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milksuu · 6 months

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Sorry, Mom. I'm The New Cleaning Lady For Heartsteel

Pairings: various!Heartsteel x f!reader

Status: on-going (Cross posted on AO3)

Content/Warnings: 18+ content, explicit themes, suggestive language

Summary: Identity theft was a crime—that was obvious. But when it meant paying off the bills for basically existing and your mother’s hospital expenses, committing a felony didn’t seem like a bad thing. It was like that one quote, from that one band, with that one hit song: “Two sides to a story but they never tell me side.”

Or…something like that. Wait, what was their name again? Heartsteel? Sounds like a dating sim game.

[Reader takes the identity of her mother, who had been hired to be the new cleaning lady for an up and coming boy band named ‘Heartsteel’. Obviously, there’s no way they would ever find out. But that was a joke. Because they’re definitely finding out: one by one.]

“You…brought your own cleaning supplies?”

“You always need to be prepared, young man,” you replied, adjusting your duck-yellow cleaning gloves. They squeeked and flopped comically around your hand and fingers.

“Ma’am, you do understand today is solely the house tour.” The man folded his arms neatly against his chest, white brow raised. “In order to rely on you fully, you’ll need to be familiar with the estate first. I thought we discussed this beforehand. That and…we have cleaning supplies to provide you with here.”

You paused at the grand modern entrance. You lifted your bucket full of sponges, brushes, and cleaning spray from the dollar store. 'Buy-one-get-one' on all cleaning supplies was the grand deal of the day. How could you pass a penny-pinching bargain? Swallowing your shame, you settled the cheap items on the pristine granite floors.

“Oh, is that so? Must’ve slipped my mind. Age will do that to you.” You forced a chuckle, adjusting your sterile mask across your youthful face. “That and, I have such a passion for cleaning. I can't help myself. I see the inside of a house, and I just have to clean it. I’m sure you could understand that.”

“I don’t believe I could,” your employer said dryly. “Anyway, if you will, follow me.”

You nodded and shuffled along accordingly. As you stared into the back of his immaculately pressed business attire, a new-found horror struck through you: you had no clue what your employer’s name was. Frantically, you scavenged your pockets. From it, you pulled out a business card, holding it so close to your face you smelled the tinge of clean cologne.

YONE

RIOT RECORDS

DJ / PRODUCER

EMAIL: [email protected]

TELEPHONE: XXX-XXX-XXXX

“The bottom floor consists of all of the amenities; gym, entertainment area, recording studio and so on.” Yone stated as he stepped into the open-kitchen plan. When he regarded you again, you awkwardly plunged the card back into your pants pocket. “The boys have their own scheduled chores every week. They’re expected to do it without you having to help them. I’m trying to keep them humble, but easier said than done. Refer to the chore calendar on the fridge. And try not to interfere with it too much.”

“Okay—who switched my protein powder with flour?” Behind an opened cabinet, a heavy-muscled stacked man growled. “Guys. Seriously. This stuff’s expensive. Where’d it go?” When he poured the contents out into the trash can, he plucked out a note from the bottom of the canister. The small print read:

‘Protein powder tastes like dog food.’’

The weight of realization punched him square between the eyes. He threw open the pantry, where dog kibble was stored in a tub at the bottom marked ‘Ernest’. Sett pulled open the container, and sure enough, found his protein powder and scooper. There was no mistaking his favorite smell of cinnamon crunch isolate, now mixed with the scent of dry-bacon kibble. Another note pasted the inside lid:

‘Woof–Woof ฅ՞•ﻌ•՞ฅ’

“A–phe–li–os,” the name gritted between his canines. His ears flattened against his untamed hair, and crumpled the note to dust in his palm. “Oh–Ho. Mess with me all you want; but never mess with my gains. I’m gonna’ prank him back so hard tonight, he’s gonna’ be begging me to stop.”

“Sett,” Yone coughed, grabbing the Vistayan's attention. “We have a guest today. Our new cleaning lady.”

“Oh, sorry about that.” Sett wiped his powdered hand against his sleeveless shirt. He reached and took your rubber glove with a squelch. “Hey, how’s it goin’, Ma’am. The name’s Sett.”

You swallowed hard, hoping your glove would remain securely covering your hand. You feared if he pulled back, he would reveal a hand that wasn't so wrinkled for someone supposedly in their late-fifties. And that was according to your mother’s age printed on her driver’s license. Thankfully, you could tell he restrained himself to a delicate shake.

