitting up, Danny stared in horror at his body. He was in his favorite deep blue and black Kurta, but that wasn't all.

No, no.

He was small.

Well, smaller. (Who knew dying multiple times would stunt his growth?) Like, as in he was eight or nine years old, small, as small as he had been when he had died, small.

If this was real (and it was, he knew it deep down in his core), then he couldn't waste any time panicking. Even after eight years, his daily routine was ingrained into his mind; wake up thirty minutes early, sneak out into the garden to watch the sunrise, sneak back in, get caught by his brother, go to breakfast, lessons, lunch, training, dinner, training, leave to go to bed but sneak out to star gaze, sneak back in and sleep.

The sun wasn't up yet, but it was close, which meant he needed to hurry if he didn't want anyone to get suspicious. Naturally, everyone knew he snuck out in the morning(he had made it wear they'd underestimate him, to make it easier to sneak out at night), so if he wasn't seen by his mother's spies and then caught by his brother, they'd know something was up. They probably wouldn't guess (what? Time travel? That's the only thing that's making sense, but then why is he small?) to be the problem, but they would know something was up and therefore, make it impossible for Danny to investigate it by himself.

Getting up, Danny grabbed a new pair of socks, snatched his special league tabi boots, and the blue strips of fabric he used almost every day. Pulling his socks on, then his boots, he carefully folded the extra fabric of his churidar and wrapped the blue strips tightly around. just like he had been taught.

Standing up, he snagged a few small knives (he always left his katana, he was supposed to be sneaking out to sight see, not fight) and stashed them on his body. It amazes him how easily he slipped back into his old habits; how easily he concealed his weapons, how he automatically silenced his footsteps as he left his room, how he pretended not to notice his mother's spies watching him.

He was acting on muscle memory from eight years ago, yet he didn't even falter as he turned down winding halls and up steep stairs.

Maybe he wasn't using eight years of dusty muscle memory.

Maybe he was using nine years of ingrained habit.

Maybe he was in his actual nine-year-old body.

It would explain how his memory of the day before was almost crystal clear now, how he remembered that there wasn't anything special planned for today, how his brother had been teasing him about his horrible stance in training. Crystal clear, just like his memory of playing with Dani, not even twelve hours ago.

It was like the present him was merged with the past him's body and mind. (Would that make his memories square? memory^2? Like they're both his memories, just one's fresher than the other, but now they feel... More? Tucker would know. It doesn't hurt, but man, was this weird.)

Finally making his way into the garden, Danny turned and scaled the stone walls, his fingers turning slightly red due to the frosty cold air and rocks.

Once at his usual spot, Danny turned and sat down, watching as the sky grew brighter and brighter. Hopefully the spies don't question his delay, maybe they'll chalk it up to him needing a little more sleep. he had pushed himself in training the day before.

Ok, focus on his situation.

What are the facts?

He had been in the ghost zone, nothing was out of the ordinary, and then he was suddenly waking up in his nine-year-old body, his childhood memories revived like he had just lived them(because he technically had, apparently), and he couldn't let anyone know something was wrong. (partly to keep the timeline intact, and partly because assassins get very... pointed when things aren't like how they're supposed to be.)

From his memories, he knows there is nothing extra planned for today. It's a typical boring day in the league. The most exciting thing that could happen is his mother stopping by to teach him instead of his normal mentors. But she did that three days ago, so chances are close to zilch.

Oh, and if his older memories are to be trusted, he is three or four days away from his first death.

Ok, Danny. Take a deep breath.

You've been sent back in time, somehow.

The most obvious cause: Clockwork.

But if he was the one responsible, then there should be a note, and you'd remember why and exactly how you got sent back. Clockwork time travel doesn't typically involve de-aging, and there wasn't a note.

So not Clockwork.

But if not Clockwork, then who and why?

He'd say another ghost broke in and maybe stole one of Clockwork's time manipulation stuff and used it on him, but that wouldn't make sense for multiple reasons. First, most ghosts who have enough audacity to pull a stunt like this, either refrain from doing so because Danny's the king or because they'd rather use their own stuff to screw with him.

Secondly, Clockwork wouldn't just let anyone steal from him, let alone use the stolen stuff against Danny.

So, not a ghost(or other realms being), or at least not one Danny knows of. But the likely hood of a random ass ghost/being doing this was still bogus because of reason number two.

So, that left living beings.

Who among the living would be powerful enough to affect-

"Danyal,"

Danny tensed; he knew that voice. He hated that voice. He's missed that voice. Glancing down with a frown, Danny stared at his brother.

no matter what he wanted to do (stangle him, hug him, cry, laugh, yell), he had to act normal, and normal nine-year-old Danyal al Ghul would be annoyed and confused that his morning sunrise was being interrupted, yet nervous because he'd been 'caught'. Normal nine-year-old Danyal al Ghul was 'weak' and 'innocent'. Or, well, compared to his brother, that is. (he knows now that nine-year-old him was nowhere near normal compared to everyone else.)

Damian was staring up at him, his body tense and eyes sharp with something Danny couldn't place. He looked upset, if Danny was being honest. But why would he be upset?

wait.

A memory from yesterday popped up; Damian had stolen his favorite knife, teasing him for failing to hit the target dead on like he could. Danny had stolen his shuko hand claws in retaliation.

"I swear I didn't do it," Danny blurted, glancing around to see his escape routes. He had two, the other side of the roof, or risk trying to get past Damian and back inside.

Damian blinked, looking thrown off for a second, his brows furrowed, "Do what?"

Danny glanced back, forcing his body to nervously shift, "Take your shuko claws." (Present him would have never given himself away like this, but past Danny had no brain-to-mouth filter and enough anxiety to fuel a rocket ship, which usually led to him being a horrible liar.)

Damian was silent for a moment, closing his eyes as if he were pained. "That's not," he started, before stopping and taking a deep breath to center himself.

This was weird. Danny didn't remember an interaction like this happening. what was going on? had something changed? had he screwed up the timeline by not getting outside fast enough?

"I'm not mad at you," Damian continued, finally opening his eyes and staring up at him with a blank face.

"You're not?" Danny asked, moving to make it look like he was ready to bolt at any moment. (It wasn't hard to act like it when he truly did feel like he should run.)

"No, I wanted to know if," Damian paused, pursing his lips just slightly. It was his thinking face, the face he only got when he really was panicking about what to do next. Why was he panicking?

"If?" Danny pushed, slowly leaning forward and weighing the pros and cons of jumping down and being face to face with him.

"If you," Damian started slowly, "would allow me to join you."

Danny blinked, then blinked again. (Damian was acting weird, what the hell? Wait? Has he been misinterpreting his brother this whole time? Was he always catching Danny as he snuck back in because he wanted to join him? wait, no, focus, Danny!)

"Sure!" Danny smiled, patting the roof next to him. Nine-year-old Danyal would be ecstatic if his brother wanted to join him. So ecstatic in fact, he might even start ranting about everything he knew about the sun. (Present Danny was also about to start ranting, just more out of nervousness than excitement.)

Shaking his hands to get rid of the excess energy (excited energy because, even if Danny never forgave his brother for what happened, he still loved him, and spending even just a moment with him was like a dream come true), Danny beamed as his brother hauled himself up onto the roof and sat down.

"Did you know the sun has layers?" Danny blurted, turning to glance up at the mountains around them. Technically, the sun was up, but it still hadn't broken over the mountain ridge. Ancients, he never realized how much he missed the peaceful mornings here in Nanda Parbat.

"Really?" Damian asked softly, turning to watch the sun rise as well. A new bird song broke out, their chirps and whistles echoing off the rocky walls and building a symphony for just the two of them to enjoy.

Danny wasn't sure what he had done to change things, but maybe, just maybe, he could be selfish and not worry for just a moment. He wanted to enjoy the precious little time he had with his twin, even if the knowledge of what would happen in three days hung over his head.

Damian turned to look at him again, his green eyes focused intently on Danny's face, and with a smile that Danny's very rarely seen, asked, "Can you tell me about them?"

Next(to be written)

[ephemeral-gremlin]

it was honestly so weird being diagnosed years before the fad and going from "can't go to this restaurant because they will have no idea what i'm talking about" to "can't go to this restaurant because they'll think i'm faking and sneak gluten into my food to prove some kind of fucked up point"

the other thing is that i remember how fucking hard it was to navigate celiacs before all the labeling started. i remember getting so sick so frequently because i had to learn about things like gluten-free ham the hard way. i had to get really good really quickly at scanning lists of ingredients and not assuming that i know what's in things. also a lot of the safe food available just *sucked* and so many things that could easily be gluten free were just not. i remember carrying little sandwich bags of rice chex around because it was the most reliable gluten free snack and i could never be sure if i would be able to find food i could eat (cheerios and other chex flavors were still not gluten free back then!)

we've come a loooong way and not only would i hate to see us move backwards, i would be genuinely scared for my fellow celiacs who were diagnosed after the increase in visibility and labeling. it's not just about the pain, bloating, dehydration, shitting your guts out, etc. it's about missing work, feeling isolated, being unable to take care of your other needs, beating yourself up because you "should have been more careful"

it is weird that celiac stuff has become part of the 'culture war'. because it's literally just a medical thing.... I get super anemic unless I cut a certain protein out of my diet, because it bulldozes the villi in my intestines. but if I post about it, right-wingers send me gore images. I guess you can't expect shitty people to be logical, but I've even heard lefty people make fun of gluten stuff, and it's like why are you mad about this??? why are you pissed off that I'm eating bread that doesn't taste as good so that I can have blood in my body? it's so morally neutral.

[calebsdog]

Random Caleb hc's I don't feel like writing for

Caleb is the number one hater of cilantro. But whenever there's an option to choose cilantro in his dishes he takes it. Only so he can plop the cilantro into your dish the moment you sit down. His intentions are somewhat pure, wanting to make sure you eat your veggies. But it's also because he loves to get on your nerves.

If you say "ow!" convincingly enough while Caleb is tickling you he'll stop every time. You just have to make sure you're a good actor and don't smile halfway through.

Caleb gets jealous of men and women equally. Doesn't matter what your sexuality is or what gender you prefer. Of course, you're allowed to have friends! He's not that crazy... Not usually. Just make sure none of them take his title of best friend, okay?

Caleb was the one who read Mc bedtime stories when they were kids. Since he was enrolled in school first he would sneak home any kids book he thinks you would enjoy but could not yet read. Years later, after the explosion, Mc shyly hands Caleb a book after a bad day. When she thought he was dead she spent so many restless nights wishing he was there to read her to sleep like he did so many years ago. She's already tearing up by the time he finishes the first paragraph.

Caleb thinks of Mc every time it's storming. Was it raining down in Linkon too? Would your power go out? You always hid away whenever there was bad thunder and lightning. But you never wanted to be alone. He hates knowing he can't be there for you whenever you're afraid. Sometimes, all he can do is reach out and hope it's enough.

One day, Caleb comes down with a horrible fever. Something not even he can power through. Even though his throat was so hoarse he could barely speak he still begs her to leave. He doesn't want her to see him like this. But Mc is insistent and stays with him. Wanting to repay the debt from years ago, she offers up her hand, shoving it into Caleb's mouth so he doesn't bite his tongue. Mc had bit down on his hand without hesitation when she was a kid. But Caleb refuses to bring Mc harm like that. He locks his jaw determinedly, refusing to sink his teeth into your fragile skin.

Mc buys Caleb absurdly sour candy for holidays. Candy that isn't meant to be enjoyable but meant to be taken as a challenge. Caleb's gums are bloody by the end of it.

Mc's first date is in a cute, homely diner close to where she lives. The food was good, as long as you ordered from the breakfast menu. And maybe don't order the sausage. But it was cheap enough for middle school and high schoolers to afford a meal on a budget. Caleb's been taking you there for years, chipping away his allowance so you can get as many pancakes as your heart desires. You two went there to study, for late night cravings, and cozy weekend mornings when you had nothing to do. He is sick to his stomach when you bring another person there for a first date. It was your place. Yours and his. This stranger, an insignificant chapter of your life, didn't deserve to be there with you. He can't bring himself to eat for the rest of the day, totally losing his appetite.

Caleb despises when the toring chip activates when Mc is around to see. He can only imagine how she feels watching the man she loves become a blank, emotionless slate. The more he fights against it, the worse it gets. It must be scary, huh? Not only is it scary, it's pathetic. How can he protect her if he's this helpless against his own mind? During those times, all she can do is hold Caleb. She knows what it feels like to get so emotional that it feels like her brain shuts down, even if it was a little different from Caleb's specific situation. How can you fault him for something he can't control?

Caleb shows up to dates still in his Colonel uniform sometimes. He never, ever wants to be late for something so important. So, unfortunately, he has to cut corners with his appearance at times. Many waitresses have lost their tables because the customers were terrified sitting next to the Farspace Fleet's Colonel.

Mc still drags Caleb outside whenever she hears the cheerful jingle of an ice cream truck approaching. Caleb tags along even if he's not in the mood for his own cone. Just like he used to, he fishes in his pocket for spare change to pay for your ice cold treat.

[neferaskingdom]

♡ Spring Into Summer | OP81

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: Sometimes love doesn’t hit you all at once.It just sneaks in quietly—through the late nights, the inside jokes, and the person who’s always been there.

Request: Could I request an Oscar fic based on “Spring into Summer” by Lizzy McAlpine? Maybe reader and Oscar have been friends for a long time and she just got out of a relationship or idk, you can do it however you’d want. Thank you love

MAIN MASTERLIST | REQUEST QUIDELINES

You show up on Oscar’s doorstep with a suitcase, dark circles under your eyes, and a heart that feels like it’s been run over by a truck.

He takes one look at you, steps aside, and says, "You look like hell."

"Thanks," you deadpan as you shove past him, dropping your bag on his couch. "I just dumped my boyfriend so."

Oscar shuts the door behind you. "His loss."

You flop onto his couch. "You don’t even know what happened."

"Don’t need to." He tosses you a bag of chips from the coffee table. "Anyone dumb enough to let you go doesn’t deserve you anyway."

You roll your eyes but can’t fight the small smile tugging at your lips. Maybe it was a good decision to move in with this douchebag.

Oscar doesn’t ask for details. He doesn’t need them.

He already knows the basics—that your ex was an idiot, that he cheated, that you’d spent two years thinking he was the love of your life before finding out he couldn’t even be bothered to stay faithful.

So instead of prying, Oscar does what he’s always done: he adapts and just runs with it.

He remembers how you take your coffee (too much sugar, barely any coffee). He leaves the bathroom light on when he knows you’re getting home late. And he pretends not to notice when his hoodies go missing, ignoring the way they always mysteriously appear in your closet.

Living with him is exactly as chaotic as you remember from childhood sleepovers—except now, instead of fighting over who gets the last Oreo, you fight over who left the milk out overnight.

"You did it," you accuse, pointing at the offending carton on the counter.

Oscar gasps, clutching his chest like you’ve wounded him. "That’s slander. I would never."

"You literally poured cereal this morning and didn’t put it back."

"Yeah, but I meant to."

"You’re the worst, pushing your crimes onto me!"

"You love me."

You roll your eyes—but yeah, you kind of do.

You’ve known Oscar since you were six (you became friends after you made him a friendship bracelet in year one and threatened to eat anyone who bullied him), which means you’ve had over a decade to perfect the art of annoying each other. But more than that, you two are comfortable.

Mornings are chaotic—him barging into the bathroom while you’re brushing your teeth, you stealing bites of his toast when he’s not looking. Evenings are spent sprawled on opposite ends of the couch, his feet nudging your legs whenever he wants attention.

"Stop hogging the blanket," you grumble, yanking at the edge of the throw draped over his lap.

He doesn’t even look up from his phone. "Get your own."

"It’s my blanket."

"Then why’s it on my couch?"

You groan, flopping back against the cushions. "I hate you."

He grins. "No, you don’t."

(He’s right. You don’t.)

Living with him means constant, relentless bickering.

Like when he steals the last slice of pizza.

"Excuse me," you say, staring at the empty box.

Oscar blinks up at you, mid-bite. "What?"

"That was mine."

He chews slowly, deliberately. "Was it?"

"You monster."

He grins, cheese stuck to his teeth. "Want a bite?"

You lunge for him.

(Somehow, you end up with sauce on your shirt, Oscar laughing so hard he nearly chokes, and a weird, fluttery feeling in your chest that you definitely ignore.)

One morning, you walk into the kitchen and find him standing in front of the open fridge, shirtless, eating yogurt straight from the tub.

You blink. "Put a shirt on."

He turns, spoon still in his mouth. "Why?"

"Because it’s weird."

"It’s my house."

"Yeah, and now it’s my eyes that are burning."

He smirks and flexes—just to be obnoxious. You throw a dish towel at his head.

(You don’t mention that you’ve noticed how defined his shoulders have gotten since the last time you saw him shirtless. That’s your secret.)

The rest happens slowly.

One day, you’re laughing at something stupid he says, and you realize—you haven’t thought about your ex in weeks.

Another day, you catch yourself staring at the way Oscar’s shirt rides up when he stretches, and your face goes hot.

Next, you catch yourself staring at the way Oscar’s hair sticks up in the morning, messy and unbrushed, and your stomach does a weird little flip.

And then there’s the time he comes back from a run, sweaty and breathing hard, and you have to physically turn away before you do something embarrassing, like stare.

It’s the way his nose scrunches when he laughs, the stupid cowlick in his hair that never stays down, the faint freckles on his shoulders from all those summers spent outside together—and you’re thinking, Oh.

Oh no.

You’re screwed.

It happens on a Tuesday.

You’re curled up on Oscar’s couch in one of his old hoodies, legs tucked under you, face half-buried in a blanket that still smells faintly like his laundry detergent. The TV is on but you’re not watching it. You’ve been quiet all night, the kind of quiet that makes Oscar shift in his seat and glance over every few minutes like he’s waiting for something to crack.

And then it does.

“I think something’s wrong with me,” you say, voice low.

Oscar frowns. “What do you mean?”

You stare at the floor, blinking back the burn in your eyes. “I can’t hold on to anyone. Every time I let myself believe in something—someone—it just falls apart. Maybe I’m the common denominator. Maybe I’m the problem.”

Oscar sits up straighter, eyes narrowing. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Blame yourself for other people’s bullshit.”

You shrug, lips pressed together.

But Oscar’s already shaking his head. “No. Don’t even try to explain it away. That guy—your ex—he didn’t cheat because something’s wrong with you. He cheated because he was an idiot who didn’t know what he had. He walked away from someone who loves too deeply and forgives too easily. That’s not a flaw. That’s a goddamn gift.”

You look up at him, startled by the sharp edge in his voice. “Oscar…”

“I mean it,” he says, louder now. “You give and give, and people take until there’s nothing left, and you still manage to pick yourself up and love again. That’s not a weakness. That’s you being one of the strongest people I know.”

You blink fast. “Why does it sound like you’re mad at me?”

“Because I am,” he admits. “I’m mad that you think you’re broken. I’m mad that someone made you feel like that. And I’m mad that I’ve been sitting here for years wanting to tell you how much you mean to me, and now you’re looking at yourself like you’re hard to love.”

You freeze. “Oscar…”

His chest rises and falls. “There are so many things to love about you!”

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“You care about people more than they deserve sometimes. You remember stupid little things, like how I hate the green Skittles, and you always eat them first when we share a pack. You hum under your breath when you’re cooking. You laugh at my jokes even when no one else does because they’re not even that funny-.”

He keeps going, his words spilling out faster now.

“You give people second chances. You trust too easily and forgive even when you shouldn’t. You always check if I’ve eaten, even when you’re the one barely holding it together. You make the ugliest faces when you're concentrating, and then act like you weren’t just sticking your tongue out for five full minutes. You steal the covers and hog the couch and leave your coffee mugs everywhere but somehow, it’s never annoying. It’s just... You being you.”

He looks at you then, eyes wide, voice a little breathless.

“And I love all of that. I love—”

He stops.

You stare at him.

His mouth opens. Closes.

You blink once. “What was that last part?”

Oscar swears under his breath. “Shit.”

You raise an eyebrow, heart pounding. “You said you love—”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “I didn’t mean to—ugh, fuck it.”

He looks at you, really looks at you.

“I love you,” he says, like it’s both terrifying and freeing all at once. “Okay? I love you. I didn’t mean to say it like that, but I do. I love you.”

Your breath catches. “You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” he says, quieter now. “It’s been eating me alive. I’ve been trying not to mess things up by saying anything, but watching you sit there thinking you’re not enough? I couldn’t let that slide. You’re everything. And I just... I’m tired of pretending I don’t feel it.”

You don’t say anything.

Instead, you lean forward.

And kiss him.

The kiss is soft at first. Careful.

Like he’s afraid to break you.

Your fingers clutch the collar of his shirt, holding him close, and he moves with you—slow and warm, like he’s been waiting for this just as long as you have. His lips part yours gently, tasting the moment, learning you in real time.

And when you finally pull back, your breath catches in your throat. Not because of the kiss, not exactly. But because everything else—the weight of it, the possibility of what comes next—is suddenly sitting right there between you.

You stay close, foreheads pressed together, trying to keep your breathing even.

Oscar’s hands are still on your waist, grounding you. He smells like laundry detergent and cinnamon and all the things that bring you comfort these days. It would be so easy to fall into him completely.

But something tightens in your chest.

Your fingers twitch against the hem of his hoodie, and your voice comes out small. “This… this doesn’t feel real.”

Oscar smiles, brushing your cheek lightly with his knuckles. “But it is.”

You nod, slowly. Swallow once.

Then twice.

And before you can stop yourself, the words start to unravel. Quiet. Hesitant. Honest.

“I think I’m scared.”

Oscar stills. Just for a second. “Yeah?”

You don’t look at him right away. Your gaze drops to his collarbone, your thumb tracing a small fold in the fabric like it’s easier to say this if you’re not looking him in the eyes.

“I’ve never felt like this before,” you murmur. “Not like this. And I keep wondering… what if we mess it up? What if I mess it up?”

Oscar doesn’t interrupt. He just listens, just waits, giving you time to talk.

“You’re the one person I don’t want to lose, Oscar. You’ve been in my life for so long. You’ve seen all the worst parts of me, and somehow you’re still here. You matter more than anyone else, and the idea of ruining what we have terrifies me. I don’t want us rushing into this.”

There’s a long pause.

And then you feel his hand come up to gently tilt your chin, guiding your gaze back to his.

His eyes are soft. Unshaken.

