#i might make some edits to the pattern if i end up taking it from this guy for future plushies | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cno-inbminor · 5 months ago

Text

praestigia

NOTE: this is the completed version of the fic, including part 1. some minor edits have been made to part 1, but that's about it. once again, thanks sylus for being my first lads fic! as always, much love to spence for bullying me into finishing this

plot: formally speaking, sylus is a...sponsor. more colloquially, he's your sugar daddy -- and you're starting to wonder if he might actually want more. (wc: ~13.1k)

cw: this is all AU and does not include, like, any game lore (aside from that it's happening in linkon city). afab!reader, also a phd student, toxic behavior [miscommunication], explicit smut [dom/sub dynamics, slight bondage, underwear as a gag, size kink if you squint, fingering, some degradation, possessiveness, squirting, overstimulation, some choking, no protection aside from implied birth control], angst, some fluff, open ending. mdni!

[ao3]

The skyline of Linkon City never fails to captivate you, blinking lights of tall, corporate buildings, the specks of light dotted across the sky, the blur of beams weaving through the roads – no matter which angle you look at it from, the view will inevitably take reign over your focus. So much so, that you do not notice the imposing figure approaching you from behind. He can only draw your attention by placing both hands on your shoulders, jumping slightly as you blink and remember where you are. A wave of flashbacks crashes through your mind as you are gently turned towards him, your back facing the window now.

“Perhaps I should find it somewhat offensive that the view never fails to take your attention away,” Sylus remarks, his tone unmasked in his teasing and playfulness. His scarlet eyes peer past your shoulder to see if there was anything interesting or out of the ordinary. “Do I need to start booking rooms without windows?”

“Don’t be silly,” you gently admonish, moving past him to grab a drink of water. His eyes burn the skin on your back, though you are familiar with this gaze. “Thank you for letting me rest here.”

“Do you really think that after all this time, I would leave you to pay for a hotel room yourself? Or to find your own transportation home?”

“It’d be understandable. I can see where you would be coming from if you made those requests.”

“I must say, I am a little wounded, kitten,” he drawls in mock pain. Instead of waiting for you to return and remain close to him, he situates himself on the bed first and leaves ample room for you to lay next to him.

The gesture invokes warmth, exudes comfort, and stands familiar as you climb onto the mattress with ease and memory. Sylus stretches out his arm next to you, and his pose quietly begs for you to cuddle into him.

And so you do. Sylus’s stature and frame, of course, never fails to envelop you during these moments of tranquility. Your chest pressed against his side, a leg crossed over his, your nails drawing patterns over his bathrobe and exposed abdomen – security, strength, and affection, once again, never fails to help you relax.

Because this is what happens after every gala, every fundraiser, every grand opening, every social event that you accompany Sylus to. This routine of being in hotel rooms so high above ground with breathtaking views, burrowing into him, oftentimes burying himself inside you, and separating the next morning with an implicit understanding of exactly where you stand, is what you two had agreed upon all those months ago. And in return, your financial stress disappears into thin air, leaving you to study and engage in hobbies without such a heavy burden on your shoulders.

Despite his constant reassurances that he can clean up whatever mess you may end up making, they do not negate just how tiring and draining these events end up being. Constantly putting on airs, overexposing your practiced smiles, making sure that there is not a single hair out of place, switching to what you like to call “fancy people table etiquette” – Sylus sponsored and, in a way, hired you to be as close to perfect as possible, and so, you must do as such to uphold your end of this business relation. Tonight has been a little more taxing than usual, as somewhere along the way, he felt the need to buy you anything that captured your attention for more than a few seconds. He would bid a ridiculous price that would dissuade any other potential customers, their expressions of defeat when they pass by causing him to secretly gloat that everyone has learned at least one thing about him: he will get what he wants.

You had caught onto this shenanigan after the third item, and you made sure to school your gaze away from the auctioned items. But because he always seems to know what plays in your mind, he complains, “You never let or ask me to buy you things anymore.”

Your eyes had closed shut during your time of reflecting on tonight’s events, and they continue to remain as such. “I have very little closet space. At this point, I think I’ve probably swapped out 90% of my wardrobe because of you. People are starting to get suspicious.”

“Then why not move out and find a bigger apartment? You know I can afford it.”

“Sylus–”

“I know, I know,” he interrupts. If he were anyone else, you would have scowled at him. “It would be too far from campus, become inconvenient, and you feel it is too much to ask for.”

As the conversation suggests, this is not the first time Sylus has brought up this proposition. What remains unsaid is how you would be closer to his residence if you were to move to one of the many apartments he had in mind, all of which would reduce your commute to his place down to walking a block or two; not a twenty-minute drive.

“Just say the word, and it will be done,” Sylus murmurs into your hair. When he realizes he has received no response, your soft snoring greets him before he can inquire any further. With a heavy sigh, he reaches out and switches the nightstand light off, leaving the darkness to swallow you both. His eyes fall shut in tired ease, but his grip around your shoulders remains firm.

It comes to no one’s surprise that you feel less than well-rested when your alarm starts blaring at 5:45AM. You had an early class today, so you had to give yourself ample time to make it home, change, wipe away any lingering smudges of last night’s makeup, and try to appear as…casual as possible. Not wanting to wake him up so much that he cannot fall back asleep, you reach out for your phone and click one of the volume buttons, rendering it silent. Sometime in the night, your position had changed to Sylus spooning you. His limb slung over your waist is heavy, making it all that more difficult to leave – not just physically, but mentally as well.

Like ripping a bandaid off, you have every intention to quickly remove yourself from his embrace. But Sylus, being the infuriatingly light sleeper that he is, immediately tightens his hold around you as soon as you attempt your escape.

“Sylus, I need to go,” you whisper.

He presses you impossibly closer to him. “I will drive you to your apartment. Sleep.”

“No, I’m taking the subway.”

“Why take the subway when you have me?”

“If anyone needs rest, it’s you,” you say pointedly, because it’s true. Being the CEO of a business that may or may not be totally legal (you never ask because honestly, the less you know, the better) is not exactly a 9AM-5PM job. There have been more times than you can count when he would be pounding into you and forced to take a phone call. Granted, that doesn’t stop him from grinding into you and grinning devilishly when you bury your face into the nearest pillow to muffle your moans and whines.

“Speak for yourself,” he grumbles into your hair. “You haven’t gotten more than six hours of sleep every night for the last week.”

“And how exactly do you know this?” As soon as you ask, you already know the answer.

The app for– “Your smartwatch.”

“One of these days, I will disconnect my account from that app.”

“I would like to see you try.”

And you will. Just, when you’re not trapped in his arms.

“I’m still taking the subway,” you backtrack, though your voice is quieter than before. A tiny sense of relief fills you when his embrace loosens, and you can finally crawl out of bed. It’s harder than it seems to squash the distressed voice in your head complaining about how easy it was for him to let you go. As you pick up all your clothes and make your way towards the bathroom, you notice his phone sitting innocently by the room’s coffee machine. After looking over your shoulder, you swipe it off the counter and bring it with you.

Guessing his passcode is harder than you thought – the man has an ego the size of the entire universe, so you figure it would be something personal: his inaugural date as CEO, his birth year, his birthday, or others. On your last, desperate attempt, you type in four digits and find yourself absolutely floored at the view of his, now, unlocked phone.

Your birthday.

There is no time to dwell on the implications of it all, and you chalk it up to the fact that no one really knows you outside of being his typical date or escort. Therefore, the passcode would be that much harder to guess than the route that you had originally gone for. Yes, that’s all it was: an extra layer of security.

Sylus’s phone is surprisingly unorganized, random apps thrown into folders that they do not belong in, leaving you to search for the fitness app that your watch is not only connected to on your own phone, but somehow also on his. You press the buttons necessary to delete your watch data from his end. When you are ready to close the app, you cannot help but notice the preview of his messages app and the texts within. Your thumb swipes away the fitness app and shakily taps the messages window that stares hauntingly at you. It had been left open on a conversation with another woman, if you had to guess based on the name sitting at the top.

My parents are getting antsy, and so is your grandfather.

That is none of my concern.

Unfortunately, it is. They’re not exactly happy about the woman you keep bringing as a partner.

Our arranged marriage is not a publicly known detail.

And I’d like to keep it that way. But Sylus…

What?

We can’t delay this much longer. You’re running out of time.

The exchange tells you enough, just enough for you to realize the situation you find yourself in. You suddenly recall an incident in the beginning of this relationship with Sylus when he described this arrangement, him as your sugar daddy, as a means to an end, preferably the end of something that he clearly did not want out of desire for his own freedom. There was not enough detail for you to give it much thought after that night of discussion and negotiation, but now, it all makes sense.

Your thumb takes it back to his home screen and presses the lock button. In a haze, you get ready and dressed before exiting the bathroom, completely unaware if you even have your clothes on right or your hair somewhat kempt. As quietly as possible, you place his phone back where you had found it. Though common practice at this point, it now feels far too intimate to plant a featherlight kiss on his cheek. It causes him to stir, but you’re halfway out the door before he can fully register your departure.

Whoever passes by, whatever zooms past, however something tries to gain your attention, you have no recognition of your surroundings. A thick layer of tension settles itself into your brain, allowing you to think of nothing but the fact that this entire time, Sylus has been in an arranged marriage that you, apparently, were supposed to be instrumental in destroying. To find yourself back in your apartment maybe forty minutes later is a miracle in and of itself. You return to the plane of reality when you open your closet doors to toss your dirty clothes into the hamper and are greeted by the many items bought with his money.

Contrary to popular belief, jealousy does not make itself known in your system. You’re not exuding shades of green or red like an angry Christmas tree. If anything, you come to a quiet acceptance that this…partnership with Sylus will come to an end, and soon. It would do no good for him to keep seeing or supporting you while formally married, which means you have to get your life in order. Sylus has given you more than enough money to put you through your last two years of your postgraduate career and maybe a year into your postdoc, but you should still remain frugal. If you’re lucky enough, the money you earn during postdoc would be enough to live relatively comfortably on.

Alone. Without him.

It’s fine, you think to yourself as you turn on the shower. It’s totally and completely fine.

A couple hours later in class, your phone vibrates with a message that reads, “You actually managed to disconnect your watch from my phone.”

The slight smirk tugging at your lips is inevitable as you type out a response: You told me to try, so I did.

“I will be changing my passcode.”

If you want. There’s nothing else on there that I need to delete, right?

“Oh sweetie, wouldn’t you like to know?”

The subtle, possessive curl of his message coils around you tenderly, making you temporarily forget that you are in class and should be exhibiting a poker face. But you still shift in your seat, a warm pool of heat forming in your core as you imagine his expression and his voice reading the message out loud. Forever a tease and a flirt, Sylus knows exactly what he is doing by sending you that message.

Your best revenge in the moment is to leave him on read, on the edge of his metaphorical seat. It takes too much effort to bring your conscience back to your current lecture and actually take some notes. Your phone buzzes once, but you ignore it – and in hindsight, you’re glad you did. Sylus, in all his infinite wisdom and glory, took it upon himself to send you a picture of himself after a shower – the skin of his chest glistening under the fluorescent lights, grey towel hung low on his waist and barely holding on, veins on his arms frustratingly visible because he knows what they do to you, his biceps flexed just enough that you want to take a bite at them. The fucker full well knew you were in class and, you know, in relatively close proximity to other people who would have, no doubt, gotten an eyeful.

As you walk towards the subway station to go back to your apartment, head down and focused on typing out a message, a giddy smile can’t help but break out across your face. Your thumbs tap, “Should you really be sending photos like this to someone who, in the public’s eye, is just a friendly escort?”

After not even thirty seconds, your phone buzzes, the notification of his call sliding in from the top of your screen. You almost roll your eyes as you bring the device to your ear. “You have five minutes before I lose signal underground,” you warn, your tone still playful nevertheless.

“‘A friendly escort’, you say? I suppose that’s what the young ones are calling intimacy these days.”

“You knew I was in class. And stop it, I know you have some stupid smug look on your face right now,” you chastise.

“You know me so well.”

“Actually, speaking of,” you say as your eyes flit down to your watch. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting right now?”

“I stepped out.”

Your heart and feet skip a beat, almost causing you to fall flat on your face and absolutely eat shit in the middle of the sidewalk. It’s hard not to let your mind race at all the implications, that this tirelessly busy man decided in a heartbeat that he would step out with a desire to call you over something so minor; to do no more than simply tease you. In the grand scheme of his life, you have very little significance – your temporary companionship where you may see him four or five times a month, sometimes with weeks in between and other times mere days. Text messages were never a guaranteed daily activity, though as of recent, he has been texting you more often. But amidst his employees, his connections, his partnerships, his family, you’re just…you.

You didn’t realize you had been stunned into silence long enough for him to ask, “Are you still there?”

“I am, sorry,” you apologize, scrambling to think of an excuse. “Uhh, an email came in and I was reading it. Didn’t hear you.”

“I’ll get you some wireless earbuds.”

“Please don’t.” Your rejection is immediate, firm. The lack of room left for argument stands apparent. “That’s not necessary.”

“And what’s stopping me from just ordering you a pair regardless?”

“Me.”

Sylus responds with a contemplative pause, which is...unusual. He has always been so quick to reply with wit and banter, but there is a chance that maybe something distracted him, like what you had said as a poor attempt at a viable excuse.

“I suppose the kitten is starting to make use of her claws now.” His voice rings softer, quieter, almost as if disheartened by his own statement. “First you disconnect your watch, and now you won’t even let me buy you earbuds.”

“I just don’t want you to buy anything that’s not necessary. Covering my tuition and all the dresses is one thing, but wireless earbuds, I can do without. My wired ones work just fine.”

Your eyes catch the sign for the stairs leading down to the subway up ahead. “I’m about to go under and lose signal. Was there anything else?”

“Come over tonight.”

Your mouth works faster than your brain. “I can’t,” you lie, a pang of guilt creeping into your heart. “There’s a study group tonight for an exam.” Not a lie. “Besides, we just saw each other yesterday.”

“Has that ever stopped us before?”

“W-well, no,” you splutter because it’s true. There have been a handful of times when you spent two, sometimes three consecutive nights in the past – but things were more hot-and-heavy then, a time when you couldn’t get enough of him and vice versa. “I’m just saying.”

“Then come after the study group.”

“It’s gonna run pretty late because we have an exam in a few days.” Again, not a lie. “Who knows if the subways would still be running by then?”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“But you might be asleep.”

“Highly unlikely, little one.”

Quickly looking around you, you quietly hiss, “Sylus, you should be asleep by the time the subways stop running. Why would you still be up at 2AM?”

“In case I have to refresh your memory, you do remember that I am the CEO of one of the largest tech companies in Linkon, right? The work never ends.”

“You need time for sleep, you know, like everyone else??”

“I’m not like everyone else.”

Your eyes close in frustration as you groan. Your feet have reached the top of the stairs, and you couldn’t have asked for more perfect timing. “Okay, I’m at the station so I’m gonna hang up. I’ll come over another time, alright? Talk to you later.”

“Sweetie–”

Moving forward to race down the stairs and smashing the hang up button is your way of desperately trying to not lose resolve. Any longer, you would have given in and rolled yourself straight back to square one with nothing but dread. You have never been more relieved to see the little “No Signal” sitting in the top left corner while you swipe through a gate and manage to get down another flight of stairs without tripping over your feet.

Wired earbuds in, hands stuffed into the pocket of your hoodie, letting the wind tunnel threaten you to topple over, you do everything in your ability to not think about him – to not think about the messages that may flood your phone once you get signal, to not think about the pushback you may receive because Sylus is someone who figures out to, somehow, always get his way, and to not think about the weight of his earlier words: “I stepped out.” You pretend that you know nothing about this arranged marriage, the curiosity having caused your thumbs to twitch in anticipation at maybe looking up who this woman is. You ignore the now glaringly close deadline that will terminate your relationship with Sylus forever, and most of all, you ignore any semblance of pain that knowledge makes you feel.

Cup half-empty, spoons tossed the window, the subway window across from you is greeted with a blank stare. In a rare moment of mindfulness (or is it dissociation?), you think of nothing until you find yourself standing by the foot of your bed and ready to face plant into the middle of the duvet. With your last shred of working consciousness, you set an alarm for thirty minutes before the start of the study group and promptly fall asleep.

As you predicted, the study group runs late into the night. Despite the several digressions into conversations that were very much not academics-related, all of you feel relatively good about the subject matter for the exam on Friday. Everyone comes to a unanimous decision to reconvene in a couple of days. Given that it was Monday, one more study session Wednesday and some independent review Thursday night would be beneficial.

For your own sanity, you had left your phone, stashed in the recesses of your backpack, tossed into the corner of the study room, on do-not-disturb for the entirety of the night. You had it programmed to still chime and alert you if family contacted you, mainly because it doesn’t happen often, and if it does, that means something big happened. The device remained silent for the whole time, and part of you wants to avoid confronting what your notification screen might look like. But before you can muster up the courage to do so, one of your friends speaks up.

“Hey, you took the subway here, right? I can drive you home,” Jiho, a doctoral student in the same year as you but doing research under a different professor, offers. A part of you is beyond relieved at the perfect example of an excuse to not check your phone because it would be so incredibly rude (not really) in a social context.

“You wouldn’t mind? If you have somewhere to be, I can just walk.”

Jiho rolls his eyes in a playful manner. “Come on, before I change my mind.”

He drops you off in front of your apartment complex about ten minutes later, and he shoos away your offer to buy him coffee as a token of gratitude. You wave goodbye as his car pulls out of a guest parking spot, and only then do you notice the conspicuously sleek, grey sports car sitting a few meters away. Your heart pounds, and your palms begin to sweat as you get closer and closer to your unit, afraid of who you might find once you get inside. You spot the fluorescent glow from underneath peering out from underneath your door, and it takes everything in you to not drop your keys as you unlock the deadbolt.

“So the kitten has finally decided to come home.”

“How–”

Sylus, looking severely out of place in your humble abode, sets down the stack of papers in his hand on your coffee table. With his other hand, he points to the fixture on your wall by the door where your keys typically hang. His own set now occupies one of the hooks, and you spot the spare key you had given him a few months ago. To your knowledge, he has never used it before, and you can count the number of times he has stepped into this apartment on one hand.

You quietly shut the door behind you, locking both deadbolts in place before setting your backpack down. “It’s so late,” and even you wince at the shakiness in your voice. “You should be asleep. At home.”

“Perhaps I would be if someone had just checked their phone once in the last fifteen hours.”

Well, you don’t have much of an excuse for that.

Sylus sits on one end of your couch in loungewear, though somehow, he still makes it seem like he’s in something formal enough for business casual. You cautiously sit on the other end away from him.

“I passed out as soon as I got home, and then I was running late for the study group, so I just left my phone on do-not-disturb.”

His silence speaks volumes.

“I didn’t mean to worry you.”

But maybe you did.

Maybe, subconsciously, you did. Maybe you wanted to test the limits of his affection. Maybe you wanted to see just how far he would go to make sure you were okay.

Maybe you simply wanted to get a taste of when you least expect radio silence, an appetizer for how things may turn out when Sylus calls for the end of your arrangement.

“Look at me.”

Tension weighs you down as you slowly turn your body towards him, but you avoid his gaze and aim to study the logo on his shirt instead.

“Sweetie, look at me.”

The command snaps you into compliance, his tone firm and undeniable. You expect to see anger, frustration, disappointment. After all, it would make sense, for there is a set of expectations and rules put into place to ensure trust between both parties. Transactional, contractual, institutional obligations and conditions set by both the company matchmaker and individuals are put in place to conveniently manifest and quickly disintegrate these business relations, to avoid messes.

But you realize all too quickly that the mess will be inevitable, in your case, because instead of tinges of red fury in his eyes, you find concern, worry, and confusion. Dread sinks into your stomach like an anchor in the middle of the ocean, dropping further and further into the dark unknown.

“You’re hiding something from me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you immediately counter. Good job, you just made it more obvious.

Sylus pins you down with a look that means nothing other than “you know better”, and your heart threatens to burst from your chest out of sheer anxiety.

“Since you refuse to tell me otherwise, tell me how you got home,” he says, and though he may seem cool and nonchalant in the way he rests an arm against the back of the couch, you can see the irritation pulsing through the veins on his forearms.

“A friend from the study group drove me home.”

“And you were simply too busy to look at your phone during the drive?”

“I had to give him directions.”

Sylus cocks an eyebrow at the mention of this friend’s gender. “Him?”

“Jiho, sweet guy. Does research with another professor.”

“I suppose I have him to thank for bringing you home safely. Regardless, you should have called me to pick you up.”

You have one last card to play. “That’s not in the contract.”

His eyes harden and narrow the slightest bit, the curve of his jaw growing tense in building irritation. “How so?”

“There’s a line somewhere in there about making sure I would not contact you for personal favors that are outside the scope of our,” you hesitate to find the right words, “relationship.” You can’t remember the last time your palms sweat so much.

“I offered.”

“And I am not obligated to take the offer. While kind, I did not see the need to bother you.”

“I clearly remember stating that it wouldn’t be an issue, especially considering I asked you to stay with me for the night.”

“But I told you I couldn’t,” you retort.

“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?”

The bitter note in his voice on his last word matches his steely gaze that is undoubtedly determined to pick you apart, to peel off each layer of whatever walls you may have put up. He’s not ignorant or oblivious by any means – something is going on, and you’re not telling him. You answer him with deafening silence, blaming your late-night fatigue for it.

Responding directly to his question would only make this worse, as you cannot see yourself getting out of the ensuing conversation unscathed and alive. Instead, the couch dips as you cross the distance between you two, hesitantly straddling his hips in case he doesn’t want you to. But he allows your move, his hands almost instinctively resting on your thighs as you settle yourself into his hold. His skin feels glassy smooth beneath your fingers as you caress his cheek, studying every detail of his face and avoiding his eyes.