“Would talk more but gotta hit the gym. Nice meetin’ yah though,'' Sett started away, and called back over his shoulder. “Mom, can you take care of Phel for me? I dunno' where he hid the dog food for Ernest.”

Yone exhaled a silent sigh, and part of you felt pity for your employer. He seemed like a parent with a tag-team of overbearing children running around the house. Being a single parent was difficult; you knew this first hand from your own up-bringing. It made you grateful for your mother’s patience and attention. It was the reason you were here in the first place.

“Let’s continue with the tour upstairs,” Yone said, motioning you to a loft-style staircase. “The second floor consists of all the bedrooms and laundry room. At the end of the hall is my room. As it stands, it’s completely off limits to everyone, including yourself.” He turned a sharp chin in your direction, “Am I understood?”

You gulped and pressed your shoulders straight. “Of course.”

“Mommy, help me!” A bed of green hair bounced to Yone’s side, tugging at his tailored suit. “Kayn’s bullying me again. But I didn’t do anything wrong, I swear.”

“You’re such a crappy liar.” The presumed assailant, Kayn, stomped out of the hallway bathroom. Magenta hair stuck to his furrowing brows. With just a towel wrapped around his steaming waist, his abdominal muscles tensed, pointing aggressively at his target. “I was trying to shower in peace, until bubblegum pop princess over here came barging in trying to take selfies of himself. Did you know people usually shower naked? I’d like my junk not to be posted on social media, unless I’m the one doing it. For cash.”

“It’s not my fault you’re always going over your shower limit. News flash: we each only get fifteen-minutes. But you’re always breaking the rules! You know I take my selfies at the same time, at the same place, every single day. So how about you do us all a favor, and get some better time management?”

Kayn raised a vein popping fist into the air. “How about I get you a better face instead?"

Ezreal cried fake sparkling tears, cowering further behind their producer.

“Enough. The both of you,” Yone tightened around his words like a leash, restraining the quarreling pair. “For once, I’d like for you two to at least pretend you get along in front of others.”

The two whined and grumbled under their breaths till they fell to a silent agreement. But the peace treaty wasn’t upheld for long. You saw a zap of yellow from the corner of your eye. The image was so fast, you thought you must’ve imagined it—Nope. You definitely saw something. Kayn’s towel knot popped loose. And it wasn’t caused by an event of divine intervention.

The towel billowed towards the ground. And the world felt as if it was turning in slow motion, like one of those car chase movies with excessive explosions. Except, the only explosion here would be your very own heart.

Sure, you took an anatomy class here and there. In high school, you remembered the penis joke’s and games, and they never flustered you. Heck, not even when your friends set your desktop screen to a .gif of dicks spinning in circles—you found that hilarious. And when anatomy classes began in college, they were all very clinical, rudimentary, and otherwise a snooze fest.

But seeing one in real life when you’ve never had a boyfriend or a one night stand, was truly groundbreaking. Earth shattering, even.

Penis (en)counter: 1

While you were stuck in your prison of naïve embarrassment, Ezreal laughed and pulled out his cell phone, camera light shuttering a mile a minute.

“You little shi—!” Time sped forward again. With fast reflexes of his own, Kayn whipped the towel and knot back in place. “That’s it. You’re dead.”

“Uh–Oh. Time to run again,” Ezreal quipped, zooming off down the stairs.

With all bark and full bite, Kayn vanished like a cloud of smoke in pursuit. You coughed against the smog, while Yone merely swatted his hand back and forth, dissipating the gray wisps.

“You’ll have to excuse them,” he commented. “They share the same room, but have vastly different personalities. I arranged most of them together, thinking it’d help them understand each other on a deeper level. And ultimately, help them perform better together in the studio and on stage. My efforts are…yet to be determined.”

“That’s alright. Can’t be easy for young men their age to share anything. Especially with them being full of energy, testosterone, and other things. O-Oh, to be young once more…ah-ha…” you laughed nervously. Oh, God. What the heck were you saying? Honestly, you had to give pardon to yourself. You were still trying to recover from seeing your first penis up close and personal.

The image would be forever burned in your mind.

You were pulled from your self-conscious thoughts. Down the hall, a pair of shadowed eyes peeked through a sliver of door and frame. When your gaze locked together, the other pair of eyes shifted shyly from side to side. As if a poltergeist existed within the room, the visage faded back into the uncanny crack of darkness. The door creaked closed, with an audible click and lock.

Yone pursued straight to the door, and you stood a few paces back. If there was any chance that a ghost was inside living rent-free, you wouldn't be the first it possessed. You weren't a certified Ghostbuster.