“We’re not rushing,” he says simply.

You blink. “It kind of feels like we are.”

Oscar’s lips quirk, just a little. “Maybe to you. But not to me.”

He leans in, forehead touching yours again.

“We’ve been building this for years. Since we were kids. Do you remember when you used to call me every time you had a nightmare? Or when I used to wait outside your classroom just to walk you home, even when it was pouring?”

A small smile tugs at your mouth despite yourself.

“This isn’t sudden,” he says. “We’ve always loved each other It’s just… shifted now. Grown up and evolved. We’ve loved each other for so long, we didn’t even realize the love had grown romantic. Not really. Not until now.”

Your heart stumbles over itself at the way he says it—like it’s so obvious.

“And yeah,” he adds, voice quieter, “it might be a little scary. But I’m not scared of this. Not with you. This didn’t just fall out of nowhere,” he adds. “It’s been slowly turning into this for a long time. And I think that’s the safest and most beautiful kind of love there is.”

You breathe in. Let that settle.

And when he leans in again, kissing you once more, it feels steadier this time. More certain. Like something clicking into place.

When you part, you rest your head on his shoulder, the tension bleeding out of you little by little.

“I still might mess up,” you whisper.

Oscar smiles against your hair. “Then we’ll figure it out together.”

You huff out a quiet laugh.

And then he grins, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes again.

“Besides, worst-case scenario, at least you’ll be able to tell people you kissed five-time Grand Prix winner, Oscar Piastri. That’s gotta count for something, right?”

“God, you just had to ruin the moment you insufferable ass”

Oscar grins, not even a little sorry. “What? You’ll thank me when someone asks for your most iconic life achievement.”

You reach for a pillow and chuck it straight at him. “Get over yourself.”

He catches it like it’s nothing and hugs it dramatically to his chest. “Oof. Assault. You’re lucky I’m in love with you.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Another pillow flies—this time with more force—but he dodges it and launches one back, catching you in the side.

“Oh, it’s on now,” you mutter.

It escalates fast. Pillows are flying. You’re both half-standing, half-tumbling over the couch, laughing too hard to aim properly. He tries to shield himself with a blanket, which you immediately yank away, and soon you’re lunging at him with the last pillow in reach.

But Oscar grabs you before you can strike and pulls you down with him in one smooth motion. You both crash to the floor with a loud thud, tangled together in a mess of limbs and breathless laughter.

“Ow,” he groans, though he’s still grinning.

“You tackled me!” you laugh, your face half-buried in his hoodie.

“You came at me with a vengeance,” he says, breathless. “I had no choice.”

You lift your head to look at him. You’re lying half on top of him, knees awkwardly pressed into the carpet, but it doesn’t feel weird. It feels... good. Familiar. Warm.

Oscar looks at you for a beat, his hand sliding gently up to your back, fingertips brushing the hem of his hoodie you’re wearing.

He looks down at you, his eyes warm and bright, cheeks flushed.

“We’re gonna be fine,” he murmurs again, then dips down to kiss you.

You hum against his lips, a little dazed when you pull back.

Then Oscar leans closer and whispers with a grin, “So... does this mean we can make out after all my podiums now, or is that, like, unprofessional?”

You shove at his chest. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m the best,” he argues, laughing as you both dissolve back into teasing, tangled up in each other on the floor.

“You’re impossible,” you huff, half-laughing.

Oscar raises an eyebrow. “And yet... completely irresistible.”

You roll your eyes, already regretting falling for a man with this much audacity.

A/N: Basically, I got inspired by the specific lyrics in the banner. I interpreted this song a little differently. To me, it's simply talking about change that happens slowly, almost without anyone noticing it. It captures that quiet shift from one season to another, when you realize things aren’t quite the same as before, but you can’t pinpoint exactly when it happened

[feelfreetopleasemexo]

Can you write Katsuki and readers first kiss, she kisses him first and he hates that he didn’t do it first 

Of course! Thank you for asking !

A war of tongues.

Youd been dating Katsuki for about two weeks when you finally realised that it was going to be you that had to make the first move. Yeah hed held your hand, squeezed you in his python grip as a form of a cuddle, and yeah hed smacked your ass by accident after falling into you at the gym, but anything more than that seemed a distant dream. You needed to be the one to kiss him, for all his confidence and quit wit, he was a nervous wreck when it came to the idea of kissing.

You two had just finished training with kirishima when you both headed for the showers, usually when youd part ways to take your separate showers hed reach his hand up for a high-five, then quickly lower it and flick your forehead, but this time you caught his wrist and pulled him close to you. The shock in his eyes made them widen as he suddenly felt your chest pressed tightly against his own. He gulped back his nervousness and smirked down at you, grabbing his hand around your waist and pulling you tighter into him. Where was THIS Katsuki hiding?! All it took was for you to pull him close to you….you shook your head slightly trying to clear your mind, bringing back your determination to kiss him. You reached your hand to his face and pulled him in, pressing your lips hard into his.

It was breathtaking to finally feel his mouth on yours, it was hotter than youd imagined and the sweat from his jaw trickled down your fingers as you held his face. He stood there shocked at your lips finding their way forcefully to his own, he was stunned, why did YOU have to kiss HIM first?! He was just about to do it as well! He pulled back from the kiss and scowled down at you, grabbing your face in his hand and pulling you into a deeper, more passionate kiss. His fingers tightened around your jaw as he pressed deeply into you, it felt more like he was forcing you backwards than embracing in a tender, passionate kiss. Was he really trying to fight you with a kiss?

“Why did you have to kiss ME first? It’s the guys job to do all that stuff. I had planned on grabbing you after the shower and pushing you against the wall to kiss you, but your impatient ass had to sneak in there first.”

The annoyance in his voice lacked playfulness, was he actually pissed that youd managed to get there first?

“Not my fault you were pussy footing around it, I just couldn’t wait any longer.” You teased back, grinning menacingly at him. He adored the devilish stare in your eyes, determined to play him at his own teasing game. Hed finally met his match, someone as determined and foul mouthed as he was, he swore in that moment he knew he was inlove with you.

“You smart ass, that wasnt a kiss, this is a real kiss.” He planted both hands on your face and brought you closer to him, pressing open mouthed kisses on your lips, dancing his tongue tenderly along yours, flicking slightly and teasing it more into your mouth. As he kissed he could feel your body sink into his hands, he then put one of his hands onto your waist and held you tightly against him again, this time pressing his hips into you slightly. Now this was the type of kiss youd dreamt about, hot, heavy and passionate.

You playfully pushed his tongue back, fighting to have yours in his mouth more as you reached your hands up his back and tightly squeezed him, trying to take control of the kiss. His sexual tension took over his brain for a second as he pushed you up against the wall and started to grab your ass. You could feel his boner fighting to break free from his shorts as he pushed his hips into you more, moving so he was now between your legs. You couldnt contain yourself, your hormones grabbed the reigns and forced you to pull your leg up and hook it around his hip, then digging your heel into the back of him, pulling him harder into you. The tension between you two could barely be contained, even just an hour ago he could aren’t hold your gaze for longer than a few seconds,and now he was dry humping you against the wall inbetween the showers…you didn’t give a shit what was happening in the universe as long as he kept pushing himself into you like this.

Suddenly kirishima poked his head out from around the shower block, staring wide eyed and mouth slack at the both of you now suddenly going at it with each other. Hed teased Katsuki about being suddenly soft around you, and now he was eating his words, much like Katsuki was eating your face. He let out a small laugh then his eyes dropped again as a blast came flying towards his face. Katsuki didnt even need to look at him to know where to aim, it was almost muscle memory for him now. Nothing was interrupting him enjoying your kisses and the feel of your body against his, not kirishima, not the bell ringing, not mr aizawa now stood in the doorway scowling at you both as he darkened his eyes, unraveling some of his scarf and it hurtling its way to pull you both apart from each others hungry mouths.

[theseinfernalangels]

The Last Letter — Liam Mairi

Synopsis: Liam left you one last reminder of him before he went off to Athebyne. Nine months later, you still haven’t read it.

Includes: Pure angst. I am so sorry for all my Liam & Eden enthusiasts. I’ll make up for it with sisterly bonds (and fluff, later). Takes place during Onyx Storm.

The last letter that Liam wrote you, dated July 1st, sits in between some textbooks on your bookshelf. It remains untouched, even though it’s been almost a year since you received it. Liam had said not to open it until after he was back in from Parapet duty.

Little did either of you know, he wouldn’t even make it to see the year end.

The sealed envelope, the one with his scrawling handwriting, is pristine. It’s too perfect to mess up. Too clean, too reminiscent of your golden boy who used to press flowers for you in his spare time. You can’t help but feel like you’ll ruin something if you pry the golden wax seal open, tainting your lover’s actual final words to you forever. Those spoken ones didn’t count, from when the two of you snuck back into the Healers Quadrant on Reunification Day. He’d made love to you for the last time, equipped with soft words and gentle touches. His hands, calloused and warm, may have memorized every inch of your skin, but his parting words later that night were sealed like a brand in your memory.

“I’ll always come back for you. That’s a promise I intend on keeping.”

Well, when push came to shove, he didn’t come back for you — so did those words have any real meaning at all? Could they compete with the pages of rambling he shoved into that envelope a year ago and then hid in your room under a carving of an owl? 

You’d never know, because no matter how hard you try, you can’t make yourself open it. Of course, the curiosity chips away at you until you’re cracked and bleeding, but to no avail. There is not a single thing that could possibly convince you to open that letter.

Well, not a thing. But maybe a person.

It’s no surprise to you when Sloane comes creeping into the infirmary late one night while you’re completing your paperwork. She’s turned this into a weekly ordeal; every Sunday, she sneaks in to talk about Liam and ask about the things in the letters he addressed to her. There are so, so many — but you know that she’s getting close to the end.

“Gods, that looks boring,” she snorts, plopping down in the seat next to you. “How much more do you have to do?”

You shrug and continue to scribble on to your little data sheet. “I’m at least halfway done. We weren’t too heavy today, so there’s not much to be done. I just want to make sure I’m being accurate.”

Her hand finds your free one. “You’re always accurate. You’re probably the smartest person I’ve ever met.”

You purse your lips. “Eh. You’ve met Violet.”

A light squeeze shuts you up. “I’m not talking about Violet,” Sloane retorts. “I’m talking about you. Liam said you’re always right about everything, and he never liked to exaggerate.”

Well. That’s only partially true, really. Liam was honest, yes, but he could also be verydramatic when he wanted to be, and you know for a fact that, no — you’re hardly ever right about anything.

You let it slide, though. Just for Sloane.

The sound of your name has you pausing again, just to look up at her quizzically. “Can…” She stops. “Do you want to read this one with me? It’s shorter than the others, and I saw your name in it.”

You hesitate. It’s been around six months since you’ve been able to touch Liam’s letters to you. The last one you reread, dated January 24th, almost tore you apart upon reading his lovesick confessions and how he missed you. After that, you’d shoved all but one into a box and stuffed it under your bed, never to see the light of day again.

Liam would hate that. He didn’t like the dark, as supplied by the many mage lights he kept aflame in his room.

But…This isn’t for Liam. It’s for his sister, for the connections she so desperately needs after being ripped away from her only living family. She deserves the closure just as much as you desire the solitude. As a quiet concession, you drop your pen and incline your head. “Go ahead.”

Sloane blinks, as if she didn’t expect you to say yes, but she pulls out a little, meticulously folded slip of paper from her breast pocket.

Oh, Liam. Even in death, I admire your attention to detail.

Sloane unfolds it slowly, her fingers trembling as if the thought of showing Liam’s thoughts to someone else is an unforgivable act. She doesn’t know about your letterbox, and you don’t intend on telling her, either. As much as you’re willing to give to help her, you’re also unabashedly selfish. There’s only one person who gets to see what Liam was like in love, and that’s you. End of story.

She clears her throat and waits for your nod to begin reading. Upon your concession, she flattens the paper against the table and reads.

“April 15th.

Sloane,

Here’s my tip to survival for you today: By all means necessary, do not — and I mean, do not — make a bet with people on racing dragons. Deigh and I may have won against Fohmar and Enna Laughlin, but at what cost? I went into vertigo and almost promptly lost my guts. I cannot recommend it, no matter how beautiful the adrenaline rush is. Then, when we landed, I landed almost directly on top of Bodhi, who looked like he was about to either yell or shit himself. Maybe both. You can never really tell with him.

By the way, because I know you’ll want to — you don’t need to make fun of me; my girl already did that for you (I can’t wait for you to meet her. She’s got the same bite as you).”

Sloane takes a second to breathe, which you take to steady yourself and write a few more notes into your data sheet. That day, Liam had stumbled into the infirmary looking pale and spent, which scared the shit out of you. Then, you’d promptly gave him hell for his boyish idiocy, which he accepted with — as always — a bright, dimpled grin.

Shit. You breathe in shakily and then nod to tell Sloane to continue.

“Here are some other highlights in case you need something to brighten your day.

We finished up Squad Battles today. I moved us up a couple of spots in sparring with this insane leg lock that hurt like hell. I kind of felt bad for the guy I was paired with, but the gratification at the end made every second worth it. I know; I’m so modest.

Subsequently, we moved on to the last challenge, which was scary as shit. I won’t spoil if it’s reused for next year, but we ended up sneaking into General Sorrengail’s personal office to steal stuff. It was both the most terrifying and exhilarating thing I’ve ever done. I know I’ve said this in every other letter I’ve written, but you’ll absolutely adore Violet. Her mother may be to blame for our struggles, but she is nothing but kind to me. Be kind to her in turn, please.

Not that this would interest you yet, but I also happened to steal a bottle of wine from someone else’s office. It’s labeled as Tyrrish Petrichor, but it’s definitely Zinfandel. You might not remember, but that’s Mom’s favorite. It’s very bold, with a little bit of spice. Maybe we should sneak back in when you get here so we can grab another bottle, just as a little keepsake.”

You know that flavor all too well. Liam had brought in that bottle with the most smug little smile on his face, and since it was a Saturday, you were free to get absolutely shitfaced together. What transpired that night is still hazy to you, but several things about the morning after pointed you both in the right direction immediately.

Wine stains on your bedsheets.

Your cane lying abandoned by your bedside table.

Liam looking bewildered, and then a bit too pleased with himself.

The recollections have you biting down on your lip to keep yourself from succumbing to the whims of your aching heart. Your fingers curl around the edge of your seat, grazing the wood while Sloane finishes the letter.

“By the time you read this, you’ll probably be preparing for Squad Battles yourself. I’ll be watching out for you on the sidelines, kiddo. Don’t forget to absorb every moment — the good, the bad, and the ugly. Once you’re past First Year, you’ll be aching to go back and experience it all over again, no matter how painful it may feel the first time. At least, that’s how I feel with a lot of things. 

P.S. I’m praying that we’ll somehow end up in the same squad by some sudden miracle. However, we probably won’t. Be prepared to get your ass kicked, Sloane, because no one beats Second Squad when it comes to any kind of challenge.

Just kidding, but not really,

Liam.”

Although hot tears swim in your eyes, you can’t help but sputter out a laugh. “Just kidding, but not really. Gods, what an idiot.”

Sloane just shakes her head with an exasperated but amused smile. “Hey, that’s purely him. You decided to fall in love with that.”

“I did, didn’t I?” You murmur, brushing your thumb under the tabletop absentmindedly. If you feel around enough, you can feel the shallow dip in the wood where Liam decided to carve out your initials with a tiny, all too realistic heart above it. How he was able to put so much detail in such a little indentation is beyond you — but, then again, so were a lot of things when it came to Liam.

Sloane’s eyes soften in a way that’s painfully familiar. She slides out of the chair and gives you a gentle hug, burying her head in your shoulder.

“Thank you,” she says quietly. “For doing this with me. I don’t like reading them by myself, and you’re the closest thing I have to him now.”

You tense a little at the contact, but you eventually ease and allow her to slump into you. “Anytime, kid,” you reply hoarsely, swallowing around a lump in your throat. “He loves you, you know. So much.”

You can’t make yourself refer to him in past-tense. It just doesn’t make sense, especially when it comes to him and Sloane.

“Yeah?” She whispers. “He fucking adored you. I’m sorry I can’t show you every letter, but I know for certain that he wanted everything with you. He had an entire future in his head.”

In and out. Clench the jaw. Swallow again. Breathe.

The faint trembling of your lip sends you reeling back into the present, and you slowly free yourself from her grasp.

“Thank you,” you tell her earnestly, giving her the most genuine look you can muster. “For that, Sloane. You don’t understand how much it means to me, that you’re willing to come and talk to me.”

She shoots you a small, knowing smile, one that says, “I do, actually.” She skirts her way back to the door and waves, a promise to return next week with another letter to both quell and strengthen your sorrow.

It’s five — or maybe thirty? Or is it an hour? — minutes later, and you’re completely alone, accompanied only by the sound of your breathing and your quill scratching against the paperwork you’d disregarded. Routine, as mundane as it is, is your saving grace right about now. With barely anyone to cheerfully interrupt up your day, all you can do to cope is work, work, work, and then pass out at the end of the day until the cycle begins anew. You’re definitely the only healer presently working right now, even if it’s just assignments that are second-nature to you by now.

As much as you try to focus, to block out everything but information and statistics, your mind keeps drifting to Liam’s letter. Despite it being Sloane who read it, you can replace her voice with his almost perfectly, as if he was speaking the words himself. 

“Don’t forget to absorb every moment — the good, the bad, and the ugly. Once you’re past First Year, you’ll be aching to go back and experience it all over again, no matter how painful it may feel the first time.”

Ugh. You lean forward and tuck your head in your arms. For everything dumb he did around you, Liam was never short on wisdom to share — and, from past letters, it seems he wanted to impart every last bit of it to his sister, like a good older brother. And, by extension, to you. Whether that was an intentional choice of his or not, you’d never know.

“Hm,” you muse under your breath, looping your signature expertly on a crisp line. “Was that a sign from you, Li?”

Of course, you know you won’t get a reply, but the cold air of the infirmary settling around you like a soft embrace is answer enough. If Sloane can do it, so can you. You can read a fucking letter and live with it afterwards.

Paperwork be damned. You haul yourself to your feet and drag yourself back to your room. Despite the exhaustion in your bones and the ache in your leg, you have a new sense of determination. If you don’t read that damn letter now, you might not ever be able to. You usually like to neglect your grief, shut it down and shove it in a coffin deep inside and never address it again — but that’s not how Liam worked. Grief was something to be held and cared for until it was tamed quietly, under gentle supervision instead of under lock and key. That’s where the two of you always differed; one of you cares too little about their feelings, and the other cared extensively. He always did. Always does. Present-tense.

You unlock your door and make a beeline for the third shelf from the top of your bookshelf, where the blue, smooth envelope sits delicately in between your numerous medical tomes and jars of stationery. Dropping onto your messy sheets, you prop your cane against the bedside table and stare at that dastardly golden seal that closes the letter off from your sight. Your thumb presses against the wax hesitantly, as if even the lightest of touches would ruin the beauty of it all. Tarnish it, forever staining its perfection and the image of Liam pressing the stamp onto the paper meticulously, just like he did with everything else.

The muscles in your thumb lock up for a moment, as if they could sense your hesitation and decided to act upon it. That nagging piece inside screams at you for wanting to open the envelope, to read Liam’s last words to you like they’re the finale of a romance that was supposed to last forever. If you laid your eyes upon his unread thoughts, would that render the adoration between you broken with nothing else to add to it? Would it just solidify the fact that he’s gone, and you won’t have anything to return to when you retire to your room at night?

Liam would hate that I’m thinking like this, you think to yourself. Like he’s gone gone, and not just a realm or two away. That was something he always rambled about when you were left alone with his head in your lap and your fingers in his hair; “No matter when someone passes,” he’d say, “the realm of the dead is just next to ours. They don’t leave. They just take a few steps back and wait for you to see them.”

Maybe that’s what you need to do, too. Take a few steps back to last July and grant Liam the blessing of having his last words to you tattooed in the back of your brain. It’s the least you can do; even with him being gone, you still feel like you owe him a thousand debts, plus a thousand more.

With trembling hands and a sinking feeling in your stomach, you start to peel back the seal with your thumbnail, ignoring the little voice in the back of your head that shrieks at you to stop before you make a mistake.

But there are no mistakes. He wouldn’t have wrote it if he didn’t want you to read it.

It comes off in one piece, slightly weighted and warm in the palm of your hand. You never did ask Liam what the little symbol on his seals meant, but it feels so solid on your skin. Grounding. Warm, like Liam’s hands whenever they found yours. Nice and strong, but lacking his callouses.

Ever so gently, you ease the papers from the envelope, unfolding them with your heart pounding in your ears. Liam’s handwriting, scrawling and rushed and utterly him, unfurls beneath your eyes perfectly. Your name, looped neatly at the top, has you biting down on the inside of your cheek. Despite the stretch of time since you’ve last heard his voice, you can practically hear him whispering in your ear as you begin to read.

“My sweet girl,

I won’t lie; the fact that I’m even beginning to write this feels absolutely surreal. It doesn’t feel like it’s been a year since the Parapet, and it certainly doesn’t feel like it’s been less than a year since I met you. Call me a sap; I don’t care. Despite it being not that long since I first laid my eyes on you, I think that we may have been one soul in a past life. How else could I become so infatuated with someone so quickly?

You bear every burden with terrifying ease, my love. That is no small feat, no matter how modest you like to be. Not everyone can make the transition from rider to healer so seamlessly, but you make it look so effortless — and so good. You’re beautiful in black, but blue is definitely your color. I like to think it’s because it’s my eye color (don’t slap me for that one), but I digress. You are the strongest woman I have ever met, and I know so well that if my mother were still here, she would adore you. So would will my sister. I can’t wait for you to meet Sloane. She’s got the same energy as you, just with a little more audacity. You’ll be the first person she meets outside of her squad — I’ll make sure of it. When we sneak in after her first class, be prepared. I’ll make the excuse of showing her how to get to the infirmary in case she needs it.

You’ll be pissed at me for this, probably, but I got a look at your Reunification Day dress when you left your armoire door open, and…Wow. You’re absolutely gorgeous, but I don’t know how I’ll be able to handle it when I get to see you in that. When Imogen and Iris first introduced us, I couldn’t stop staring, no matter how hard I tried (which, I’ll be honest — I didn’t try that much. I couldn’t help myself). There’s an expression in Tyrrish for people like you: Mo solas i lár an scrios. My light in the midst of destruction.