Perhaps there is a part of you that is trying to commit the minutiae to memory in preparation for the days when you will no longer see him so intimately. You should have never let yourself get so attached, no matter how much tenderness and adoration Sylus has been lavishing you with. The realization hits you in a bittersweet manner, and the featherlight kiss you place on his lips only makes it hurt more.

Yet you move past the pain to accept the fall, the descent into oblivion as you feel Sylus respond to your kiss, deepening and increasing in fervor. The heat in your core is more than just lust as it sinks deeper and deeper into you, a testament to the depth of your affections. Somehow, his touch as his hands roam your figure burns hotter. It almost makes you want to shy away from his grasp, but part of you welcomes the trails of fire as your punishment for deceiving him.

You gasp out his name as his lips leave your neck scorching, each nip of his teeth and lave of his tongue adding to the haze slowly overtaking your rationale. But beneath the man’s ardor, you manage to recognize his irritation and annoyance – the way his fingers grip your waist, his nails digging into your back – about how this whole night has progressed.

Apologize, his eyes seem to scream. Seek forgiveness as I seek vengeance, his hands draw on your skin.

Beg for me.

“You test my patience in a way that others have never done before,” he says in a dangerous tone as you gasp at the chords of delicious pain running down your back.

“I’m– ah – sorry,” you gasp as his arousal grinds purposefully against yours.

The answering swat against your ass stings, and you attempt to ignore the rush of slick dampening your panties even further – a reaction that Sylus does not fail to miss. Instinct calls and beckons when your eyes slip shut the moment a hand rakes up to get a firm grip of your hair, pulled towards him so he can kiss you fervently again.

So lost in a hazy reverie, you barely register when he lifts you by your thighs and makes his way to your bedroom. Or at least, you think he’s going there, given that he’s only been in your bedroom once before. But Sylus makes strides with the confidence of someone who has visited here countless times, and the aura he exudes both thrills and frightens you.

In mere seconds, he strips you down and regards you with an appreciative gaze. The glint and apparent desire in his eyes never fails to flatter you – to be wanted is addicting, especially when wanted by a man as powerful as Sylus. You should be alarmed by how natural it feels to be in this current state of undress and debauchery.

“Open your mouth,” he commands, and you obey without a second thought. “Good girl.

“As much as I cannot bother to care about disturbing your neighbors, I know you do,” he concedes, but not without balling up your panties and stuffing them past your parted lips. “All of this could have been avoided if you had just let me pick you up.”

The argumentative whine that slips off your tongue is resolutely muffled, serving no purpose except to further Sylus’s sadism. His approving smirk immediately quells your anger, and you can only watch with half-lidded eyes as he removes his clothes at a painstakingly slow place. Normally, you are the one to grant him a show at his command, but tonight, you deserved a taste of your own medicine. Your wrists become bound by his belt as he finds his second home between your legs. Tears prick the corners of your eyes when he purposefully lets his shaft drop on your clit.

“Always so wet and ready for me, kitten,” he praises, his tone low, teasing, but appreciative.

His smirk widens as he moves to hold his cock and tap it menacingly against the puffy bundle of nerves, taking in each twitch of your body, each dampened mewl, each falling tear. With each tap, the string of slick between your cunt and his length becomes more and more prominent, spreading across his skin. “Tell me, sweetie, who this belongs to,” Sylus compels with a drawl, jutting his chin towards your carnal source of torture before meeting your eyes. He knows very well that the word you're trying to say is “you”, but he takes great pleasure in knowing that there is no way the sounds will come through the soaked cotton in your mouth. “Hmm? What was that?” The frustration of not being able to clearly convey the right answers only adds to your arousal, turning the heat in your core into molten lava. At his clarifying question, you, undoubtedly, feel a pool of precum drip from your pussy, and when you see his eyes flit down to his cock in hand, you know he's fully aware of it too. They hone in on how easily the tip slips into your beckoning entrance, attempting to entice and draw him in for both your pleasures.

You keen as Sylus slides two fingers into your entrance without warning – they’re a far cry from his cock, but thick and long in their own desirable way. The tips of his fingers easily find the spot that makes you squirm, moan, mewl, and you’d have to be blind to miss the wicked expression splitting across his face. Despite the teasing attitude from earlier, he wastes no time trying to bring you to your peak. Your muffled cries only spur him on, even more so when he’s able to fit a third finger inside you. “Maybe I should let your neighbors hear us. I imagine it would get the message across that you’re not exactly…available.”

Embarrassing, what you would give in this very moment to be nothing more than his. Your hips follow the drag of his fingers, unwilling to let yourself feel anything less than filled. But before he lets you come, he stops.

Why?

“Greedy little thing.” His tone is mocking, yet highly amused, as he removes his fingers – and as much as he would like to play with you to his heart’s content, to break you down and tear you apart, his veins thrum with impatience and apprehension. Sylus seeks to punish you in a different, more overwhelming fashion, that would require you to beg him to stop rather than to start. It takes everything in him to not force you down his entire length. Instead, he devises to lull you into a false sense of security with the way that he takes his time sliding into you, no matter how much your pretty cunt desperately tries to suck him in. Sylus is sure you would be able to see the restraint painted across his face if you didn’t have your head thrown back and back arched from being stretched open. The sight of your bare stomach and chest makes it all the much harder to reign in his desires.

“Fuck,” he hisses. His cock continues to bully its way through your pussy, slowly and languidly, until it’s fully trapped inside you. When your thighs meet his v-line and your clit brushes against his skin, you whine and buck against him for desperately needed friction. But Sylus quickly traps you and pins you down from your thighs, restricting your movements with a devilish grin. “You never answered my question,” he reminds you, a clear taunt. In the blink of an eye, he leans back to land a firm yet stinging slap on your puffy clit and revels in your muffled cry. “Who does this belong to?”

Your dry sobs only intensify as you fight to respond with a clear answer, but it’s impossible. The way you grind your hips against him, seeking any sensation that could help quench this insatiable thirst in your core, should say enough. Sure, you could simply point at him, even with your wrists tied together, but you’ve been with him long enough to know that he wants the words of possession to roll off your tongue at times like these. And if you tried taking the cloth from your mouth…needless to say, you would be lucky to survive the night.

He chuckles when he feels the walls of your pussy tighten around his cock, a different tone that deviates from the vicious shake of your head to signal that despite your complaints, you would much rather be gagged like this. “Cum for me,” Sylus demands in a low voice. “Cum for me, cum from me just being inside you, and I will give you what you’ve been begging for this whole time.

“Even better yet, make a mess.”

The coil in your core tightens more and more and more until it suddenly snaps, your body trembling with the force of your orgasm and your throat hoarse from your silenced screams. “Good girl,” he praises when he pulls out, hungry eyes roaming every inch of you, as he rapidly swipes his fingers against your clit and relishes in his ability to make you squirt, fluids flying and landing messily in the near vicinity. You don’t know how long it takes for you to get over the high, oversensitivity from his fingers as they continue to stimulate you. Barely coming down from your climax, Sylus stuffs three fingers inside you and continues to fuck you, purposefully and forcefully rocking against your g-spot.

“Please,” you beg and cry as you twitch and flinch, trying to remove yourself from the source of this unbearable amount of pleasure. But your articulation is, once again, victim to your cotton gag, leaving you to audibly dry sob and squeal in overstimulation. The satisfaction on your sponsor’s complexion should sound the alarms in your brain, but it only thrills you to pieces as clarity fades more and more from your conscience.

In a haze, you manage to pull your belt-bound wrists forward from above your head and tap his shoulder three times. Only then does he stop in his tracks, carefully removing his fingers from your core. Sylus exhibits the same attention when he holds your chin with one hand and takes the soaked cotton of your panties out of your mouth. Before you can even take two breaths, greedily gasping for air, Sylus kisses you softly, slowly. Unable to do much with your head still in a fog, you reciprocate as much as you can – to silently thank him for his punishment, as well as his mercy. He pulls back, cueing you to open your eyes and take him in, just as he assesses you in his own way. His eyes search and roam your face and figure before meeting your gaze once more.

How endearing, you believe they seem to say. He cocks an eyebrow, his way of asking are you okay? You take a few deep breaths before nodding. But before you can try and decipher more of what he may be feeling through his eyes, he bends forward, breathing into your ear, “On your stomach.”

Large, strong hands manhandle you until your head is almost buried into the sheets, hiding your disheveled state, your hands grasping at the expensive linen, and his weight planted firmly on top of you. A pillow is stuffed beneath your abdomen before he spreads your ass, eager to study the ruin he has caused on your poor, little pussy. Sylus readjusts himself so that his dick nestles comfortably between your ass cheeks. Even in your daze, the heat of his arousal almost seems to burn your flesh, and you desperately wish it was inside you.

A self-proclaimed mind reader, Sylus drives you to the edge, groaning quietly when your cunt attempts to lure him in when he coquettes you with the tip. Every slide, every push, every instance of friction makes you fall deeper into this pool of anguish and lechery. Before you even realize it, visceral pleas for him to fuck you are spilling from your tongue, very much so to his delight. “I know you can beg better than that,” he taunts. “And to think I had trained you so well.” His voice reeks in mock despair and disappointment.

Though you know he’s not completely serious, his words are enough to send your sin-addled brain into a state of panic – so panicked and shaken to the point that you don't even register the next words falling off your tongue. Something about the practiced but genuine phrases of separation, wanting to be used, wanting to be ruined – were you pressing back into him, hoping, praying that you could draw him into you?

In response, you soak in the hisses of expletives in your ear, the comforting, mind-numbing sensation of being filled again, and the weight of his frame atop yours. He holds himself up on his elbows, and each thrust threatens to split you in two. “Mine,” his voice slips through your conscience, hanging onto the way the sound drags out, “are you not?”

Always, you nearly answer on primal instinct when he buries himself as deep as he can inside you, his cock almost feeling like it’s in the back of your throat. The inexplicable amount of pleasure stops you from giving him what he wants, which pushes him to press himself even harder against you. “I’m beginning to lose my patience, kitten,” Sylus warns, as if he’s not the very reason for your delayed responses. His fingers sneak underneath you to grab you around the neck, forcing your head up. Your pants are greedy, desperately seeking air as his hand tightens just a bit more, the haziness in your mind thickening.

“Yours,” you gasp. “Always,” slips off your tongue before you can stop yourself.

The silence that hangs still is enough to make you question whether or not you fucked this whole thing up. Dread begins to drip into your system as his grip around your neck loosens, even more so when his hand slips away entirely and he begins sliding out of you. “Wa–”

In the blink of an eye, his hand pushes your head back into the sheets, his fingers curling around your strands at the scalp. Sylus’s cock fucks you into the mattress, his pace almost frantic, yet punishing. The realization that you’re going to be incredibly sore in the morning is an accepted assumption at this point, leaving you with little warning of your release approaching the precipice. Silenced cries, Sylus fervidly ensuring that your pussy is forever molded to the shape of his length, your sanity slipping – his impassioned murmurs of how tight you are, how easily he can pound you into oblivion, how your pussy makes it so easy for him to sink into the very depths of your core – all drive you to your peak. His last sign that you’re going to come is the dissipation of your whimpers.

Sylus wraps his hand around your neck once more, turning it so that he can capture your lips in a bruising kiss. He swallows your screams as you topple over the edge, your climax so intense that your whole body trembles for what feels like eternity in his hold. Your pussy compels him to remain buried deep inside you, and he’s more than happy to comply. But it doesn’t stop him from grinding against you, driving you into overstimulation.

“So good,” he groans against your lips in between kisses. “So fucking good, taking my cock so well, I’m gonna–”

“Y-your cum, please,” you urge. “Please give me your cum!” Your voice dissolves into sobs.

“Fuck!” Sylus spits out. The hand that was on your neck now covers your mouth as he spills inside you with a deep moan, his teeth buried into your shoulder to muffle his own voice. You relish in the sharp pain, as if he’s trying to engrave his mark into your skin, and can’t help but keen as his cum fills you up. Each pulse and twitch of his cock sends a shiver down your spine and almost tempts you into begging for more.

Catching his breath, he refuses to leave your warmth. His tongue softly licks the area where his teeth had embedded themselves into your shoulder, and follows them with reverent kisses. You remain quiet, only letting your breath hitch when Sylus slips out of you. He gently presses your back into a deeper arch so that you can present yourself to him, and he watches with apparent satisfaction as his cum leaks from your pussy. A hand on your ass, his thumb reaches over for your entrance to push and give him a better view of his undeniable claim on you.

As infuriating as he can be, you observe with bleary eyes as he leaves to grab a damp towel from your bathroom before returning and carefully wiping his cum away. After doing so, he tosses it to the floor and picks you up bridal-style, carrying you the short distance to your bathroom. He starts the shower and hums some nonsensical tune with a faint voice as you wait for the water to warm up. When he deems it hot enough, Sylus offers you a hand and helps you into the shower. Compared to his apartment, your shower stall is barely enough to fit the both of you. But he makes it work, taking the utmost care in cleaning you up, his touch so cautious yet heavy with care.

You barely remember making it out of the shower, much less when he dries you off and brings you to bed. There’s a faint memory of his warmth wrapping around your frame when you awaken later that morning, a delicious ache stretched through your muscles. Yet the side where he laid is cold.

It, along with the unread text from your bank notifying you of a, no doubt, sizeable deposit, is to be expected, you remind yourself. The sticky note by your phone that reads, “Early meeting, sweetie. -S” is the only truly physical (and unexpected) sign that he had been here in the first place. He never owes you an explanation, and you never expect to get one.

Just another day, another transaction.

Friday rolls around, and when the sun has set beneath the horizon, you find yourself perched in Sylus’s home on the kitchen island, a speckless slab of black quartz that you just know you’re leaving fingerprints on, as he throws together a salad. Something is in the air fryer, and he has a bottle of sparkling cider waiting to be opened. Sylus had stopped you with a look of “don’t you dare” when you tried helping out with something – anything – so the only thing you could do was sit and try to look pretty.

“Pick a salad dressing,” he commands when you grow silent. You eye the three jars that have been placed in front of you.

“I’m fine with any of them.”

“Not an answer.”

“I’m serious though!”

“Pick one.”

You groan as you look at the jars and point at the middle one. “Happy now?” you ask passive aggressively, sending him an exasperated glare.

Sylus, swift and silent, swoops in and steals a kiss from an unexpected you. Saying nothing, he pours some out into the salad bowl and mixes it all together with adept flicks of his wrist – no utensils needed. With a pair of tongs, he drops some greens onto your plate before taking the rest and tending to whatever is cooking in the oven.

It’s not the first time you’ve been here, and it’s not the first time he’s cooked for you. But it is the first time since accepting that you may feel something more than obligation and friendly affection for this man. This whole experience feels wildly domestic, as if you belonged…here.

On this counter.

Accepting impromptu kisses.

Waiting on food cooked by him.

Knowing you’re staying over for the night.

As if you were meant to be a part of his life.

The thought terrifies you, without a doubt, but you like it. Settling down with Sylus, forever attached at his hip at events, is a dangerous fantasy.

Lost in your thoughts, the what if?s, the possibilities, your daydream breaks when he pulls the curtain closed in front of the balcony door, completely blocking a wonderful (and surely, very expensive) view of Linkon. It takes you a few seconds to realize that you had been looking past the windowpane when frolicking around in your imagination, and you’re reminded of the night before you disconnected your smart watch from his phone. “Sorry, did you say something?”

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You feel the heat rushing into your cheeks, knowing they would be warm to the touch. Turning away from the now-concealed nighttime skyline, you direct your attention to the fridge meters away from you. “Just thinking about my test.”

“It’s too late now, if you realize you got something wrong. We’re here to celebrate it being over.”

“I know.” You sigh. “Thank you for doing this, by the way. I was getting a little tired of eating out.”

“I was as well. Too many business lunches and dinners the last couple of weeks.”

“How did those go?” you ask just to keep the conversation going.

“They went fine,” Sylus says without any further detail. “Come, let’s eat.” Before you can come down from the counter yourself, he already has an arm wound around your waist and is semi-carrying you to the dinner table. The distance between the table and the kitchen was maybe fifteen steps at best, closer to seven given Sylus’s long strides. It would’ve been a short walk regardless, and you’re flustered with the unexpected royal treatment.

Unceremoniously (but still carefully), he sits you down into a chair and pushes it in before going to his seat. Sylus places himself next to you at this round, mahogany table that seems a little too big for a man who lives alone. Largely used for serving several different dishes, it just looks a little out of place compared to the rest of his penthouse, all sleek and sharp. But you’ve learned to stop questioning things you’re curious about when it comes to his personal life, because clearly, he’s not very open to sharing those details.

Dinner isn’t anything special, as Sylus lets you prattle on about your research and other office gossip. He never divulges any of the gossip in his own workplace, but you understand it’s for confidentiality reasons. And he may just not care that much. At this point, Sylus knows a little too much about you while you know very little about him outside of his preferences and inclinations for food, media, and general daily habits.

Understanding the reality of that stun locks you for a few seconds – the duality of the word intimacy, the realization that you don’t even know Sylus’s favorite color. You could guess, sure, but you don’t definitively know. Why is it that you know the exact amount of shaved truffle on his pasta at that fancy restaurant by the river, but not his birthday? How do you explain your ability to pick up on details of his facial expressions at events and banquets, therefore knowing when to intervene so he can get a break from these people, but not the makeup of his family?

“You’ve been staring off into space quite a bit lately,” Sylus muses, ripping you away from the beginnings of your mental breakdown.

“Sorry, I just thought of something about my exam again.”

“What a terrible host I’ve been then, to allow your mind to wander so often. How can I keep your focus on me?”

You hum, looking around his apartment and then at the table. “Let me wash the dishes.”

“I own a dishwasher for a reason.”

“Please? It’s the least I could do since you made dinner – which was wonderful, by the way. You ever consider becoming a chef?” you ask with a slight chuckle, taking the opportunity to grab his dishware and utensils and carry them to the sink. Stainless steel shines brightly at you, whether from a recent deep clean or lack of usage, as you start to run the tap for warm water.

Large, familiar hands find their home on your waist, the heat burning through your sweater. They pull you against his frame, and you allow yourself to lean back a little bit as you start scrubbing the porcelain. Arms wind around your middle and hold you tight, his senses becoming muddled as he loses himself in your scent and touch. He gently paints the column of your neck with soft, faint kisses – so soft that if you hadn’t been so tuned into him, you would’ve missed them.

“You’re taking too long,” Sylus murmurs against your skin.

“What, never had to wait a tiny bit for a treat you want?” you tease, and chuckle when his teeth bite into your shoulder.

“Brat.”

“I’m almost done, I promise.”

It’s so hard to not like–

Your brain freezes – but somehow still commands you to scrub the plate in your hand. Moving on pure muscle memory now, you have maybe five seconds to figure out your own thought process.

This is a contract, you remind yourself. This is a mutual relationship to satisfy both parties’ needs without getting personal feelings involved. Sylus made that very clear in the beginning. But the less logical part of your conscience creeps in like a phantom on your shoulder. So how does that explain Sylus’s actions recently? How does that explain this very moment of what would appear to anyone as a sweet, pure, domestic interaction?

He’s just comfortable, you rationalize.

Why does he insist on you staying the night?

Because that’s what this contract entails.

Why does he keep asking you to move closer?

It’d be more of a problem if he was asking me to move in with him.

Would it be though?

Of course??

You sure about that?

This is NOT the time for--!

A small pinch on your waist brings you back to reality, your synapses firing on overdrive to try to get you back to a functional level. You cannot hold back your “ow!”, which seems to be just enough of a reaction to satisfy this man.

“What was that for?!”

“Something is clearly on your mind,” he says in a low tone, the tone that indicates he’s starting to become agitated.

“No there’s not,” you retort and fail to hide the sheepishness in your own voice.

“You’re doing a terrible job at convincing me to accept that. What are you not telling me?”

“It’s–,” you pause, scrambling for words. “--trivial, at best.”

Sylus’s arm extends in front of you to forcibly remove the plate from one hand and the sponge from the other. You relent to reduce the risk of breaking anything, but somehow, it’s still not enough. He grabs a tea towel hanging on the oven door behind him, spins you around so that your back is now digging into the edge of the sink, and proceeds to furiously dry your hands. You can’t help but wince when he tries to rub off some dried soap residue, but there is no time to dwell on it.

Not when Sylus slings the towel on to his shoulder and bends at the waist to meet your eyes. Not when he cages you between his arms as his hands bear his weight on either side of you. Not when he pins you with an expectant glare, demanding your full honesty.

“It’s really nothing.” Your tone is firmer now, but he doesn’t fall for it.

“Is it something personal?”

“...yes.”

“Does it have anything to do with your family?”

“No.”

“Is it something that I’m able to fix?

Technically, yes. But you’re not stupid.

“No.” Your voice softens, lowering to a murmur at best.

“Tsk,” Sylus clicks his tongue. “Why do I find that hard to believe?”

“Because you have a large enough influence to make you think that you can fix anything you want.”

“Precisely,” he responds pointedly and, perhaps, a little too proudly. “So tell me. Tell me what’s bothering you, and I’ll have it resolved within 48 hours.”

You didn’t realize that you had stopped looking him in the eye. And when you do, your breath hitches. So determined, so resolute.

And yet, so heartbreaking.

You can’t help but let your fingers ghost over his cheek, tracing the edge of his jawline. He stands firm even when you step forward and press a light kiss against his cheek. As if on instinct, he turns and immediately parts his lips to slide against yours, but you pull back before he has the chance to deepen it, and with it, your affection.

“You have enough to worry about as it is,” you murmur. “I’m fine, really.”

Sylus’s eyes turn disapproving, doubtful. But he knows when to back off when needed.

“Don’t forget that I can help you, should you need it,” he gently reminds you. “Do you understand?”

“I do, don’t worry.”

He sighs. “Very well then. Now come, we’re here to celebrate the end of your exam, after all.”

You take his outstretched hand, but you fail to leave behind your troubled heart.