But you also weren't a certified Dustbuster, either. No one will know, know one will know, you chanted the comforting hymn.

“Aphelios. Open the door. I know you’re in there. I can see the computer light flashing,” Yone stated, rattling the door knob. “Where’s the kibble for the dog? Sett told me you have it somewhere.”

There was a beat in the air. From behind the door, you heard feet pacing back and forth, and the sounds of finger taps against a phone screen. Yone’s phone pinged with an alert. He pulled it out, and opened his text messages.

‘I can’t open the door all the way. I set the bucket of dog food to fall on Sett’s head when he comes in. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ’

“For the love of…no more pranks today." Yone pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan. "But I doubt you could even manage that. Whatever trap you’ve ensembled, take it down—now. And put the dog’s food back in the pantry. Unless you want to donate a cut of your earnings every month to Ernest’s pet store bill.”

Another pause, followed by begrudging phone taps.

‘Fine, m O T h E r…(¬_¬")’

“That might take him a few. Depending how intricate the set up was. I would be surprised if the only thing involved in this scheme was just the dog food.” Yone motioned you back down the stairs. “Last thing to see is the outdoor space.”

Continuing with the tour, you passed through the lower floor, stepping down a hallway decorated with awards and magazine clippings. From commercial modeling gigs to sold out venues, your eyes glistened at the polished look the group was slowly cultivating. Which you had to admit, completely contradicted their personal lives.

When you reached a sliding glass door that stretched from floor to ceiling, you stepped out onto a landscaped deck. Lush modern garden trims, a shaded outdoor lounge, and smooth sandstone pavement decorated the space. At the backend, an infinity pool rested in pristine stillness.

At the head of the pool, a person of sculpted bronze physique posed in swimwear on a lounge chair. When you approached along with your chaperone, he picked up his tropical drink, and tilted it in a cheering gesture.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Mama gracing me with his presence. And look's like someone else is with him, too.” The man basking in the sun's rays and oil slicked, shucked his sunglasses onto his dread locks. “Let me guess. This must be the new cleaning lady you hired to pick up after our mess.”

“To a certain degree,” Yone replied. “But not all of the mess, K’Sante. Out of everyone, you should know better.”

“I only joke, Mama.” He grinned smoothly, taking a sip of his frozen alcoholic refresher. “Say, have you seen Sett? I told him to come join me for a tan by the pool. If he wants his muscles to truly pop, he needs to use some oil and not be allergic to the sun. The man is whiter than the sky is bright today.”

As he laughed to himself, Ernest left his chew toy at the far side of the pool, and came to sniff your shoes. With a smile, you slipped a very small piece of your long sleeve up, allowing him to sniff at your skin. The dog lapped his tongue around his slobbering chops, barking delightedly and pawing for you to pet him. You were more than happy to oblige.

These gloves came in handy after all, you thought pleasantly as globs of saliva fell in heaps over your fingers.

“What’s this? Ernest taking a liking to the cleaning lady already,” K’Sante mused at the sight. “Barely warmed up to us when we first met. We won’t mention the illegal trespassing but, call me impressed.”

With a wink, he flicked his sunglasses back down to the bridge of his nose. “That or he has a ‘ting for older women. Can’t say I blame ‘em. An experienced woman has a certain power that’ll make any grown man cry. And from my own experience, it is never for mercy.”

Oh, boy. You couldn’t imagine your mother being interested in the cougar life-style. Not that you would approve of it. And you were certain your father would descend from the heavens and deliver the backhand of God to any young man who dared otherwise.

Before Yone could address the unsavory statement, Ezreal burst through the backyard sliding doors. Still possessed with laughter, he hopped and skipped over pool chairs and tables. The merriment stopped short when Kayn caught up to the cheeky idol, snatching his wrist which held the phone. From the staggering halt, the phone slipped from Ezreal’s hold, somersaulting towards the pool.

“M-My phone!” Ezreal paled at the thought of losing thousands of stored photos of himself—Oh, and the blackmail photos he was going to use against Kayn, too.

Yanking his wrist free, Ezreal pursued the device. But Ernest’s rubber hotdog toy squealed beneath him, forcing him off balance. Kayn latched an arm around Ezreal's slim waist, and pressed him safely against his bare chest.

He huffed against Ezreal's ear. “You can’t swim, you idiot. Remember? Just let it go.”

Ernest barked at the surmounting commotion. Being the valiant guard dog with the perfect pedigree, he bounded on his thick paws to catch Kayn by the towel, with all the intent to keep them both from falling in. What a good boy! Unfortunately for Kayn, Ernest bit a bit more than he could chew.