It’s funny how time changes things so quickly. When I was a child, the only wish I had for my future was to be alive, and maybe to take over my father’s position in politics. Even then, I could never really envision a future where I was truly happy with my choices. Then, you happened. Suddenly, I can see everything so clearly that it’s scary. Where it was once dark, I see you and I together, wherever we may end up — may it be Morraine or Tyrrendor. You are my future, and dammit, I will fight with every cell in my body to make that future possible, even when it seems so impossible that not even a precog can see it.

Marry me after we graduate, my love. Or sooner. I’m sure we could pull some strings, with our combined success. Go wherever you want, and I will follow, from the tip of the sky to the very bottom of Malek’s realm. There is no man, dragon, or god alive that can keep us apart for long. I want to marry you, live with you, change with you, grow old with you, and pass with you. It’s only fitting, because you are the only thing I want in my future. Even if the world goes to ash around us, we’ll burn brighter than the stars together.

And if I have to leave? I’ll come back for you every time. Every damn time, and that is a promise. In the event that I’m killed in action, don’t you worry your pretty head off. After all, you know I’m just a realm away, and I’m still not leaving your side. Like I said, that’s a promise. I don’t break promises, you know.

Meet up with me after the healer’s graduation, at the bridge. I have something for you.

Always, forever, and then more,

Liam.”

You don’t quite realize how long you’ve been sitting there, just staring at the end of the letter, until the unmistakable sound of paper shifting hits your ears. A few dark, wet spots have made their way from your cheeks to the edges of the paper, and you shift a little backwards, laying the letter on your bedside table. 

It’s dark in your room, the only light being emitted from a dying candle that’s undoubtedly on its last tenure. The abandoned seal shines bright in the glow, catching and redirecting onto your fingers. You stare at it for a few moments, any speech you could have tried for melting into wet sand on your tongue. 

Marry me after we graduate.

Gladly, you would have said. No questions asked, you’d have married him on the spot if he asked. 

And he did. Not to your face, but he did. 

How are you supposed to just…answer that?

A dry laugh bubbles from your throat. “You couldn’t have just said something? Gods, you’re a douche.”

There’s no answer, of course, but you can imagine Liam’s sheepish laughter in the back of your brain followed by a flurry of apologies. A small, bitter smile keeps your face drawn up, and you just shake your head.

“Idiot,” you whisper, reaching out and brushing the edge of the letter with your thumb as another tear falls. “I would have said yes. I’m still saying yes. You being gone doesn’t change that.”

You sit back against the wall, resting your head against the cool stone and watching out your window at the stars. Could you burn brighter than those? Maybe, if you had Liam with you — but he’s not here. Not physically, at least.

You tilt your head to the side. “Just a realm away, huh? That doesn’t sound very far, when you put it like that.”

Against the faint light, imperceptible even to your keenly observant eyes, a flickering silhouette shifts towards you. Maybe, if you saw it and stared at it long enough, you could have caught it leaning in close to you, completely invading your personal space.

And, maybe if you’d been paying enough attention, you could have caught the cool touch of a breeze against your cheek, all too similar to that of a gentle, familiar, barely-there kiss.

Taglist: @wonderstruckbyyou, @jessicalee22likestowrite, @freezerbride18, @ineednewdaggers, @suspicious-stain-in-spain, @kienhawon, @goldenmagnolias, @empyreanevents

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[homelanderbutbig]

Nowhere Else You'd Rather Be (G/T Homelander x Reader)

1650 words. Pure fluff. Homelander is 8 feet tall. Reader is non-descriptive. Established relationship.

You have some struggles, and Homelander wants to help. Inspired by this ask.

Your relationship with Homelander is based on mutual love and trust. Unlike the rest of the mudpeople he's surrounded by every day, he's shown you a level of faith far above the rest. He divulges details of his traumatic past knowing you care for him, and he tells you about his problems knowing you aren't just another 'yes-man' and will actually listen to him. Neither of you feel the need to hide your true selves, because you appreciate that you'll never be judged.

But the one thing you've kept hidden from him is your pain.

For quite a few years even before you moved to New York to work for Vought, you've struggled with chronic pain. It inhibits your abilities to function day-to-day, especially during a bad flareup. Regardless, you never let your limitations affect your work, and you always keep your pain under wraps from others who may berate you for your problems… including Homelander. He's never been shy to make snide comments on how humans suffer so easily, how effortlessly they break and how they have no concept of 'true pain'. You were never sure how he'd react to learning about your issues, so you never told him.

That is, until today.

You've been dealing with increased pressure from both Homelander and the Hero Management Department over some new branding deal, and being his personal assistant means the bulk of the paperwork has landed on your shoulders. With this escalating stress you're having a particularly bad pain day. Your muscles are stiff to a painful degree, making it hard to do your regular tasks and walk back-and-forth through the hundreds of hallways in the Tower. There's nothing more that you want than to just be away from this godforsaken place.

Trying to navigate your workload though this pain has left you a bit more withdrawn that usual, your aching body is screaming for a break that you cannot receive. You're hoping that just focusing all your attention on your work will distract you from your increasing discomfort, so the day can go by faster. What you didn't expect is a certain man in blue catching on to your change in personality.

"What's up with you today?" Homelander's voice echoes behind you as you're trudging silently down the hallway. You jump at the unexpected line of questioning; you didn't realize he had been tailing you, using his uncanny ability to sneak up on people despite being an 8 foot tall, 600 pound killing machine.

"It's nothing…" you brush him off, eyes on the ground while you straighten the papers you're holding close to your chest. You try to keep walking, but he quickly maneuvers himself in front of you, blocking any chance of ending this conversation.

"Don't lie to me," he states bluntly, though not coming from a place of malice. He may appear stern, but you can discern the worry in his eyes. He sees how you've been struggling today; he's perceived that something is wrong and he hates knowing you're keeping a secret from him.

"I just… I have chronic pain. I usually have it under better control, but today's a bad day," you concede, staring up at him. You can feel your chest tightening having finally admitted this to him, your mind frantically spinning through all the different ways he could take this revelation.

"Chronic pain?" he asks, raising an eyebrow though his expression remains unreadable.  "You never told me about this before."

"Yeah. I have a condition, it makes my muscles react really bad to stress. I just get all tense and everything hurts," you explain, breathing deep in an attempt to remain composed. "I… I-I didn't think you'd be interested in hearing about my difficulties, when you have so much more than I ever could on your plate. And I'm used to dealing with this by myself already…"

"Hmmm… I see," he says, looking down at you in contemplative thought before silently turning around and walking away, leaving you alone.

You expected that to be the end of this discussion. The next hour you don't see him at all. Now he knows you're not as special as he thought, you're just like everyone else. Imperfect.

However, for some reason, during the rest of the day he stays closely by your side and seems to be going out of his way to help you.

If there's something too high that you can't reach, he's there to grab it without difficulty and bring it down for you. If you drop a book or binder on the ground, he's there to pick it up so you don't have to bend down. If some other Vought employee is breathing down your neck, he's looming over them to give you some space.

And then, as the work day at last comes to a close, you're locking up your office for the night to begin your trek home, happy to go back for a warm bath and to wrap yourself up in heating pads. But you don't make it very far, as you're abruptly swept off your feet and into the air by a pair of oversized hands.

"Allow me," he chuckles, holding you up close to his chest.

"Hey!! Th-this isn't necessary Homelander," you protest. "You don't have to carry me, I can still walk!"

"Nonsense, you rest those pretty little legs of yours and let your favourite supe do the walking," he grins, winking at you. No matter how hard to try to fight his grasp, you're powerless against his unrelenting strength.

With you snug in between his massive arms, he starts strolling down the halls to the elevator. His body heat emanating all around you combined with the softness of his padded suit is admittedly, for the first time today, calming your frenzied mind. Yet there's also something about the way he's not even paying any attention to the people below him, forcing them to get out of his way lest they be crushed under his feet. Usually when he carries you, the both of you are alone and out of the public. From this vantage point you can't help but understand how easily one could see the rest of society as nothing more than ants, but you try and push those unsettling thoughts down for the mean time.

After the quiet elevator ride up to the penthouse, Homelander takes you over to the couch in his living room. He sits down with you on his lap, where you notice he suspiciously left a normal-sized blanket on one of the cushions. Carefully, he picks the blanket up and cocoons you inside like a burrito; with how velvety and luxurious it feels on your skin you wonder how much he spent on it, just for you.

"Wow, look at all the knots you got here! No wonder you're hurting," he declares, removing his gloves before slowly massaging your neck and back. "Let me take care of you."

"You don't have to do this…" you mumble softly, sensing his big hands overtaking your body. The span of just one of his hands is nearly the same length across as your shoulders, not to mention that he only needs three fingers to cover the same width as your neck. He usually doesn't touch you in this way, and you won't lie to yourself that it's a little intimidating actually feeling the size difference.

"I want to," he counters confidently. "You know, I've been researching what he can to do alleviate their symptoms. You're always going out of your bubble, straining yourself. And it's easy enough to relax those muscles if you know how." He moves his long fingers along your shoulders, delicately pressing down and pinpointing your problems faster than any mere physician. "I can feel where your muscle fibres are contracting, there's a little hard trigger point buried in the centre. You just gotta apply pressure right on it, and…. there we go!"

He's rambling on but you're barely even hearing what he's saying. He is systematically going through all your sore spots, releasing your muscles of their painful tension, warming your body as the blood flow returns to those areas. He could just as easily envelop your head with one hand and crack it like an egg, and yet he's using a fraction of that insurmountable strength to simply make you feel better. It's such a small act from a mountain of a man, and it never fails to amaze you how much control he has over his powers.

"You're… you're really good at this… thank you," you praise him as you lean back into his hands, sighing at how good you feel. The fact that he was even willing to learn about your issues and that he genuinely wants to help has left you speechless. You've never had anyone in your life who cared this much about your wellbeing.

His hands freeze at your words, fingers twitching slightly. After a moment of silence, he slowly leans forward to drape his head over you, kissing your temple.

"You already do everything to help me. Now it's my turn," he reassures you, his deep voice resonating through your core as he nuzzles his cheek on your face. "You deserve to be as revered as me."

He continues with your massage as you gradually begin to feel yourself nod off against his expansive form. It's been a long day, exacerbated by your pain and you're succumbing to your exhaustion. Nestled cozily in your blanket, you're being pampered by the love of your life whom surrounds you both figuratively and literally. You smile as you realize just like how he trusts you implicitly with his struggles, you never had to worry about doing the same. He will always be there for you, protecting you, giving you the world he's always wanted to share.

There is truly nowhere else you'd rather be.

[dollymatt]

༉‧₊˚. COWBOY¡MATT

in which you and your cowboy kind of go on a date to the funfair even though matt has to hand you back at the end of the night . . . paired with sweetheart reader

The fair glows like a memory before it’s even over, warm, golden lights blurring against the purple sky, the air thick with kettle corn and summer dust. You walk beside Matt, cotton candy in one hand, the other tugging at the sleeve of his flannel jacket that hangs oversized around your frame. It smells like him. Smoked cedar, leather, sun. Your daddy thinks Matt’s just there to supervise. just one of his older and supposedly more responsible farmhands who's just being sweet and doing him a favour, making sure his sweetheart daughter doesn’t get herself in trouble. But Matt’s the trouble, really. And you’re so damn glad for it.

He looks so unfairly good under the midway lights—hat tilted back, forearms crossed, denim hugging every line of him. Big hands, bigger shoulders, and that slow, knowing smile. The kind that could get a girl into all kinds of sin. You bounce on your heels in red cowboy boots, cheeks warm from laughing as he hands you a stuffed cow he won at the ring toss. You squeal, holding it to your chest like it’s a diamond.

❝You didn’t have to win me a prize,❞ you tease, bumping your shoulder into his. Matt just grins, flexing his arm a little. ❝Gotta show off for my girl somehow.❞ ❝Oh, so I’m your girl now?❞ you ask, biting into your cotton candy, voice all syrupy and sweet. ❝Always been, darlin’.❞ His voice is low, deadly soft. You try to hide your smile behind the spun sugar, but he sees it anyway.

He wins you two more prizes before you can stop him—one from the milk bottle toss, where he knocks every bottle clean off the crate with one throw, and another from the basketball hoops. You all clap, mock surprise. ❝What can’t you do?❞ ❝Keep my hands off you, apparently,❞ he mutters under his breath, and you burst out laughing.

The scrambler ride comes next. You wait in line, talking about the lights and how you used to come here when you were little, your voice going soft with nostalgia. He listens, smiling, thumb tracing the back of your hand. When you both climb in, you barely get buckled before it jerks into motion. Each spin sends you flying into his side, and his laughter rumbles warm against your ear.

❝Told you to hold on,❞ he chuckles, gripping your waist. ❝You like it,❞ you shout over the roar, giggling as you slide into him again. ❝Gives you an excuse to grab me!❞ ❝I don’t need an excuse, sweetheart.❞ By the time you reach the Ferris wheel, the crowd's thinned and the night hums softly around you. He helps you into the seat like you're delicate, settles you on his lap, legs draped over his thigh, arm curled around your waist. You point out stars, still catching your breath.

❝That one’s shaped like a horse,❞ you say, chin tilted up. ❝Nah, it’s you. Pretty and wild,❞ he murmurs, fingers trailing lazy shapes on your thigh. You squirm a little. His voice is syrupy, that Southern drawl wrapping around you like a slow burn. You rest your forehead against his jaw, and he presses a kiss to your temple.

It feels like a date. Because it is. But when the ride ends, and he walks you back to the truck, he’ll say ❝thank you, sir❞ to your daddy like he didn’t just spend the whole evening with your thighs over his. Like you didn’t fall asleep against him on the ride home, cotton candy on your breath and his hand warm on your knee.

You doze in the passenger seat, boots scuffed, face tilted toward his shoulder. Matt drives one-handed, slow and sure. The stars blur by overhead, and he looks over at you, smile all soft. Already thinking about sneaking through your window come midnight.

𖦹 ׂ 𓈒 yap ／ ⋆ ۪ hex looks so ugly on the title but not below so um . . . booooo the more I read this the more I hate it

⌗ dolls . . . @bernardsbendystraws @jacsismattswife @angvl3tears

© DOLLYMATT ⋆˚࿔ est. 2025 do not plagiarise or repost my works on any other platforms.

[ragnarockz]

this but Maya 😵‍💫

Tip Jar 💰

Lock Me Up 💛🔒

LC 🪙 OUT HERE LIKE HERE YOU GO! GO BE SMUTTY AND FERAL!

AND YOU'RE RIGHT! I SHALL! 😤

Ohhhhhhhh mmhmmm mmhmm mmhhm. Something about being punished from Maya and taking it. Asking for it. Oh, Reader...I UNDERSTAND!💛🔒

Also maybe I cheated with this because we got maya saying i hate you and reader begging for that cu- *GUNSHOTS*

Maya x Reader

Work had been painfully busy and complicated and it felt like there was no end in sight of all the little things that could and had been going on.

Maya and Matt were on your case constantly; Sal and Quinn promised to help you but were so caught up in their own work it left you the odd man out. And Maya? Your boss? Was pissed.

She had no time for fuck ups or laziness and no time for mistakes that would cost them time to waste no one at Continental had. It all came down on you and you knew it was, without a doubt, your fault. Maya could only give you cold glances and whispers of annoyance under her breath as she pretty much avoided you at all costs when it came to your working environment.

She didn't even whisk you away to go get lunch with her like you usually did.

On top of that, she didn't even sneak you off to some random boardroom to make out with you on your break before slapping you ass and telling you to leave first and get back to your desk so it wouldn't look suspicious. Meanwhile, with a smirk on your face, she would return shortly after you with always something slightly askew. She wanted people to know you two had been fooling around moments before.

But that was then and this is now and it felt like you'd go hours without seeing Maya and those times you did? Well, she was mad. Pissed.

You thought maybe you needed to be the one to break the ice during all this high-tension. Ask her out on break; grab the both of you lunch. Maybe she'd treat it like a peace offering of some sort; you, spending your hard-earned money buying her a mediocre sandwich from the overpriced cafe across the street.

So you did; you ran down right when your break started to get her and you a lunch that could be eaten quickly with coffee to wash it down. Hiking back up into the office with both your lunches in hand, you make your way into her office and set your lunch down on her desk.

Maya doesn't even look at you; keeps clicking away at her laptop.

You clear your throat and she still doesn't give you any attention. Maybe she is actively avoiding you.

"Maya?"

Nothing; daggers at her screen as she types away.

"Maya."

"I'm actively trying to fix your fucking mess. Unless, you want to fix it. Which you should...it is your stupid fucking mistake!"

You bite your lip as you stare at her and feel your blood run cold. You feel bad, of course you do, you were hired to be good at this job under her. And now here she was, fixing up a stupid little mistake you had no idea how you'd gotten it wrong in the first place.

"Maya, I'm s-"

"A fucking apology isn't going to fix this fucking mess! What the fuck do you think? Oh, Maya, I'm sorry for fucking up my simple little pussy ass job! Get a fucking grip!"

You bite down on your tongue because god forbid you snap back at your boss. Sure, you have become more than just coworkers; she'd rush you back home with her and bend you over her couch and fuck you into oblivion. But for you two talk back at her? At work? At her job and your mess?

Death sentence.

She hits down hard on one key before she pushes herself away from her desk and lets out a loud huff. Her gaze shoots over to you and burns into you. You're both silent and you know you're on the receiving end of her anger.

You hate how wet it's making you to know at any given second, she could really, really snap at you.

You watch as she stares at the food and coffee left on her desk that she just notices now; a little less blinded by her disappointment in you. You swear you see a glint of softness behind her eyes as she realizes what you've done for her but it quickly leaves her face as she pulls herself back closer to her desk and drums her fingernails on the desktop.

The sound sends shivers down your spine because you know, something absolutely disgraceful is running through her mind.

Your body starts to react before she even opens her mouth. Taking steps towards her and her desk; Maya still sitting down in her chair. At this point in your messy relationship, she doesn't even have to ask you and you already know where her brain goes. You belong to Maya Mason. No questions asked.

"If you think allowing me to fuck you is gonna clear up this fucking mistake..."

You shake your head at her because you know it won't, not logically anyway. Continental will still take a hit and you'll be either fucked literally or figuratively and if you play your cards right, both.

Maybe she's realized that as she lets her hand drag away from the desk so she can push herself away from it again. She's allowing you room, access to her. She's allowing you to come stand between her and her desk.

"Over or on top?"

She smirks at you as she shakes her head as if you're just so pathetic, so fucking desperate. You can see it in her eyes; the words she doesn't say yet out of her mouth.

She doesn't even reply; lets you make your choice. Allows you to pick your fate at her mercy. You carefully pack up her desk and offload it onto your own just beside it. Carefully moving her things to give the both of you clearance to fuck on top of it. She watches you with amusement as you try to bide your time because you know whatever she dishes out will be punishment enough for fucking up both hers and your job.

You make your choice then; on top. Because you want to look her in the face as she berates you and points out all your faults while fucking you into her desk. Your skin prickles at the though of it as you sit yourself down onto her desk and spread your legs just wide enough for her to stand in between them.

"How did I know...you have a thing for punishment, don't you, Sweetheart?"

Venom dripping from her perfectly lined lips as a glint in her eye reads danger. She's coming closer; closing the gap like a snake winding up before striking in for the kill. You feel your skin flush; burning hot now as you can hardly wait you start to swing your one leg slightly in anticipation.

She loves watching you squirm and she hasn't even put a finger on you yet.

"Punishment when it comes from you, yes."

She grins and shakes her head at your confession; a wrong thing to say out loud. To admit.

Those perfectly manicured fingers of hers grab and press into your knees and you wince as you feel her nails prick your bare skin. Your shorts have hitched up higher to reveal your soft inner thighs and she eyes them like a goddamn prize before her. Her fingers drag up from your knees and to your thighs, turning inwards to ghost against your soft skin.

You moan desperately and she laughs in your face.

"I hate you. You fucking worthless excuse for an assistant...all you're good for is a fuck during company time."

You almost don't hear her at first; don't register the words that flew out of her mouth because now, she's yanking down your shorts to let them fall at your ankles. Her fingers and hands move with ease, precision, as she slides her left hand down into your underwear and swipes dangerously at your throbbing clit.

You whine desperately, painfully and buck your hips into her hand. She pulls that hand out you so desperately want to fuck into and slaps your pussy against your underwear to the extent that she can at this angle. A dull slap that makes you clench around nothing.

"Maya...Maya, please..."

You just barely manage to moan out as you let your head hang down, eyes closed as you feel the echo of a throb between your legs. You roll your hips towards her; fucking nothing and knowing she's watching you fall apart for her.

"Please, what? You're the fuck up...and now you're begging me to fuck you? I don't think you deserve that...do you think you deserve it?"

You nod your head so hard you think it's going to snap off from your neck. She laughs at you and her hand comes back; almost too roughly. Painfully. She grabbing you through your underwear as she tries to finger you through the fabric. You rock your hips again and dare her to claw right through them.

You know she would but she's getting impatient now.

"You. You take them off. You're the one being a desperate, moaning slut."

And you do.

Because she's right.

And you are.

You pull them down to join your shorts at your ankles and wait; the cool air of her office hitting your bare, wet skin. The throbbing is painful now; drawing you to sudden and slow madness as it eats in your mind how badly you need her fingers inside of you. Nails and rings and all. In you so deep you'd see stars and cum almost instantly.

She'd hate that and you'd love it.

"I hate you-"

"I want you to cum inside of me."

She backs off and smirks at you as she watches you slowly lift your head so you could meet her gaze. The silence between you is heavy, loaded. You know you're asking too much of her especially with the colossal fuck up still lingering around.

Can you ask for forgiveness this way? Letting Maya Mason fuck you to right a wrong?

Of course you can because without a second thought, you watch her reach into her own pants and pull out her cock.

Of course she would have been packing today, of all days. She probably knew you'd ask for forgiveness with her cock.

"If you think this is going to solve anything...you still owe me, Pet..."

You moan again as your legs spread wider and she laughs once more; mocking you with just how badly you're begging for it. She must think you're so easy. Maybe, you think, you should remind her of that.

"I'll owe you anything you want, Maya...please...anything. If you want to use me for just your own personal fuck toy, I-"

But you don't get the chance to finish; not in the way of words. She's closed the gap between you and her; hands digging into your waist as she pulls you close. She almost drags you right off of the desk but she quickly and expertly anchors you onto her. One fluid motion and her cock is pushed inside of your waiting cunt.