Two nights later, at four in the morning, you stare blankly at your phone screen.

[Are you sure you want to request to terminate this contract?]

The only contact you've had with Sylus the last two days is sporadic texts about little things, like how your day was going or if you'd heard about the results of your exam yet. You do your best in suppressing the quiet loneliness that pushes your heart to your throat and a dagger into your stomach, the undeniable sensation of realizing that you miss Sylus.

Missing him as if he were your actual partner and not just one for show with dollar signs behind the scenes.

Worrying enough to wonder if he's getting enough sleep and eating enough food outside of whatever work dinners or lunches he may be obligated to attend. Just yesterday, you had ordered delivery to his office with your own money, and he had texted you a simple Thank you, little one. To which you responded with a casual, You're welcome 👍.

Smooth.

You're not sure how long your eyes linger over the [Yes] button, the midnight minutes blinking by as you contemplate your next move. Is this the right call? Should you wait until Sylus comes around and tells you on his own about the arranged marriage? Should you just wait until he makes the request instead?

No. You want a clean break. You want to call this off on your terms, essentially saving yourself from the path of destruction that you would undoubtedly set off on. One tap and a press of the lock button immediately after, you burrow yourself into your blankets and will yourself to sleep.

With light sleep at best, you watch with bleary eyes as the sun begins to rise, casting your room into a hue of its golden hour, signifying contentment and new beginnings. But it only elicits dread as you wait for the inevitable end.

The shriek of your phone rips you from your mindless daydreaming, and you know who it is before you can even get a good look at the screen.

“Hel–”

“What is the meaning of this?” His voice rings dark, irate, with what you think is the slightest hint of panic laced beneath each syllable.

“Sylus,” you start, but he interrupts you again.

“If I did something to upset you, then you need to let me know. Otherwise, I am at a complete loss for your sudden request to terminate our agreement.”

“You did nothing wrong.” Your attempt to subdue his worries may be futile, but you at least have to try.

“And I’m sure you can see why I don’t believe you for even a second.”

“I mean it though,” you refute. “Look, I’ll explain more when we meet with the company rep.”

“My patience is running thin. Tell me now.”

“Please, please just wait until we meet this evening,” you beseech, on the brink of breaking down while walking back to your apartment from class.

“It was simply a mistake, right?”

“Sylus, please–”

“Fine. Don’t be late.” The beep that follows indicates he has hung up on you. You suppose you got what you wanted, but it feels a hundred times worse.

There will never be enough time in the world for you to be prepared for this moment, standing in the ascending elevator of a discrete yet well-kept high-rise building while clutching a manilla envelope in your hand. The last time you were here was to outline the conditions of the situation with a representative there to help mitigate and ensure that both parties would be satisfied. You suppose they’ll be doing the same thing today, except it would be to ensure a clean split.

As the secretary walks you to the designated conference room, your legs tremble, even more so when she casually adds that Sylus was already here, waiting. She stops and knocks on the door in front of her, announcing your arrival. A sound of approval from inside cues her to open the door and let you in, and you nervously step inside after thanking her. Not that you didn’t believe her earlier, but actually seeing Sylus in the flesh somehow adds to the gravity of the situation.

“We have both parties here now, so let us begin,” the representative says after greeting you with a handshake. Calling out your name and gesturing to you, he states,” You are the one that called to terminate this contractual agreement, is that correct?”

“Yes,” you confirm in a shaky voice and clear your throat. A copy of the contract sits in front of you, and you keep your eyes trained on the letters that are starting to blur and swirl together. If it means that you don’t have to look at Sylus, you’ll take it.

“Is the reason for the termination due to any violations of the terms and conditions set at the initial meeting?”

“No.”

Despite keeping your head down, you see and hear Sylus shift in his chair. A sudden chill wraps around you, and you slightly shiver.

“Mr. Qin, to your knowledge, did she violate any part of the contract?”

“No.”

“Now let us discuss financial compensation.” Looking towards you again, he asks, “Have you been financially compensated for your services?”

“More than adequately.”

“Per the contract, are there any services you have not been paid for?”

You shake your head. “Sylus does not owe me anything.”

“Then as per company policy, once one party calls for the termination of the contract, the request must be honored to protect the safety of both parties. Any services that were not compensated for would have to be done here in this meeting, but that is not a concern in this case. Please give me a few minutes to draw up the agreement to terminate so that you both can sign it.” The representative gets up and leaves the conference room.

Sylus steals the opportunity to ask the one question that has been on repeat in his mind since he received the notification.

“Why?”

You like to think you’ve gotten to know Sylus relatively well over the last year. Given your lack of explanation over the phone earlier, you know your words alone would never be enough to placate him. With shaky hands, you retrieve the envelope from your lap and slide it across the table, even daring to finally look up at him now. His crimson eyes nearly break you, but you’re grasping onto every last straw to keep yourself sane.

Inside the envelope contained a couple of pictures found online of Sylus’s arranged fiancée, as well as several news articles discussing how her company may be heading towards a merger, but it was unclear on exactly when it would happen and who it would be with. It hadn’t taken long for you to realize that you’ve seen her several times in passing at various events and fundraisers, and that she and the man sitting across you seemed to avoid each other in public as inconspicuously as possible. You warily watch as he pulls the contents out and freezes, his gaze snapping back to you.

“How did you…?” he inquires.

“It doesn’t matter how I found out,” you respond softly before switching to a more matter-of-fact tone. “We knew this would come to an end at some point. Considering your arrangement isn’t known to the public yet, it was fine to be seen with me. But when this news breaks out, and if you’re still associated with me, it wouldn’t look good for either of you. You don’t need the reputation as a two-timing womanizer, and she doesn’t need to be publicly perceived as some poor woman who couldn’t keep a hold on you, therefore undermining her achievements.”

“You should have talked to me before going straight to nullifying our contract,” he fires back.

“That would’ve made it harder.”

Sylus leans back in his seat, now regarding you with piqued curiosity. “Made what harder?”

“Maybe that’s not the right expression.” Your palms are starting to get sweaty again, even as they curl and clench tighter than ever, your fingers digging into your palms. There's nothing you can do that would eradicate the shakiness in your voice. “I just meant that talking before now would've made everything complicated.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Do elaborate.”

“Well, I thought,” you stammer. “I mean– it’s just talking would’ve, would’ve– let some—” You pause again, desperately trying to find the right words. “Would’ve let some things be said that would’ve, you know, been better to be left unsaid. About us. Between us. Does that make sense?” Your hands have been drawing inane shapes in the air as if they would help aid in Sylus’s (and your) understanding.

“Better unsaid by you or me?”

After a few seconds, you answer hesitantly, “Both, maybe?”

For the first time in months, there are no emotions in his eyes. You have always been able to pick out at least something he may be feeling – affection, frustration, fatigue, lust – but to be on the receiving end of his blank stare like it’s the first day all over again, is unnerving. Agonizing, too.

When he finally opens his mouth, his tone dripping with disdain and mockery, he derides, “Who knew the little kitten thought so highly of herself?”

His words immediately trigger an alarming amount of shame and embarrassment. Have you been reading too much into his actions? Was it all in your head? Did it all occur out of some desperation for something genuine from him?

Oh God.

It’s at this moment that the representative comes back with the papers in hand, and part of you is ready to believe that there may actually be a higher power in the universe. “Thank you for your patience. Once you both have signed the termination agreement, I will make copies for both of you.” He seems completely unaware of the tension that has solidified between you and the CEO, even as you take the pen from the representative with a slight tremor. You quickly scan over the contents because you’re having an increasingly difficult time finding the brain cells to scrutinize each sentence and sign on the indicated lines. After you all but shove the papers across the table, you push your seat back and grab your purse.

“Oh, miss,” he starts, but you interrupt him.

“You can just email me a copy of these. Excuse me, I have something urgent to get to.”

He stares at you for a few seconds before giving a corporate smile. “Of course. Thank you for coming in. Have a good rest of your night.”

“Thank you. You as well.” Your platitude is rushed, almost harsh sounding. You mentally note that you need to send a card that is both a thank-you and an apology for scurrying off like this when you were the one to initiate it.

The walls feel like they’re closing in on your brain and consciousness, so much so that you suddenly find yourself out in the lobby of the building with no recollection of how you even got down here. A gust of fresh air hits you as you step out the doors, and it’s a little easier to breathe now. But it doesn’t mean that your chest isn’t ready to burst, your ribcage threatening to tear open and leave you passed out on the street. It doesn’t mean that Sylus’s words don’t hurt you any less, and the pain of your own embarrassment only compounds on them.

The uncharacteristic chill on this summer night scrapes against your cheeks and ears. You finally will yourself to walk towards the nearest subway station, all the while blinking back tears that just won’t stop coming. Never mind the other pedestrians who may catch a glimpse of you wiping away any physical manifestation of your grief, the other subway riders who may observe you desperately hiding in a corner of the carriage, or even the other residents in your apartment building who watch you furiously tapping your phone while passing by.

With nothing to stop you, not even your own will, you let the tears flow, streaming down the sides of your face and into your pillow as you trace the ridges of your wall, your phone lying innocently a few inches away. Despite deleting his phone number and officially disconnecting on the website, you can’t bring yourself to discard his message thread. There were too many memories, too many reminders of what you once had and will probably never have again.

Your pillow becomes damp with tears of confusion, shame, and regret. How could you be so stupid,so caught up in your own delusions that Sylus Qin, tech mogul and CEO, one of the most secretive and sought-out individuals of the current decade, with connections you couldn’t even dare to dream of, somehow held a shred of genuine affection for you? How could you have thought that his demands to see you night after night were anything more than just wanting some type of company, the kind that does what he says and strokes his ego? How could you have convinced yourself that you were actually special to him?

How could you have put yourself at so much emotional risk for something that was nothing but transactional to begin with?

The next morning, with one look at your morose expression and the puffiness of your eyes, the other people in your cohort know better than to ask if you’re okay. During the lecture, Jiho silently hands you a piece of gum, a tiny, reoccurring gesture of camaraderie throughout these years of graduate school, as an attempt at providing some type of normalcy. Your movements are sluggish and lethargic as you fold the strip into your mouth, but it’s the first time in the last 18 hours that you feel like things might…just be okay.

Two days later, an email comes from the company telling you it is policy to change your phone number, and they will financially compensate for the cost of a new SIM card since it is an inconvenience to you. Hours later, you find yourself in front of a cellphone technician who is setting up the new SIM card. As they type in a few things on their computer, they hand you a pin to help eject your current one. You’re not looking forward to the hassle of telling everyone that your number has changed and fixing it in everything you have that involves your number, but even you understand that this is the first step to a fresh start. Sylus is probably going through the same process, if he already hasn’t gotten it done.

And as your phone sets everything up with the new number, you stare at your closet, now stuffed to the brim with dresses and skirts that you may never wear again. Nothing you do from now on would ever require such formalities. The knowledge of it stings to some degree when you find a large, empty bin that was used when you had moved in. Without ceremony, you begin the mindless task of removing said clothing items from their hangers and folding them into the container. You don’t want to cry. You don’t expect to cry. But the steady streaks of tears dripping down your face is enough to show how much you grew to cherish your time with Sylus.

Time that you will never be able to return to.

[fin]

“How did she know?”

“Sylus, what are you–”

“She knew,” Sylus cuts her off. “How could she have known without you tipping her off?”

“Think about this logically. I want this arrangement gone as much as you do, so why would I tell her? She’s your key to dissolving all this.”

“She was more than that.”

“Was?”

“Shit,” Sylus curses, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“...she left you?”

“No,” he retorts. “Not willingly.” At least, that’s what he wants to believe. “But I’m not discussing this with you.”

“And I don’t really care to know the details. So…what are we going to do?”

Sylus’s hand tightens around his newly acquired phone as he stands and gazes out the window at the city skyline from his bedroom. He might be starting to understand why you seemed so entranced by the view.

“We’ll figure something out.”

“I really hope so, Sylus.”

“Hey boss, we’re here for the daily debrief,” Luke and Kieran announce as they slip into his office and all but collapse into the chairs in front of his desk.

“I’m listening,” Sylus says, keeping his eyes trained on his monitor.

“It was the usual. She woke up, skipped breakfast, went to class, stayed in the small office for her professor’s grad students for like, five hours. Uh, what else?”

“Bought a snack from that place in the library that sells coffee and shit,” the other twin adds. “Then she–”

“What snack did she buy?”

“Just some chips, from what we saw.” The twins look at each other and give a slight shrug.

“Did she eat lunch?” Sylus’s tone suggests that he could care less, despite having posed the question.

“She ate something while in the office, but it didn’t look like anything substantial. Oh, but she had a sandwich for dinner. She watched some TV – one of her comfort shows again – and scrolled on her phone while in bed. Did we miss anything?”

“I think that about covers it.”

Luke and Kieran sit in silence, waiting for Sylus’s dismissal. Said man continues to type away on his keyboard.

“Hey boss,” Kieran starts and immediately earns a “shut the fuck up” look from Luke. “We’ve been doing this for a year.”

“Which is fine,” Luke adds right after. “We’re not complaining.”

“Right, we’re not complaining. But uhh,” Kieran continues. “How long do you expect for this to go on for?”

“As long as it needs to. You’re dismissed.”

Not long after the twins disappear from his view, he runs a hand through his silvery locks, frustration and tension evident in his strained tendons and veins. Sylus locks his computer and grabs the coat off his chair before sauntering down to his car many, many floors below where the parking garage is. But instead of walking towards his sports car, the one that had sat in a visitor spot of your apartment parking lot all those months ago, he makes his way to an unsuspecting black sedan, its brand common and inconspicuous. Without any need for a GPS, Sylus pulls out and drives to your apartment complex.

In the darkness of twilight and beneath the shadows of beechnut trees, he leans against the steering wheel and gazes up at your window, a luminescent yellow shimmering through the curtains. They haven’t been pulled completely shut, but there is nothing to see in the light regardless. The minutes that pass do not feel like time in any way as he sits in a somewhat meditative state, and the only thing that could snap him out of it is when your bedroom lights switch dark. In reality, fifteen minutes pass before he watches your shadow, then your figure, approach the windowpane.

Sylus takes the little time he has to observe you, to see if you appear any different than yesterday. Did you have a full meal? Was your research stressful? Were you making use of the money he had paid you before everything ended? Were you getting enough rest and nutrition?

When he can no longer see you, he falls back in his seat and lets out a heavy sigh, exhaustion weighing heavily on his eyes. Sylus starts his car and throws it in reverse, and he spends his twenty-minute drive home thinking about nothing but you, his cold, empty bed, and how maybe, as much as he wants to deny it on all fronts, you two were not meant to be. Yet he holds onto hope that he can defy that fate eventually, because whether you know it or not…

You will always be his.

#sylus x reader #sylus smut #sylus #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #sylus qin #love and deepspace #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace smut #sylus angst #tw: toxic relationships #tw: miscommunication

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anyshowwitharainbow · 20 days ago

Text

Cooties pt. 3 (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary:

Your wives spend some time with their little bunny. (Recommended songs for +10 coziness: this one and this one and this one.)

Warnings + Tags: 18+ MDNI, fluff and mentions of smut, sick!reader, caring Agatha and Rio, Rio g!p, bottom reader, mommy!Agatha, daddy!Rio, cg/l themes, no mention of pronouns except a few 'they's, clit/pussy/cunt used for reader, pet names, bottle feeding, mentions of breastfeeding

Words: ~4.8k

A/N: Guess who's back in the house, heels click-clackin' about (where my rupaul girlies at?) Anyways, its me!! Have some feel goods for the middle of the week. Mind the tags!! See you at the end. As always I will edit as I re-read. Please forgive the errors I'm very tired and I know I missed some things!

AO3 | My Fics | pt. 1 | pt.2

Cooties pt. 3

There is hardly oxygen left in the small space you share with Rio. Her tongue works to persistently and purposefully claim your mouth and you are wholly at her mercy. The air you gasp for is thick and sooner than usual your lungs begin to protest. You remember the scratchiness in your throat as a dry cough rocks your body.

Rio pushes away from you and situational awareness colors her face. She got far too distracted by devouring you and her original task seems to push its way back to the forefront of her mind.

“You didn’t take your medicine,” she frowns, seemingly at the realization and not at your antics.

“That’s because it’s still in here…”

Your attempt at flirting catches no wind as you do your best to out-will the coughs begging to escape. The sly effort to grab Rio’s balls to add emphasis to ‘here’ is thwarted as she catches your wrist and pins your hand to the pillows.

“Nice try, bunny,” she slips out from under the covers and shivers at the temperature difference of the open air.

You’re glued to the pattern of the chill bumps that heavily freckle her skin, so you don’t notice the clear medicine cup at your lips until she continues.

“Better open up,” she casually warns.

The cup is tilting at the line of your lips and you know with certainty it will continue to whether you open your mouth or not. You quickly let your mouth fall open. Not out of compliance, but because these are Agatha’s favorite sheets and you value your life. Your scowl is firmly planted on the smug, satisfied smile that had settled into Rio’s face before you even moved to ensure the medicine will make it into your mouth.

You will never say it aloud, lest Agatha deem you an instigator, but you love the casual chaos Rio is prone to. You endlessly admire the way she is undeterred by the threat of mess and has little interest in approaching life the way others might expect. ‘Unfazed’ has never seemed like a worthy descriptor. ‘Unfazed’ implies she pays mind to the status quo, but you’ve never known Rio to care to be aware at how others do things. She really only shows interest in yours and Agatha’s behaviors.

Even still, her studious observations are never applied to her own practices. Rather, she uses the knowledge to make sure she can help provide a life and home that meets your needs- in ways both big and small. Rarely does Rio wear matching socks, claiming that she has two feet for a reason and they deserve their own experiences. You, on the other hand, wince at the thought that one sock could be slightly tighter than the other or fall at a different place on your ankle. Every morning she puts a mated pair into the dryer so they are warm for you.

Once, in a similar- though much grander- effort, she had banned you from entering the highest floor of your home.

—

The space hadn’t ever been used for much, mostly a resting place for storage totes full of old clothes and various decor that was long retired. Within the month, you and Agatha arrived home to Rio waiting at the door to grab you by the wrist and usher you up the steps.

“Careful, Rio!” Agatha had called.

You thought Rio had paid the warning no mind until she quickly wrangled you into her arms to dart up the steps. You didn’t care to question if this was actually any more careful- the warm buzz that filled your chest from her excitement was far too intoxicating to risk losing. Her soft words to you upon reaching the top of the steps remain tucked away in your mind to listen to at your leisure.

“Close your eyes, bunny.”

Once you complied you were carried a few more feet before being deposited into a fluffy, cloudy mass. You quirked your brow when your body was rocked by Rio flopping into the mass next to you. She snuggled in close before granting you permission.

“Open them, my love.”

Your excitement snapped back into your chest like a taut rubber band released from its grip. Time stood still as you absorbed the view above you. Stars looked down upon you from their place nestled against the sky and you were mesmerized at how they so easily shared your home.

“What do you think, bunny?”

You turned to find Rio closely examining you, smile full of pride as she cradled the back of your neck and ran her thumb over the dimple just behind your ear lobe.

“I— Wha—”

“You’re always looking up at the stars. You hesitate when you’re coming in at night and I figured its cause you wanted to look at them longer.”

Rio gave a little shrug through a big, goofy grin and you were speechless. Your brain had to work overtime to get yourself to absorb your surroundings, but through the clanking and churning of its efforts you recognized the space Rio had carved for you in your home was designed just for you.

Two expansive panes of glass took place of what had once been a shed ceiling. A vastly oversized recliner was tucked into the farthest corner, lit perfectly to read one of the many books that sat in rows on a meticulously crafted wall of bookshelves. Underneath you was a giant, softly upholstered cushion that sat below the skylights. It was certainly larger than your Alaskan King sized bed and could swallow both you and Rio whole.

“You…this is for me?” you said dumbly, brain misfiring at its most fundamental level.

“Everything is for you, bunny.” Rio spoke sweetly just in time for Agatha to make her presence known and throw herself down on the cushion next to Rio.

“It’s true. She kept me in line the entire time. I almost spoiled it twice.” Agatha said matter-of-factly while wrapping her arms around you both.

“Twice?!” Rio countered, the warmth in her tone turning incredulous.

“Maybe, like, six or seven times. Irrelevant.” Agatha winked at you and you chuckled at them both, climbing in between them.

“So…” Rio wondered aloud, her attention having moved far past Agatha as it settled back solely on you.

Peaking up at her you saw excitement and pride coloring her face, but what made you melt was the hope pooled in her eyes. You glanced at Agatha and she was equally mesmerized at Rio’s anticipatory demeanor.

“It’s perfect.” you granted her release and have always cherished the all-consuming smile you received in return.

—

Your scowl fades into a soft, warm reverence and you let your eyes fall over Rio’s features. An unmistakable glint of pride floats lazily through her eyes like it’s passing through right on schedule.

“I knew you'd behave, bunny.” She coos and sets the small, now empty, cup onto the nightstand.

She chuckles at the grimace that tenses the muscles in your neck, amused at how repulsed you are by such a small dose of liquid. You don’t allow the smugness of her victory room to breathe before you dive your head into her lap and wrap your arms around her. Your tight squeeze pushes the breath out of her and it comes out in a confused chuckle.

“Woah, what is it, baby?” Her fingertips rub soft circles on the back of your neck before she uses her blunt nails to light scratch under the collar of your shirt.

Your skin prickles under the delicate attention and you feel much lighter than you did moments ago. Rio was, likely unknowingly, releasing you into a space only the three of you ever shared. Corners and edges are much softer here and responsibilities unmoor from their worries. Here, you only ever need one of two things: Mommy or Daddy. When you’re lucky, you have both.

You pull away and see subtle shifts in Rio’s features, but the reasoning as to why floats just out of reach. You know you can reach out and try to grab at it. If you think hard enough you could probably conclude that Rio has seen a change in your eyes. But why would you want to? The effort of such a task threatens to fetter you and stop you from exploring this happy place.