Kayn’s voice bass boosted ten-octaves lower. “MY DAMN ASS!”

W-Whose voice was that? Was that even the same person? The thought rattled through you.

A chunk of Kayn's soft meat condensed in the jaws of a furry devil. A shock travelled up the nerves of his spine, into the the muscle fibers of his arm, shoving Ezreal forward. Ezreal flailed his hands in the air, desperate to find some semblance of balance—with no luck, at all. Fumbling on his tip-toes, Ezreal plummeted into the pool with a splash. Kayn stumbled from the after-shock of his spirit being bitten straight through his buttcheeks. His feet met the cursed rubber squeaker, sending him following suit into the pool. Except, the towel had its own plans. It decided to stay behind and not get involved.

Penis (en)counter: 2

“I heard some commotion, fellas. What’s goin’ on?” Sett stepped out from the sliding doors. He caught witness of Ezreal’s face treading water, gasping for bouts of air. Sett’s muscles popped at the sight, barreling towards the scene. “Don’t worry, Ez. I’m coming for yah, buddy!”

Sett launched himself into the air, preparing the most athletic Olympic dive ever conceived.

Kayn inhaled sharply as he broke through the water's surface tension. Recuperating his breaths, he slicked his wet hair back from his face. Looking down at the waters crystal reflection, an odd shadow grew in size around him. And according to the forecast earlier; there was no chance in Hell of clouds or rain. Lifting his nose to the darkening sky, he blanched in sheer horror. A body, massive enough to eclipse the sun, hurled down like a meteor descending to Earth.

What day was it today, Doomsday? He must've forgot; Kayn never bothered to look at calendar's, anyway.

Back to the painful mistress that was his life; a weak, painful moan escaped him. “You can’t be serious. This isn’t the cool death I deserve—”

Those were Kayn’s final words. A wave rivaling a tsunami consumed him, a random pizza chair float, and the immediate surrounding pool area. Standing in the designated splash zone, pool water soaked your soles, leached into your socks, and dampened your pants to the knees. From K’Sante’s spot, a shot of chlorine or two spiked his drink. He snatched his sunglasses off and shouted the words; “This was the last bit of banana daiquiri mix, you aboas! Now I have to go down to the liquor store and hope they sell it frozen already.”

Yone, with all the grace anyone could hope to be blessed with, merely side-stepped away. A single speck landed on his polished shoes. He narrowed his steely eyes, flicking away the insignificant drop.

You caught something flashing on the second floor of the estate. Looking up, you shielded your eyes from the glaring sun. From one of the windows, you spotted someone holding up a sign. You assumed it was Aphelios. The poster read:

‘4/10 Ezreal. 6/10 Kayn. 10/10 Sett.’

With a dramatic burst through the water, Sett hurled Ezreal over his massive shoulder, and walked out of the pool. Placing Ezreal onto his soaking back, he coughed and gagged against the awful taste of treated water.

He smiled at his new-found savior. “Thanks, Sett. I’m fine, but what about Kayn…”

The group shifted their attention over the silent, lapping water. After a bubble or two, the sight of Kayn’s bare bottom surfaced to the top. Floating like a wet and rounded land-mass, with the additional landmark of a pink dog-bite.

“Kayn! Hang in there, pal!” Sett launched himself once more into the water, creating another wave of soaking magnitude.

Although the drink had already been spoiled, K’Sante reflexively covered the top of his daiquiri glass. “For God’s sake, Sett. Take your time. It’s not like you’re saving the life of an innocent man.”

As chaos continued to ensue around the gang, Yone placed himself at your side. With a shake of his head, he crossed his arms, and sent a ghost of a smile your way.

“Welcome to Heartsteel,” he said. “Your first day starts tomorrow.”

Looks like your identity was safe…for now, at least.

an: thanks for reading! the rest of the this story will most likely just be on my AO3. You can find me @ milksuu. comments and suggestions always welcomed. <3

#heartsteel #league of legends #Heartsteel x reader #kayn x reader #ezreal x reader #aphelios x reader #Sett x reader #K'Sante x reader #Yone x reader #reader insert #league of legends fanfiction #cross posted on ao3 #divider by @benkeibear

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dailyadventureprompts · 3 months

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Dm Tip: Playing the Villain/ Guidelines for "Evil" Campaigns

I've never liked the idea of running an evil game, despite how often I've had people in my inbox asking how I'd go about it. I'm all about that zero-to-hero heroic fantasy not only because I'm a goodie twoshoes IRL but because the narrative-gameplay premise that d&d is built around falls apart if the party is a bunch of killhappy murder hobos. Not only would I get bored narrating such a game and indulging the sort of players who demands the freedom to kill and torture at will (I've had those before and they don't get invited back to my table), but the whole conceit of a party falls through when the obviously villainous player characters face their first real decision point and attempt to kill eachother because cooperation is a thing that goodguys do.