You fold forward into her; forehead almost touching her own. But you know she won't let you do that; you'll ruin her hair and makeup. That knowing fucking fact that is so Maya Mason makes you moan loudly and roll your hips to a new fever so badly it almost throws her off her own game.

She collects herself quickly as she presses her hands into your hips and basically guides you down so that you're half laying on her desk; supported up by your forearms now. You watch through half-lidded eyes as she eyes your neck in which, you crane it out to the side for her and hope her teeth makes contact sooner than later.

The thought of her biting down onto the side of your neck would surely make you cum on the spot.

But she doesn't, not yet anyway. Because Maya still needs to be in control and she's the one who will control you until the very end.

Pumping herself into you with ease; she watches every tick and shutter your body gives her. You're giving yourself fully to her as she fucks you hard and deep and fast onto her desk.

"What did you say you wanted from me, Sweetheart? Tell me again..."

You swallow hard as you try to catch your breath; another whimper escaping your lips before your mumbled words do.

"Iwantyou...tocum...insideofme..."

What happens next bends your brain as you watch her nonchalantly reach to the side of her harness and lift out the syringe attached to her cock. You can see the semi-opaque lube inside of the plastic that's connected to the tube leading down. One single press of that plunger and she's coming inside of you.

Her hand holding the syringe draws it closer to you than to her and suddenly it all becomes clear.

Maya Mason wants you to pull the trigger.

Maya Mason wants you to literally make her cum inside of you.

"Oh...Maya..."

You whisper so sweetly you watch as her hardened expression melt away. You've given yourself totally over to her and she's relishing in it; feeling like a fucking goddess.

Your shaking hand reaches out between yourself and her; feeling the sweat covering your skin as your forearm brushes against yourself slightly to take hold of the syringe.

She doesn't say anything, just makes sure as she's staring in your eyes that you watch her gaze drift down to where she can see her cock pumping into and out of you. You follow her gaze and meet that spot as well.

Your thumb rubs gently onto the flat grooved flange before you use pressure; pressure building between your legs just like it does in your thumb pad as you press down.

Press down and instantly feel her fill you up; cumming deep inside of you.

The both of you gasp almost in unison as you keep pressing until there's nothing left in the syringe and that excess dribbles out of you and onto, around, over her cock.

Your hand lets go of the syringe; no longer caring because you've gotten what you wanted. Cum filling you so much that it's too much; overflowing onto her and you and her desk. Coating your thighs because of course she's still slowly fucking you because god, does she love watching herself over stuff that perfectly wet pussy of yours that's all hers.

And possibly, always will be.

[glitteringdust]

The way Anders eyes Hawke up and down between each hand of Wicked Grace makes his blood boil.

Glowering across the table, he hated every second of it, in fact— it was clear to him and anyone else watching just what the mage's intentions were, and the more he drank the less subtle about it he was. Fenris wanted to scruff the mage by his collar and tell him to keep his hands to himself.

He would even say as much, if it weren't for the fact that he didn't have any more of a claim to Hawke than Anders did, perhaps even less so since he was the one to flee that night they'd spent together. Hawke's gaze had softened when he saw the red favor wrapped around Fenris's wrist the following day, but had never said anything more about that night, giving Fenris more kindness and space than he deserved.

There were things hidden behind that softness, though. Hurt and confusion and pain— Fenris had caused that, too. He had done very little to explain, fear from his past heavy hands around his throat. It had been too much, too fast, he had said. And it was, when you added missing memories, and reminders of the worst time of your life.

So why had he thought of nothing but that night everyday for years? Every touch that had left him shivering and wanting, soft and gentle against his skin, each kiss sweeter than honey. Over and over he found his thoughts wandering back to that night, of Hawke, of his taste…

Hawke's booming laugh snaps him out of his thoughts, and Fenris stiffens as he watches Anders places his hand on Hawke's shoulder, rubs his thumb back and forth. Caressing. Fenris grits his teeth; it's not his place, after all, to decide whom Hawke spends his time with. Who should touch him, make him laugh… he should pursue the mage if it makes him happy. All Fenris had done was break his heart, and only continued to do so.

He swallows back vitriol. One more second in the Hanged Man just might kill him.

He leaves early, sneaking away when no one was looking. Fresh air will clear his mind, he thinks, and makes his way through the shadows of Lowtown. He hopes to shake off the discontent clinging to his limbs, or at least walk until he's numb enough to forget about the whole thing.

Varric's words still ring in his head.

Sounds like you're jealous, Broody. That tends to happen when you love someone.

That's not… what this is.

Really, you're not at all jealous?

Varric had meant to reassure him, yet it sat bitterly along his tongue. He was no stranger to jealousy; he had a long history of coveting the lives of those who were free, of those who could have desires of their own. He was not used to this form of it, the kind grown from wanting someone instead of something.

Because who would love someone like him? Bound even now by the chains of the past, to a master he would see dead if he wasn't a coward. Resentful, wary, hiding behind anything he could. And Hawke was…

Hawke was kind. Had been since the moment they met, even with the initial deception. He'd shown that same kindness time and time again to others around him, the same people who would turn him into the Templars if they had to. He gave coin to the needy, food to the orphans of Darktown, and accepted nothing in return.

The more he watched Hawke, the harder he fell for him. A feeling he'd much rather avoid, instead of dealing with.

It was no surprise Fenris found himself taking the long way home, avoiding the main square and a certain mansion. He didn't mind Hightown late at night, when the nobles were long asleep and he felt no need to hide from their gaze. Not to mention it meant fewer questions about why an elf was living there.

He turns the corner and nearly jumps out of his skin. Hawke had somehow beaten him here, sitting outside the doorway to his home.

"Hawke? What are you…?"

“You left early,” Hawke stands, looking sheepish, “I suppose I… worried about you getting home.”

"I don't usually have trouble finding my way, you know."

"I know, it's just…" Hawke sighs, "You seemed upset. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Fenris says nothing, unsure of what to even say. He was upset, but only at himself. He wasn't okay but he wasn't sure he'd ever be.

He settles for pointing out the obvious, “You looked happy, with him. You deserve to be happy.”

Hawke only gives him a quizzical look, “With who… oh with Anders? He and I are just friends, Fenris.”

“Doesn’t seem like he knows that.”

“He may want more, but he’s not who I want.” Hawke hesitates only for a moment before reaching for the elf’s hand.

“Ah,” Fenris doesn’t meet his gaze, instead looking at the hand holding his. The grip is light, Fenris could easily pull away should he want to, and yet the warmth that spreads through him keeps him there, “I can’t imagine why, even now, you'd still...” Choose me.

“I meant it, when I said I would wait for you.”

A pang in his chest. He didn’t deserve this.

"You're worth everything to me, Fenris. I just want you to know that I won't give up on you. You deserve happiness. In whatever form you find that in." He goes to release the elf's hand, "Even if it's not with me."

Fenris meets Hawke's honey brown gaze and the night they shared pops into his head again, breaking him. He leans in and kisses him; once, twice, a third time before he pulls back. It felt just as good as he remembered, a soft buzzing in the back of his mind as he steps back.

“I… hope I'm worth the wait.”

Hawke chuckles, the sound more soothing to Fenris than anything else.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Hawke asks.

Fenris nods, “If you have need of me.”

Hawke squeezes his hand before he turns to leave, “Sleep well, Fenris.”

Fenris heads inside, trying his best not to think about turning around and calling for Hawke to stay, of what they would do if he did.

Instead, he goes to bed, the feeling of Hawke's lips on his following straight into his dreams.

[perhaps-mr-collins-has-a-cousin]

It has been requested (@awfullybigwardrobe44 💛) that I provide an update on How Things Are Going With The Young Man, and there’s so much I could say that it all kind of cancels itself out (I’ve been journaling like a madwoman lately), but yes, I think things are going well. I still can't believe any of this is happening, I am not the kind of person that this kind of stuff is supposed to happen to 😆 We have gone on several more dates, one of them a day-long fishing trip, and it’s been lovely and I just think he's delightful and I really like being with him. I still have a lot of shyness to overcome, but considering how intensely terrified I used to be of him I think I’ve made excellent progress 😆 I’ve seen less of him lately because he’s extremely busy with work and especially school but we text a lot and this weekend we’re planning to go to dinner and then the symphony after that (I bought the tickets and I can tell it's driving him nuts that I finally paid for something myself but ahaha it's too late there's nothing he can do about it now) 😊

[nabaath-areng]

the problem with my n24 is that with the clock going around gradually i have periods of being awake at day and periods of being awake at night, but then because i tend to sleep really badly during night time i spend my daytime days being very tired and sluggish, and my nighttime days are much more productive and energetic. but i cant do just anything i want at night, so i cant get as much done as i have the energy and drive to. and then i also need sunlight to feel sane in the head, and so i hate missing out on daytime wakefulness. but then the sun is also why my sleep quality is much better during daytime. if im gonna stuck with a seemingly incurable sleep disorder since birth cant i at LEAST have the sleep be overall consistent? apparently not lmao

[todayisafridaynight]

Why did Jo want to be thrown in the river is he going senile lol 😂

got too hard trying to cope with the loss of his husband and child 😔

[kay9leo]

"Lumos."

The skies were blue that day. A clear blue sky.

A perfect fall day to play outside.

Now light is what we have to remember you by.

[julietsf1]

For Her - Lando Norris x Reader

summary: She came to support him. Instead, she was met with hate and a paddock full of people who acted like she didn’t exist. But if there was one thing about Lando Norris, it was that he loved out loud (3.2k words)

content: protective boyfriend, public relationship, public displays of affection, romantic grand gesture

AN: happy new season guys!!! what a race, I hope china will be kinder with my heart :') here's another fic for our race winner! muah <3

........................................................................

The first race of the season should have been magical.

It should have been the kind of morning you’d always imagined—walking through the paddock with the giddy excitement of someone witnessing greatness up close, feeling the electricity in the air, the intoxicating mix of tire smoke, adrenaline, and champagne already waiting for its moment in the podium spray. You had thought of how proud you would feel watching Lando, how thrilling it would be to see him in his element, how belonging you might feel in a world that, until now, had existed for you in stories and through screens.

You had not imagined being denied entry.

"Miss, I’m going to have to ask you to step back."

The security guard barely spared you a glance, already moving on to the next person in line, his voice impassive, as if he had done this a hundred times before and you were simply another face in a sea of hopeful girls who had tried to talk their way into the paddock.

You gripped your lanyard a little tighter, your heart skipping slightly. "I have a pass," you said, voice gentle but firm as you lifted it to eye level, the McLaren logo glinting in the sunlight.

The guard exhaled sharply through his nose, unimpressed. "We've had a lot of fans trying to sneak in today. If you don’t have the right accreditation, I can’t let you through."

Your stomach twisted.

"I do have the right accreditation," you tried again, as kindly as possible, despite the heat creeping up your neck. "I’m with McLaren. My boyfriend-"

"Yeah, that’s what they all say."

The words were clipped, dismissive, and spoken with the kind of flat finality that suggested he had already decided you were lying.

Embarrassment coiled in your chest, wrapping itself around your lungs, making it suddenly difficult to breathe.

You stood there, cheeks burning, as people brushed past you, throwing curious glances your way. The seconds stretched endlessly, each one more excruciating than the last.

It wasn’t until a McLaren staff member recognized you—"Oh, she’s with Lando," they had said offhandedly—that the security guard finally stepped aside, not bothering with so much as an apology.

By the time you walked through the gates, the joy you had carried that morning had dulled into something smaller, something fragile.

And then, somehow, it got worse.

...

The McLaren motorhome stood like a beacon in the paddock, its sleek glass windows reflecting the bustle of team personnel moving inside. You exhaled slowly, shaking off the earlier embarrassment, and made your way toward the hospitality lounge, longing for something warm and familiar.

A latte, perhaps. Something to reset the day.

You stepped up to the hospitality counter with a practiced sort of grace, the kind that had been instilled in you from your childhood—shoulders back, chin lifted, a polite smile even when you wanted to disappear.

The woman behind the counter was stunning in a sharp, effortless way, her McLaren uniform crisp, her dark eyes shrewd, assessing. She barely looked up when you stepped forward.

"Good morning," you greeted, your voice light, pleasant. "Could I get an oat latte, please?"

The woman’s gaze flicked to you then, sweeping over you in a way that wasn’t unkind but wasn’t exactly warm, either.

"Are you with media?" she asked, already sounding bored.

You shook your head, still polite. "No, I’m—"

"Hospitality is for team guests only," she interrupted, her words clipped, a polite but unmistakable dismissal.

There was something about the way she said it, the way her lips curled just slightly, that sent something sharp down your spine.

You held up your accreditation again, your expression kind but unwavering. "I am a team guest. It is my first race though! I'm with Lando."

A pause. A flicker of something in her gaze.

And then, a small, almost imperceptible smirk.

"Ah," she said slowly, like she was only just now realizing. "Of course you are."

There was something else behind her tone, something you recognized.

You had met people like her before, in glittering lobbies, at perfectly curated events, in spaces where perception was everything. People who measured others in careful glances and quiet, ruthless judgments.

The woman tilted her head, her smile suddenly saccharine. "I’m afraid we’re only serving certain guests at the moment."

The words landed with the soft cruelty of a velvet dagger.

She wasn’t saying no outright.

She was refusing you while pretending it was about something else entirely.

You stared at her for a moment, your fingers tightening slightly over the strap of your bag.

You could have fought. Could have pointed out that this was ridiculous, that you had every right to be here, that her behavior was as transparent as it was petty.

But instead, you simply let out a soft breath and smiled.

Not the kind of smile that was warm and grateful.

The kind of smile that veiled the frustration you were feeling.

"No worries," you said gently, dipping your head, your voice smooth, graceful. "I wouldn’t want to trouble you."

And with that, you turned and walked away, back straight, head held high, because if nothing else—you were not the kind of woman who begged.

But it still stung.

...

The hotel room is quiet except for the faint murmur of the city outside. The occasional car hums past beneath the window, the distant noises of Melbourne nightlife drifting in through the small gap in the balcony door. Inside, the glow from the bedside lamp casts soft golden light over the pristine sheets, the half-finished cup of tea you abandoned hours ago, and your phone—face-down, untouched, deliberately ignored.

You had set it aside like it burned you.

And in a way, it had.

You don’t need to look at the screen to know what’s waiting for you there.

A photo. You, walking alone through the paddock, caught at an unflattering angle—your hands adjusting the strap of your bag, your gaze flicking off to the side. Out of context, impersonal, just another frame in someone else’s story.

But the caption beneath it?

That made it personal.

The caption beneath it, however, was anything but subtle.

"Classic gold digger. No personality, no job, just another wag looking for a paycheck."

The replies were worse.

"She looks so full of herself. I bet she spends his money like crazy."

"Lando deserves better. She looks disgusting."

"Does she even like racing or just his wallet?"

You had expected something like this eventually. Being seen always came at a cost.

But expectation doesn’t soften the blow.

It doesn’t make the words less sharp. It doesn’t stop them from settling in the quiet places of your mind, the ones that whisper in the dark when the world is still.

You exhale slowly, smoothing your hand over the sheets, willing away the tightness in your throat.

It’s fine.

You were raised to handle things like this with grace, with an understanding that women who stand beside successful men are often reduced to spectators, accessories, footnotes in their own stories.

You know who you are. You know your worth.

And yet, knowing doesn’t stop the sting.

A keycard beeps at the door.

Then, the soft sound of it swinging open, of footsteps—light, easy, carrying a kind of restless energy even now.

"Hi, darling," Lando’s voice fills the space before he does.

You don’t turn immediately, letting yourself blink once, twice, composing yourself in the quiet before offering a small smile as he steps inside.

He looks effortlessly disheveled—his hair still damp from the rain outside, his McLaren polo slightly untucked, the fabric creased like he’d run a hand over it one too many times.

He is still buzzing—from the high of the weekend, from the thrill of being back in the car, from the sheer joy of doing what he loves.

And then he looks at you.

And everything shifts.

His grin falters. His brows pull together.

"Hey," he says again, but softer this time, slower. "What’s wrong?"

You hesitate, fingers brushing against the sheets. "It’s nothing."

Lando stills.

"You’re upset."

It’s not a question.

You exhale, tilting your head slightly, lips curving in something almost amused. "No big deal, this is your weekend."

But Lando doesn’t smile.

Instead, he moves—crossing the room in three long strides, sinking down in front of you, his hands warm against your thighs, his gaze level, intent.

"Tell me," he says, quiet but firm.

All day, you have been ignored, dismissed, treated like an inconvenience. And yet, here he is, giving you his undivided attention, his entire world narrowing down to this moment, to you.

You hesitate. Then, finally, you murmur, "People weren’t exactly kind today."

His grip on your legs tightens just slightly.

"Security thought I was a fan trying to sneak in. Hospitality wouldn’t serve me." You let out a small, humorless laugh, shaking your head. "And now there’s a photo of me online. People saying I’m a disgusting gold digger."

Lando doesn’t move.

Doesn’t even breathe.

Then, slowly, he reaches for your phone, flipping it over with careful precision before scrolling. He doesn’t need you to guide him—he finds it immediately.

His jaw tightens.

And then, in a tone so low and steady that it makes your stomach flip:

"Are you joking?"

You open your mouth, but he’s already shaking his head, pushing himself up, pacing now, running a hand through his curls.

"Such bullshit," he starts, turning sharply, voice too controlled, too even, "that after everything—after how much effort you’ve put into being here, after how much of your life you’ve adjusted for me—these people had the nerve to treat you like that?"

You shift under his gaze, biting your lip. "Lando, it’s not—"

"No, no, hold on," he interrupts, hands in the air like he needs a second to process. He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh, but there’s nothing amused about it.

"Because from where I’m standing, you’re the easiest person to love in any room, and I genuinely don’t understand how anyone could be that dense."

He exhales sharply, shaking his head, jaw tight. "Honestly, I don’t even know whether to be pissed or impressed by their level of dickheadness."

He stops, inhales sharply, then turns back to you.

"Tomorrow," he says, voice steady now, decisive. "We fix this."

You raise a brow. "We?"

Lando tilts his head, giving you a look like you have just asked if the sky is blue.

"Obviously."

...

There are very few things in life that can silence an entire paddock.

Lando Norris walking in hand-in-hand with you is apparently one of them.

The usual morning commotion—the hurried strides of engineers, the murmured strategy discussions, the distant hum of espresso machines—all of it seems to slow, the air shifting as one by one, heads turn.

Eyes follow you as you move through the paddock, curiosity crackling in the air like static before a storm.Conversations taper off, whispers trailing in your wake, phones discreetly lifted, cameras capturing the moment in real time.

Lando, of course, is unbothered.

If anything, he thrives under the weight of their attention. His grip on your hand remains firm, steady, unwavering, his strides unhurried, his smirk bordering on self-satisfied.

He wants them to see.

It’s deliberate—the way he holds you close, the way his fingers brush over yours in soft, thoughtless patterns, the way his head tilts toward you slightly every time you speak, like you are the only thing worth listening to.

There is no question about what this is.

There is no question about where you belong.

He makes sure of it.

And then, with perfect, almost cinematic timing, he steers you toward McLaren hospitality.

Right to the coffee bar.

The barista from yesterday stands behind the counter, the same sharp-cut uniform, the same perfectly applied lipstick, the same calculating gaze.

Only now, it falters.

She sees Lando before she sees you, her posture straightening, professional mask slipping into place like second nature. But then, her eyes flick toward you—toward your hands intertwined, toward the subtle, unspoken intimacy of the way he keeps close.

You watch as realization dawns.

Oh.

Lando leans against the counter, effortless, grinning.

"Two oat lattes," he says, voice bright, easy, amused. "One for me, one for my girl."

The silence that follows is exquisite.

The barista hesitates—just for a fraction of a second, just long enough for you to see it.

Panic.

"Of course," she says, voice smooth but not quite as sharp as before.

And just like that, there are no shortages, no waiting, no excuses.

The coffees are made within seconds.

Lando watches, humming thoughtfully, tapping his fingers lightly against the counter as she slides the first cup toward him. He lifts it to his lips, taking a slow, exaggerated sip before letting out a long, obnoxiously satisfied hum.

"Mm," he muses, shifting his weight, sparing her a glance. "Tastes better today."

His smirk is dangerous.

"Must be the service."

The barista’s lips press together just slightly.

You take your coffee, cradling the cup in your hands, offering her a soft, serene smile.

"Thank you," you say lightly.

You watch as she winces.

And Lando, the ever-efficient instigator that he is, takes it one step further.

"You know," he muses, as if the thought has just occurred to him, "I think I should make this a tradition."

He turns to you then, eyes bright with mischief, voice just loud enough for the surrounding staff to hear.

"Morning coffee," he says smoothly. "Every race weekend. For the foreseeable future."

The barista looks like she wants to disappear.

You, on the other hand, can’t help but smile.

...

The checkered flag had waved, the roar of the crowd still vibrating through the air, but none of it mattered—not the celebrations, not the flashing cameras, not the McLaren team swarming the pit wall in victory.

Because the moment Lando climbed out of the car, eyes scanning the chaos, he found you.

And then—he ran.

Straight toward you, helmet discarded, race suit half-unzipped, curls a disheveled mess from the heat of the cockpit.

You barely have time to react before he collides into you, arms wrapping around your waist, lifting you off the ground like you weigh nothing.

You shriek—an actual, real shriek—as your feet leave the pavement, the entire world tilting as he spins you in circles,laughter spilling from his lips like he can’t contain it.

And then—he kisses you.

Right there, in front of thousands of fans, in front of cameras, reporters, his entire team.

Hard. Fierce. Like he’d won the race and you in the same breath.

The world erupts around you—cheering, chanting, Oscar groaning dramatically in the background.

"Oh my god. You two are disgusting."

None of it matters.

Because Lando is grinning against your lips, breathless, victorious, yours.

When he finally sets you back down, he doesn’t let go.

Doesn’t even try to.

Instead, he beams down at you, cheeks flushed, curls damp with sweat, voice all cocky, all Lando.

"So, did I impress you or what?"

You roll your eyes, fond and exasperated all at once. "Eh. You were alright."

He gasps. Actually gasps.

"You’re joking." He turns toward the cameras, mock-betrayed. "Did you guys hear that? I win a Grand Prix, and she says I’m ‘alright.’"

You bite your lip, pretending to consider. "You were pretty fast, I guess."