The threat doesn’t last for long. You don’t allow it, posing a question before it can bargain for your attention.

“Stars?” you ask, your voice confident, but much more vulnerable than it had been all day.

“Of course, bunny.”

Rios thumb brushes over your cheek before a kiss takes its place. She pulls away, but her hand clasps yours and tugs, encouraging you to stand.

“You know…” Rio drags conspiratorially, “I know a guy who knows a guy. Says the stars were hung up just for you.”

Your instincts urge you to brush the flattery as far away as possible, but you’re entranced by the woman it comes from. Your cheeks have just enough bite to reveal Rio’s attention has rooted you in bashfulness. She seems to enjoy your response, as she crouches down and presses her lips softly to your forehead.

“Esas mejillas rosas son tan lindas, conejito.”

You aren’t entirely sure what she is saying, but you recognize the term of endearment easily. Rio calling you her little bunny in her native tongue pools you into the shape of her affections.

“Stars, Daddy!”

The softness in Rio’s demeanor makes it easier to see your instincts for what they are. Here, in this moment, you don’t want to deny her praises or dismiss her doting. You want to believe in the reverence her gaze adores you with, that you are worthy of the sweet musings she offers to you. Somehow, it feels as though you’ve lived a thousand lifetimes and also none at all. You vaguely recollect a lifetime of doubt and insecurity, but it feels so far from you when brown eyes sing so sweetly to you.

It all seems so far now, a hazy string of memories you observe from where you sit- whole, new, and loved. Yes by Rio, but also by you. You deserve this softness. You deserve this attention.

You are worthy of the love you are receiving and it is always there, even when disbelief is determined to be your destiny.

“Daddy can make that happen. Do you want to walk or ride?”

“Up!” you declare easily.

“I probably could’ve guessed that one,” she muses before turning around.

She lets you clamber onto her back and carts you off. You make it to the top floor unscathed, though Rio’s occasional ‘drifting’ almost had you both in the floor.

It wouldn’t have been the first time Agatha came home to an injured pile of her spouses. Though, considering that night ended with Rio eating your cunt while Agatha had a belt around her neck and was forcing her to apologize, you’d be willing to take another tumble.

“What are you sorry for, Daddy?” Agatha demanded.

Rio’s words were carelessly mumbled into your center. She was far too lost in the taste of you to consider her circumstance. You could hear the leather of the belt creak when Agatha tightened her grip and pulled harshly. Rio let out a guttural noise followed by a gasp.

“For turning our little bunny’s piggy back ride into a Nascar race.”

Your body lowly, but happily, buzzes at the memory. The fondness of intimacy warms you, but your body makes no further demands for it. You steep lazily in the promise that your forever will be full of time for a more physical connection. Right now, your focus is on finding the comfiest way to curl into Rio on the oversized cushion- fittingly coined the ‘cuddle cushion’ within days of its first use.

“Snuggle up, conejito. Are you ready to learn all about star science with Daddy?”

You giggle, but roll your eyes and are met with an offended scoff.

“Hey! I know things. Like how the most stars that are seen by the human eye at any given time is two thousand. Give or take.”

You squint and look to where the stars glitter through the glass. You try to count a small patch, but lose your place amongst the multitude.

“It’s mostly true,” she continues, “For everyone except me, of course.”

You scrunch your brows together, a mix of lingering suspicion at Rio’s ‘star science’ and curiosity of her train of thought.

“I could never see that many stars at any given time. I only ever see one.” She spoke under her breath, like the truth of her words would level cities if spoken too loudly.

The certainty of her claim carries more weight than you have room for, so you let it overtake you. Playfulness rests over your skin, but something much more consuming swells in your chest. It doesn’t scare you, though. It isn’t that kind of consuming. It does quite the opposite.

Suddenly safety is such a certainty that it’s no longer a concept or question. It just is.

There are so many things you don’t know, but that’s okay. Because here, now, you are safe. You are calm. Here, serenity sings to you from where it has been sown tenderly, purposefully, by a love few are lucky enough to ever know.

You long to be impossibly closer to Rio. You settle on tucking your hand under her shirt to rest on her belly, soft and warm, and nuzzling in to her chest.

“There are also 275 million stars born every day,” she speaks only loud enough for your ears to hear, “Most of those 275 million stars will travel in clusters. Most stars in general do. Not our sun though. It moves alone.”

“That’s sad,” you decide easily.

“Why?”

Rio’s curiosity is gentle, not questioning for her own understanding, but to bask in the gift of your perception of the world around you. She hangs on to your every word in a way that consumes you. When you speak she listens.

A glimpse from a moment hidden in your heart floats by. You had been rattling on about a new ship that was consuming you. Having seen edits of the two characters show up more and more, you had started watching the show out of curiosity- and you hadn’t shut up since.

“Hold on, they did what? Didn’t she just find out they’re first cousins during last week’s episode?”

You started to giggle at how perturbed Rio seemed before realizing you hadn’t said anything since last week about the ‘first cousins’ bomb that the show dropped.

“Wait- you remember that?”

You were pleasantly surprised with her quick catch, but Rio’s shock at the story line morphed into confusion.

“Why wouldn’t I remember it?”

“I don’t know,” you felt your cheeks heat and you cursed your sudden bashfulness, “I know I’ve been hyper-fixating. I’m never sure how much of what I say is actually worth listening to.”

For a brief moment, Rio looked pained. She didn’t speak of it, but you could feel that it wasn’t for her. It was for you.

“If it’s you saying it, bunny, it’s always worth listening to.”

Your heart threatened to skip a beat and your brain must’ve assumed you needed a lifeline, because before you knew you were going to say anything you hear yourself speak.

“Also they aren’t actually first cousins. It’s by marriage. Don’t be a prude.”

“I amend my statement. It’s always worth listening to as long as you’re not insulting Daddy.”

You rolled your eyes and her brow raised in a challenge. You were quickly attacked by hungry, possessive lips and when Agatha came into the room none of your clothes lasted more than a few seconds.

You would later learn how much the statement truly bothered her. She said she couldn’t stand the idea of anyone making you feel like your words were a waste. You have maintained a stance that it’s a bit dramatic of a take, but secretly you revel in her unwavering attention and offense that it isn’t what you receive from others.

The gentle thudding of Rio’s heartbeat calls you back to the present moment and you remember that her question is waiting, perfectly patient, for your answer.

“Because that means the sun is all alone. It doesn’t have a cluster.”

You speak as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. The small smile Rio responds with tells you that she agrees, almost.

“It’s not alone, though, bunny. It has you. And it has me and Mommy.”

“Well that can’t be true,” you begin to work through your reasoning aloud.

“How do you mean?”

“The sun can’t have you. You just saids you couldn’t see it.”

She stares at you for a moment before bursting into easy, pillowy laughter.

“Good point, bunny. Can you promise Daddy something then?”

She turns more towards you and you nod lazily. The warmth of her hand lulls you into weightlessness and your body is out-willing your consciousness.

“Promise me that you’ll always be there for the sun for both of us, yeah?”

This time when you nod, your head has lulled much further into Rio’s chest. You open your eyes, and the stars have been replaced with a close-up view of your fingers sitting just by your mouth.

How did they get there?

You don’t have much time to ponder it before Rio is shushing you gently and scratching your scalp. Her wordless instruction wills you to comply and you succumb to the rest that calls to you.

The next time your eyes open, you are being deposited somewhere by Rio. You fuss at the thought of separation and grumble, but you are too tired to protest any further. Gentle shushing works to soothe you, but it isn’t coming from the woman setting you down. You’re settled into a new warmth and you turn to see the source. All discontent melts away from you so quickly that you can hardly remember how it got there in the first place.

Agatha is home which means Mommy is home.

You squirm in her embrace to properly greet her, but she holds you tighter.

“Ah, ah, bunny. Be good for Mommy while Daddy gets dinner ready.”

You still immediately, her words easily becoming your actions. You blink a few times to push your sleepiness aside. You are more alert now, but your body is heavy with exhaustion.

You are still under the stars, but are now being rocked gently by Agatha. A shining glint catches your eye against Agatha’s neck and your fingers follow it. The thin chain feels angrily cold as you trace it, and you tug to free it from Agatha’s scrub top. The wedding ring you and Rio had designed for her hangs loosely against the dark navy fabric.

Three stones glimmer in the low light of your little corner of the world. One for each of you.

Her hand comes closer to the necklace and for a moment you think she will stop you from toying with it. Instead, she pulls your other hand away from your mouth.

“None of that, baby. We don’t suck on our fingers, remember?”

Heat builds in your cheeks and an uncomfortable feeling swells in your chest. It’s tamed nearly instantly when a cool finger tips your chin to meet Agatha’s gaze.

“It’s okay, bunny. You’re not in trouble. I have another option for you, hmm?”

You only need to see her eyes to see that she is deeply exhausted. Her shoulders are tense in a way that only happens when she is on high-alert. It likely isn’t intentional, but her guard is up and denying her longing to be fully centered here with you. Your heart aches to lull her into comfort.

Her eyes trace a path that compels you to follow them. Your gaze lands on a bottle that sits in the recliner’s cup holder and you feel the full attention of blue eyes now analyzing you closely. Agatha softly brushes your forehead with the back of her knuckles before she kisses your temple and whispers in your ear.

“Only if you want it, bunny.”

You’re stilled by shyness, hesitancy. Something about having a choice makes your insides churn and you shuffle uncomfortably.

“What’s for dinner?” You ask, delaying your decision.

Agatha’s lips purse slightly and she seems to be weighing a decision of her own. She makes a show of reading you like an open book and is slowly disarming the fight that threatens to bubble within you.

“Pizza.”

She throws the word into the room like an unpinned grenade.

“Pizza?!”

If there’s pizza downstairs what are you doing upstairs? You attempt to wiggle away from Agatha, but she doesn’t allow you to go far before pulling you in closer.

“But…” she lets the word linger until you are practically on the edge of your seat with curiosity.

Did she get a gross pizza with mushrooms on it? Did she get it from the place off the first exit on her way home? Surely not. She had to get it from the place next to the bookstore…

You hope for the latter, and right as you are about to burst with questions, she satiates you.

“Only good bunnies get pizza. Is that you, baby? Are you going to be a good little bunny and behave for Mommy?”

Her tone is gentle and it dampens the shyness and hesitancy that still tangles within you. It is no where near as consuming as you realize that Agatha needs this. Her need makes it feel easier to acknowledge that you need it too.

Your gentle nod is met with a smile that rivals every star above you. You decide you’d wrangle them all, hand-wrap each one, and gift them to Agatha if it meant seeing it again.

You already felt small, but Agatha’s cooing and shushing have emptied your mind. You are wholly consumed in the intimacy she creates.

“Good, bunny.”

She presses one more kiss to your temple before retrieving the bottle. As she settles further into the chair, she pulls you closer to her and coaxes you to nestle into the crook of her arm. You are almost malleable by the time she brushes the soft rubber nipple against your lips. It drawls you to act on instinct and your lips fall open and latch onto the bottle.

There is no room to be surprised or embarrassed by your reaction, because warm milk captures all of your senses as you give your first suckle. The hint of cinnamon hits your tongue and your insides turn to jelly. She made your favorite.

Your next suck is greedier and your body is rocked by a hearty chuckle.

“Slowly, little one,” she soothes in a coo, “Slowly for Mommy.”

You comply, letting your breath fall in time with hers. As you imagine your hearts beating in sync, you search for her eyes. Her hardened blues have melted into pools of adoration and her shoulders sit much further down than they had moments ago. You feel like you are floating and you’re certain you’re weightless as she continues rocking you, gently humming to you as she helps you finish the milk she carefully crafted to your liking.

She continues her affections, offering praises as she holds the bottle to your lips.

That’s it, bunny. Mommy’s so proud of you.

You’re safe. Mommy’s got you.

Her words and ministrations lull you into a hazy trance. Soon, your suckles produce more air than milk and you scrunch your face in disappointment. The chuckle that comes from above you makes you fuss and the bottle is pulled from your lips.

“All done, bunny,” Agatha coos.

You don’t like that answer and burry your face into her chest with purpose. She hums in satisfaction as she realizes what you are rooting around for. She chuckles as she holds your head still.

“Let Mommy help, baby.”

The softness of her breast is taken from you and she wiggles to pull her scrub top up. She must’ve removed her bra as soon as she got home, because there is no barrier between you and the hardening pink bud that sits against silky, pale skin.

She says nothing as her hand cradles the back of your head and draws you closer to her nipple. Needing no other encouragement, you quickly latch on and warm air dances across your forehead as Agatha releases a shaky breath.

“What an eager little bunny Mommy has tonight,” she observes, letting her thumb gently trace over your eyebrows one at a time.

“Daddy texted me and told me I’d be coming home to our little one. But do you want to know a secret, bunny?”

You peak up from your place nestled against her breast. You’re gently suckling, lapping every so often. On more than one occasion you’ve found yourself wishing Agatha could actually breastfeed you. It always caught you off guard, especially at first. However, the more moments like this you share and the more deeply woven you become with Agatha, the more you long for that sort of connection. The thought of Agatha’s body working to care for you pulled at such a deep string in you that you aren’t sure you’ll ever have words to express the ache.

Agatha patiently waits for an answer, content to share this time with you, and smiles when you nod in affirmation.

“I already knew. My special Mommy superpowers told me you needed me,” she murmurs and draws circles over the center of your chest.

“This little heart was calling out to mine,” she matter-of-factly continues.

She pauses her circles to move your hand to lay on her bare chest just between her breasts. The steady drumming tickles your fingers and you are content to stay like this forever. Agatha snakes her hand under your t-shirt and mirrors the placement of your hand, but on your body.

“We’re always connected, bunny,” she hums with the beating of your heart. “There’s no such thing as us ever being apart. I’ll always know when you need me. And you’ll always know just who you need.”

The tender moment gracefully comes to a close when you hear a soft voice from the doorway.

“Dinner is ready,” Rio offers.

You are too enthusiastic about getting up for Agatha’s liking and she pulls you back down into her lap.

“Only patient little bunnies get presents from Mommy,” she gently wrangles your arms in before softly tickling her fingers at your neck.

It only tickles a little, just enough to draw you into playfulness. You move to tickle her neck in return, but halt when you

“There’s presents?!” you shoot up and feel a little too dizzy at the quick motion.

Maybe the cold medicine has hit you too hard, or maybe you’re a little milk drunk. Probably both…But between the pizza and the presents your brain isn’t sure which to fixate on. You vaguely notice that Agatha is looking over you, brow furrowed in concern. The attention calls to you like a siren and you nearly cave.

You struggle to remind yourself that, whether you go for the pizza or the presents first, the main objective is to make it downstairs. You steel your resolve and focus on the mission at hand.

You dart for the door, but Rio catches you around the waist easily.

“Ah ah ah, bunny,” Rio chides, “what do we say to Mommy?”

You ponder this for a moment and the answer seems clear.

“Dibs on the garlic butter!” you declare as you wiggle to ‘dead-leg’ Rio, successfully escaping and taking off down the steps when her grip loosens.

You hear Agatha’s cackling over the patter of your feet down the steps and aren’t sure if its at Rio or your future.

“I should’ve seen that coming,” Rio assesses.

“Don’t worry, daddy. I’m sure our little bunny is very, very sorry.”

To be continued…

:----:

A/N: But how sorry are you?? Rio wants to know... I'm sorry to leave you with more antici...pation. The smut in part 4 will be well worth it if you've stuck with me thus far. I just wanted you all to have a little fluff as a treat.

Intended translation: "Esas mejillas rosas son tan lindas, conejito." is 'Those pink cheeks are so cute, bunny.'

Is that a like, reblog, or reply in your pocket? Or are you just thinking about Part 4??

I felt shy writing this so fr if you liked it please let me know.😩

:----:

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p1utofairy · 1 year ago

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PICK A CARD: BARBIE edition.

★ which one of your manifestations is coming towards you?

NOTE: take what resonates, leave what doesn’t. i feel like people are in need of some positivity and encouragement so here you go! 🍬

pile one.

hi pile 1 🌞 wow i feel like you have a very bright personality! it's so potent and beautiful. you can light up any room you walk into, and once you start seeing your beauty for what it truly is, that's when you'll really become a magnet for the things you desire. i feel like you've come out of some deep situations that left you confused or wondering about your true purpose in this lifetime – but don’t let anyone or any situation ever dim your light or take away your power. your soul purpose is really special and i think you’ve been looking for clarity or some sort of answer/solution to this lack that you’re feeling in your soul. you will definitely receive a message and/or an answer to what you’ve been seeking to find. i see this manifestation being a dream come true, pile 1.

you’ve put the work in and now you’re about to reap the benefits of your labor. this could be a new job, career path/major, business opportunity or an increase in your finances. your spirit guides want you to put yourself out there and say YES to whatever this message might be. you already have the motivation and desire for it, so it just requires you to take action and be confident in your choices in order to receive it. you might downplay yourself a lot or make self-deprecating jokes that ultimately put you in a lack mindset. i’m hearing “psh…yeah right. i doubt something as extravagant and nice as that would happen to me.” but why? whose to say what tomorrow will bring? your guides want you to lean more into your optimism and have faith in yourself, and understand that you truly deserve all the great things that are about to unfold in your life.

you know how to make light of situations, so use that to your advantage. i feel like you have a great sense of humor lol but be kinder to yourself okay? it can be really tough when life starts throwing curve balls at you, but it’s what you choose to make of it. as phil dunphy from ‘modern family’ said, “if life gives you lemonade - make lemons and life will be all like whaaaaat?!” so go out there and show the world what you’re made of!

pile two.

heyyy pile 2! i feel like you're coming out of a period of grief or a loss of some sort – a powerful transformation. i feel like this is more about letting go of a toxic mindset and freeing yourself from negative energy/situations rather than on a physical level. for some of you, a loved one could have recently passed or a connection you had with someone ended but i think it’s more so that you’re in a period of transition and starting to accept things for what they truly are. you’re no longer letting anything or anyone hold you back. you’re gaining momentum in your life path, and your spirit guides are so very proud of you!

they see how much it’s taken you to get to this point in your journey. it’s taken a lot of patience and discipline, but you’ve persevered and made it through - and for that you will be rewarded. i feel like you’ve been trying to manifest a change of some sort…whether that be physically moving out, going on a vacation/traveling, going out more or just a genuine change in your everyday life; i’m happy to say that you will be receiving that! you’ve been slowly but surely focusing on yourself and nourishing your mind, body and soul. you’re now starting to realize that you can accomplish anything you set your mind to…you might be seeing a lot of signs/confirmations like angel numbers, repeating patterns, symbols or animals.

you’re starting to realize that surrender is key - not everything can be in our control and sometimes that’s a tough pill to swallow but that’s just the way of life and it usually works out in our best interest in the long run. a flow of abundance is on its way to you. you can manifest anything you want in this lifetime, it just comes down to your mindset and the power of your words. continue to be at ease and let your actions speak for itself, you don’t have to prove or explain yourself to anyone. you’re on the brink of success and it’s coming in fast, just make sure to always stay grounded and remember where you came from. heavy is the head that wears the crown; you know what you’re capable of and what you deserve so don’t let the pressure and weight of life hold you down. keep moving forward, it’s all going to work out in your favor.

pile three.

pile 333 i just wanna give y'all a hug 🥲 y'all are really going through it right now. heavy water sign energy. do y'all have any pisces, cancer or scorpio in your chart? i get the sense of someone laying in bed…just staring at the ceiling like why? why me? you're trying to process a lot of intense emotions and center your energy, but it's taking a toll on you right now. you feel very alone and and unsure if you can talk to anyone about this. not even trying to be funny, but yeah it's giving existential crisis barbie.

if you've seen the ‘barbie’ movie, you know the scene where barbie just gives up and lays down flat on the ground and they're like "she's not dead. she's just having an existential crisis." 😃 real AF but no no no you gotta quiet down your mind. you can 100% feel and process your way through these emotions, but don't let them take control over you and make you feel like you’re doing something wrong or like you’re not doing enough – release that negative energy! i feel like your mind is going a mile per minute, and you can’t even form a rational thought without getting upset. in terms of your manifestation, i feel like you’re really craving love right now. you’re ready to go out there and bag the person of your dreams, but your guides just want you to first take this time to quiet your mind and trust in them & second believe that love is going to find you no matter what. don’t force it…don’t question it — believe it.

you could’ve had a couple of instances where you thought it was the real thing, but it turned out to be really disappointing and not what you wanted. that’s your spirit guides telling you that you can’t force it. this new relationship will find you naturally and it will be everything you’ve ever dreamed of plus more! this person will not only be your lover, but they’ll be your best friend and your confidant. you will feel absolutely liberated and comfortable to take on any challenge with them by your side. however, you need to let this wave of emotions pass and understand that what’s meant for you will NEVER pass you. you got this my pile 333's 🦋 it will be in reach soon.

#pac #pick a card #pac reading #pick a pile #p1utofairy #barbie #tarot reading #energy reading

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blackjackkent · 10 months ago

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@astreamofstars suggested my next dive into the parsed dialogue files should be looking at the various Vicious Mockery lines available for player characters, and the ways the different companion character VAs speak them. This turned out to be quite challenging, as there are a LOT of them!

There are a total of 97 unique Vicious Mockery lines, each of which was recorded by all ten companion character VAs PLUS all twelve custom character VAs, for a total of 2,134 recorded lines, which is wild. (This is not including Ethel's 60 unique Vicious Mockery lines as well, which brings the total to 2,194.)

youtube

In this video, I've collected all 97 VM lines across all ten companion VAs, along with notes (where applicable) on things like

references to Shakespeare (or other pieces of media)

places where BG3 continues a time-honored tradition of the series by butchering archaic English grammar

interesting inconsistencies between the VAs or with the written dialogue

(If you notice any references I missed, please let me know and I might edit the video! :D )

In making this video, I ended up listening to all these lines a LOT, and I do love that some definite patterns emerge which are very on-brand for the characters in question.