"Pretty fast?" he repeats, positively scandalized. "Babe. I am literally the fastest man in Australia right now."

You burst out laughing. "I was kind of rooting for Oscar."

Oscar, mid-drink of water behind you, chokes.

"Lies." Lando pulls you back in, forehead resting against yours, his voice dropping into something softer, something just for you.

"Say you’re proud of me."

You sigh dramatically. "I guess I’m—"

"Say it."

You grin, heart pounding. "Fine. I’m proud of you, Norris."

He hums, satisfied, smug, still absolutely glowing. "Thought so."

...

Lando was still riding the high when he got to the media pen, his race suit unzipped to his waist, curls damp with sweat, and that stupidly charming grin still plastered across his face.

It wasn’t just a ‘first win of the season’ grin.

It was a ‘my girlfriend is here, and I just won a whole-ass race for her’ grin.

The interviewer barely got a word in before Lando pointed directly at you, standing just off-camera.

"Her."

You blink. "Me?"

"Yeah, you!" He turns back to the cameras, nodding enthusiastically. "Let’s just get this straight—I did this for her. Like, entirely. One hundred percent. Full motivation. If she hadn’t shown up, I probably would’ve parked it in a gravel trap on lap ten."

The interviewer laughed. "So, you’re saying she’s your good luck charm?"

"Absolutely," Lando replied, dead serious. "I mean, have you seen her? Look at her."

The camera did not pan to you, thank god. The poor guy running the live feed probably had no idea what to do.

But Lando? Oh, he was just getting started.

"She walked into this paddock today looking like an actual goddess, completely unaware that she is, in fact, the sun incarnate, and people want me to talk about tire degradation? No. I want to talk about her."

The interviewer tried so hard to stay professional.

"You—uh, you had great pace today—"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Lando waved him off.

"Lando, I don’t think—"

"Listen, I need to emphasize something." Lando leaned in, tone conspiratorial. "Do you know how lucky I am? Not only is she breathtaking, but she’s also, like, annoyingly smart. Like, did you know she reads all the time? Real books.Not just memes and Twitter threads like me."

He gestured vaguely, suddenly overwhelmed by his own emotions.

"She doesn’t even realize how much people admire her. But I see it. I see everything. And I just think the world needs to start appreciating her at my level."

"That is… very sweet." The interviewer was visibly struggling to keep up.

"Just had to get that out there."

"Well, congratulations on the win, Lando," the interviewer finally managed, skimming over his list of unanswered questions he had prepared.

"Thank you." He nodded seriously, finally letting go of the mic. "And big thanks to the team, of course."

You rolled your eyes from behind the cameras, suppressing a smile.

...

The internet had seen many things, but no one was prepared for Lando Norris using his post-race interview as a full-blown love letter. 

"Lando’s race pace was great, but his girlfriend propaganda was even stronger."

"THE WAY HE JUST POINTED AT HER IMMEDIATELY I CAN’T."

"Lando Norris said ‘this win is for my girlfriend’ and proceeded to recite a romantic sonnet on live TV. My standards are ruined."

Later, as the two of you curled up in the hotel room, finally away from the cameras, Lando buried his face in your neck with a content sigh.

"You know," he murmured, voice sleepy, warm, full of love. "I really did win that for you."

You ran your fingers through his curls. "I know."

"I meant every word, too."

You smiled. "Don't you think it was a bit much?"

"I don't think it was nearly enough," he said, already half-asleep, grinning like he had never been happier.

[ladsonlads]

Impartial Hearts | Sylus - Part Two

Pairing -> Boss Sylus x Non MC Reader

Parts -> Part One | Part Two

Synopsis -> You’ve been working as Onychinus’s accountant for two years, and you’ve been carrying two heavy secrets for a third of it. You were in love with your boss, and your mother was dying.

A/N -> I'm sorry it took so long. I have been obsessing over trying to make part two perfect but I don't think I can. It's time I share my baby with you, and I really hope you enjoy it.

Tags -> Angst, fluff :)

Trigger Warnings -> Character death, heavily mentions grief. Some parts are suggestive but there is no smut.

Word Count -> 18.8K (it got kinda crazy)

Late October

It was cold, dark and gloomy; the weather a perfect pathetic fallacy to the narrative of your life. The freshly disturbed patch of grass failed to convey the significance of who laid underneath it. It was vexing, how the world continued to spin on it’s axis despite the fact that it stopped spinning for you. 

It hurt to think about the events that led to your undoing. The weeks prior to the moment your mother drew her last breath. You were a cracked vase filled with wilting flowers and overflowing regret. Every breath you took consumed more energy than you could spare and yet the world just. Kept. Spinning. 

“I brought you flowers. Yellow tulips, by the way.” The words felt like lead on your tongue. It was one thing to accept your mother was never coming back, it was another to try to act normal about it. “I know you never cared for them, but I didn’t think leaving a pack of cigarettes on your grave was very tasteful.” You bitterly smiled to yourself at the memories of your mom sneaking a cigarette in the backyard when she thought you were asleep. It was a nasty habit you did everything to rid her of. A fruitless attempt to protect her from the inevitable. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t figured out your epitaph yet. It’s just so hard to condense your entire life into a few words. Plus, they charge by the letter, so I’m trying to be really selective.” It felt weird, speaking into empty space, but you read online that it helped with grief, so you tried anyway. 

That was how you approached most things nowadays. Eating, drinking, sleeping, they all seemed meaningless. But, you knew you couldn’t survive on just antagonism and mourning, so you did it anyway. 

“Zayne called again. I know you told me not to hate him and that it wasn’t his fault, but I can’t bring myself to agree.” 

The moment Zayne told you that the heart that could save your mother’s life was going to someone else replayed in your mind like a scratched vinyl stuck on an aggravating note.

“I got so frustrated by his constant calls that I threw my phone into the ocean.” You let out a sad laugh. “Guess that’s the last time I bring anything with me when I’m walking along the coast.” 

You paused for a moment, feeling stupid. But you had so much to say to her, it all just began spilling out.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but I might lose the house. I burned through all my paid leave, and the idea of going back to work for Sylus makes me want to put my head through a wood-chipper. I know I have to, but how can I focus on work when I have nothing left to work for?” You tasted the tears before you felt them, the saltiness reminded you of your weekends at the beach with your mom. You did everything to get out of joining her, you hated the beach, but it was her favourite place to be and in a desperate attempt to cling on to whatever was left of her, you forced it to be yours too.

“I’m sorry I never got you that house you dreamed of, or the dog. I’m sure there are lots of dogs in heaven, and at least the dogs there have been screened. With my luck any dog I would’ve gotten you would’ve been evil.” You teetered around the grievance you truly wanted to apologise for. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t spend much time with you before you passed away. I was so sure you would get the transplant. I tried so hard to save for it. I should’ve been with you. If I knew—” The sobs raked through you with a force that knocked the air out of your lungs. You sat down next to her tombstone, leaning your head against the chiseled rock. 

There were moments when you’d wake up, and in the haze of your muddled mind you’d forget she was dead. But then the ache in your body is deciphered by your mind, and you’re reminded of just how much you’ve lost. Maybe that’s why they called it mourning. Grief dawned on you like the rising sun.

Life had a way of being entirely unfair, and there was nowhere to hide from fate’s piercing claws. And as if to ensure you hadn’t forgotten just how cruel life could be, your head whipped around at the sound of footsteps behind you to find the last person you wanted to see.

Sylus was dressed in a long black coat hanging effortlessly off of his broad shoulders, a black dress shirt that really should’ve been buttoned up to the top, and a pair of black slacks that made his long legs look impossibly longer. He looked every bit the cunning grim reaper, and it wasn’t just because he was surrounded by graves.

“I didn’t know you were back in the N109 Zone.” The words came out harsher than you intended as your head returned to it’s position against the rock. 

Sylus stopped in front of you, lowering himself to his haunches so that you would be face-to-face. It stung to look at him, so you focused on picking at the grass instead. 

“I only got back a few hours ago. I heard about your mother. I’m sorry.” Having been deprived of his voice for over a month, you cursed the butterflies that coursed through you like muscle memory. Part of you wished he’d returned disfigured, but you knew it wouldn’t have made much of a difference. Ugly or devastatingly beautiful, the storm that was Sylus could not be stopped, only weathered. 

“Sorry that she died or sorry that you weren’t there?” The bitterness in your tone was unfamiliar to you. Even though you knew it was unfair of you to expect him to have stayed, he left immediately after he dropped you off at the hospital and you hoped he’d have been there just a little longer. It didn’t help that you didn’t hear from him until two weeks later, and by then you were too engrossed in your battle against Akso hospital’s medical board to respond. 

“You haven’t been answering my calls; they’re not even going through anymore. You haven’t blocked me, have you?” Sylus countered your question with one of his own. If you cared enough, you might’ve called him out on his diversion. 

“No, my phone broke.” That was an understatement if there ever was one. 

“How long ago?”

“A week.” That much was true and since you couldn’t afford a smart phone, a shitty $30 flip phone weighed down your pocket. 

“And all the times I called before then?” Sylus’s eyes perused you with intensity, and you suddenly felt self-conscious. You weren’t dressed well, in a pair of black sweatpants that were too big on you and a matching hoodie. Grieving people were allowed to dress terribly without judgement, Y/N. It’s okay.

“I didn’t feel like picking up.” The grass continued to bare the brunt of your nerves as you answered. The you that wasn’t effectively an orphan would’ve made up some excuse to protect his feelings, but you were resolved to change that. Your mother was strong, independent, and she never backed down from a fight. Not against men like Sylus, and not against her illness. If you wanted to honour her memory then you had to live your life the way she’d want you to.

“Do you have a phone now?” 

You reached into the pocket of your sweatpants to take out the grey flip phone. You watched as Sylus bit back a laugh.

“I’ll get you a new one.”

“I don’t need you to get me anything.” You quickly retorted.

“You’re going to need a phone from this century if you’re working for me, Y/N.” He said it so casually, as if you were put on this earth solely to serve him as his accountant. 

“Right, about that…” Your determination to be confident and unapologetic began to dwindle as you wondered how to tell Sylus you needed more time.

“No. Resigning is not an option.” Twelve minutes. It took Sylus twelve minutes to return to his usual controlling self. You were impressed, truly, it was a new record after all. 

“We don’t have a blood pact, Sylus. I can resign if I want to. Besides, that’s not what I was going to say. I need more time off.” You didn’t sound very convincing, but it wasn’t like you could change who you were overnight. It would take a lifetime to unlearn your bad habits. 

Sylus looked conflicted, as if he didn’t know what to say. When he chose to finally open his mouth, you wished he hadn’t.

“I’ve given you a month, Y/N. That’s enough.” His statement came out so matter-of-factly, you wondered if you had imagined it. A month was not nearly enough to recover from losing your mom, but you figured a man who killed people for a living wouldn’t understand. 

“It’s only been two weeks since she died. And I’m sure the temp you’ve got is perfectly competent.”

“The temp doesn’t know the company like you do and I haven’t bothered teaching him on the premise that you were returning. If you’re not back soon I can’t promise you’ll have a job to come back to.” 

The tension in the air dissipated as you began to laugh. Loudly. Obnoxiously. Hysterically. 

“You— You seriously think I care whether or not I have a job? I can barely will myself to eat right now—employment is not my priority.” You wiped back the tears that began to spill out. Their origin unknown, between your hysteria and sorrow, your eyes were constantly puffy.

“People die all the time, sweetheart. It’s no reason to throw your future away.” Sylus stood up straight at the end of his statement, holding his hand out to you. 

The angel on your shoulder whispered that in his own peculiar way, this was his attempt at comforting you. But you stopped listening to that angel when they buried your mom under six-feet of dirt, and you couldn’t help the word vomit that escaped you like water barrelling out of a splintered dam. 

You pushed away his hand, and stood up to look at him with a ferocity you didn’t know you possessed.

“I get that something really dark and twisted must have happened in your youth to make you so heartless, but most people have shitty childhoods, sweetheart. We choose not to be terrible, insufferable people because of it.” The unbridled rage you’d spend so long trying to suppress seeped out of you uncontrollably as you screamed at Sylus. You walked toward him, your anger taking hold of you as you began to push him away. A few months ago you would’ve given anything to touch him, now all you cared about was making him feel a semblance of the pain he instilled in you. 

“Some of us choose to feel our emotions in their entirety, regardless of how much it hurts, because we’re not scared to love and lose. You’re a coward, Sylus and you may think that my mother dying is just an inevitable consequence of life, but my world will never be the same.” In an attempt to calm down, you took a deep breath.

“You can judge me all you want, but it won’t change the fact that when you die, no one will mourn you.” The word vomit continued, and when you saw the hurt flash briefly within his eyes, you felt the arms of regret begin to sink their claws into you. 

You shouldn’t have said that. It wasn’t you.

But before you could take it all back, Sylus’s phone began ringing and you figured from the urgency in which he answered it must’ve been her. 

“I lost track of time, I’ll be right there.” He spoke in a low voice in what you could only assume was an attempt to mask the fact that he was leaving you for something more important, again. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it.

“Just go.” You waved him off and turned back around to face your mother’s grave, though now the tears welling up in your eyes couldn’t be entirely attributed to the grief. 

Early November

You weren’t sure time could heal the gaping wound your mother’s passing left behind, but grief had settled into your life like an imposing aunt. It was in your home, touching your things, ruining your food, and never once leaving you alone. It didn’t feel so all-consuming anymore, but it clung onto you constantly like a shadow. 

You were watching the third Harry Potter movie at 8am when you received the eviction notice via Email. You’d been expecting it, ultimately you were behind on rent, but the reason plastered on the paper was exponentially worse than your own incompetence.

…Selling to developers…suburban expansion project…

As if losing your childhood home wasn’t bad enough, they were planning on destroying it. Memories were bound to decay with time, that was an inevitable consequence of being human. Sooner or later you’d forget the way your mom dressed, or the smell of her perfume. Tangible things like photographs, places, they kept those memories anchored. You couldn’t lose the house, it wasn’t an option. 

You spent the next hour trying to reason with your landlord over the phone, but he was committed to selling. He rejected every single one of your proposals, though even you knew they were weak at best. The developers were offering significantly more than market value, there was no way you could beat that. Stupid gentrification. But, your landlord told you he was sympathetic, and the deal hadn’t been finalised just yet. If you could match the developer’s offer by the end of the month, he’d gladly sell it to you instead.

Of course the developer’s offer was $800,000, and by the looks of your financials, you were about $796,312 short. 

Desperate for a catharsis for your unending frustration, you screamed into the throw pillow on your couch until your throat felt raw. Then, you opened up your laptop to figure out a plan. 

30 minutes later you had:

Sell your kidney to an organ broker and use the money to get a loan from any dodgy bank that would accept your mediocre credit score. 

Dabble briefly in prostitution and use the money to get a loan from any dodgy bank that would accept your mediocre credit score.

Become a squatter and protest the demolition of your home environmental-activist style. 

“Wow, Y/N. Graduated top of your class and this was all you could come up with, huh?” You muttered to yourself as you stared at the list of terrible ideas. Your mind hadn’t come up with something so horrific since the bed-in-breakfast Mother’s Day fiasco when you were 11. 

The only option that didn’t end in bodily harm or a prison sentence was to work as many jobs as humanly possible for the next few weeks in hopes you could somehow manage to accumulate the deposit for a loan. You could probably sell some appliances too, and maybe revisit the kidney idea if it came to it. 

Despite it being a long-shot, you had to try. You changed into a pair of flared leggings and a sweater. It was basic and borderline mismatched but traversing your explosive closet was a large undertaking you tended to avoid. You dug a copy of your old resume out from your file drawer, after all, it wasn’t like your experience as Onychinus’s accountant was going to do you any good. Further, listing Sylus as a reference would ensure you never got a job again. 

You figured the easiest place to start was the central district of the N109 zone, bars and restaurants there were constantly hiring and from what you’d heard their only requirement was that you had two functioning legs and arms. But when you tried to leave through the door to begin the job search you collided with a formidable wall. 

Since when was there a—

“Where you headed to, Y/N?” The familiar voice was so surprising it made you jump, the action accompanied by a shrill scream.

“What the fuck? Why are you just standing outside my door?” You rarely ever swore and you were sure that if your mother was still alive she’d throw her shoe at you for using the devil’s language. But of all the things you expected to see that morning, Sylus outside your door was not one of them. 

“Is that any way to welcome your old employer?” Sylus stepped into your home without an invitation. Conclusive proof against your theory that he was secretly a vampire. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked again, still staring at Sylus like he sprouted a second head. You couldn’t think of a single reason why he’d show up at your place of residence, he never did while you were still his employee.

“I need you to come back.” You choked back a laugh at his ridiculous request. Was he insane?

“Go to hell.” Your vicious response didn’t sway Sylus. 

“I’ve fired an accountant every week since you left. The accounts are in complete disarray, half my businesses are behind on their bills, the other half have been paying the wrong amounts to the wrong companies. My investors are unhappy, my debtors are one week away from assuming I’ve gone bankrupt and I haven’t slept in weeks. Come. Back.” While it stroked your ego to hear that the organisation was suffering in your absence, you couldn’t just forget the terrible way he’d treated you in and out of the workplace. 

“You insisted I was especially replaceable and now you’re saying you can’t replace me?” You chose to remind him of just how horrid of an employer he was, an action he didn’t appreciate. 

“If you’re going to dwell on the semantics I’d rather just cut to the chase. What’s it going to take to get you back?” Sylus’s tone suggested he was truly trying to negotiate with you. Of course a man like him didn’t know how to take no for an answer. 

“Pigs to fly.” You quipped, opening your door in hopes he’d get the hint and leave. 

“Y/N, I’m serious. We can’t survive without you.” His desperation went straight to your head, but you stood your ground. 

“Then die.” You tried to shove him out of your doorway, but he was about as easy to move as a truck. 

“Everyone has something they desire, sweetheart. Name your price.” While you were ready to fire up a quick retort, his suggestion reminded you of the very reason you were about to leave the house. 

Perhaps this was a sign; you could swallow your pride if it meant you got to keep your home. 

You pretended to give it thought, sighing loudly in contemplation. “Fine. I want a sign-on bonus. Or in this case, a re-sign-on bonus, I guess…” You trailed off, unsure if he would agree. 

“Alright, how much?” He was quick to accept your terms, and you decided to test the waters of just how desperate he was for your return. 

“A million dollars.” 

“Done.” 

Dammit, you should’ve asked for more. 

“I want a personal driver too, I’m sick of biking to work.” You would’ve been okay with just the bonus, after all, it was insanely generous. But you’d be a fool not to milk this opportunity for what it was worth.

“Anything else, princess?” The condescending nickname only added fuel to the fire as you fired off more requests. 

“I don’t want to share my office with the twins anymore, they’re loud and annoying and they have no respect for the sanctity of my monthly budgets.”

“Okay.”

You masked your shock at his sudden magnanimity. “One last thing. Since you’ve come to the realisation that I am, in fact, a valuable asset to your organisation, you’re not allowed to be a dick to me anymore.” 

“Elaborate.”

“No more calling me stupid or other degrading insults, threatening my job security, threatening my life — just no more threats in general — and if you’re going to assign me extra work that is beyond the scope of my job description, a please and thank you would be nice.”

“You’re pushing it, Y/N.” Of course treating his employees like human beings was the most difficult request. 

“You just agreed to give me a million dollars and being nice to me is where you draw the line?” 

Sylus sighed, deliberating in silence for a moment. When he saw that your resolve was unrelenting, he begrudgingly agreed. He wasn’t sure where your newfound confidence was coming from, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t find it the slightest bit attractive. 

“Alright, you’ve made your case. I’ll agree to your conditions. Now, please fix it.” 

It took every fibre of your being not to break out into song and dance at your victory. “Let me get my coat.”

______________

You stared at the horrific mess your beautiful spreadsheet had turned in to. This was a disaster. A colossal, unfathomable disaster. “How could you let it get this bad?” Your voice was dripping with fear, it was like staring a train wreck. 

“It wasn’t like it happened on purpose. Besides, if you’d never—” Sylus interrupted his own sentence which you were sure contained an insult, and you could almost hear the evil chuckle resounding in your head at the sight of his obedience. This was going to be fun. 

“This is going to take forever to fix.” It would actually only take the day, but you didn’t need to tell him that.

“I need it fixed by the end of the week. Please.” He looked pained as he added the nicety. Soooooo much fun.

“Add on a massage chair for my office and I’ll get it done by Wednesday.” You wondered just how far you could push his desperation. 

“Deal.” He held his hand out for you to shake and when you did, you felt a strange sense of accomplishment. Now you could tell people ‘How to Tame Your Dragon’ was loosely based on your life. 

“You know, Sylus, I’m liking this new dynamic.” Your shit-eating grin couldn’t be wiped off of your face no matter how hard you tried.

“Oh I can tell. Now, get to work.” Sylus made a show of pulling out your office chair for you, and when you sat in it for the first time in two months, you felt an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. And for once, the recollection of your past didn’t hurt as much as it usually did.  

Mid-November

This time around, your employment under Sylus was much more pleasant. Surprisingly, he’d actually adhered to your conditions. 

The twins were slightly offended that you no longer wanted to share your office with them, but their gratefulness for your return trumped any antagonism they had for you. You were kind of a celebrity in Onychinus’s executive team, their saviour, if you will. 

But, the enjoyment of your newly established status could not be savoured. Undoing months of mistakes was turning out to be positively exhausting. You were an accountant; socially awkward, stuck to her Excel sheets, spent most of her free time indulging in shitty rom-coms. You were not built for briefing CEOs, Chairmen, investors, subsidiaries and of course, debtors, on your commitment to stability via video call.

Sylus insisted it had to be you, even though he usually handled the bureaucratic part of the organisation. Something about him not being able to answer their questions regarding the numbers. You told him you would tell him what to say through an ear piece like a spy movie, but he responded with a resounding no. 

It was more like ‘hell will freeze over before I turn into a glorified puppet, Y/N, blah blah blah’.

Every single one-on-one conference call made you feel like you were getting hives. Not to mention the active effort it took you to refrain from making stupid jokes at every opportunity. When the last one with the representative from Onychinus’s main bank was over, you had officially smoothed over all bad blood between Onychinus and it’s stakeholders.

Giving yourself a moment to recalibrate from the sheer amount of social interaction you had been subjected to, you glared at the shared calendar event. ‘Miss Hunter’s Birthday in 13 days’.

You tried to distract yourself from that familiar sinking feeling in your gut with your work. Sylus never remembered your birthday, but it wasn’t like it mattered. You were his accountant, he was your boss. That was the extent of your relationship, even though you’d both said things to each other that would cause your HR department, if you had one, to self-emulate. But in the chaos of buying your home, going back to work and learning how to navigate life with your unwanted companion; grief, you’d forgotten all about your feelings for Sylus.

They weren’t gone but they were muted, like a voice screaming out to you while your head was underwater. Most of the time they were easy to ignore, but in times like these they were too loud to overlook.

You couldn’t dwell on your self-pity for long because there was a knock at your door. No one ever knocked on your door, people just tended to barge in.

“Come in?” Confusion dripped from your voice. When the door opened to a pair of twins with shameful smiles, you knew they were about to ask you for a favour.

“We… fucked up.” Three words you never wanted to hear coming out of either Luke or Kieran’s mouth.

“What have you done?”

“Long story short. Boss sent us to pick up a gem for Miss Hunter’s birthday. It’s really rare. The man who owns them is this older, heart of gold type old guy who refuses to sell to nefarious people because of his outdated principles. He wouldn’t give it to us, said something about us being part of Onychinus. We knew if boss didn’t get this gem today he’d have our heads displayed on mantels in his office, so we threatened the old man with a gun and then an entire arsenal of security appeared out of thin air and we were blacklisted from the property.” Kieran’s explanation left you astounded. 

The twins had their fair share of asinine mistakes, but this one might have taken the cake. 

“You threatened an old man with a gun…” 

“Yes.” Kieran responded. 

“Over a gem?” You asked in disbelief. 

“A very rare gem!” Luke corrected. 

“Huh. How am I supposed to help?” It was a genuine question, you didn’t really see a way out of this one. 

“Can you go and convince the old man to sell the gem to you?” Kieran’s request made your eyes widen in protest.

“No way! I’ve had my fill of uncomfortable business meetings.” And wasn’t that the truth. If you had to see one more man in a business suit ask you ‘if you even knew what you were talking about’ you might throw your laptop into the first body of water you could find. 

“Please, Y/N. Sylus will kill us. Do you want our deaths to hang over your conscience?” 

Luke’s question was an innocent hyperbole, but at the mention of deaths hanging over your conscience, you were reminded of your mom. Your face dropped, your fingers slowly forgetting what they were supposed to type. Kieran, the more observant twin, elbowed Luke.

“Fuck, Y/N. I’m sorry, I forgot.”

“No, no, it’s fine. You don’t have to walk on eggshells around me, I’m not going to burst into tears.” You weren’t sure that was true quite yet, but fake it till you make it, right? 

“Will you help us? Please. We’ll owe you big time.” The line was clearly rehearsed since they said it in unison, or maybe it was some weird twin telepathy thing. Either way, it freaked you out so much you agreed. 

“Fine, what’s the address?”

_____________

You knocked on the large wooden door of a beautiful home. It was classically designed, a perfect intersection between modernity and the timeless complexity of archaic house designs. It was rare to see homes like these in a society that prided itself on progress. 

When you heard the sound of soft feet shuffling toward the door, you felt the guilt eat at you internally. You were tricking an old man into selling a gem to people he very reasonably did not want to sell to.

“Y/M/N?” 

Did he— why did he call you by your mother’s name?

“That was my mother, I’m her daughter, Y/N.”

“Oh, thank god, I was beginning to think I’d finally lost it. Come in, come in.” 

Your interest had been piqued, and you forgot all about the gem as you entered the old man’s home.

“I must say, I’m surprised you’re here. Did your mother send you?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “She passed away just over a month ago.”

“Oh god. I’m so sorry, dear. Are you alright?” The question was filled with so much warmth it made tears well up in your eyes. Your mother never had any friends, and you were estranged from your extended family. You were all alone in your grief, and hearing someone who knew your mom in some capacity ask you if you were alright felt bittersweet.

“Yeah. I’m doing okay. If you don’t mind me asking, how did you know her?”

“You don’t know? I figured that was why you were here.” 

Right. The reason you were here, the gem.

“No, I’m actually here entirely coincidentally, I came to acquire a gem.”

“Which gem were you after, dear?” He asked the question as he looked around his living room for something.

“The Painite one.”

He stopped pacing and turned to you with an accusatory stare. “This wouldn’t happen to be related to those two rowdy boys who came by earlier, right?”

“Well…” You couldn’t lie to him. He looked like the old man from ‘Up’, it was entirely unfair. 

“I’m afraid I can’t sell to you. I’m concerned you’ve even gotten yourself wrapped up in such a terrible organisation.” He shook his head, his disappointment evident in his tone. 

“Look, I know what you’ve heard, but most of the rumours you hear about Onychinus don’t have a modicum of truth to them.”

“Then why hasn’t your boss cleared them up?” A great question. 

“In this business its good to have a reputation that instills fear in others. You’ve seen what people do for Protocores and black-market items. Onychinus serves as a… regulatory body of the underworld, the only people they harm are those that harm others.” The practiced speech came from years of listening to Sylus give it to yourself and others. 

“I don’t know dear, I’ve heard some horrific things about their leader, Sylus.” You were probably responsible for a few of those rumours…

“The only horrific thing about him is his sharp tongue. Seriously, he has a way of finding your worst insecurity and then using it to drag you through the dirt.” Recognising the unhelpful tangent, you digressed.

“But when it comes to business, he’s fair and when someone hurts the people he cares about, he’s merciless. He has a good heart, it’s just encased under a very thick layer of stone.” When he didn’t look convinced, you continued. 

“In fact, he wants this gem for a woman. She’s special to him and its her birthday in a few days. She’s a hunter, by the way, she saves lives. So, even if you don’t want to sell to Sylus because he’s probably half demon, you should sell it to her. You know, by proxy.” The argument was a stretch but you couldn’t help your rambling. 

“You are the spitting image of your mother.” 

The comment caught you off-guard.

“You think so?”

“I knew your mother when she was your age. She used to sing live at a bar I frequented with my friends. It was a simpler time, before wanderers attacked. I was head over heels in love with her, and I knew she felt the same way about me. But, she got wrapped up with the wrong guy, a real bad man, and it took finding out she was pregnant with you to break it off with him.” He recounted his past as he continued to search his drawers for something, when he came back to the couch in front of yours, he handed you a photo.

It was of your mother, except she was much younger. She was on a stage performing, a part of her life she never told you about. She looked happy and was glowing with the kind of ethereal beauty that never dwindled with time. He was right, you looked a lot like her. 

“Can I keep this?” You looked up at the man, and he gave you a small nod. 

“Of course. You know, I offered to help her when I found out, said I’d raise the baby as my own, but she told me I was destined for more than she could give me. Said she had to do this on her own. She was stubborn but she loved boundlessly, Y/N, just like you.”

You were confused, this man hadn’t known you for very long, how could he know such a thing? “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know what that Sylus man has done to deserve your adoration, but I can tell you love him. And for you to come here on his behalf to convince me to sell him the rarest gem in the world for another woman? You truly do have your mother’s heart.” 

His words sprouted doubt and introspection. Why were you trying so hard to get Sylus such a romantic gift when it was meant for someone else? Were you secretly a masochist?

“If it’s alright with you Y/N, I’d love to get to know you. Your mother was my first love, and it’s nice to have someone to talk to about her.” 

You gave him the sincerest smile you could come up with. “I’d like that. I don’t really have anyone to talk to about her either.”

“As for the gem, I’ll sell it to you but only if you promise to love a man who will go to these lengths for you, not someone else.” 

“I promise.” You’d promise to try, at least. You told the man, who you now knew was Dr Jeffery Hunt the geologist, that you needed to get back to work. You exchanged contact information with a promise to catch up later and trade stories about your mom. 

You left the house with the rarest gem in the world in one hand, and an infinitely more valuable picture of your mother in the other. 

___________

You walked toward your office where Luke and Kieran should have been to find the door slightly ajar. You stopped just outside the door when you heard Sylus’s voice from inside your office.

“You sent Y/N to get the gem? Was the task too difficult for the two of you?” You tried to sympathise with the twins, but it was kind of funny to see Sylus berate someone else for once.

“The owner said he wouldn’t sell to Onychinus—” Kieran’s attempt at an explanation was shot down instantly.

“So you pick some random person off the street and send them in instead. You don’t send the girl the gem is for to go retrieve her own present. You have completely ruined the surprise.”

Wait, what?

“No, it’s fine, we sent Y/N not Miss Hunter.”

“Miss Hun— why would you assume it’s for her?” The question hung in there for an uncomfortable moment, after all you assumed the same thing. 

“Her birthday’s in a few days.” Luke timidly added. 

“How do you know that?” 

“It’s in the shared calendar.”

“Fuck.” 

With your ear plastered shamelessly against the door, you smiled to yourself. He had a bad habit of putting personal events in the shared calendar.

“The gem was for Y/N. Thanks to you imbeciles I have to figure something else out.” 

Why was the gem for you? Was it poisonous? You started down at the velvet box in your hand and wondered if the gem was secretly a teeny tiny bomb. 

“Is it Y/N’s birthday soon too?” Kieran’s question offended you. Your birthday was in March and both he and Luke were at your celebratory birthday dinner last year. 

“No, that’s in March. It’s to celebrate her 3rd year with Onychinus. Although now I’m wondering if your time here has come to an end.” It was kind of sadistic, but it was comforting to know that Sylus threatened other people’s job security over minor inconveniences too. 

“No! Please, we promise we’ll make it up to you.” 

You stopped listening to the conversation as you opened the box in your hand. The gem glistened under the artificial lights as questions fired off in your brain. He wanted to give this gem to you? How did he even remember the day you started at Onychinus? And he knew your birthday?

Before you could search for the answers, the sound of footsteps approaching the door made you panic. You tried fruitlessly to escape the long hallway but Sylus stormed out before you could.

“I um, got that gem for you.” You pretended you weren’t eavesdropping and held the gem out to him, but he pushed it back toward you. 

“Thanks. I was going to have it turned into a necklace, but since the cat’s out of the bag, you can decide what to do with it.” He clearly knew you’d heard everything and gave the twins a pointed glare as they scurried out of your office. 

“It’s really too much. Most employers get their employees a gift card or something.” You tried to hand it back again, but he was unrelenting. 

“I’m not most employers, and you definitely aren’t most employees.” The loaded compliment made you bite back a smile. 

“In that case, a necklace would be nice. I have a photo of my mom when she was my age, she wore a necklace with a similar looking gem. Do you think you could find someone who can copy the design? It would mean a lot. I’d pay for it, of course.” You kept the photo in your wallet now, it quickly became one of your favourites. When you passed the photo to him, he looked at it for far longer than necessary. 

“Consider it done, and your money’s no good with me. Save it for something else.” He paused for a moment, took a photo of the necklace on his phone and returned the photograph. “I see where you get your beauty from.” The comment was so nonchalant and inconsistent with Sylus’s usual dialogue that you were left speechless. Your heart battered against your ribcage as if it were trying to escape and mount itself onto him instead. Traitorous organ. 

You watched him turn around and walk toward his office. The sight of him walking away from you brought back memories of that day in the graveyard and what you’d said to Sylus before he left. 

“You can judge me all you want, but it won’t change the fact that when you die, no one will mourn you.”

The guilt was eating away at your conscience, and you knew you had to let him know that you didn’t mean what you said. Especially not now. 

“Sylus, wait.” He stopped just as his hand reached the doorknob of his office door and looked up at you expectantly.

You raked your mind for the right thing to say, and Sylus didn’t make a sound as you prolonged the silence. 

“If you died, I’d mourn you.” And you meant it. You maintained eye contact despite the urge to look away from his intense gaze in an attempt to convey your sincerity. 

He shook his head with a slight chuckle in response, and walked into his office wordlessly. 

You figured he hadn’t given what you said a second thought. It was foolish to think you could ever hurt the impenetrable Sylus’s feelings. You weren’t even sure he had feelings. 

But, unbeknownst to you, when Sylus closed the door behind him, he felt himself let out a breath that alleviated a pressure in his chest he didn’t know he’d been carrying. What you’d said to him in the graveyard weighed on him like an uncomfortable tumour. 

Sylus knew you were right, but the idea of no one caring for him never bothered him before, not until you said it. It dawned on him that the only person who’s idea of him actually affected how he thought of himself was yours. 

Late-November

“Finish up, we have a reservation at six.” At the sound of your boss’s  voice, you looked up from your computer screen. Your eyes were watery from staring at the ledger for hours but you still couldn’t reconcile the $15.70 that was missing. It was driving you insane.

“Was there a meeting I forgot existed?” The calendar looked empty from where it stood on your second monitor. Well, it was empty now that Sylus deleted the shared calendar event for Miss Hunter’s birthday which should’ve been yesterday. 

“No, it’s just us. I’m taking you to dinner. Now hurry up.” You couldn’t help the frown on your face. There was surely an ulterior motive. 

“Taking me to dinner? Are you asking me out on a date?” You were teasing; hell would freeze over before Sylus would ask anyone out on a date. Though, maybe he already had, after all he was busy yesterday…

“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re celebrating your third year with Onychinus. As an employer I believe rewarding long-term employees can strengthen their loyalty to the company.” He regurgitated the words like they were toxic. 

“You stole that from the last issue of Forbes magazine. I would know since I was the one who gave you the article.” It was titled ‘Ten foolproof ways to make your employees like you’ and you thought it would be funny to leave it on Sylus’s desk. 

“And I’m responding to your feedback like number 4 on that list suggested. Now, do you want to go to this dinner or should I ask someone else?” 

You quickly scrambled out of your seat, you couldn’t miss out on a chance to see Sylus actively try to be a regular boss. Who could say no to dinner and a show?

“No, no, I’ll go.” You grabbed your bag off of the floor and followed Sylus out of the building. You asked him a series of questions about where you were going, when you’d be back, if you were getting paid for the time you were forced to spend with him, but he answered none of them. 

Sylus was driving for all of 2 minutes before you began to draft an appreciation letter to the inventor of seatbelts in your head. 

“You know, you may be harder to kill than a regular person, but I will die if you crash this car.” Pleading for your life in an expensive sports car was not how you expected to go. 

“It’s a little early in the night for your theatrics, Y/N.” Sylus’s deadpan tone did nothing to soothe your concerns as he turned yet another sharp corner with aggressive speed. 

“It’s also a little early in my life to die.” You unhelpfully added.

“Relax, will you? I’ve never crashed before.” 

Well, there’s a first time for everything. You thought as you tightly gripped the handle of the door. You found yourself suddenly missing the middle-aged man who would grouchily drive you to and from work. At least he drove like he valued his life. 

 _______

When you arrived to the place in one piece you felt severely under dressed. Sylus was wearing his regular attire, a suit without the tie, and you were dressed in linen pants and a turtleneck. Sylus never enforced a business dress code, though in that moment you found yourself wishing he did.

The restaurant was multi-level and sat at the top of a mountain. The exterior screamed affluence and you were sure everyone who dined there was in a different tax-bracket. Sylus reserved a table on the rooftop which unfortunately meant you had to ascend four levels in your mediocre outfit that made you stick out like a sore thumb. 

When you eventually reached your table, you quickly hid in your seat. While it was unrealistic to assume anyone would pay you any attention but your embarrassment was usually irrational. Nor, did it help that Sylus naturally made heads turn wherever he went. He was freakishly tall and unnervingly handsome; next to him anyone struggled to look attractive.

“You’re in a rush. Hungry?” Sylus asked across from you as you buried your face in the menu. You didn’t feel like explaining how being out with him made you feel insecure, so you forewent a response. 

The waiter quickly returned with a bottle of wine. Of course Sylus’s favourite wine was known universally. Why wouldn’t it be? He practically ruled the N109 Zone.

“Thanks, she’ll have a mojito.” Before you could tell the waiter not to bring you your favourite cocktail, he was gone.

“I’m not drinking.” Your protest fell on deaf ears. “Drinking with your boss is like number 1 on the list of things you shouldn’t do if you value your job.”

“You don’t have to worry about embarrassing yourself in front of me, Y/N. You’ve done that plenty of times sober.” Sylus smirked as he made the dry joke and you held back the urge to step on his foot under the table.

Never mind. You needed a drink pronto.

“Asshole.” You muttered under your breath.

“What was that?”

“Artichokes! I said the artichoke salad looks good.” You could tell Sylus wasn’t convinced, but he dropped the matter anyway. 

“Order whatever you’d like.” 

“There’s no prices on the menu.” You flipped it around every which way but not a single price appeared.

“Sweetheart, the people who can afford to dine here aren’t too concerned with prices. Don’t worry and order what you wish.”

Aw, how sweet. Sylus thought you enquired about the prices because you were concerned about overspending. As if. You knew that man’s financials inside and out, if anything, you wanted to order the most expensive things on the menu. 

“Jeez, my bad Mr One-Percent.” Your joke was not well received.

“Can we have one night without your incessant sarcasm?” The plea sounded genuine, but it was denied. 

“We could, but that’s no fun.”

“I find you painfully unfunny, Y/N.” You smiled to yourself at his blatant lie. Everyone found you funny. 

Before you could think of a retort, Sylus pulled out a large velvet box and slid it toward you on the table.

“What’s this?”

“The necklace.”

You opened it up eagerly and the sight of it brought pure bliss to your heart. It was exactly like the one your mother wore, and it was even more beautiful in person.

“It’s perfect. Thank you.” Feeling slightly remorseful for your attitude prior to the gift-exchange, you gave him a sheepish smile.

Sylus watched you lift it up to put it on, but quickly interjected. “Allow me.” He stood up, walking toward your seat. Flushed, you clumsily turned around so your back was facing him. You felt goosebumps on your skin when his cold hands bunched your hair away from your neck, the tips of his fingers leaving a trail of wired nerves in their wake.

You took your hair from his hand to hold it up, the mere feeling of your fingers brushing his gave you heart palpitations. The act was way too intimate, and despite how it good it felt to have him so close, your brain knew it was safest to pray it would be over soon.

When Sylus was done he spun you around to face him and shamelessly observed his handiwork. “It looks good.” Your brain short-circuited the moment your eyes met his, so you sat in front of him in complete silence.

The moment was rudely interrupted by the sound of a familiar voice.

“Sylus? Y/N? Fancy seeing you here!” You both turned to the source of the voice to see Miss Hunter in a beautiful baby blue gown. As if you didn’t feel bad enough about your choice in attire. You began to smile until you noticed that the arm linked with hers belonged to your mortal enemy. Dr Zayne. 

You got up to greet them, despite your primal urge to push Zayne off the roof, but Sylus beat you to it. “Miss Hunter, always a pleasure.” You tried not to gag at the sight of Sylus being so gentlemanly. It became particularly hard when he kissed the top of her hand. 

“I didn’t know you knew Dr Zayne.” The comment slipped out of Sylus’s tense smile with a twinge of what you thought was hostility. Was he jealous that she was with Dr Zayne? Were you jealous that he was jealous? Are you in a soap opera?

“Oh, he’s a childhood friend andmy doctor! I’m very lucky. How do you know him?” Before you could whisper to Sylus to make up some excuse, he was firing off information about your personal life to the last two people you wanted to discuss your personal life with. 

“He was Y/N’s mother’s doctor.” Everyone went tense, everyone except for Miss Hunter, of course. 

Your eyes followed her as she turned to you, praying she wouldn’t ask about your mother’s health. Instead, she praised your nemesis. “He’s brilliant, isn’t he?”

You wanted to scream in protest. You wanted to swing a chair into Dr Zayne’s head, and then use the broken scraps to beat him to a pulp. But you opted to force a painful smile instead. 

“He’s definitely something.” You looked right at Zayne, hoping he’d understand the implications of your backhanded compliment.  

“Well, we were just here to celebrate my birthday yesterday, but the hostess said it was all booked out and silly Zayne forgot to make a reservation. We just came up to the rooftop to get some pictures, but you guys should enjoy your dinner!” Miss Hunter’s polite dismissal was the perfect opportunity to end the painfully awkward interaction and move on with your night. 

“Thanks.” You were about to return to your seat when Sylus decided to continue with his commitment to ruining your life.

“You guys should join us, the more the merrier, right Y/N?”

The question you had no idea how to answer only poked at the jar of pent up murderous rage you were trying to suppress. It wasn’t like you were subtle about your hatred for the Doctor, why the hell was Sylus inviting them to stay?

“Right.” You couldn’t have sounded less sincere if you tried, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You had to focus on making it out of this building without a homicide charge.

When Miss Hunter happily agreed, Sylus quickly waved down a waiter and made them transform your two-seater table into a four-seater. Unfortunately for you, the seating arrangements somehow ended up with you next to Zayne and Sylus next to Miss Hunter . 

Zayne could feel the hostility radiating off of you in waves, but he was too scared to do anything about it. 

“Happy birthday, by the way.” You offered Miss Hunter the nicety, since she was really the only innocent person at the table. Your unfounded hatred for her took the back-burner when Zayne was around. 

“Thanks, Y/N. I love your necklace, where did you get it?” Yet another question you didn’t know how to answer. If this was how the entire night was going to be you might as well cut your losses and take your chances with jumping off the roof.

“It’s um, custom made.” You avoided Sylus’s glare. 

“Well it’s beautiful.” You couldn’t help but smile at her compliment. Her sunshine-y attitude could rival yours. 

“Sylus knows the guy who made it, I’m sure he could get one for you too.” You glanced at him only to see him quirk an eyebrow at your response. Was he seriously mad? You were practically the world’s greatest wingwoman. 

When Miss Hunter turned to look at him, he quickly shut her down.  “He retired right after making that piece, actually. Something about getting arthritis.” 

He was definitely lying. You weren’t sure why he was gatekeeping this jeweller and you never got the chance to ask. 

“Oh, that’s unfortunate. Hey Zayne, you’ve been awfully quiet. Say something!” Miss Hunter gave him a playful push on the shoulder as she teased him. The sight would’ve been adorable if it weren’t for satan’s incarnate sitting inches away from you.

“Yeah Zayne, how was work? Steal anymore hearts lately?” You asked the deceivingly innocuous question while breaking apart a piece of bread. The double-entendre was like a secret you both shared; though the idea of sharing anything with that waste of space made you inscrutably angry. 

Sylus silently observed the interaction with curiosity. Your passive-aggressiveness was a trait he thought you only reserved for him. You were always nice, to everyone. Seeing you treat Zayne so coldly was like witnessing a beaver play the piano. It was unnatural. 