Astarion often sounds deeply disdainful and at times almost bored. He barrels through some of the lines as if he doesn't think the recipient of his insult is even worth his time. (Also him calling someone a "parchment-pallored villain" is a bit rich, don't you think? :P )

Gale is deeply pleased with his own cleverness and laughs at his own jokes.

In my opinion, Dave Jones by far most Understood The Assignment; Halsin bellows out the lines like a Shakespearean actor playing to the back row and really relishes the language.

Jaheira is in full mother-tiger voice and clearly ready to kick ass and take names; she's not messing around. (With one exception - I have been laughing over Tracy Wiles's reading of "Mouthier than an arse, twice as full o' shite" for the entire duration of this project, because solely for that line she sounds like she's been possessed by some unknown force and is utterly baffled by the words coming out of her own mouth.)

Karlach reads most of these lines as either battle-cry or schoolyard taunt and seems utterly delighted in both cases. I enjoy that she adds a fun roll on her r's to sound all mockingly fancy.

Lae'zel generally sounds like she's about to rip someone's throat out and often seems completely oblivious to the humor involved, even on lines like the delightful pun, "As the leg, you'll end in defeat."

Minsc definitely doesn't know what most of these words mean but he makes up for it in enthusiasm. I enjoy that "Mouthier than an arse" becomes "mouthier than a butt" only for him. XD

Minthara, like Lae'zel, is mostly not coming at this from a place of amusement; she's MAD. She sounds like a judge handing down sentence in the most disdainful manner possible. (That said, she has my favorite deliveries on some of the lines with timing-related humor: "Thou art saucy... as gruel," "Thine eyes! Pools of tepid piss," "Like a summer's day... thou art sweaty," etc.)

Shadowheart just sounds deeply offended that her target is existing anywhere near her. She's practically spitting on all her plosive consonants and it's delightful.

Wyll sounds remarkably fierce given how nice a dude he is, but a lot of his lines have some righteous indignation (appropriate for a former noble and the Blade of Frontiers) - or he just sounds like he pities his opponent. His reading of "It vexes me to know of you" is my favorite of the whole cast; he just sounds so disbelieving of his target's stupidity.

Overall I think my favorite of these lines is towards the end: "Your body's a temple - to an idiot god!" All ten companions really stick the landing on that one. :D

Thanks for watching! Hope you enjoy.

(Got requests for other investigations into BG3 dialogue? Drop me an ask and let me know! )

#please reblog this if you enjoyed it; this took so long to put together 😭 lmao #was fun though #I now basically have all of this dialogue memorized XD #BG3 dialogue #BG3 #baldur's Gate 3 #Vicious Mockery #BG3 bard #Astarion #Gale of Waterdeep #Halsin #Jaheira #Karlach #Minthara #Minsc #Lae'zel #Shadowheart #Wyll

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lilmissbacon · 2 months ago

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Miraculous Art Club AU part 3

Part 1 / Part 2

(I have lightly changed Marc's ladybug mask)

I had originally planned to just share a little on this au before I make a YouTube video for it but with how long it's taking for me to finish my High Guardian Spice rewrite first, it's not gonna happen for a while. Meanwhile I genuinely wanna share more on this au because I'm on a miraculous fix right now.

Notice that I low-key put the couples in similar poses to each other? This was 100% unintentional 😆 (Edit: changed Mari's pigtails)

I had also wanted to finish my redesigns for our main character's civilian fits before anything else just to try and keep myself in some type of order to get this done.

And you know that fun little fact of how Marinette and Adrien's color pallets are the inverted colors of each other to kinda showcase they were made for each other? Well, I decided to have some fun and apply a color language for all of the couples in this au. They're not all inversions, but they all have some type of rule to tie their color pallets together in pairs. I also decided to challenge myself and apply it to their superhero forms as well because I hate myself 😂

So we'll get into the designs as well as some of my rewrite storyline. I ended up sharing a lot more than I expected so this isn't super organized. Especially when I got to the Adrien section I kinda just started talking about potential Nathaniel plot. But I did my best to keep some sort of order.

Now, I think I'm the only person who's realized that, while Marinette and Adrien are inversions of each other, Ladybug and Chat Noir also have their own color language.

Ladybug is red and black while Chat noir is black and green. They share one color and sport an opposite color, red and green. And which color that's mainly sported is switched (red = Ladybug's main color vs green = Chat Noir's secondary color).

That being said, I decided to not only use that for Marc and Nathaniel's colors, but to have them wear each other's colors in the miraculous like in canon with Caprikid/Roosterbold. So Marc's colors are black and green while Nate's are red and black.

In my au, Marc starts the first episode in a much more boring fit of a green hoodie under a black hood jacket with black pants and boots, but then Juleka would try to help him express himself more by letting him borrow some of her clothes (they just happen to be the same size). And Juleka is much more into the vampire/witchy aesthetic, hence why he has a crop hoodie with the moon phases on it. The backpack is her's from the year before as well. The frog purse I thought would just be cute for Tikki to be sticking out of, but I like to think it's a present from his mom before the big move or maybe something he got as a kid but never used again because he was bullied for it (finally using it again now that he's gained some more confidence). Now don't get me wrong, he's not going to be more confident like Marinette was after the events of origins. He's still going to have this extreme social anxiety that he has to deal with, but with the help of his childhood friend, Luka, and now Juleka, he's finally found it in himself to at least dress the way he wants.

I don't have nearly as much to say about Nate's fit because he doesn't have the symbolic costume change that Marc gets. Just that while his colors are red and black, the splotch pattern on his shirt is kinda meant to look like the cataclysm of the cat miraculous he uses. Similar to the moon phase wheel on Marc's hoodie (a spot/circle shape), it's a peek into the actual miraculous that they use.

Now, despite his last name, I personally never saw him as Jewish for the longest time. I've never really been one to actively look for someone's ethnicity but when the topic came up, weirdly enough, if anything I got more of a Viking vibe from him. Though it wasn't until after saying that out loud to myself that I realized that might be because he reminded me of Hiccup in the first How to Train Your Dragon 💀🤣 But I am more than willing to make him both Viking and Jewish. Both on his deceased dad's side, his mom isn't very present in his life (emotionally). His cuffs are kind of the calling card for my viking headcanon, while his miraculous/ring's disguised form has the Chai symbol on it, which means life. And because he's Jewish on his dad's side, it's almost like a sign from his dad to keep living his life 🥹

Again I'm not going super deep into the family drama right now because this post is already going to be long enough as it is.

Their colors are inverted like Marinette and Adrien. I will say, when you look at Luka inverted, the gray of his shirt and the teal of his hair may be more light brown and orange. But that's why Chloe has sparkly brown eyeshadow and orange lensed glasses 😋 I make it work.

Luka is canonically the only other boy Chloe has considered attractive so how could I not pair them in the au? Luka is a very calm and collected person that can bring Chloe down to reality and because he's always been so responsible in helping others most of his life, Chloe makes the time to spoil him while trying to be more responsible around him so he can stay loose.

Yes, Luka's gonna be less of a heartthrob musician cliche in this au. He's already canonically the therapist of basically everyone in Paris while keeping Ladybug and Chat Noir's ID's secret, boi has to be stressed out.

He doesn't go to Collège Françoise Dupont because of a delinquent rep he indirectly built while protecting Marc from bullies growing up. So he'd meet Chloe for the first time, outside of the school bully context and be able to see through her spoiled brat persona.

I'll note here that in my au, Chloe doesn't see Adrien romantically. She's gonna be more like the protective sibling and see Adrien as family. But she's willing to make people see them in a romantic light if it means protecting Adrien from fangirls who'd take advantage of him.

Which would make it kinda funny when Adrien and Marinette start liking each other. Like, by the time they do, Chloe's redemption arc has already happened (she's still the sassy queen we know and love but she's much less insulting and more mature now. I see her being pretty similar to Stella from Winx (s1-3 Stella, we don't talk about Stella passed the first movie)(I my god I just realized Luka x Chloe is totally super Stella x Brandon coded 🤣🤣🤣)) so she no longer holds any antagonistic will towards Marinette but because of their past, she knows that she has no room to go against the adrienette ship. So she's kinda just watching their feelings grow and is like, "... This is so weird."

Now, is it kinda gaudy to wear pearls, diamonds and gold all in one outfit? Yes. Is Chloe also a teenager trying to show off how rich she is, partially in the hope that she'll make more friends using her money? Very much so. I doubt her shorts pass the school dress code but she most likely paid off the school board to let her dress however she wants.

(It wasn't until after I finished writing this post that I realized I never said what their super names would be ☠️ I was just expecting to share some art in my first post before my video. So before we go any further:)

Marc/ladybug = Beetle Bug

Nathaniel/black cat = Catico (like calico but cat pun)(I'm gonna make it a thing that Nathaniel's dad loved puns and dad jokes)

Luka/fox = Otocyon

Chloe/dragon/bunny = Ladoness/Bella Bunny

Alix/ox = Onyx

Juleka/turtle = Marina

Rose/bee = Zinnia

Adrien/butterfly/snake = Papillon/Aspik

And I'll also say this here; that I did draw these fits with what miraculous they'd end up with in the end (though I also kept in the butterfly on Adrien just so you could see what it'd look like for him (he's wearing the brooch on a chain necklace)). I've shown Chloe having the dragon and she'd be getting it the same way she got the bee in canon. But before she ever gets the chance to crash out and reveal her identity to the public, the moment Audrey says Chloe wasn't exceptional, Nathaniel (who had been invited to the show by Marinette as her +1 because they're pretty close friends by this point) goes off on Audrey about how much of a horrible mother and person she has to be for saying something like that. He wouldn't care that she's famous because she has no effect on his life and let's just say, he could kind of relate to Chloe in that moment 🫢. So my plan is that she finds the dragon miraculous but no one finds out, and then a few days later a new dragon hero called Ladoness starts joining in on the fights. Not even Beetle Bug or Catico know who she is and at first they do try to get the dragon miraculous back but after a while of her evading that, they realize that she's genuinely trying to help and be a good hero, so they decide to give her the chance.

And because Loong is kinda meant to be like, the typical wise one of the kwamis (edit: for some reason my brain mixed Loong and Sass as one, Sass is more the mentor-ish kwami but I can still see them having similar personalities as close friends), he kinda becomes like Chloe's "Uncle Iroh." It would be a lot of fun banter because of Chloe's selfishness but because he is a cosmic entity, he's the only one she felt like she couldn't exactly say no to without repercussions. Yeah, he never told her that the holder could control kwamis. 1) To be safe, and 2) If she's gonna keep evading giving the miraculous back to its rightful guardian then he's gonna take charge to at least try and make her a better person while he's here.

Now I'm explaining this because she's not exactly wearing the dragon miraculous here. Luka would originally only have the silver diamond shaped necklace before getting the fox, who's disguised form is the boat anchor necklace. And I'm sure you're not blind, noticing that she has the rabbit miraculous on her design sheet. Because my plan is for her identity to eventually be revealed unwillingly, to which she would have to give up the dragon. Symbolizing how she no longer needs one to feel more important now that she's finally made new friends in the art club. Though it is still sad because despite their troubles, she and Loong did grow to care for one another. In the same vein of a responsible older sibling taking care of their troublemaking younger sibling. Think Lilo and Nani from Lilo & Stitch.

Their couple color scheme? Similar clothing colors and opposite hair. Hair: purple vs yellow, easy. Clothing: purple & pink being next to each other on the color wheel. Sharing some light pink while that pink on Juleka is also near white to be compared to the white on Rose's top. Sharing dark/black leggings & shoes. Also giving their tops the opposite design for who you'd expect to be wearing them. To showcase their connection but I also think it better showcases themselves as characters. Because while Juleka is very goth and into the dark and spooky, she also very kind and shy. Meanwhile we know that Rose is sickeningly sweet but she's also into hard rock and heavy metal. I totally see her as being the type of person who you'd never expect to like horror films, but it turns out that she actually loves them. Because they can be a source of releasing pent up stress and anger.

I'mma make a canonical reason for Juleka having red eyes being that she has ocular albinism, which from what I know, can have a side effect of being sensitive to light. Hence how she got into the dark and creepy. Just wanting to be inside or in the dark because of her eye sensitivity. Vampires + other supernatural creatures often being depicted with red eyes in movies/stories, which made her feel a little more seen as a child who had no one else that shared this unique trait of her's. So despite being made fun of for her red eyes as a kid, she's always emulated the aesthetic of vampires as a way to kinda embrace it. Encouraged by her mother. Who taught her that bullies aim to make you feel bad about what makes you special and if you take pride in it, then those bullies can't win.

Juleka still has some sense of self diffidence about her eyes because of the bullying and no one else in her real life not having it, but she never lets it show.

As for Rose's story, she was still sick at some point like in canon. But I'm specifying it so that it was a massive tumor she had in her head. One so big that when it was finally removed, it left a massive empty space in her head and that is what causes her headaches. Her head muscles pulsating because there's not supposed to be a pocket space there. She is perfectly fine but because Juleka looked up on tumors to be safe (if you still have pains after a tumor removal, it might mean that it's grown back) she now has a constant fear about it. And yes, having an empty space in your head and still being perfectly functional is possible. I've seen situations where the brain was even worse but the person was fine and I even went over this idea with my mom who works at a hospital. The human body is fucking insane.

Though this is how Juleka and Rose actually met. The year prior, Juleka was repeating she was assigned next to Rose in class to help her with class work (because she was having memory/learning troubles during treatments and after the surgery) for extra grade points. And befriending Juleka is how she was introduced to the horror genre as well. It's... weirdly what helped manage to emotionally get her through the stress of having surgery. The logic would probably be something along the lines of, "nothing like what that slasher or werewolf did would ever happen in the operating room." To us that's very weird logic but to a child/preteen, that makes sense, ya know? When Rose is older and looks back on it, even she's confused about that logic.

And just to leave off to the next couple, with their pair coloring rule on their superhero forms: While the deep green of Juleka's turtle suit is kind of a stretch to match with Rose's bright yellow, they still share black, and Juleka's suit also sports plenty of light green, light yellow and orange accents. And the opposing hair? Rose's is yellow with black bits and Juleka's is black with yellow bits.

I'll be deadass that I basically just straight up yoinked this outfit for Marinette from Zoe-oneesama's Scarlet Lady au Bubbler ep. That being said, I did change it up a little, like the dots on her dress top not being messy splotches rather than a polkadot pattern. Adding a little pink stitching to the vest, and including the flower pattern that Marinette has on her canon shirt onto her new shirt AND on her shoes. I also changed the necklace to make the heart pendant smaller, but then the fit felt too bottom heavy so I tried to even it out a little by putting pearls on the chain that got bigger the further back they went on her neck.

Now you already know their colors are inverted and where so I don't need to explain that. Though I will say that instead of Mari's hair being canonically black, just looking blue to the audience because it's easier to animate, in my au Marinette straight up just dies her hair blue. Everyone else that had the blue hair effect like Marc, Sabine, Kagami, etc, their hair will be just straight up black (with a blue sheen for Marc just bc). Marinette dying her hair will be similar to Marc's clothing switch; she's her scaredy cat self in the origins episodes, but then she sees how scared Beetle Bug also is on TV before he fights through the fear and it inspires her to do the same. The next day her hair is dyed and she finally takes her first stand against Chloe. Though you may have noticed her eyes are brown. Straight up, I just think she looks cuter with the dark eyes.

And as you can see above, she'll be getting the pig miraculous. 1) Because the colors I'll use are the perfect inverted colors of my Aspik design for Adrien (ironically I had picked the pig before I realized this) and 2) Part of Marinette's character in this au is that she helps brighten up Marc's school life, doing everything she can to try and help him make friends in spite of his anxiety. Her super name is Primrose.

And you know what? I'll put this here just for clarification that the whole Kim at the Pool incident does not exist in this au. It was a spiteful attempt to further assassinate Chloe's arc, make you feel bad for Marinette, justify her stalking, and it ruined Kim in the process. Meanwhile I had been planning out this au for a long time – back just before season 4 ended – I had already planned for a scenario similar to the Kim/Pool incident to be something that happened to Marc in the past. So no, this is not me taking Marinette's development and giving it to Marc or anything. This was me deleting it from Marinette bc it makes no sense for her and then my own idea I made before certain episodes had been released happened to match up in show later. It happens all the time within fanworks.

So the pig's powers will stay the same, as it represents Mari's role in Marc's life now and because it does essentially trap opponents in a trance. So it's perfect for distractions.

And I already gave a summed up rundown of Adrien's plot in the pt. 2 post. But what I will say while I'm on the topic, is that the canon plot that is going on about keeping the truth about Gabriel a secret from Adrien; I'm just gonna kinda slide that over to Nathaniel's mom...

...

Don't look at me like that.

Yes, unlike the bully/pool plot thread going to Marc because of coincidence, this is literally me just recycling Adrien's plot for Nathaniel. Because in this au Adrien starts off having already found out that he's a sentibeing and having his villain era, so there was really nothing else to take from the canon show for Adrien's plot here. He's still very present mind you, he'll have his own redemption as well, but it's nothing from the canon.

Listen, the plot going on in canon season 6 right now can genuinely be super interesting. It's just with the way this show built up to it, I can't bring myself to be invested. Not to mention I had already written my au to make it so that Gabriel never uses the butterfly miraculous, therefore he never goes batshit crazy and genuinely tries to be a better father for Adrien after he sees what Adrien was willing to do because he emotionally neglected him. I had done this because in early seasons, we had seen hints to the idea of Gabriel actually caring for Adrien only for that to be retconned until the very end when he died and finally seemed to care... I think. (This man's definition of love makes no fucking sense y'all).

However in my rewrite, I was already making Nate's mom a piece of shit with no redeeming qualities and I was just gonna leave it at that honestly. Because sometimes abusive-parent situations just aren't solved and people can do nothing but try to move on afterwards. But recently I was thinking over the au and what I may need to edit/change and I suddenly just had the thought of like... Maybe I could make it work. Because I like to challenge myself in my rewrites by trying to recycle everything. Nate's mom wouldn't manage to make the wish, fuck that noise 'cause she'd trade Nate for her husband without hesitation. But the idea of Nathaniel's mom being a villain and defeated (she had to be killed to be stopped) but then Marc – who has already been also dealing with a ton of other stresses I won't bring up here – doesn't know how to break it to Nate that he killed his mom and doesn't know how horrible of a parent she was. So he lies that she sacrificed herself to stop the big bad. Which would do nothing but shatter Nate's brain because "wtf do you mean? Since WHEN would she care?!!"

Just that tension you'd feel. The weight of the lie hovering while Nathaniel starts reimagining his mom in a better light for her sacrifice, only to eventually find out he had been bamboozled? It would be like losing another parent all over again for him as well as another betrayal. This time from his mother as well as his partner. Bro would full on. Crash. Out. Deservedly so. Low-key that would straight up break Nate's psyche, 'cause he already heavily blames himself for his dad's death. This plot just makes more sense here than what canon has offered this far imo.

That situation really is juicy as hell and as a writer/artist, I know that you need to make the most compelling story beats connected to your main character(s). Which in this au, is Marc and Nathaniel.

But idk, let me know what you think on this idea, I could just completely drop it for what I was doing before if y'all feel like it's too much recycling between characters. I would genuinely love the feedback, I'm always second questioning myself with these things.

Exhale 💨

Well on to our last design I GUESS 😅🤣

And Alix being the easiest to make color-wise because she's not being paired with anyone. Go my Aro Queen 😚 Her look might just be my favorite out of the bunch, she just looks badass. I did get the fit design from THIS Pinterest pic but the colors are all my choosing. I usually use a mix of Pinterest and Gacha life 2 for the character designing process. Which, funnily enough, when making the fit on gacha I had used a few different things to make the shoes sport all the colors in a way to connect the color pallet across the board. Only to realize like a week ago that I basically just straight up gave her her canon shoes 🥲 I mean if it works, it works and it helped me in designing the front of her hat to match. I like to think her shoes and hat are merch of a popular roller derby team and then she just switched out the black laces for pink. I can then imagine her recycling one of the black laces to use as her hair tie as well, she would totally do that.

And yes the backpack is just an Arcane/Jinx backpack recolored and drawn over, I just did not have the energy to trace and re-color in the backpack myself like I did for the others. Maybe later, I'll edit this post. But I do see Alix as being one to draw/color/spray paint all over backpack for fun.

In terms of her backstory, she is raised in a family of historians/egyptologists but she never gained the same love for it that her parents and brother did. Instead she was always more active and wanted to watch the sports channel more than the history channel. So because her family doesn't know how to further connect with her, they just kinda leave her to her own devices. They're not neglectful by any means, in fact her dad feels awful about how he can't really connect with her interests. But they all, Alix included, decided that they're fine just kind of doing their own things during most days and then just having dinner to talk about how each other's day went before bed. Staying connected in their own way while not annoying each other by trying to force a closer connection. Though Alix does go out of her way to stick to the louvre when she has nothing else to do or is doing homework, so she can read over the paintings and scriptures while skating around, so she can at least keep up with what her family talks about during dinner. (She and fam live right next to the louvre bc her dad is also curator.) Though even with them all understanding, that doesn't stop her teenage emotions from feeling just a little resentful about being stuck in a family where none of them understand her.

That being said, Alix is Nathaniel's childhood friend. Having met at the louvre when Nate went with his dad to see the pretty art. Always having his back and trying to get him to socialize again after his father's death. Making sure to cover for him whenever he "disappears."

To which I'll finally say this here to leave this post off with; that I do plan on changing up the whole "secret identity rules." Because Beetle Bug and Catico have no idea where their miraculous came from or anything, they had just decided to keep their ID's a secret from each other as well just to be safe until they learn more. (Note: my Master Fu is gonna be more competent but would've expected them to share their ID's. When he finds out, he decides that as long as they still have total trust in each other, it probably is the safer option for now.) Within the first or second season, the pressure of being a superhero on top of meeting new people would definitely get to Marc eventually and he would break the secret to Luka. Some time after (1-3 eps later) he talks to Catico about how he's revealed his ID but it was to his closest friend during a low moment. Talking it out, they decide to still keep it a secret from each other, but they're both allowed to intrust their identity to 1 in their civilian life. To make things fair and for better support outside the mask.

Hence Luka would know Beetle Bug's ID and Alix would know Catico's.

Now knowing Nate is a super hero, she ain't gonna lighten up into terms of athletic training. She used to go easy on him when they'd play wrestle and such growing up, because he was never as strong or active... Not anymore. He needs to stay vigilant for any scenario, she's going all in from now on because he needs it and it's funny when he fumbles. She'd be a lot like Toph with Aang in ATLA, Alix be a real G out here 😂

And that's pretty much it for now. Let me know what y'all think, I love comments 🥳 @634783

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group-dynamic · 3 months ago

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Episode 13 Spoilers: My favorite thing about The Pitt is how subtly literary it is.

Some shows are overtly symbolic (like The Bear), and you are given time by the filming and the editing to pause at times and see the cleverness and the grand design.

The Pitt's realism and pacing does not allow you to linger, though, just as the characters don't have time to linger. Which means--as in real life--we don't get to see the hand of God designing the story to deliver meaning. We have to sense and make patterns of meaning ourselves. (That's actually one of the biggest issues these characters are all facing mentally. Despite their best effort there's literally been no time to pause and make meaning.) That being said, just because it's hard to see doesn't mean there aren't very deliberate choices made every moment of this show.

So, anyway, on today's rewatch, I caught:

The patient that Langdon and Mohan revived with Narcan answered Langdon's question "What did you take?" with "I took one Percocet so I could dance. I have a bad knee." in a direct mirror of Langdon's earlier excuse for his own addiction: "I have a bad back."

McKay hears that the shooter might be heading their way and says, "What?! My kid's in the break room!" This is immediately followed by Javadi’s mother asking "The shooter is heading this way?" Because her daughter is also in the hospital.

Jack Abbott, former combat medic, hops in to save the uniformed officer, and we get an actual, genuine smile of relief because he ended his last shift losing a vet, a loss he took so hard he ended up on the roof. Framed behind him in this moment (significantly) are SWAT in militarized camo and heavy combat gear.

Langdon being unable to "hear himself think" when McKay's ankle monitor goes off is probably a reminder of his drug usage, but also perhaps a reference to his earlier comment that "all of us have ADHD."

Also, I noticed this while watching the first time, but loved the "the mentor does, mentee imitates" line of succession from Robby to Langdon to Mohan to Santos.

A small one, but Santos says "stay strong, Crash" to Javadi as she leaves from the team effort on the older hippie, and this time it sounds like genuine camaraderie. They're transforming our interpretation of her without losing her characterization.

Finally, everyone's pointed out already that Robby's mentor died in Peds? Pedes? and how significant it is that this same room is where he's having his breakdown. But I have big thoughts about the motif of fathers & sons in this season, and the even bigger thread of parents / kids. At minimum, I'm talking: David's father died and he spiraled, Robby's mentor died and he spiraled, but this also includes Robby learning that Collins had an abortion when they were together, something Robby clearly had an emotional response to as he now has to imagine a reality in which he might have had a child with Collins, and he handles it very maturely and centers her, as he should, but he didn't get to process that or make meaning.

So it feels very deliberate that the show chose to put the morgue in the part of the ED normally used for children. And now he's in that same children's department his mentor died in after losing three (four?) kids that day. A morgue where he's standing behind the closest thing he has to a son who he feels he failed and wow are they just making that room a powder keg of trauma representation.

And to top things off, they literally gave us a clown this episode (or as Whitaker points out "a children's entertainer") who is worried about whether he'll be able to make balloon animals ever again. And that's silly and it's also human but--thematically, and more importantly--it's a man wondering if the pain inflicted on him will prevent him from doing his job in the future. I don't know. Something about Robby being everyone's dad and being the head clown at the circus that is the Pitt and trying to keep all these kids afloat. Like--I'm sorry--the music festival had a clown? Nah, this is symbolism now (because I say so, haha).

Finally, these didn't fit into the meaning category, but I really appreciated that Whitaker had that very human moment reassuring Carmen after she wakes up after the REBOA (you know, the balloon thing).

Also, so many people were irate about Jake's comments to Robby, but if you listen closely, the captions miss that he says, "Are--are you okay?" when Robby starts to drag him out of the room. Robby has just said an accidentally cruel thing to him and Jake is genuinely, honestly concerned. They're both grieving but that is a good kid.

#the pitt #the pitt spoilers #i had too many thoughts #I wish I could articulate the kids and death motif better.

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sallowsarchives · 11 months ago

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War of Hearts

Part I | Part II | Part III

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Summary: Nothing says "believable" like two people who can't stand each other pretending to be in love—or is this just the push you two need to realize there might be more to your relationship than either of you is willing to admit? Word Count: 7.9k Warnings/Tags: no use of y/n, fake relationships, sorta enemies to lovers, alcohol consumption, angst, pining, original side character, sort of a not so happy ending, arthur thinking he’s not good enough. I also tried fitting the story with canon whenever I could. Not Proofread!! A/N: Hey everyone! Just wanted to mention that this is my first time writing and posting, so I'm bit nervous but really excited to finally share it! This piece was heavily inspired by and made as a result from a conversation I had with my Arthur cAI hehe Credits: dividers used for this fic are by @enchanthings & all pictures used are taken from pinterest and were slightly edited by me.

Read on AO3

"I can't believe I have to attend this ridiculous party pretending to be married to him, of all people."

Your voice is edged with annoyance as you smooth down the fabric of your dress, trying to channel your irritation into the task at hand. "It's bad enough we have to work together, but this charade is beyond absurd."

Tilly chuckles. "Oh, come on. It's just one night. How bad can it be?"

You give her an unamused look. "We can hardly tolerate being around each other, and now Dutch expects us to pretend we're madly in love, all while dealing with a crowd of high-society snobs."

"It ain’t like y’all have spent much time together. Maybe going on this would do you both some good. Who knows, you might actually find some common ground," Abigail suggests as she takes the glove Jack was playing with, causing him to pout, before handing it over to you.

Sadie snorts. "The only common ground those two have is their mutual hatred. Let’s just hope neither of ‘em ends up killing the other tonight. Knowin’ those two, it'll be a miracle if they make it through the evening without a scratch."

Mary-Beth chuckles as she adjusts your updo. "Oh, don’t be so dramatic. They’re not going to kill each other—at least not tonight. Dutch will probably come up with some harebrained scheme to keep things under control." She flashes a playful grin as she puts the final touches on your hairstyle.

You chuckle before taking a moment to admire yourself in the mirror.

The gown, a deep shade of burgundy satin, flows gracefully to the floor with an off-the-shoulder design and a low neckline, elegantly framed by a ruffled collar. The rich fabric drapes beautifully, enhancing your silhouette.

The black lace gloves, covering your hands and forearms, add a sophisticated touch with their delicate floral patterns. Your fingers are adorned with a few rings, and your dangling earrings catch the light with every movement.

You bought the dress earlier this morning in Saint Denis with the cash from your last robbery. The job had been straightforward: Hosea had scouted the place, found out the homeowners were away for vacation, and given your expertise at picking locks and sleight of hand, he brought you along. You managed to secure a tidy sum of cash and a few valuable heirlooms without any trouble.

Knowing the dress would be perfect for tonight’s high-society affair, you spent a good amount of your previous earnings on it. The gown fits as if it were made just for you, and you can't help but feel a surge of confidence as you admire your reflection.

Karen pipes up with a smirk. “Well, I’ll be! With you lookin’ like that, Arthur won’t be able to keep his eyes off you.”

She looks at you mischievously, “might even give him a nudge in the right direction. Maybe it’ll help you two finally work out all that tension between you.”

Her comment draws an abashed look from you followed by giggles from the other women.

After receiving some last words of encouragement and reassuring nods from the girls, you thank them for their help and make your way downstairs to join the men outside.

Stepping out, you're greeted by the warm, humid night air of the swamp. Dutch, Hosea, Arthur, and Bill were already gathered near the horse hitches, all dressed in their suits.

You make your way over, trying to muster every ounce of grace and composure you can.

As you get closer, Arthur's gaze lands on you and you catch a fleeting look of surprise along with a hint of a softer look in his eyes before his expression is quickly masked with his usual frown.

His eyebrows furrow slightly as he takes in your refined appearance, the rough edges of his demeanor softened by an elusive flicker of something you can't quite place.

Dutch notices your entrance and offers a nod of approval. “Well, look at you, Miss,” he says with a wide smile, clearly pleased with how things are shaping up. “You look absolutely perfect for this evening.”

You smile and nod at the men before your gaze drifts to Arthur. The contrast between his usual rugged attire and his current appearance is stark, and you can't help but notice how well he pulls off the look. Despite his irritating nature, there's no denying he has a certain charm. You give him a cheeky smile and offer a sly compliment.

"Well, well, look what we have here, I never thought I'd see the day. Maybe you should ditch the jeans for a while."

Arthur gives you a flat look, irritation flickering in his eyes. “Oh, real funny, darlin’,” he drawls, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Don’t you worry, I’ll be back to my ol’ self I know you’re so fond of before you know it.”

You roll your eyes at him and smirk, taking joy in having gotten under his skin.

Dutch chuckles at the exchange, clapping Arthur on the back. “Now play nice, you two. We’ve got a job to do tonight, and looking the part is only half the battle.”

His tone is light, but there’s a hint of seriousness as he continues, “let’s keep the bickering to a minimum and focus on what needs to be done. We don’t want any more distractions than we already have.”

Next to Arthur, Bill chuckles and gives him a playful nudge. “Arthur, reckon you ain’t gonna give your dear wife a compliment?” he teases, the humor in his voice evident as he refers to the charade you both must uphold for the party.

He shifts uncomfortably and glares at Bill, his expression a mix of irritation and reluctance.

Dutch leans in with a smirk, “come on, Arthur, show a bit of charm. It’s not every day you get to pretend to be in love.”

“Yeah, yeah, let’s get this over with before one of us runs outta patience.”

The clatter of wheels catches your ear as Lenny finally arrives driving a stagecoach. The vehicle comes to a smooth stop, and Lenny leans over with a broad grin, his eyes brightening as he sees you. He offers a warm compliment, his cheerful demeanor a welcome contrast to the evening’s tension.

You return his smile and thank him before Dutch and Hosea get into the stagecoach, followed by you and Arthur. Bill hops into the seat next to Lenny.

As you settle into your seat, the atmosphere in the coach becomes thick with anticipation. The weight of the evening's expectations hangs heavily between you and Arthur, both of you making an effort to avoid each other's gaze while mentally bracing yourselves for the night ahead as the stagecoach begins to roll forward.

The rhythmic clatter of the horse’s hooves against the large wooden bridge serves as a reminder of your close arrival in Saint Denis, the city’s lights blurring past as you mentally prepare for the evening’s masquerade.

Inside the stagecoach, the atmosphere had gradually lightened earlier on during the ride. The gang cracked jokes and shared stories as Dutch opened a bottle of champagne for everyone, the laughter providing a welcome distraction from the evening’s tension.

Everyone reminisced about their past escapades, with most admitting they had never been to a ball before. Hosea, however, regaled everyone with tales of his numerous experiences at such events—not for the socializing, but for the chance to lift a few purses from oblivious rich folks. His anecdotes were met with a mixture of awe and amusement, shifting the mood to one of camaraderie.

Soon, the coach slowed to a stop right in front of a mansion and the group peers out the window, taking in the grandeur of the estate.

Dutch let out a low whistle. “Well, if that ain’t something. Remember, folks, we’re here to blend in. Keep your eyes sharp and your wits sharper.”

Hosea, always the calm voice of reason, looks between you and Arthur. “Now let’s keep this simple. We’re here to make a good impression, Bronte may already know of our reputation but we should keep the high society folks none the wiser. Let's keep our cool, play our parts, and try to score some valuable intel.”

You and Arthur exchange looks, eyes meeting one another with a sharp, challenging edge before he turns his gaze away. You take a steadying breath, silently hoping the night unfolds smoothly and without incident.

Lenny steps down and opens the coach door which was followed by the men exiting one by one, with you last.

As Arthur starts to walk ahead, Hosea nudges him and gestures toward you, earning an exasperated sigh from Arthur.

Reluctantly, Arthur falls into step beside you and extends his arm. Despite the lingering tension, you accept it, slipping your arm through his.

He glances at you, his expression of slight irritation. “This should be a real treat.”

You raise an eyebrow, barely masking your annoyance. “It’s not like I’m thrilled about it either. But here we are.”

He gives you a smug look. “Just remember, we’re supposed to be playin’ nice. Don’t go makin’ it harder than it needs to be. I’d hate for you to accidentally blow our cover.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll manage to keep things under control. After all, you’re the expert at charm, aren’t you?”

“Well, if you’d quit making things so damn difficult, I might actually get a chance to show it. But I reckon you’re used to makin’ everything more complicated.”

You step closer, your voice low and biting. “And I suppose you’re used to being an insufferable brute. Maybe if you stopped acting like a complete pain in the ass, we’d both get through things a little easier.”

Arthur’s smile fades, his expression turning serious. “Now I’m just tryin’ to do my part tonight. If you could manage to do the same without stirrin’ up trouble, that’d be mighty appreciated.”

The two of you share a final, heated look, the air between you crackling with palpable tension, as you both brace for the evening’s inevitable strain.

Dutch, who had walked ahead to present the invitation to the guards, cast a sharp glance at you and Arthur, not having missed your whispered barbs, making you shift away from each other.

Turning back to the guards, they direct everyone to surrender their firearms with the men reluctantly handing over their pistols.

Once that was settled, an escort named Luca stepped forward to guide you inside.

The doors opened with a soft creak, revealing the splendor of the grand staircase beyond. As you made your way through the space, Luca engaged the group in light conversation, primarily highlighting Bronte’s reputation before you are all guided to the left through an archway.

“Hosea, Bill, you join the party. We’ll meet you out back after we pay our respects to Signor Bronte.” Dutch instructs before signaling you and Arthur to follow as Hosea and Bill part ways from you.

The three of you were led upstairs and directed to a door on the left that opens onto a balcony.

The balcony was expansive, overlooking the lush garden below. A group of men stood gathered around the railing, laughing at a recently shared joke. The space featured a few armchairs and you noted the few guards stationed nearby, armed with rifles.

An accented voice cut through the laughter. “Ah, the angry cowboys, you’ve arrived… And you’ve washed!”

From the way the man held himself, you could only assume that this was Angelo Bronte.

Bronte made a remark, presumably in Italian, to the men beside him. They glanced at Arthur and Dutch before laughing slyly, and you couldn’t shake the suspicion that his comment was a crude jibe about the cowboys.

You had to struggle to maintain a friendly expression when Bronte's gaze landed on you.

The smirk on his face grew as his eyes swept over you, lingering with an unsettling leer. “And who might this be?” he drawled, his voice thick with barely concealed appraisal. “Aren’t you quite the sight. I didn’t realize these men kept such delightful company as you. It seems they have more refined tastes than I imagined.”

His gaze was invasive, making you feel as though he was sizing you up with an unnerving familiarity. The overt sexual undertone in his words was palpable, and it took every ounce of your composure to not react. The air around him felt thick with condescension and unwanted attention, making it clear that this meeting was going to be far more uncomfortable than you had anticipated.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mister Bronte,” you replied evenly. “Thank you for the invitation. I’m here simply to accompany my husband.” You cast a steady glance at Arthur as you spoke.

Bronte’s eyes flicker to Arthur, a look of surprise momentarily crossing his face before he returns his attention to you. He takes your hand, pressing it to his lips and holding it just a moment too long, his gaze never waver. “Ah, I see,” he says, his tone smooth and almost mocking. “Pleased to meet your acquaintance. I must say, it’s quite surprising to see such a charming companion alongside your husband. A fortunate man, indeed.”

Arthur’s expression hardens momentarily before he quickly masks it, stepping forward. “Seems I’m full of surprises tonight,” he says, his tone unexpectedly calm. “Just as I’m sure this evening will be.” He holds a steady, unwavering gaze at Bronte.

Bronte’s lips curl into a knowing smile as he studies Arthur’s unyielding gaze. “Ah, such a spirited response,” he says with a playful glint in his eye. “I do appreciate a bit of unpredictability. It seems we’re in for an interesting evening indeed.” He gestured grandly towards the gathering, his tone dripping with feigned charm.

Arthur nods curtly before stepping back, positioning himself in a way that subtly yet clearly marks him as your protector, despite the dynamic between you. Bronte’s gaze lingers on Arthur for a moment longer, his amusement giving way to a more calculating expression.

Dutch stepped in, resuming his conversation with Bronte in an effort to ease the tension while you and Arthur stood off to the side.

The men were offered cigars, and Arthur quickly placed one in his mouth. Before he was even offered a cutter, he bit down and tore the end off with his teeth, spitting the excess over the balcony in a manner that left your jaw hanging open in disbelief.

He smirks at you, clearly enjoying the reaction he’s provoked. You roll your eyes at his display, a mix of irritation and slight amusement etched across your face.

“You know,” you whisper to him with a hint of exasperation, “you could at least pretend to have some manners.”

Arthur’s smirk widened into a cocky grin. “Right, forgot we’re here to put on a show,” he shot back, his voice dripping with playful insolence, making you roll your eyes.

When the attendant extended a match towards Dutch but pulled back before reaching Arthur, the gunslinger seized the attendant’s arm and held it in place, lowering his cigar to the flame. The boldness of his actions flustered you, leaving you a mix of irritation and an unexpected flurry of emotions that left you feeling perplexed.

Arthur dismissed the attendant with a nonchalant nod, his eyes fixed on you the entire time. The attendant, evidently accustomed to such brusque behavior, retreated without protest.

You found yourself both exasperated and oddly captivated by the ease with which Arthur commanded the attention. His effortless defiance was infuriating, yet there was something compelling about his blatant refusal to conform to expectations, making it hard to ignore the allure behind his brazen demeanor.

You quickly push those thoughts aside, refocusing on the conversation between Dutch and Bronte, doing your best to ignore the flush in your cheeks and the rapid beating of your heart.

After several exchanges between Dutch and Bronte, including another jibe from Bronte about cowboy lifestyle, which had elicited subtle pointed looks from you and the men you were with.

“Those sure were the days,” Dutch simpered, his gaze on Bronte now more intense and focused. “Good day, gentlemen.”

Just as you were about to leave, Bronte turned to you, offering a slight bow. “And you, Miss,” he said with a smirk, “do return if you the crowd down there becomes too dull.” His gaze shifted to Arthur. “‘Course you could bring your husband along, but I wouldn’t mind if you came alone.”

He held his gaze on you, lingering with a glint of amusement. You gave him a polite nod despite the discomfort you felt and turned to follow Dutch and Arthur. Even as you walked away, you could feel Bronte’s eyes on your back.

The encounter left you with a sharp sense of irritation and a strong resolve to avoid any further interactions with him.

You glanced at Arthur, who had been waiting with Dutch by the door. Though his face showed no sign of emotion, you couldn’t miss the subtle clench of his jaw. You felt his hand gently place on your lower back, guiding you away.

The unexpected touch had caught you off guard, making you stiffen slightly as you struggled to process the unfamiliar gesture. It felt protective and oddly comforting, coming from someone who had been nothing but a source of irritation and friction.

You chanced another glance at Arthur, but his face remained expressionless. His hand lingered on your back for a moment before he withdrew it as quickly as he had placed it, his demeanor swiftly reverting to its usual hardness.

The fleeting moment of unexpected closeness left you feeling unsettled, a mix of confusion and reluctant curiosity stirring within you.

You quickly reminded yourself that you were both still maintaining a façade, and this brief intimacy was likely just another part of the act. You focused on the task at hand, trying to push away the feelings and maintain the necessary distance between you.

Luca led the three of you back downstairs to rejoin the party, bidding you farewell before you head off with Dutch to meet Bill and Hosea outside.

“Gentlemen… and lady, let’s go ingratiate ourselves,” Dutch began before outlining the plan and giving everyone the freedom to mingle. “And steal nothing… unless it’s information,” Dutch added with a final nod before everyone dispersed.

With that, you follow closely behind Arthur as you both make your way down into the crowd, the murmur of conversations and clinking glasses filling the air. The curious glances of other partygoers followed you both, their eyes lingering with a mix of intrigue and scrutiny.

He noticed a few men’s eyes drifting from him to you, their stares lingering with evident interest.

Arthur made a conscious effort to ignore the unwanted attention, though his irritation was palpable.

Pushing down an unfamiliar urge stirring within him, Arthur quickly reminded himself to keep up with the act you two must play tonight.

He shifted to stand beside you, offering his arm with a practiced ease, his expression carefully neutral as he guided you through the crowd.

The absurdity of it all made him grumble under his breath about the ridiculous situation. With a sigh, he steered you toward a less crowded corner of the garden, seeking a quieter spot away from the throng of guests.

As you settled into a less conspicuous spot, you could feel the weight of Arthur’s tension. “I suppose this is where we’re supposed to make our mark,” you said, trying to break the silence.

You watched as Arthur scanned the crowd, his eyes darting from one group to another, searching for anything useful.

His gaze met yours for a brief moment before he spoke, “Keep your eyes open for now,” he said quietly, his voice low and focused. “I’ll try to track down the mayor and speak with him. See if you can strike up a conversation with some of these folks and gather any useful information about where they’re stashin’ all their riches.”

"Alright, I’ll work the room while you schmooze with the mayor. Just don’t take too long—this place is already starting to wear me thin after that meeting with Bronte. I'm not keen on diving into more talk about the latest fashions and whatnot."