“Work went as well as expected.” Zayne’s clipped reply left no room for further discussion. The conversation came to do a lull, and you took it as the opportunity to excuse yourself to the bathroom. You immediately beelined away from the table that currently situated your nightmare blunt rotation and toward the women’s bathroom that was positively Zayne-free. 

The bathroom was just as extravagant as the rest of the restaurant but you didn’t get to admire it before you splashed water on your face in an attempt to cool down. There was no way you could last an entire dinner next to Zayne. Maybe you could say you were feeling sick. Probably a bad idea when he’s a doctor. Work emergency wasn’t plausible, your boss was at the table. What if you just ran away? You could live with the shame and embarrassment.

You looked up at the ceiling and silently cursed the heavens for your terrible luck. Seriously, you must’ve been a serial killer in your past life to deserve this fate. It was a never-ending series of unfortunate events, and you were desperate for a break. 

When you eventually left the bathroom, Zayne was standing right outside the door. He startled you, but the moment the shock wore off your face morphed into a deadly glare. 

“Look, I know you think I’m a terrible person but—”

“Monster is the term I’d use, but go on.” You rudely interrupted Zayne. He chose not to acknowledge your comment. 

“I rarely get to spend time with MC and I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t ruin her birthday dinner because of me.” It didn’t take long for you to realise that MC must’ve been Miss Hunter’s first name. 

Zayne ruined everything he touched, he needed no help from you. 

“I’m sorry, does the fact that I’m angry at you for letting my mother die put a damper in your dinner plans?”

“Yes it does, actually.” Zayne responded quickly. He either didn’t understand sarcasm or was an even bigger dick than you thought.

“Then might I suggest you take her someplace else. It’s your fault you couldn’t get a table here. Why should I have to suffer because your incompetence knows no bounds?” You couldn’t think of a time you’d insulted someone so much in such quick succession. Dr Zayne brought out the worst in you, but you could reflect on your actions later. Right now you were at war. 

“We are perfectly capable of having an amicable dinner.” 

You rolled your eyes at his condescending tone. “You might be, I’m not that mature.” 

“Y/N. We’re both adults.” He pleaded.

“Bite me.” 

Before Zayne could open his mouth again, Sylus interrupted.

“Everything all good here?” For once in your life, you were grateful for Sylus’s interruption. 

“No.” You said.

“Yes.” Zayne also said, at the exact same time.

“Zayne you should head back to the table. Miss Hunter's waiting for you.” Zayne didn’t think twice before taking the out and you internally flipped off his retreating form.

Sylus grabbed you by the forearm, his grip tight as he dragged you to a secluded part of the rooftop and away from the bathrooms. 

“What’s going on with you?” He asked the moment you stopped moving, his hand still gripping onto your arm like a vice. 

“Can you let go? You’re hurting me.” He quickly released you, his eyes washing over with something you couldn’t recognise as you soothed the part he’d rubbed raw. 

“Why are you acting so childish?” His question would've angered you had you not been angry already.

“I hate his guts.” The response did not help your case, but you weren’t very articulate when you were upset. 

“What did he do to you?” Sylus’s eyes narrowed, and he spoke in a low tone that was laced with danger. You didn’t think too much of his strange reaction, Sylus acting strange was pretty much the only consistent thing in your life lately. 

You gnawed on your lip, unsure of how to respond. Your grievance against the world-renowned doctor was one you’d always kept to yourself. After all, everyone had nothing but praise for the brilliant Dr Zayne. 

“Y/N, if he touched you I’ll—” Your eyes quickly widened in shock at his interpretation.

“No! Nothing like that. It’s just, a few days before my mom died, a heart came in that was a match. But there was this other guy who was younger and needed it just as badly. The policy was that the hospital's medical board would vote on who got the heart and the entire board, Zayne included, unanimously agreed that the heart should go to the other guy.” They said it wasn't personal, that it had everything to do with survival rates, but there was no way to detach personhood from medicine.

You realised that when you said it out loud, your hate seemed unfounded. “I know it wasn’t entirely his fault, but he didn’t even try to give my mom a fighting chance. He didn't say anything to sway them, he just silently agreed. He was supposed to be her advocate.” The frustration began to boil over, and before you knew it there were tears welling up in your eyes.

“God, I spent every last dollar of my paycheque to make sure she got the greatest medical care money could buy. Everyone said he was the best, but when it really mattered, he did nothing for her. I was such an idiot.” There was an uncontrollable fountain of tears streaming down your face, and you were grateful for Sylus’s decision to drag you to somewhere secluded. 

The familiar tendrils of an oncoming panic attack began to wash over you as you began to hyperventilate. No matter how much you wanted to blame Dr Zayne, or the universe, or your shitty luck, the only person you could really blame was yourself. You sent her to that hospital, you convinced her to hold on for a transplant, you spent her last months on this Earth slaving away in another city instead of by her side. There was no way to get that time back. 

“Y/N, look at me. It’s not your fault.” Sylus’s voice was like a beacon of light that led you through the dark tunnel you were trapped in. He cradled your face in his hands, wiping away your tears as they continued to stream down your face. But when your tears showed no signs of slowing, he pulled you into his arms, his hands holding your tear-stricken face against his chest.

He ran his long fingers through your hair as he whispered everything you wanted to hear. "It’s not your fault. It’s okay to hate him. It will get easier."

You weren’t sure how long you spent with your face buried in his chest, but by the time you’d returned to reality, his white dress shirt was slightly transparent where your tears soaked through the material. 

You laughed a little at the sight, and the corners of Sylus’s lips raised ever so slightly at the sound. When he saw you were okay, Sylus began to speak. “Don’t move. I’ll grab your bag and we’ll get out of here.”

Before he could leave you tugged on the sleeve of his suit jacket. “Hey, I’m sorry I ruined your dinner.” You truly were. Sylus did not deserve to be subjected to yet another one of your meltdowns, but he seemed to have a habit of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. 

“No it's my fault, I ruined it by inviting them to join us. I promise I’ll make it up to you.” Sylus then manoeuvred through the restaurant toward the nightmare table. When he returned with your bag in one hand and the other outstretched toward you, your heart skipped a beat. Or two. He played the role of the knight-in-shining-armour quite seamlessly, and he looked every bit the handsome prince charming. You tried to remind yourself why it was so dangerous to be attracted to a force like Sylus, but when he smiled at you like you were the only two people in the room, all caution was thrown to the wind. 

_____________

In the spirit of making things up to you, you made Sylus take you to a restaurant of your choosing. It was a hole-in-the-wall dumpling place that charged so little one would question if they were serving real meat. But you never found better dumplings, so you took the risk anyway.

The dynamic was completely subverted as you sat on the table that was slightly sticky with cheap cleaning chemicals. Sylus was the one who looked out of place, his suit was unarguably the most expensive thing in the room and it brought joy to your miserable night to see him out of his comfort zone.

“How did you find this place?” The question was warranted, other than you two, the only other occupants in the restaurant were a few middle-schoolers.  

“I used to come here a lot with my friends in high school.”

“Did they all die from food poisoning?” Sylus seemed proud of his quick-witted joke. You gave him a pointed glare to convey just how unfunny that joke was. 

“Funny, but no. We just drifted apart after we graduated.” The clipped reply shut down any further inquiry. You thought back to the fond memories you had in that restaurant. Things were different when you didn’t yet know the cost of failure; before you knew what you’d be losing. And while everyone may have moved on from this small town in the N109 Zone, you never left. 

“Do you even have any friends?” You choked on your drink at the question. He was genuinely asking and the worst part was, you really didn’t.

Your constant struggle to make ends meet and maintain a high GPA for your academic scholarships made it impossible to have a social life. It didn’t help that you went to a college you couldn’t afford. It was hard to find people to relate to when everyone had grown up with silver spoons. Then after you graduated you landed at Onychinus, and it wasn’t exactly a friendly environment.

“Of course I have friends.” Your lie was a feeble attempt to preserve the last of your dignity. Sylus had seen you at your absolute worst, but there was something extremely dehumanising about letting him know you were insanely lonely.

“Really, who?” His genuine surprise only made your insecurity worse.

“You don’t have to sound so shocked. Plus, you wouldn’t know them.” 

“Try me.” Of course he wouldn’t drop it. When has Sylus ever let something go?

“Well, there’s Mr Demir, and Luke and Kieran, and my newly acquired friend Dr Hunt.” In a desperate attempt to keep up your lie, you pretty much just named all the people you knew. 

“Y/N, that’s the man who sells you your sandwiches, my assistants, and a geologist who sold you a gem.” 

“Has anyone ever told you that no one likes a know-it-all?” 

“I think you should get out more. Maybe tone down the sarcasm and you might just make a friend or two.” Your jaw-dropped in faux shock at his unsolicited advice.

“You’re one to talk, your best friend is a mechanical crow.” You snuck a dumpling off of his plate while he was distracted.

“I don’t need friends, they’re unnecessary burdens.” He took a swig of his beer. You thought he’d burst into flames if he drank anything other than red wine, but he adapted to his surroundings with little effort.

You put a hand on your heart as if in pain and jokingly gave him a solemn look.“Then why would you wish such a cruel fate onto me?”

“Because I hate seeing you this miserable, Y/N.” The amusement from your banter died a quick death at his confession. You thought you kept it together most of the time, though bawling your eyes out in the N109 Zone’s hottest restaurant probably didn’t do that facade any good. But for the most part, you handled the death of your mother relatively well. 

“I’m not miserable. Not all of the time at least. Like right now, I’m only mildly annoyed!” You tried to change the topic the only way you knew how, with humour, but Sylus wasn’t budging.

“You take care of everyone but yourself and all it’s done is isolate you. There needs to be a give and take, sweetheart. People don’t like feeling useless.” He spoke to you softly, as if he was scared the timbre of his voice would cause you to shatter into a million pieces. 

There was a sinking feeling in your stomach that followed his oddly specific guidance. He seemed to know more about you than you thought he did, and you were torn between feeling seen and feeling judged. 

“That’s sound advice. Guess you’ve been reading more magazines.” You were grasping at straws, willing to try anything to get the unwanted spotlight off of your inadequacies. 

“You also need to learn how to accept help without downplaying your problems.” 

“Okay, okay. You sound like my mother. Has her soul possessed you?” There you go Y/N. Play the dead mom card, that’ll work. 

He chuckled at your joke. You knew he found you funny.

“You don’t know when to quit, do you?”

“Yeah, the manufacturers didn’t include an off-switch. No refunds, sorry.” You stuffed a dumpling in your mouth as the tension subsided. 

“Oh, I’m not returning you, sweetheart. They’ll have to pry you from my cold dead hands.” While you knew he was probably referring to the value you brought his company as his accountant, you couldn’t stifle the butterflies that wreaked havoc in your stomach.

You didn’t move when Sylus’s car stopped outside your house. 

“Thanks for tonight, I had fun. Sorry it didn’t go to plan.” You turned to him after you unbuckled your seatbelt and the tight confines of the car felt even smaller.

“It’s fine, I liked this version of events better anyway.” His low voice reverberated through the small distance between you, nestling in your heart that was beating unhealthily fast. 

“Me too. Next time you take a girl to dinner you ought to let her know if she’s supposed to dress like she’s going to the met gala.” Your advice had a bitter undertone because part of you still wished you could be the only girl he’d take to dinner. 

“I usually do, but this particular girl doesn’t need a fancy dress to be the most beautiful girl in the room.” The candid compliment made the butterflies do summersaults, and while their gymnastics routine continued, you found yourself at a loss for words.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” Sylus leaned over the centre console and opened the door for you, completing the chivalrous act of opening the door for you in his own unique fashion. He was so close, all it would take was one small move and his lips could’ve been on yours.

“Goodnight.” You barely got the word out through the sudden bout of breathlessness you were experiencing. And when you were finally encased in the familiar four walls of your home, you thought about every moment you shared with Sylus and how different he seemed from the man you knew before. 

The weekend passed by in a blur. The necklace that looked like a carbon copy of your mom’s was nestled on your neck. A permanent reminder that made ‘Operation Sylus: No More’ infinitely harder to achieve. 

Perhaps you shouldn’t have asked him to stop being a dick, because what you thought would be an easy feat was beginning to feel like climbing a mountain with a peak you couldn’t even see. 

You were staring at the list on your notes app on your brand new phone in hopes of searing it into your memory. 

Operation Sylus: No More

The foolproof guide of getting rid of all feelings Sylus related by the end of November. 

Step 1: avoid Sylus and all thoughts of him at all costs.

Step 2: no more funny jokes, his laugh is seriously deadly. 

Step 3: force yourself to remember Miss Hunter in moments of weakness. She’s the one he really wants. 

Step 4: try to find love elsewhere, like the corner shop owner, he may be in his 50s and happily married but he’s kind of a silver-fox!

Step 5: do not, under any circumstances, allow yourself to be alone with Sylus for too long.

You violated step 5 that Friday when you let him take you to dinner and you were reaping the consequences of your mistake. There was no way you could survive the free-fall if you couldn't get your heart to obey your mind. The disconnect between the two vital organs might be the thing that kills you.

When you heard something shatter in the hallway, you quickly put your phone down and went out to investigate.

The door opened to Mephisto standing on a side table where an empty vase used to sit. The vase was now on the floor in pieces in front of your feet. 

“You did this on purpose.” You pointed an accusing finger at the bird, but all he did was tilt his head to the side as if he couldn’t understand you. You knew he could understand you perfectly well.

The cold war between you two started in your first week at Onychinus when he would swoop at your head spontaneously for no reason. Sylus told you he did it to everyone he didn’t trust and that he’d be over it in due time, but you were too vindictive to let it slide. 

Several back-and-forth pranks later, the bird seemed to have remembered the tradition you managed to forget. “If this is your way of saying you miss me then you take an awful lot after your owner.” Your words faded as you made your way to the kitchen to find the broom. However, upon your return you saw that the floor was flawless and the door to your office was closed.

You rushed in with unparalleled speed to see your worst nightmare; Sylus leaning against your desk in his usual model-like fashion with your phone in his hand.

Panic coursed through you like never before as you remembered what had been left open on your phone when you set it down and the painful fact that you left it unlocked. 

Prayers for a sinkhole to open up and consume you in that very moment went unanswered as Sylus looked up at you with a smirk on his face.

“Is my laugh really deadly?” He looked amused. 

Come on sinkhole. Anytime now. 

When you didn’t answer, Sylus moved toward you. When he was close enough to touch you, he leaned down to make sure your eyes were on his.

“Your deadline is fast approaching, Y/N. Care for a progress report?” The taunting question made heat rush to your face.

“It was stupid, I wrote it months ago.”

“Then why did you have it open?” 

You couldn’t exactly tell him that his willingness to change his cold and cruel demeanour just to keep you as his accountant revived the feelings you thought were long dead. You definitely couldn’t tell him that the necklace that suddenly weighed down your chest made your heart skip a beat every time you touched it. And there was no way you were telling him that the dinner you shared was the happiest you’d felt in a long time.

“I was going to delete it when I heard Mephisto break something in the hallway.”

“Delete it? Guess you don’t need it anymore.”

“Nope.” You popped the P on the word for emphasis. “Can I have my phone back now?” He placed the device into your outstretched hand. 

“So how do you feel about me now, sweetheart?”

You tried your best to appear unperturbed by his taunting. “Mad at your blatant violation of my privacy.”

“Forgive me. I saw my name on your phone when I went to check in on you and I was curious.”

“Mephisto told you I broke the vase, didn’t he?”

“Don’t deflect. Do you still have feelings for me?”

“No, they’re gone. Can we please drop this? It’s embarrassing.” You lied in favour of self-preservation and hoped he wouldn’t be able to see through your act.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Y/N. Many women confess their love for me every month.” You rolled your eyes at his ardent display of over-confidence and narcissism, though you knew he wasn’t exaggerating.  

“Okay, brace yourself there bachelor. No one said anything about love.” It was true, you never said you loved him. Whether or not you did, well that was a secret you’d take to the grave. 

“So then which feeling are we discussing?” The loaded question came out of his mouth so casually, like someone ordering a latte. A display of power that reminded you of just how little this mattered to him. 

Your feet felt like they were grounded in their place by an invisible force and you were sure your cheeks were beet red. You knew your mouth was slightly agape in shock, but you couldn’t even close it. Meanwhile, Sylus was unfazed, treating your feelings like a game. 

“Since when do you even care about how I feel?” The sudden outburst was accompanied by your hand running through your hair out of frustration.

Sylus’s jaw clenched and for a moment he said nothing. There was no hint of amusement left on his features. 

“You think I don’t care about you?” He seemed irritated by the premise, but you couldn’t figure out why. You thought Sylus was proud of his clear disregard for other people’s emotions. 

“You treated me like gum stuck to the bottom of your boot for years. What reason did you give me to think otherwise?”

“I don’t know, maybe the fact that I pay you more than my highest ranking footmen. Or that I had Mephisto tail you when you used to bike to and from work to make sure you got home safe. Hell, I invented the lunch budget when I hired you just to make sure you were eating— I even banned mushrooms from my kitchen in case you wanted to eat here. Not to mention the bullshit extra work I’d assign you just so you would stay longer.” 

Choosing not to dwell on the implication of his silent acts of kindness, you interjected. “Hey, I took those tasks seriously!” The twins thought you were crazy when you asked if Sylus was making those assignments up. You knew you were right. 

“Don’t interrupt me.” Your mouth clamped shut at his rather reasonable request. Sylus wasn’t a big talker, so when he monologued, it was important. 

“Your kindness, your humour, it all caught me off guard. No one ever treated me like you did and I had no idea how to feel. The little doodles you sent back to me on the notes I left you delineating tasks? I kept every last one. When Mephisto complained to me about that time you put corn-starch in his water fountain and almost destroyed his wiring, all I could do was laugh. I treated you like I treated all my men because I didn’t want people to find out that you were my weakness.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, but the pressure wasn’t budging. There was so much you didn’t know about Sylus, so much you completely misunderstood. This revelation caused a series of chain reactions to go off inside your brain and the weight of what he was trying to say felt suffocating.

You dreamed of a time where Sylus would reciprocate your feelings, but the reality of it was more daunting than you realised.

“All my threats are empty with you, Y/N. You’re the only one who gets away with the attitude you give me. You tell me you crashed a car worth over half-a-million dollars and all I could think about was if you were okay. I even offered to buy your house for way more than it was worth just to get you back. Do you seriously think I don’t care?” 

All sound came to a stifling halt. 

“Wait, you were the ‘developer’?”

The inklings of betrayal wove their way through your skin as the pieces began to fall into place. The timing of the eviction notice, the fact that he’d shown up at your house the day you received it, the way he was so quick to agree to the ridiculous bonus. 

He manipulated you like a puppet on a string and let you think you were in control the entire time.

“Don’t look at me like I’m some traitor.” His audacious demand made your blood boil.

“You are a traitor! How could you do that to me?” You yelled.

“You were going to leave me like I was nothing!” For the first time since you’d met him, Sylus raised his voice to match yours. Your entire body went cold at his vulnerability. He was afraid of being abandoned, and that was a fear you both shared.

“Not seeing you every day made my heart feel like it was being ripped out of my chest. I could barely focus, all I could think about was what you were doing, who you were with. So imagine my surprise when I come to find that while I’m being tortured every minute I’m away from you, you needed more time.

“I knew I was being selfish, I knew that your grief had nothing to do with me, but I’ve never been good at putting my feelings into words. That day in the graveyard when you wouldn’t even look at me, I thought I’d lost you for good. It ate at me like a parasite. I had to get you back and I won’t apologise for not playing fair. There isn’t a rule I wouldn’t break for you, Y/N.”  

It was hard to hate him for what he did when you understood where he was coming from. You were two sides of the same coin. While you overcompensated for the lack of love in your life by becoming the ultimate people-pleaser, he avoided it at every turn, saw it as a weakness. But at the core of every human being was an innate desire to be loved and an inherent fear of being abandoned. 

People couldn’t leave your life if you never let them in. That was a philosophy you saw both your mother and Sylus live by. It was lonely and difficult, and if you had the power of hindsight you would’ve tried harder to convince your mother she was worthy of love. You couldn’t make that same mistake again. 

You loved Sylus, that much was ingrained into the flesh of your heart. For all his rugged edges, he had a way of making things happen that was akin to magic. His determination, his grit, it was admirable.

His intelligence was infuriating, you couldn’t get anything past him. If he received the Greeks’ horse instead of the Trojans, you were sure he’d have seen right through their ruse. 

His desire to make the N109 Zone a better place stemmed from a sense of altruism you could only hope to possess. And when Sylus did things for others, he never expected anything in return. 

But for all his greatest traits he had some difficult ones too. He’d hurt you more times than you could count, and even if he’d changed drastically since your mother’s death, you couldn’t quite trust that he wouldn’t hurt you again.

“You already know how I feel about you.” You confessed. It was no secret you wore your heart on your sleeve, despite your mother’s constant reminders that the world was filled with terrible people who’d take advantage of your candour. You chose to see the good in others, it boded better than the grim lifestyle that came with perpetual pessimism. 

“Then why are you fighting this?” His question came out pained, and it was one you could answer. 

“I’ve loved you for a long time, Sylus. I loved you even though you insulted me, ignored me, reminded me I was replaceable every chance you got.

“I told myself it was just how you were, that it wasn’t personal. But when you walked out on me in the hospital when I needed you the most, I loved you a little less.”

Sylus felt an unfamiliar twinge in his chest, like someone took a needle to his heart. He left that hospital because he wasn’t sure you’d even want him there, and it pained him to see you so distraught over a problem he couldn’t fix. When MC came to him with an important mission in Skyhaven, he saw an out, and like the coward he was he took it. If he knew that you’d lose your mother while he was away, he never would have left your side. 

“When you didn’t call until weeks later, when you showed up only to tell me I was being dramatic for grieving, I loved you even less. Every time you screwed me over you made it easier to live without you.”

It hurt to remember the pain you were in back then, the immense pressure of the burdens you carried. But if there was ever a chance of you and Sylus working out, he needed to know the truth. 

“I’ve only ever loved two people, Sylus, and in one month it felt like I’d lost them both. I still love you, I’m afraid I couldn’t stop if I tried, but I don’t know if I can be more than your accountant right now.” You couldn’t survive another heartbreak, that much was for sure. 

Even though Sylus looked like he was going to be sick, you continued. 