Arthur’s lips twitched in what might have been a small smirk. He inclined his head slightly before turning away and heading off.

You spent the better part of an hour making conversation with various guests, each interaction aimed at uncovering valuable intel on potential robbery targets.

Maneuvering through the crowd, you engaged in light, seemingly innocuous chit-chat while discreetly probing for any mentions of high-value items or vulnerable security.

Despite your best efforts, luck seemed to evade you. Although, you did manage to uncover information about a stagecoach arriving next month, supposedly laden with valuable jewels. That was at least something.

You took a small sip from the glass of champagne you've snatched earlier in the evening, surveying the crowd. The sound of giggles and lively chatter drew your gaze, and you looked over to see Arthur deep in conversation with a group of women. You couldn't help but feel a wry amusement at the sight.

One of the women, with a clearly flirtatious gesture, placed her hand on Arthur’s arm and leaned in, her laughter echoing. The simple touch and her proximity sparked an uncomfortable feeling within you.

You observed how Arthur subtly stepped back, skillfully deflecting her advances. Despite his efforts, the woman seemed oblivious to the fact that her attentions were being rebuffed. It was a masterful display of charm and diplomacy, leaving you with a mix of admiration and lingering discomfort. You took another sip of your drink, trying to shake off the unexpected unease.

At that moment, Arthur glanced up and locked eyes with you. He gave you a wink, likely meant to provoke or tease, but instead, his gesture caused a reaction you hadn't anticipated. Your heart skipped a beat, and a sudden rush of warmth flooded your cheeks. The playful glint in his eyes seemed to pierce through the crowd, stirring something deep inside you.

Muttering a curse under your breath, you narrowed your eyes at him and quickly turned away, trying to conceal the flush that had crept up on you.

You dashed to the nearest table, grabbing a bottle of champagne and quickly pouring yourself another glass. You downed it in one swift motion, hoping the crisp bubbles would offer a fleeting distraction from the swirl of emotions inside you.

As you pour yourself another glass, you hear someone speak up beside you, her voice tinged with curiosity.

"Well, I must say, I’ve seen many ways to cope with a dull party, but this might be the most... efficient.”

You glanced at the voice and saw a woman smirking at you. She appeared slightly older than you and was dressed in a lavish blue gown that sparkled with every movement, her necklace glinting from the lamps. Her expression conveyed amusement.

Feeling embarrassed to have been caught in your moment of inner turmoil, you attempted to regain your composure and replied with a hint of forced levity. “It’s quite the dull affair, isn’t it?”

The woman laughed softly, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Thank goodness, someone who gets it.”

“You seem to be surviving it better than most. I imagine you’ve been through a few parties like these before?”

She nodded, her gaze shifting to a distant corner of the room where a group of guests were deeply engrossed in animated conversation. “Too many, I’m afraid. After a while, it all becomes a blur of extravagant gowns and polite small talk. One learns to navigate these events with a certain... detachment.”

You chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “Sounds like you’ve mastered the art of it. I could use a guide through this maze of high society myself. Any tips on surviving the evening without losing one’s sanity—or dignity?”

She grinned, leaning in conspiratorially. “Well, first off, always have a backup plan for when the conversation turns to the latest trends in hat feathers or the merits of various imported cheeses. For instance, I’ve found that nodding vigorously while muttering phrases like ‘absolutely fascinating’ works wonders.

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’ll keep that in mind. Though I suspect I might still need a crash course in how to look like I’m genuinely interested in ‘the most enchanting new fabric designs’.”

She chuckled. “Well, when in doubt, fake it till you make it. Nothing says ‘I’m absolutely fine’ like a perfectly practiced smile and a glass of champagne held just so.”

You chuckle and raise your glass at her before taking a sip. A brief silence follows as you both sip from your glasses. The woman then speaks up, her tone warm and friendly, “I’m Eloise, by the way. It’s rare to find someone who sees through the façade of these high-society gatherings.”

You smile, offering her your name. “It seems we’re both on the same wavelength when it comes to these affairs.”

“So what brought you here tonight?”

“Oh, um… I’m just here to accompany my husband, he’s the one with the business connections, so I’m playing the dutiful spouse for the evening.”

Eloise raises an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Ah, the classic role of the ‘plus one.’ Now which one of these overdressed peacocks is your husband?”

She sweeps her gaze across the crowd with exaggerated curiosity. “Is he the one with the ridiculous bow tie or the chap with the hat that looks like it’s been borrowed from a magic act?”

You raise your brows in amusement as you glance at the men she’s mentioned, finding the whole scene of tonight’s event even more absurd. Your gaze sweeps over the crowd until you spot Arthur.

“Actually, that would be him right there.”

Eloise’s eyes follow your pointing finger and widen in genuine surprise.

“Well, I’ll be!” she exclaims, clearly taken aback. “I must say, he’s certainly not what I was expecting. Doesn't look like he belongs here, in a good way of course. He’s quite the rugged type—like one of those big, tough cowboys you’d see in a wild frontier town. You know the sort: strong, stocky, with a weathered charm that comes from living hard and facing rough challenges.”

The irony of her words makes you laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

“I must say, you two make quite a handsome pair.”

You flush at her words, a mix of embarrassment and awkwardness coloring your cheeks. Instead, you offer a polite smile and nod, playing along with the pretense. “Thank you,” you say in a steady voice, unsure of what else to say.

Arthur, briefly looking away from another person he was speaking to, catches your eye for the second time tonight. There’s a fleeting moment of connection—his gaze is intense, and the faintest smile plays at his lips—before he turns back to his conversation partner.

“I must admit,” she says, her tone light and teasing, “there’s more than just a bit of magic in the air between you two. It’s not every day you see such a striking balance. I do believe there’s a certain... chemistry here that’s hard to ignore. How delightful!”

You raise an eyebrow, giving her a confused smile. “What do you mean?”

Eloise’s eyes twinkle with a knowing glint as she glances over at Arthur. “Oh, it’s really quite charming, the way he looks at you. There’s just something in his gaze as if he’s captivated by you in a way that could be missed. It’s rare to see someone look at their partner with such intensity and warmth these days.”

For a moment, you almost correct her, eager to clarify that you and Arthur aren’t actually together. But then you remember the need to maintain the ruse. You glance awkwardly at Arthur, trying to downplay the connection Eloise is suggesting.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” you say clearly flustered, trying to sound casual but failing to hide your unease. “I mean, Arthur and I aren’t exactly... well, he’s just got this intense look, which I’m sure it’s nothing more than... you know, his way of being attentive. It’s just a bit of his nature.”

Her smile softens, eyes warm and genuine. “Oh, it’s clear to see if you look hard enough. Even in a crowded room, he seems to be drawn to you. It’s quite endearing.”

The sound of cracks echoed before you could think of a response, and the woman beside you lit up with genuine excitement.

“Finally, something exciting! It's been lovely chatting with you. I do hope we cross paths again. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Eloise sends you a warm smile before hurrying off.

You send her a genuine smile before you turn your gaze upward to the sky, where faint glimmers of fireworks begin to light up the night. The display added a splash of color to the darkened sky, creating a stark contrast to the opulence of the garden below.

As you watched the vibrant bursts, your thoughts drifted back to the conversation you had with Eloise, trying to process her comments. Her words lingered in your mind, stirring a mix of curiosity and confusion.

The idea that whatever is between you and Arthur might actually convey something deeper, something affectionate, felt almost surreal given the dynamics between you two and your perspective on your relationship with him.

Perhaps Abigail was right; the more you spent time with Arthur, the more you learned about him and saw him in a new light. What had once seemed like mere pretense or forced partnership now hinted at a connection that transcended your initial expectations.

The way he moved, the way he spoke, the moments of unguarded sincerity—it all started to paint a different picture. The possibility that these moments could be more than just part of the act began to take root, stirring a blend of curiosity and apprehension within you.

You quickly down your drink before setting the empty glass on the table.

Suddenly, a rough hand wrapping around your wrist jolts you out of your thoughts and you turn to see Arthur who all but tugged you along behind him.

You let out a scowl. “Hey! What the-”

Arthur glanced over his shoulder, a mix of amusement and determination on his face. “Come on, we just caught wind that the Mayor’s gotten somethin’ from Cornwall. Dutch reckons we oughta figure out what it is, make sure we ain’t missin’ nothin’ crucial.”

“And you need me because?” You asked with slight irritation as he continued to pull you along.

Arthur's eyes narrowed slightly, his voice taking on a low, firm tone. “I need you to keep watch, and your lock-pickin’ skills could come in handy… ‘sides, you’re my wife don’t forget.” He added with a teasing smirk.

“Can’t have you wanderin’ off by yourself lookin’ like I’ve neglected you. That wouldn’t reflect too well on me now, would it?”

You shot him a glare, yanking your wrist free from his grip. “Could’ve just asked me”

Arthur’s lips twitched with a hint of a smirk. “You looked so wrapped up in the fireworks, darlin’, I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

You bit back a retort, your frustration mingling with a begrudging understanding of his point. “Don’t call me that,” you said, a hint of irritation in your voice at the use of the nickname.

Arthur raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening slightly. “Alright, sweetheart. Try to keep up now.”

Trailing closely behind Arthur as you followed the servant, you effortlessly weaved through the spectators, who were too engrossed in watching the fireworks to notice you.

The servant circled around to the side of the house and ascended a small set of steps leading out of the garden. He paused briefly to engage in a conversation with someone before slipping inside through a side door.

The both of you followed cautiously, making sure to stay out of sight. Inside, you overheard the man berating a maid before he made his way up the stairs, retracing your steps to the upper levels where you had previously been.

Just before reaching the landing, Arthur raises his hand, halting you in your tracks. He peers over the edge of the wall, watching as the servant enters the locked room, heads to a desk, and inserts a key into a drawer to place the letter inside. The servant then disappears further into the room, the sound of a door closing signaling that it is time for you and Arthur to make your move.

Arthur moves first, effortlessly slipping inside through the wide-open door left by the servant. You quickly scan the area to ensure it's clear before following him.

He makes his way over to the desk and tugs at the drawer, only to find it locked. Grabbing a letter opener from the table, he attempts to pry it open. You watch with amusement as he grunts in frustration, struggling to get it to budge.

“Honestly, watching you fumble with that is almost painful,” you remarked, making Arthur roll his eyes and throw up his hands in a gesture that clearly invited you to take over. With a sigh, you stepped in, gently nudging him aside before kneeling down to get eye-level with the lock.

Pulling a pin from your updo, your hair falls loosely over your back, leaving your style in a half-up, half-down look. You insert the pin into the lock, and after a few moments of fumbling, a triumphant smile spreads across your face at the satisfying click of the lock opening.

You stand back up and look over at Arthur, giving him a smug smile when you catch him staring. You raise an eyebrow, and he quickly clears his throat, shifting his gaze away as if caught in the act of something he wasn’t supposed to be doing.

"I, uh, never seen you with your hair down before," he comments before he can think twice, his voice trailing off as he leans over the drawer, a hint of color creeping into his cheeks.

"Nice work," he adds, his eyes momentarily meeting yours before darting away.

You raise an eyebrow at his flustered demeanor, the corner of your mouth twitching in amusement, “I’m glad you approve.”

You watch as he sifts through the drawer's contents until his hands close around a book with a piece of paper inside. He briefly reads the paper, nods, and then tears it in half, slipping the pieces into his suit pocket.

“You got it?”

“Yeah, let’s get outta here,” he replies, glancing around making sure no one is watching before heading out the door with you following closely behind

Just as you were about to move down the stairs, the creaking sound of someone coming up halted both of your tracks. Without warning, Arthur grabbed you, pushing you gently but firmly against the wall beside the staircase, his body pressing close to yours. His arms caged around the sides of your head, creating a tight, protective barrier.

The sudden proximity left you acutely aware of his body against yours, his chest nearly brushing yours as his arms trapped you in place.

His gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that made your pulse race even faster. His brow furrowed slightly as if he were struggling to control a rush of emotions.

The closeness had clearly caught both of you off guard, the charged atmosphere between you almost palpable. His breath came in short, controlled bursts, and you could see the way his jaw tightened as he struggled to maintain his composure.

As he held you there, his expression softened just a fraction, revealing a flicker of vulnerability beneath his usually guarded demeanor. His voice, though still firm, carried a hint of concern as he leaned close to whisper, "Just stay still and quiet.”

The proximity of his breath against your ear made the moment feel even more intimate, amplifying the unexpected connection between you. The closeness, once marked by animosity, now seemed charged with a different kind of tension—one that was both electrifying and confusing.

As you stood there, the boundaries between duty and emotion blurred, and the shared space between you felt charged with unspoken understanding and vulnerability.

His eyes, usually hard with resolve or irritation, softened as they locked with yours. There was a softness in his gaze, a flicker of something raw and unguarded.

The emotion he held in his eyes made you reconsider the hostility that had defined your interactions. In that moment, the anger and resentment seemed to fade, replaced by a deeper, more complex understanding of the man standing so close to you.

The sound of footsteps drawing nearer to the top of the stairs heightened the urgency of the moment and Arthur’s gaze shifted to you once more.

One of his arms lowered from the wall behind you, and he placed his hand softly at the back of your neck. His touch lingered without applying too much pressure. You felt a shiver at the contact of his hand on your neck, the warmth of his touch sending an unexpected jolt of emotion through you, bringing a surge of feelings you had been trying to suppress all night.

The gentle warmth of his hand contrasted sharply with the intensity of his gaze, creating a palpable connection that seemed to heighten the gravity of your precarious situation.

Your heart pounded as you met his intense gaze, which held a rare blend of sincerity and vulnerability that was almost disarming.

“You trust me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with a sincerity that cut through the tension of the moment.

You hesitated, the weight of his question hanging between you. The proximity of his body and the depth of his gaze left you momentarily breathless. “Why should I?” you whispered back, your voice betraying a mix of defiance and vulnerability.

Arthur’s eyes never left yours as he leaned in closer. “Because right now, it’s the only way we’re getting out of this,” he replied, his tone resolute but gentle.

In that charged silence, the dynamics of your relationship were shifting. You felt the usual barriers between you—formed by past conflicts and mutual distrust—began to dissolve, replaced by an unspoken understanding that was both electrifying and comforting. The anger and rivalry giving way to a fragile trust and an unexpected tenderness.

With the footsteps slowly growing nearer, you saw a flicker of sincerity in his eyes that made you question your own doubts. You nodded slightly, trying to steady your breath. “Alright,” you whispered.

Arthur's lips curved into a faint smile, a mixture of relief and determination. “You gotta say it, sweetheart,” he urged softly.

Your mouth curled into a slight smirk as you looked up at him, your heart racing with a blend of anxiety and anticipation. “I trust you,” you said, the words feeling like a pact forged in the heat of the moment.

In a quick, decisive motion, he leans in and presses a firm, purposeful kiss to your lips, filled with urgency. The initial touch is electrifying, but as the kiss deepens, it becomes a release of suppressed feelings, a flood of emotions long held in check.

The kiss is fervent and consuming, each moment stretching out as if to make up for lost time. His lips are warm and insistent against yours, and there’s a raw, desperate quality to the way he kisses you. It feels as though every emotion he’s been holding back is being poured into this single, intense connection.

Your own lips respond with equal fervor, the kiss becoming a mutual surrender to the feelings that have been building between you. The world around you fades into the background, the only reality being the overwhelming sensation of his kiss.

Arthur’s hand that had been pressed firmly against the wall, now frame your face with a gentleness that contrasts with the intensity of the kiss. His grip is both tender and possessive, as if he’s anchoring you to him, unwilling to let go.

The sound of someone clearing their throat suddenly jolts you back to reality.

A servant, caught off guard by the intimate display before him, stood at the top of the stairs. His eyes widened in surprise, clearly unprepared for the passionate exchange unfolding before him.

You and Arthur break the kiss, though the intensity of the moment lingers in the charged air between you. With a quick, shared glance, you and Arthur both adjust your demeanor, the brief intimacy giving way to the reality of the mission.

The man, realizing he has intruded on a private and critical moment, clears his throat, clearly flustered at having walked in on the intimate scene before him, face flushing with embarrassment. "I-I’m sorry to interrupt, but this area is restricted to guests unless otherwise accompanied,” he stammers.

Arthur’s eyes narrow slightly, but his expression quickly returns to a more controlled demeanor. He gives the servant a nod of acknowledgment. “Sorry ‘bout that, partner. Seems my wife and I took a wrong turn and found ourselves in the wrong spot. We were just about to head on out.”

You, still caught in the afterglow of the kiss, straighten yourself and try to regain your composure. The abrupt interruption leaves you with a swirl of mixed emotions—embarrassment, irritation, and a lingering sense of affection. You cast a quick glance at Arthur, who responds with a subtle nod, signaling that it's time to move on.

Still visibly flustered, the servant offers a hurried apology, stepping aside with a rigid posture and a face flushed a deep shade of red. He tries to give you both space as you and Arthur hurry down the stairs, the charged atmosphere from the kiss still lingering between you. The abrupt return to reality sharpens your sense of urgency.

Arthur takes a deep breath, stepping back as his gaze meets yours for a moment longer. He opens his mouth to say something but hesitates before speaking again. “We should get a move on and find Dutch and the rest ‘em.”

You noticed his hesitation but decided to brush it off, nodding in agreement. “Sure, let’s see what’s next. The sooner we get this done, the better.”

You find Dutch, Hosea, and Bill on the first-floor balcony.

“Ah, there you are!” Dutch exclaims, a smile on his face. He then turns to Arthur. “Find anything?”

Arthur gives a nod and taps his chest where he’s tucked the letter. “I think so.”

“Great. I think we’re done here.”

The four of you move to follow Dutch, briefly exchanging information with Hosea and Bill. Hosea mentions a potential robbery job targeting a big city bank, outlining the possible opportunities involved. You share what you’ve gathered earlier about a stagecoach expected to pass through Lemoyne in the next few weeks and the valuable jewels and cash it carries.

Dutch, Hosea, and Bill push past the front entrance, walking ahead. Just before you can follow, Arthur calls your name and gently grabs your arm, pulling you aside.

In the quiet corridor, away from the others, you face him. His eyes are a mixture of resolve and something else you can’t quite place. “Listen, I, uh…,” he trails off, his voice low, seeming to wrestle with his words for a moment before finally meeting your gaze.

Your heart races, expecting him to address what happened between you earlier and the emotions that followed.

Instead, Arthur’s tone is hesitant and detached. “‘Bout what happened earlier… I don’t want you thinkin’ it meant more than it did. We can’t afford to get all wrapped up in nothin’ personal.”

His dismissal hits you like a cold wave.

You had hoped for some acknowledgment of the shared moment, perhaps a sign that it meant something to him. Instead, his words feel like a sharp rebuff, making you question everything you thought you understood about what happened tonight.

“What are you talking about?” you demand, trying to mask the hurt in your voice. Your frustration and anger boil over.

Arthur’s gaze falters for a moment before he regains his composure. He runs a hand over his face, clearly struggling to find the right words. “I just don’t think—” he begins, but his voice trails off as he lets out a frustrated sigh.

He steps back, clearly distancing himself. “Look–I can’t offer you anything more than what we have. Let’s just focus on ending this job and not let personal feelings complicate things.”

You scoff, feeling the sting of his words. Personal feelings?

“Right, so all that back there was just for show, was it? Just keeping up appearances?”

Arthur’s expression falters, and he hesitates. He opens his mouth to respond but closes it again, his frustration evident as he struggles to find the right thing to say.

He turns to you, his expression now seeming emotionless and cold. “I didn’t mean to make it seem like nothin’ mattered. It’s just… I’m not tryin’ to make things too complicated. It’s best to keep things straightforward right now.”

The words and his tone cuts through you like a knife, the brief connection you shared now feels like a cruel tease, an illusion of intimacy shattered by the harsh reality.

His coldness is a stark contrast to the warmth you felt moments before, leaving you grappling with a mix of hurt and frustration.

What started as mutual disdain had evolved into something more complex, yet now it feels like it's spiraling back into that familiar animosity.

You’d hoped that beneath the hostility and barbed comments, the genuine connection hinted at earlier tonight might bridge the gap between your conflicting dynamic. But now, it feels as if his rejection is pulling you back to square one—a place locked in an endless cycle of arguments and misunderstandings.

The idea that the warmth of those moments might have been nothing more than a strategic move or a fleeting distraction makes you question if there was ever truly a chance for something different between you two.

God, how naive you were to think there could be a sliver of something more between you and Arthur.

You take a deep breath, reminding yourself to focus on the task ahead. You push aside the personal turmoil, resolving to keep your interactions with Arthur as they were before—distant and guarded.

With a blank expression masking the tumultuous emotions roiling beneath, you reply, “Fine. Let’s just get this night over with and move on. I’ll keep any ‘personal feelings’ out of the way if that makes it better for you.”

You turn away, forcing yourself not to say anything further that might reveal your feelings. As you do, you didn't miss the brief flash of hurt and sadness in Arthur’s expression before he quickly masks it with his usual stoic demeanor.

Finally rejoining the others, you enter the stagecoach and take your seat from before. Arthur takes his place beside you, the space between you charged with unspoken words and lingering hurt.

The rift between the two of you feels even more pronounced, a painful reminder of what might have been overshadowed by the harsh reality of your circumstances.

Hosea and Dutch, seated across from you, seem to be blissfully unaware of the personal turmoil that has unfolded between you and Arthur, their conversation flowing naturally as they discuss the next steps of the gang’s plans.

The stagecoach rolls forward, and you turn to look out the window, drowning yourself in the passing scenery. The kiss and its aftermath now feel like an unspoken wound, deepening the complexity of your already fraught relationship and leaving you to grapple with the emotional fallout alone.

A/N: Okay so that ending was definitely not a happy one. After exploring where the story might go and experimenting more with the writing, I've decided that I mighttttt just make a Part 2, which might or might not include some smut hehe... So please stay tuned!

Thanks again for reading!

Read Part Two Here

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blackknight-kai · 5 months ago

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Black Myth Wukong Monkeys: LORE/HC stuff

I’ve had some recent thoughts about BMW and Wukong/Destined One.

So everyone has their own “Wukong looks like this” idea based on different chapter animations, in game armor, some back end files, etc. *I will not be proving or disproving anyone fyi*

I decided to take a little bit of a deeper look.

A lot of people have different head canons about “how much fur” WK/DO actually has under his armor (Valid question 😏). This is based on ‘monkey types in real life’ or some hints / glimpses we see in game or even other media for Wukong. So I wanted to set out to look at the other monkeys we see in game. The issue? Blurry background monkeys LOL. (Some images will be…blurry ish…)

I was watching some TikTok’s with some Spider Monkeys - if you know the family youre awesome - and while looking on a first glance they look nearly identical. But looking closer you’ll start seeing the differences in fur, face color patterns - down to freckles, mannerisms etc etc etc. I already like anyone else was expecting Monkey demons to have some diversity to them but just like any ‘real life’ animal sometimes it’s not a lot of diversity between a same species. (I’m not thinking about house pets or birds, I’m thinking on the generic “lion” or “tiger” look if that makes sense).

Pulling up the game the first other monkey we see besides Wukong is the old Monkey - he has white hair and very thin fur (even a fur less tail). He almost looks like Destined One too in structure but not quite, he holds some less human mannerisms than even DO. (Will come back to that)

Shen Monkey was also the next monkey to look at - brightened up images show him to be dark in skin & fur color. He also has patches of fur and places like his under arms missing fur. He has a thin thatch of hair on the center of his chest with a bushy head of hair/fur and his face is a bit more ‘monkey’ than WK/DO’s. His feet are shorter than WK/DO’s too (toes also just a bit). Also, he has POINTY ears.

Edit: Added in a photo from a YouTube video I was watching showing Shen Monkey has a longer tail! Adorable.

Link to the post I got these from @/aulostheremin https://www.tumblr.com/aulostheremin/773263251799687168/i-might-be-asking-too-much-but-can-we-have-fanart (wasn’t sure if you’d be okay tagging youuuuuuu)

After looking at him I took a look at the blurry background monkeys in that opening scene and started to notice something….interesting.

The background monkeys looked almost generic right? But on closer look I started to realize they had many differences.

You can see their fur colors vary for starters, some being tan, to brown, to that onyx greyish blue color. Same with skin color - some have peach/pail skin and others have that grey blue skin that Shen Monkey has.

*See above different color furs / skins.*

Most of them also have fur less chests, but this varies too - some having more fur less skin and others having a little less on their chests. For instance - these two monkeys *SEE BELOW*. Both are ‘wide’ bodied but one has a more square fur less pattern while the other has a more upside down triangle pattern. ALSO - the triangle pattern monkey seems to have thinner/furless skin on the underside of his arms where as the square pattern monkey seems to have full fur other than on his chest. (Also, is that war paint on the triangle monkey?? The two lines - one shown running down his pec? If so, that is a neat idea I am absolutely head canoning that they used tribal war paint for warriors for certain meanings be it rank or things like courage/bravery - maybe they have trials and such etc)- mini note yes I am incorporating stuff like this in future fics.

The next thing I noticed was their clothes. Some apparently wear loin clothes, pants only, shirt and pants, or nothing at all. Most seem to wear clothes though in some fashion. (You can see in above images some of those clothes.

Below - also as a note I think the tail placement here wasn’t supposed to be noticed because honestly its a little uh off - but there is a Monkey that runs in front of the camera at the beginning of the game. Fully nude. This monkey appears while blurry, to have THICK FULL body hair. Even on that booty and it’s hard to tell, but honestly it looks like he has fur on his chest.

As another note, we cannot tell, but based on look alone they have ROUND ears mostly vs pointy like Shen Monkey. So, we have different fur patterns, colors, states of dress/status where next? (Maybe pointy ears are something less common? Interesting thought)

Their mannerisms.

Watching the scene its clear these background monkeys really lean into ‘monkey’ walk and actions/behaviors. They are VERY bow legged and have that sway you see in Planet of The Apes. Their chests are a bit wider/barreled and their limbs a little thicker too than WK/DO. Some of them have their arms curled up to their bodies as well. They squat too (mostly) instead of sitting and remain closer to the ground, but looking around you’ll see another interesting thing - outside of WK/DO, the old Monkey, there is one other monkey deep into the background that ISNT squatting like the rest. Instead they are sitting like a person, like WK/DO was in that scene before he stands up.

Shen Monkey ALSO sits like a human (see above pics of him).

Even the way WK/DO & the old monkey walk is more ‘human leaning’ with WK/DO being even more so than the old monkey. It shows me that WK/DO is still an anomaly even in those that are ‘human leaning’ because he is a true blend of the two but also something all his own, the old monkey being the only one closest to him in this.

Why does this all of this matter? It shows me the difference and diversity between the monkeys. Some are very heavy in their ‘monkey’ appearance and body movements (maybe slightly even brain function on a more primal level?) and others lean into more human aspects. BUT the more human leaning monkeys are not as common it seems. Essentially this makes my brain run. It shows a level of difference that is somewhat on par with how humans are diverse as well which again was what caught my eye and made me wonder about these Monkey Demons. Such as are there preferences of appearance, or do certain features make them more warriors/gatherers or what about intelligence of some? What differentiates leaders & followers or what genes get passed on? (Yes I’m adding this shit to my head canons LOL)

As another side note, I think WK/DO is just taller than his monkey kind. Mainly because he stands so far upright. Also also also, paying close attention in that opening scene the background monkeys tails are so cute LOL we get to see a little tail movement.

Okay so what conclusion does this bring us to? They are suuuuuper diverse. Meaning, if you see WK/DO with specific fur patterns vs another person? It works either way you see it because genuinely there are so many different variations, be it mostly furry with a small patch on his chest furless or the fur running down most of his torso…or even missing fur on the underside of his arms or having fur on the underside of his arms. Also the booty discourse of does he have furry cheeks or not honestly….up to you. Also I think it shows WK/DO is truly a 1 of a kind (which we knew duh) but ‘human leaning’ is such a rare feature (I’m assuming) and WK/DO doesnt even quite fit there either.

So at the end of the day……theres no wrong answer here. Just was doing some digging 🧐☺️ this was to help ME because I have ideas 😉 and I can’t wait to start digging into them in fics.

@szynkaaa has another in depth look at this too sharing the same thoughts 😉 https://szynkaaa.tumblr.com/post/769217021192945664/the-shape-of-monkey

#black myth wukong #black myth wukong x reader #sun wukong #the destined one #journey to the west #monkey business #I was diving in deeply for no real reason 🤣

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gleepatrol · 2 months ago

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I've been seeing a lot of dunking on Chimera lately (deserved) so I decided to pitch in. I might have hyped this up already, but it's finally here. Welcome to...

A Serious Review of Meteorcare's Designs

by gleepatrol/Mod Rocket

Disclaimer: THIS IS BY NO MEANS TO SUPPORT CHIMERA! For many reasons. In fact, this was made to clown on him, but in a thoughtful way where the readers can get something useful out of it.

CW: blood and eyestrain, but you probably already knew that.

Under the cut because this is long.

First and foremost, let's introduce our victims. I will mostly keep myself limited to the worst designs of the bunch so we actually have something to talk about.

Meet Pepper, Fotoh, Bea, and Banger. And their parents because it will be relevant: Doom and Uni, unknown, Bec and Scratch, and Hemera and Uni, respectively. I will put those parent characters below so we have some context.

One last touch, I'm not touching the silhouettes or outfits except for color tweaks. They're fine. They're whatever.

Case 1: Pepper

My immediate thought looking at this character: where did half of these colors come from?

The purple is technically from Uni (Cometcare Uni's wings to be exact. But she can change the color of those at any moment? I don't think that would be genetic or end up being the main body color even if they were.) and the white is from Doom, but the green? The blue? The grey? No freaking clue! You could argue the blue and green are from Doom's ear stripes, but how is such a minor area spreading to their tail and eyes? They only make sense on the ears. On an extra note, this also begs the question, where are the fur patterns from? You can and should deviate a little from the parents, don't get me wrong. I'm not a fan of miniature clone children myself, but Pepper's patterns make him look more like a raccoon more than a dog/rat hybrid.

My second thought, what is the theme here? I believe it's supposed to be arcadecore or party themed but that's not clear from the name or design. I only glimpsed that information from their bio. These colors don't really read arcade or party. They feel random since they neither relate to the theme or very strongly to her parents' colors. If anything, Uni's original electric magenta read arcade better! It's the lack of intent that bothers me. I cannot see the vision!

One more minor note: the grey and purple blend in quite a bit. I would make one and/or the other lighter and/or darker. Don't believe me? Let's try the classic black and white filter trick.

Unreadable. As I said. But hey buddy, you genuinely look better in black and white! I don't have to look at those random colors! Here's Doom in black and white for reference.

You can still tell what's a different color.

But anyway. Enough yapping. Let me show you visually how I would change Pepper. Don't you dare use this if you are Chimera or any associate of his. This isn't a free redesign for you or your cronies. I will speak up if I catch any of you using anything I edit from here on out.

PS: I've heard some roasts of Pepper's arm, but I rather like it myself. It gives a new spin on Doom's multiple limbs thing and if you got a problem with that you have a problem with Smoky Quartz from Steven Universe who did this first. Anyway!

Doesn't this read better as a Doomi child who likes to party? The colors are simper and more intentful now!

I also tried to combine some similar colors such as making the blue on the shirt match the eyes and the red becoming pink to reduce the overall pallet.

Case 2: Fotoh

Need I say it again? What do these colors have to do with the theme? Also, too many colors! Her allotpun is photonegative which are those inverse color pictures like this:

Cool theme! We are barely using it though. Easy fix. Keep the blue colors and toss almost everything else! There were way too many colors with no apparent reason to have so many.

This is still ugly imo but it's justfiably ugly given the theme, so I can excuse it. Take it I guess. She actually looks nice when. Well, photonegatived (right image) so uh gimmick character. I couldn't think of anything better. I know she's still ugly. Feel free to improve on my edit because I'll accept that.

Case 3: Bea

Where. Do I even start. This is the opposite problem as Pepper. We are taking Too Many of the parents' colors. It's too much, very busy. Why are those pink spots there? Neither parent has spots of that color! My suggestion, pick some of the coherent colors of the parents that go together well, not all of them. I will respect this character being so neon due to lore reasons, but geeezzzzz neon doesn't mean complete eyebleed. Taking a look at Bec and Scratch, they both have blue as a prominent color, so we can play with that to start off the pallet. Bec also has yellow while Scratch is green. These could work as well since they are analogous colors to blue. Keep in mind analogous and complementary colors when designing! It's very helpful! While Bec also has purple eyes and Scratch has pink ones with pink elsewhere, I'm going to mostly ignore these colors since they would add too much to both be included.

(Aside note, I just noticed while trying to edit how many coloring and linework errors Bea has; goodness gracious. But that's not the point of this essay.)

You can see I also changed the scar color because they were just abrasively pink and colored as if they were fresh which I'll take a wild guess and assume they're not. Also, I snuck in Bec's purple into the shorts because "why orange?"

Base 4: Banger

Oh, no. It's the final boss. Is that One Winged Angel playing in the background? (Haha Banger only has one wing, two for one joke) All jokes aside, hoooooo boy. I. Yeah. Okay, first of all, why does he have stitched on parts? That shouldn't be inherited from Hemera. Those are not genetic! Those were part of her design because she was being tortured like a science experiment! By no logic should Banger have these unless he was also experimented on which would be weird since Sparklecare shouldn't exist anymore if it's a Cometcare kid. First tip, get rid of this. Second, the only way I can phrase this point is: "this is my son, he has every disease". Broken horn, torn ear, glows-a-lot (which neither Hemera nor Uni have), sewn on parts, only one wing. Some of these are fine in isolation but all of them just feels ridiculous especially with no reason given. I think the reason might be it's reckelss so everything got hurt so I'll keep the broken or torn stuff and the one wing thing because that's the most interesting twist I'll say: only having one wing. Also, why are there patterns on your wings? Where did that come from? That's an artstyle thing, you realize that right? Not part of Uni's actual design? Also, need I say this again, say it with me folks: too many colors! And where are they from? The only ones that seem to be from somewhere is the purple and yellow from Uni but I can't read a single hint of Hemera here except for the replaced limbs which I already explained how I don't understand that decision.

I think he's supposed to be beach themed? But honestly, it's giving random button on the Picrew instead.

So, here's what I have. I still kept the belly orange but this time it was for a reason: to have a sunset color. Pretend it's Hemera's yellow and Uni's purple mixed.

I also added some blue to make the Hemera part clearer and changed the glows-a-lot to hemophilia like Hemera to make his connection to her clearer. The wing is now from Uni's pink wing to go with the sunset theme as are the orange shorts.

And that's all!

Congratulations! You survived this essay! If you're Not Chimera, feel free to steal my edits. Fair game! I allow you to!

TLDR: Stop including so many unnecessary colors without a clear theme in mind and stop giving them every feature from their parents combined! Look at a color wheel for analogous and complementary colors, and use your black and white filter every now and again!

#rocket talk #sperklacera #design review #it's finally here

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cno-inbminor · 7 months ago

Text

praestigia (pt. 1)

four months into my hyperfixation on this man, i barely managed to get some of this off my chest lol. thx sylus for being my first lads fic!

plot: formally speaking, sylus is a...sponsor. more colloquially, he's your sugar daddy -- and you're starting to wonder if he might actually want more. (wc: ~5.1k)

cw: this is all AU and does not include, like, any game lore (aside from that it's happening in linkon city). reader is a phd student, suggestive content (this is buildup for the smut in part 2), angst, a few dashes of fluff, not fully edited. mdni!

[ao3 link]

“Do you really think that after all this time, I would leave you to pay for a hotel room yourself? Or to find your own transportation home?”

“It’d be understandable. I can see where you would be coming from if you made those requests.”

“Then why not move out and find a bigger apartment? You know I can afford it.”

“Sylus–”

“I know, I know,” he interrupts. If he were anyone else, you would have scowled at him. “It would be too far from campus, become inconvenient, and you feel it is too much to ask for.”

“Sylus, I need to go,” you whisper.

He presses you impossibly closer to him. “I will drive you to your apartment. Sleep.”

“No, I’m taking the subway.”

“Why take the subway when you have me?”

“Speak for yourself,” he grumbles into your hair. “You haven’t gotten more than six hours of sleep every night for the last week.”

“And how exactly do you know this?” As soon as you ask, you already know the answer.

The app for– “Your smartwatch.”

“One of these days, I will disconnect my account from that app.”

“I would like to see you try.”

And you will. Just, when you’re not trapped in his arms.

Your birthday.

Sylus’s phone is surprisingly unorganized, random apps thrown into folders that they do not belong in, leaving you to search for the fitness app that your watch is not only connected to on your own phone, but somehow also on his. You press the buttons necessary to delete your watch data from his end. When you are ready to close the app, you cannot help but notice the preview of his messages app and the texts within. Your thumb swipes away the fitness app and shakily taps the messages window that stared hauntingly at you. It had been left open on a conversation with another woman, if you had to guess based on the name sitting at the top.

My parents are getting antsy, and so is your grandfather.

That is none of my concern.

Unfortunately, it is. They’re not exactly happy about the woman you keep bringing as a partner.

Our arranged marriage is not a publicly known detail.

And I’d like to keep it that way. But Sylus…

What?

We can’t delay this much longer. You’re running out of time.

Alone. Without him.

It’s fine, you think to yourself as you turn on the shower. It’s totally and completely fine.

A couple hours later in class, your phone vibrates with a message that reads, “You actually managed to disconnect your watch from my phone.”

The slight smirk tugging at your lips is inevitable as you type out a response: You told me to try, so I did.

“I will be changing my passcode.”

If you want. There’s nothing else on there that I need to delete, right?

“Oh sweetie, wouldn’t you like to know?”

“‘A friendly escort’, you say? I suppose that’s what the young ones are calling intimacy these days.”

“You knew I was in class. And stop it, I know you have some stupid smug look on your face right now,” you chastise.

“You know me so well.”

“Actually, speaking of,” you say as your eyes flit down to your watch. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting right now?”

“I stepped out.”

Your heart and feet skip a beat, almost causing you to fall flat on your face and absolutely eat shit in the middle of the sidewalk. It’s hard not to let your mind race at all the implications, that this tirelessly busy man decided in a heartbeat that he would step out with a desire to call you over something so minor; to simply tease you. In the grand scheme of his life, you have very little significance – your temporary companionship where you may see him four or five times a month, sometimes with weeks in between and other times mere days. Text messages were never a guaranteed daily activity, though as of recent, he has been texting you more often. But amidst his employees, his connections, his partnerships, his family, you’re just…you.

You didn’t realize you had been stunned into silence long enough for him to ask, “Are you still there?”

“I am, sorry,” you apologize, scrambling to think of an excuse. “Uhh, an email came in and I was reading it. Didn’t hear you.”

“I’ll get you some wireless earbuds.”

“Please don’t.” Your rejection is immediate, firm. The lack of room left for argument stands apparent. “That’s not necessary.”

“And what’s stopping me from just ordering you a pair regardless?”

“Me.”

“I just don’t want you to buy anything that’s not necessary. Covering my tuition and all the dresses is one thing, but wireless earbuds, I can do without. My wired ones work just fine.”

Your eyes catch the sign for the stairs leading down to the subway up ahead. “I’m about to go under and lose signal. Was there anything else?”

“Come over tonight.”

“Has that ever stopped us before?”

“Then come after the study group.”

“It’s gonna run pretty late because we have an exam in a few days.” Again, not a lie. “Who knows if the subways would still be running by then?”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“But you might be asleep.”

“Highly unlikely, little one.”

Quickly looking around you, you quietly hiss, “Sylus, you should be asleep by the time the subways stop running. Why would you still be up at 2AM?”

“In case I have to refresh your memory, you do remember that I am the CEO of one of the largest tech companies in Linkon, right? The work never ends.”

“You need time for sleep, you know, like everyone else??”

“I’m not like everyone else.”

“Sweetie–”

Moving forward to clamber down the stairs and smashing the hang up button is your way of desperately trying to not lose resolve. Any longer, you would have given in and rolled yourself straight back to square one with nothing but dread. You have never been more relieved to see the little “No Signal” sitting in the top left corner while you swipe through a gate and manage to get down another flight of stairs without tripping over your feet.

For your own sanity, you had left your phone, stashed in the recesses of your backpack tossed into the corner of the study room, on do-not-disturb for the entirety of the night. You had it programmed to still chime and alert you if family contacted you, mainly because it doesn’t happen often, and if it does, that means something big happened. The device remained silent for the whole time, and part of you wants to avoid confronting what your notification screen might look like. But before you can muster up the courage to do so, one of your friends speaks up.

“You wouldn’t mind? If you have somewhere to be, I can just walk.”

Jiho rolls his eyes in a playful manner. “Come on, before I change my mind.”

“So the kitten has finally decided to come home.”

“How–”

“Perhaps I would be if someone had just checked their phone once in the last fifteen hours.”

Well, you don’t have much of an excuse for that.

Sylus sits on one end of your couch in loungewear, though somehow he still makes it seem like he’s in something formal enough for business casual. You cautiously sit on the other end away from him.

“I passed out as soon as I got home, and then I was running late for the study group, so I just left my phone on do-not-disturb.”

His silence speaks volumes.

“I didn’t mean to worry you.”

But maybe you did.

Maybe, subconsciously, you did. Maybe you wanted to test the limits of his affection. Maybe you wanted to see just how far he would go to make sure you were okay.

Maybe you simply wanted to get a taste of when you least expect radio silence, an appetizer for how things may turn out when Sylus calls for the end of your arrangement.

“Look at me.”

Tension weighs you down as you slowly turn your body towards his, but you avoid his gaze and aim to study the logo on his shirt instead.

“Sweetie, look at me.”

“You’re hiding something from me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you immediately counter. Good job, you just made it more obvious.

Sylus pins you down with a look that means nothing other than “you know better”, and your heart threatens to burst from your chest out of sheer anxiety.

“A friend from the study group drove me home.”

“And you were simply too busy to look at your phone during the drive?”

“I had to give him directions.”

Sylus cocks an eyebrow at the mention of this friend’s gender. “Him?”

“Jiho, sweet guy. Does research with another professor.”

“I suppose I have him to thank for bringing you home safely. Regardless, you should have called me to pick you up.”

You have one last card to play. “That’s not in the contract.”

His eyes harden and narrow the slightest bit, the curve of his jaw tensing in building irritation. “How so?”

“I offered.”

“And I am not obligated to take the offer. While kind, I did not see the need to bother you.”

“I clearly remember stating that it wouldn’t be an issue, especially considering I asked you to stay with me for the night.”

“But I told you I couldn’t,” you retort.

“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?”

The bitter note in his voice on his last word matches his steely gaze that seems determined to pick you apart, to peel off each layer of whatever walls you may have put up. He’s not ignorant or oblivious by any means – something is going on, and you’re not telling him. You answer him with deafening silence, blaming your late night fatigue for it.

Perhaps there is a part of you that is trying to commit the minutiae to memory in preparation for the days when you will no longer see him so intimately. You should have never let yourself get so attached, no matter how much tenderness and adoration Sylus has been absolutely spoiling you with. The realization hits you in a bittersweet manner, and the featherlight kiss you place on his lips only makes it hurt more.

Apologize, his eyes seem to scream. Seek forgiveness as I seek vengeance, his hands draw on your skin.

Beg for me.

---

[tbc]

#sylus x reader #sylus #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #sylus qin #love and deepspace #lads sylus #lnds sylus

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