“I thought I was okay with you treating me like everybody else, thought I was strong enough to take it. But when I saw you with Miss Hunter and the softness with which you spoke to her, it broke me. I saw that you were capable of being gentle. You just didn’t think I was a worthy recipient of your kindness.”

He was quick to correct you. “That’s not true, sweetheart. Not at all. She has something I need, something I can’t take with force. It’s why I’ve had to adopt unusual methods. If I’d known it was causing you so much pain I would’ve explained. Fuck, Y/N, you deserve so much more than just my kindness, more than I could ever give you. I can’t even think of a person on Earth who deserves you at all.” 

When Sylus saw the tears begin to slide down your cheeks, he resisted the urge to wipe them away.

“I’ll give you anything you ask for, anything but letting you go. There’s nothing so broken it can’t be fixed, Y/N. You taught me that. Let me fix this.” He tested the waters by taking your hand in his and when you let him, he pulled you into his arms. 

For a moment, the room was silent. You listened to his heartbeat through his chest and it might have been even faster than yours. It felt like deja vu, reminding you of that moment in the restaurant, or that time in his hallway after Zayne’s phone call. Sylus was there to comfort you more often than not, why were you so scared of letting him in?

“I want to believe you, I just don’t know that I can.” Your voice was small, timid. As if you were afraid something you’d say would shatter the sanctity of this moment and you’d find out it was all a dream. 

“I won’t stop trying until you do, sweetheart. You’re it for me, there’s no one else.” He kissed the top of your head with a softness you didn’t know he possessed and the words were like bandages wrapping around the wounds inflicted by your own envy.

In the comfortable silence, Sylus made a vow. “I don’t have regrets — you know that quite well — but I regret the way I treated you. I’ll spend every lifetime repenting for my mistakes, Y/N, and I promise I’ll never let anything hurt you again.” He squeezed you tighter and the comfort his warmth brought you was a welcome change to the cold you lived in all the time. 

Desperate to diffuse the overwhelming angst of the situation, you pulled away from his embrace and clapped your hands together. “Okay then, as of today we commence ‘Operation Sylus: The Redemption'.”

His loud laugh resounded through your office, and it was a sound you’d never get tired of hearing. He grabbed your chin. “Have you always been this corny?” 

“I watch a lot of movies, okay? Now, shake on it.” You shook his hand off your face and held out your hand with an invitation that he instantly accepted. With his warm hand encasing yours, you whole-heartedly hoped this operation would be a success. 

Late December

You assumed the dynamic between you and Sylus would drastically change following your impromptu heart-to-heart. But the changes came in small waves. 

It started with the middle-aged man who silently drove you to and from work with a permanent scowl on his face being replaced by Sylus himself.

Then there was the sticky notes he’d usually place on documents explaining the task and deadline, now with an added addendum.

— That necklace was the best decision I’ve ever made.

— Your hair looks especially nice today.

— Did you switch perfumes? I like it.

— That new lipstick suits you. Your lips are all I can think about. 

You saved all of them in a drawer at your desk. 

He had someone bring you your lunch every day and spent your entire lunch break with you. Somedays you talked until your tongue felt like it was going to fall off, other days you just sat and ate together in silence. And every Friday afternoon, instead of taking you straight home, he’d take you to visit your mother’s grave with a new bouquet in his hands. 

You were glad he was taking things slow. His small gestures made your heart flutter without overwhelming you, but it had been a month since your confrontation, and he didn’t even try to touch you. 

While your inexperience with love, lust and romance never impacted any significant aspect of your life before, it was growing increasingly difficult to wait for Sylus to make the first move. He didn’t want to scare you, that much was understandable. But you were growing angsty waiting for him the tension between you two hit a boiling point.

The glorious plan came to you while you were shopping with Luke and Kieran for Onychinus’s annual Christmas gala. It was a networking event masked under the guise of a holiday celebration where the people hiding in the shadows of the underworld could spend one night communicating on the surface.

Every year, Sylus insisted he couldn’t outsource waiters for the event because of potential security leaks, so you, the twins and a couple other of his staff were forced to fill in as the help. Sylus told you that you wouldn’t have to participate this year, but you began to look forward to the event. It was like an unorthodox Christmas tradition.

Your eyes drifted to the costume section of the party store, and when they landed on a short red Santa’s helper dress, you felt a lightbulb turn on in your head. Maybe you had to give Sylus a little nudge.

“Hey, aren't you guys kind of bored of the slacks and the dress shirts he makes us wear?” You sowed the seed of doubt into your unwilling accomplices.

“Duh. I hate dressing like a butler.” Luke’s eyes continued to scan the aisle for decorations. The hall was professionally decorated, but you added your own little details every year. It made things less drab and it gave the twins an excuse to spend hours in the party supply store. 

“What if we went with Christmas themed costumes this year?” The twins turned to look at you with confusion, but they quickly warmed up to the idea when you pointed at the wall of seasonal costumes.

“I’m Rudolph!” They made their declarations in unison before breaking out into an argument in the middle of the party store.

“Just flip a coin!” You desperately suggested, taking a coin out of your wallet and placing it on your thumb, ready to flip. People were beginning to stare.

“I’m heads!” They said in unison, again.

“Kieran you’re heads, Luke you’re tails.” You assigned them the parts of the coin alphabetically and watched it flip through the air. When it landed in your hands, it displayed tails. You silently hoped they would move on from this unnecessary battle and restore peace to your shopping trip again.

“Sorry Kieran, Luke’s Rudolph.” Kieran complained for the rest of the day about how annoying being an elf was, and how, since he was an inch taller than Luke, it only made sense for Luke to be the elf instead. 

They argued like the siblings you never had, and for all the pain and suffering they caused you, there was no denying you loved having them around. Besides, working for Sylus left the three of you trauma-bonded for life. There wasn’t really an out from this unconventional friendship. 

_________________

You failed to remember to clear the costume idea with Sylus before the gala. He was just so busy trying to organise the event, and you were similarly swamped with ensuring all the invoices were sent out on time to the right vendors. You barely saw each other in the days leading up to the big event.

The dress was shorter on you than you anticipated. Coming up just above mid-thigh, it was nothing like anything you owned in your closet. The little hat it came with was cute though and you pinned it to your hair. The make-up you wore was the same as your everyday makeup, barring the eyeliner you’d spent way too long trying to perfect and your lipstick. 

Other than the dress, you really did look the same as you did most of the time. Would Sylus even notice?

Right on cue, a knock on your door snapped you out of your train of thought, and you took a deep breath before opening it. 

As you expected, Sylus looked unfazed by your choice in attire as you moved out of the doorway to let him in.

“I see we’ve foregone the uniforms this year.” His comment was a welcome distraction from your insecurities.

“Whimsy is part of the Christmas spirit, you know.”

“It’s cute. Did you get that dress from the children’s section?”

The question came so out of left-field it left you were stunned. Once the shock settled in, you suddenly felt self-conscious.

“No… Why? Does it look childish?” You couldn’t help the vulnerability in your voice. 

Sylus closed the distance between you in a few long strides, his hands were on you in an instant. His palm was holding onto your waist the other tracing alone the edge of your dress. 

“Quite the opposite, I’m just wondering why they’d make a dress so short for adult women.” 

“Adult women can dress however they want, Sylus.” You chided.

“I know, but I’ll have my hands full if I’m trying to host this event and take care of the hoards of men that will be chasing after my girl at the same time.” He whispered the words seductively into your ear, the hand on your thigh slipping ever-so-slightly under the dress.

You ignored the warm, fuzzy feeling that bloomed through you at the sound of Sylus calling you his girl.

“There won’t be ‘hoards of men’. This will be the third time I’m working your annual gala and I’ve only ever gotten hit on like four times.” You knew from the way his eyebrows furrowed that you shouldn’t have told him that.

“Four times? Men hit on you four times while I was in the room and you didn’t tell me?” He was clearly angry, his rage unwarranted since it happened right under his nose. 

“I didn’t think you’d care. Most of them were like fifty, anyway!” That was true, and every time one of them placed a hand on your shoulder or your forearm, it made you grimace. 

“If men approached you in long pants and a dress shirt with a plate of refreshments in your hand what do you think they’ll do when they see you in this get up?” He walked you back until you were standing against the wall.

He had a point. Maybe it was too suggestive.

“I can change—”

“No. You never have to do that with me, baby. Just stay where I can see you, alright?” 

“Okay.” You felt a blush paint your cheeks. The tension was bubbling up between you. His hand was searing into your waist, his other one moving dangerously high on your thigh. You really thought this would be the moment he kissed you. But then the warmth of his hands was abruptly gone. 

“Okay. You ready to go?” He held the door open for you. That was it? Frustrated at your lack of results, you silently walked out of your house.

__________________

“Did you see Sylus’s date?”

“Of course, she’s definitely the hottest girl here.”

“I bet she’s had work done.”

“If so, I need the name of her surgeon.”

You eavesdropped on the hushed whispers of a group of women who were gossiping in a corner near the kitchen. The second you walked through the doors of the extravagant event hall, you both went your separate ways and you hadn’t seen him since. So much for not letting you out of his sight. 

All you heard about the entire night was his mysterious date and her envious beauty. He never told you he was bringing one, nor did he ever ask you to fill the spot. But before you could completely spiral, you reminded yourself of Sylus’s promise. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. There had to be a perfectly reasonable explanation. 

“Now what’s a pretty girl like you doing working here?” Your train of thought was interrupted by the voice of a man. You turned around, expecting to see one of the many sleazy old men who frequented these events and saw you as an easy target, but all you saw was a young, attractive guy in a three-piece suit. Huh.

“Hors d’oeuvre?” You offered the plate to him in place of a response. 

“No thanks. I’ve had my fill, though I must say, the other servers aren’t quite as easy on the eyes as you.” His eyes shamelessly scanned every inch of you, head-to-toe, and you felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny of his gaze. 

“Oh, um thanks.” The blush on your cheeks was an unwanted biological reaction, you weren’t used to attention from men within your age range. It wasn't like you thought you were ugly, you were just a bit of a hermit.

“What’s your name, beautiful?” You were about to answer his question when someone did it for you.

“Y/N.” The voice belonged to the man of the hour who seemed to have appeared out of thin air. 

“Sylus, hello. Hors d’oeuvre?” Clearly you were running out of things to say if your default reaction was to offer everyone a snack, but it was hard to find the voice to speak when you saw the girl who had her arms wrapped around his. 

Miss Hunter. You should’ve known. Your eyes passed over her beautiful dress and pinned up hair. She lived up to the rumours, she was definitely the prettiest girl in the room. Next to Sylus the pair reminded you of a renaissance painting. They made sense, and clearly not just aesthetically if he brought her as his date instead of you.

Sylus saw the way your eyes trailed off to MC standing next to him. He saw the self-doubt turn your eyes glassy, and all he wanted to do was whisk you away to a private room where he could show you just how badly he wanted you, and no one else.

But his enemies were in attendance tonight, it was part of the reason he didn’t want you there. Sylus’s only weakness used to be his mortality, and even that was debatable. But now his biggest weakness was tangible, and she wore an adorable Christmas themed dress that made every man in the room brim with desire. Miss Hunter may have been the focus of all the women in attendance, but all the men could talk about was the sexy server in the little red dress. It was driving him insane. 

But MC was a hunter and if he endangered her, she could get out of it unscathed without his help. Their enemies were the same, which made them perfect allies, but it also made their loved ones easy targets. Sylus would never forgive himself if he let someone hurt you. So despite the excruciating pain that coursed through him at your hurt expression, he did nothing to quell your concerns.

But he couldn’t idly stand by and let this man make a pass at you either. It was clear Henry was not aware of Sylus’s newly established no-fraternising-with-the-staff policy. 

“Henry, not distracting my staff, are you?” Sylus directed his attention to his business associate. Henry ran a security company which supplied a large portion of their weaponry from Onychinus. The contract they shared was a substantial source of revenue that Sylus couldn’t afford to compromise. 

“I’m just wondering where you found such delectable staff.” Sylus felt his jaw clench at the way Henry undressed you with his eyes and your consequential discomfort. Fuck the contract, he was going to make that man pay. But he couldn’t inflict his revenge quite yet, so he played nice. 

“Unfortunately my staff are exclusively mine. I’m sure you understand how difficult it is to find loyal help.” Well, at least he tried to play nice. The subtle jab at Henry’s recent whistleblower scandal was a low blow, but he wasn’t above kicking below the belt.

Annoyed and slightly confused by the exchange, you rolled your eyes at the testosterone-fuelled men bickering and cleared your throat.

“I think I’m needed in the kitchen. Nice meeting you, Henry.” You gave him the kindest smile you could muster and gave Sylus no smile at all. It was the least he deserved for blindsiding you with his date. 

“I should check on the catering, excuse me.” Sylus followed you to the kitchen and the second he caught up to you, he pulled you into a nearby storage closet.

There was barely any room for the both of you in there, so you were pressed up against his body. You tried to create some distance between you two, but he just pulled you back in by your waist.

“What are you doing? I’m supposed to be working and you’re supposed to be socialising. We can’t do those things from here.” You berated him quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. You didn’t really need anyone from the staff discovering you in this compromising position. You’d had enough embarrassment in one night for a lifetime.

“Miss Hunter is just here with me on business.” Sylus’s statement did little to comfort the tumultuous storm in your mind. 

“I don’t care.” In a sense, it was true. It seemed your mind didn’t care whether Miss Hunter was there with him on business or not, it still hurt all the same. 

“Don’t lie to me, I can tell when you’re upset.” Sylus tried to caress your cheek but you pushed his hand away. 

“Okay, fine. I’m upset. Now will you let me leave?” You tried to wriggle out of his grasp but to no avail. His hand squeezed your face as he forced you to face him. 

“If you’re upset, talk to me about it. Don’t antagonise me by flirting with other men. It won’t end well for them.” The fire in his eyes swore retribution and you did not want to be Henry right now.

“I wasn’t flirting!” You tried to defend yourself but you knew he’d see straight through your ruse. 

“That sweet smile of yours is reserved for me and me alone.” There was no way Sylus would’ve let that over-the-top smile slide and this was exactly how you expected him to react, but it only made you more upset.  

“Right, but I just have to make do with sharing you with Miss Hunter.” The irony of the situation was not lost on Sylus, but he had a laundry-list of crimes, hypocrisy was the least of them. 

“I’m all yours, baby. I promise it’s just business.” He sounded sincere, and you trusted him to tell you the truth. Sylus never lied unless it was out of omission, but when you asked him a direct question, he never failed to answer honestly. 

“I can help you with business.” You tried to reason, your palm resting against his pounding heart. 

“Not this kind, sweetheart. I’m just trying to protect you. I need you to trust me.” You trusted Sylus with your life, with your heart. Which was why you knew you wouldn’t like the answer to the question you asked next. 

“Did you sleep with her?” The mere thought of it tasted like acid on your tongue. It wasn’t like you weren’t aware of Sylus’s past, but where the other women in his life came and left like the tide, Miss Hunter’s presence was persistent. 

You needed to know just how far they’d gone, even if it might destroy you. 

“Yes. It was one time when we first met in September. Before I realised how I felt for you.” The words pierced straight through you like bullets of radiation. Your palm slowly slipped off of his chest and you diverted your gaze to your heels. “Y/N, you know I only want you. It meant nothing to me.” 

Perhaps it wasn’t the fact that they’d slept together that hurt you so deeply. Maybe it was the way he looked at her, the way she got under his skin. Sylus may love you, but what if he wasn’t attracted to you?

The thought slipped out of you before you could mull it over. “How am I supposed to believe that when you were all over in seconds and you won’t even kiss me?!” 

A hint of recognition flashed through Sylus’s eyes as he realised the catalyst behind your frustration. For some odd reason that he could never figure out, you were insecure. Even though your charm bordered on lethal and your beauty was unparalleled, you still felt inadequate. It perplexed him how someone could look so divine and not be aware of it.

“I haven’t kissed you because I wanted to make sure you were ready, sweetheart. I was worried I’d scare you away, because I’m sure if I got a taste of you I wouldn’t know how to stop.” He sounded strained when he spoke, as if he was recalling his frustration at having to hold back. 

You watched him intently, his words dripped with a desire you both shared. With his body so close to yours, it was hard not to wish he’d just act on his primal instincts. 

“You’re entirely unaware of your affect on me. You have no idea how precarious the string holding me back from insanity has become. When I saw you in that dress, I was sure I wouldn’t be able to hold back. But then you'd look up at me with those angelic eyes and I realise I can’t risk losing you.” 

Before you could even think it through, your desire became overwhelming and your lips were on his in an instant.

It was nothing like you expected, nothing like the chaste, sweet kisses you saw in your movies. It was heated, messy, desperate. His lips ravaged yours like a man on death row devoured his last meal. You felt his desire with every movement and all the doubt you had dissipated instantly. His hands were all over you, one softly held on to your neck, while the other held on to your waist like you might disappear. 

His lips moved to your cheek, your jaw and eventually the sensitive skin on your collarbone. When he bit a particularly sensitive part of your neck, you let out a whine. You hoped he hadn't given you a hickey. His face came up to yours as he looked at your lips which were red from the impact and the desire running rampant in your eyes. It might’ve been the most beautiful you’d ever looked.

“Well? I’m still here.” You whispered against his lips before giving him a chaste peck.

Sylus knew you weren’t just talking about this moment. You never left, even when he gave you a million reasons why you should. He didn’t know what he did to deserve such luck, but he knew he’d never give you a reason to walk away from him ever again.

“We should get out of here.” Somehow you knew he didn’t just mean the storage closet. He shifted to lead you out but you quickly stopped him.

“You can’t leave your own party! What about your date?” As much as the idea of MC hanging off his arm made your skin crawl, it wasn’t right to just leave her alone. 

“She’ll be fine. The only woman I care about is right in front of me, and I want to do so much to her than kiss her in a storage closet.” There was an underlying promise in his tone, and you felt the slightest bit of fear that you might’ve bitten off more than you could chew.

“You’ve lasted this long, what’s one more night?” Your last ditch effort to escape the dangerous situation was unsuccessful. 

“Sweetheart, I can't wait another second.” He gave you a soft, gentle kiss that conveyed his fraying restraint. Your fear felt inconsequential when he was with you, you knew you could trust him wholly with every part of you. 

So, when he led you out of the storage closet and all the way to his bedroom, you never once felt scared. Or insecure. Or inadequate. Sylus worshipped you like you were his salvation and he never once let you doubt yourself again.

Later that night, as you laid in his bed underneath his covers, staring over at his peaceful sleeping expression, you realised he was your salvation too.

Christmas Day

“What’s the surprise?” You asked the same question for the umpteenth time. 

“Just be patient, we’re almost there.” You let Sylus lead you through what you thought was a building while you obediently kept your eyes shut. Eventually your feet came to a halt, and you were bursting with anticipation. 

“Alright, open your eyes.” When you opened them you were in the living room of a charming beach house. It was so bright it took your eyes a while to adjust, but when they did you noticed that it was decorated with splashes of your favourite shade of yellow. The large balcony doors opened to the sight of a familiar beach, and you felt a range of emotions wash over you all at once. Sadness, nostalgia, yearning. 

“Merry Christmas, baby.” Sylus’s voice behind you snapped you back to reality. 

“What is this place?” The awe in your voice could not be concealed.

“It’s yours. I know how much you hate being on the beach, but I also know it meant a lot to your mother. From this balcony it’ll be like you’re right there without actually being there.” He sounded almost nervous while presenting his gift to you, worried you might hate it. But there wasn’t a word that could describe the pure gratitude and love you felt for the man standing in front of you. 

“You bought me a house on my mother’s favourite beach?” The disbelief in your voice was almost tangible. 

“Yeah.”

“Sylus, all I got you was a pocket watch!” You thought that since you were both not very big on Christmas, you would exchange small gifts. Clearly small wasn’t a word Sylus kept in his vocabulary. 

“You gave me so much more than that.” The suggestion in his voice did nothing to soothe your guilt. 

“This is too much.”

“Y/N, you’re more familiar with my assets than I am, if this made a significant dent in my bank account I think you would’ve noticed when I bought it a month ago.” 

“You’ve had this for a month?” The shock persisted, but he was right. His expenses ranged from a box of paperclips to the purchase of a two-hundred-million dollar industrial complex. 

“Yes, I bought it the first time you asked me to take you to the beach after work.”

“But what if we didn’t work out?” A month ago that seemed like a palpable possibility, but now you couldn’t imagine your life without Sylus in it.

“I’d find a way to trick you into taking it anyway.” 

You all but rolled your eyes at the memory of his less-than-graceful plan to acquire your house until you ended up working for him again. 

“Right, of course. You’re quite good at that I hear.” 

“I’m good at many things, I’ll remind you later.” He drawled against your ear, but before you could force him to act on his promise he spoke up again. “For now, there’s one more surprise.” 

You let Sylus lead you out to the balcony with his hands on your shoulders, driving you forward. He stood behind you, his chest to your back. He pointed to a hill on the left of the house where a beautiful willow tree sat atop the beach on a cliff.

“I bought that plot of land too. I don’t want to overstep, but if you’d like, we could move your mother here. Have her final resting place be at the place she loved the most.” His voice kept you anchored as memories of your mother threatened to pull you away. It still filled your chest with overwhelming sadness when you thought of her, but the thought that she could spend forever in the place that brought her the most joy filled you with relief. You didn’t get to give your mother much, but at least Sylus helped you give her this. 

You couldn’t stop the tears streaming down your face if you tried.

Sylus had come a long way from that day at the graveyard, an even longer way from the day you met him. The fact that he grew to care about your mother as much as you did made your heart swell with love for him that expanded every day. Something you didn’t even think was possible.

“She would love that.” Sylus wrapped his hands around your waist, placing an ever-so-gentle kiss on your temple. “I wish you could’ve met her when she was alive, you would’ve loved her.” They were both the strongest people you knew, and it pained you that they never got to meet. 

“I’m sure I would have. After all, I am a huge fan of her work.” You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you at his cheesy joke. You were rubbing off on him, that was for sure. He peppered kisses all over the side of your face at the sound of your joyful laugh and you had to squeeze out of his grasp to make him stop. 

While you wished you didn’t have to lose someone so important to you to gain another, things always had a weird way of working out. Your future was still murky, but what you did know for sure was that ’Operation Sylus: No More’ could officially be declared a massive failure. And even though the physical hole in your heart still existed, the proverbial one shrunk to half it’s size; and you had the silver-haired man with the stone-encased heart of gold to thank for that. 

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