Then I realized I was going about it all wrong.

The problem was I had started out playing d&d with assholes, those "murder and torture" clowns who wanted to play grand-theft-auto in the worlds I'd created and ignore the story in favour of seeing how much unchallenged chaos they could create. They set my expectations for what an evil campaign was, and I spent the rest of my time developing as a dungeonmaster thinking " I Don't want any part of that"

But what would an evil campaign look like for my playgroup of emotionally healthy friends who understand character nuance? What would I need to change about the fundamental conceit of d&d adventures to refocus the game on the badguys while still following a similar enough narrative-gameplay premise to a hero game? How do we make that sort of game relatable? What sort of power/play fantasy can we indulge in without going off the deepend?

TLDR: In an evil campaign your players aren't playing the villains, they're the MINIONS, they're mooks, henchmen, goons, lackeys. They're the disposable underlings of uncaring overseers who have nothing but ill intent towards them and the world at large.

Where as in a hero game the party is given the freedom to challenge and overthrow corrupt systems, in an evil game the party is suck as part of that corrupt system, forced to bend and compromise and sacrifice in order to survive. The fantasy is one of escaping that corrupt system, of biding your time just long enough to find an opening, find the right leverage, then tossing a molitov behind you on the way out.

Fundamentally it's the fantasy of escaping a shitty job by bringing the whole company down and punching your asshole boss in the face for good measure.

Below the cut I'm going to get into more nuance about how to build these kinds of narratives, also feel free to check out my evil party tag for campaigns and adventures that fit with the theme.

Designing a campaign made to be played from the perspective of the badguys requires you to take a different angle on quest and narrative design. It’s not so simple as swapping out the traditionally good team for the traditionally bad team and vis versa, having your party cut through a dungeon filled with against angel worshiping holyfolk in place of demon worshipping cultists etc.

Instead, the primary villain of the first arc of the campaign should be your party’s boss. Not their direct overseer mind you, more CEO compared to the middle managers your party will be dealing with for the first leg of their journey. We should know a bit about that boss villain’s goals and a few hints at their motivation, enough for the party to understand that their actions are directly contributing to that inevitable doom.

“Gee, everyone knows lord Heldred swore revenge after being banished from the king’s council for dabbling in dark magic. I don’t know WHY he has us searching for these buried ancient tablets, but I bet it’s not good”

Next, you need a manager, someone who’s a part of the evil organization that the party directly interfaces with. The manager should have something over the party, whether it be threats of force, blackmail, economic dependency… anything that keeps the antiheroes on the manager’s leash. Whether you make your manager an obvious asshole or manipulative charmer, its important to maintain this power imbalance: The party arn’t going to be rewarded when the boss-villain’s plan goes off, the manager is, but the manager’s usefulness to the boss-villain is contingent on the work they’re getting the party to do. This tension puts us on a collison course to our first big narrative beat: do the party get tired of the manager’s abuse and run away? Do they kill the manager and get the attention of the upper ranks of the villainous organization? Do they work really hard at their jobs despite the obvious warning signs and outlive their usefulness? Do they upstage their manager and end up getting promoted, becoming rivals for the boss-villain’s favor?

Building this tension up and then seeing how it breaks makes for a great first arc, as it lets your party determine among themselves when enough is enough, and set their goals for what bettering the situation looks like.

As for designing those adventures, you’ll doubtlessly realize that since the party arn’t playing heroes you’ll need to change how the setup, conflict, and payoff work. They’re still protagonists, we want them to succeed after all, but we want to hammer home that they’re doing bad things without expecting them to jump directly to warcrimes.

Up to no good: The basic building block of any evil campaign, our party need to do something skullduggerous without alerting the authorities. This of course is going to be easier said than done, especially when the task spins out of control or proves far more daunting than first expected. The best the party can hope for is to make a distraction and then escape in the chaos, but it will very likely end with them being pursued in some manner (bounties, hunters, vengeful npcs and the like). Use this setup early in a campaign so you have an external force gunning for your party during the remainder of their adventures.

Dog eat dog: It’s sort of cheating to excuse your party’s villainous actions by having them go up against another villain who happens to be worse than they are. The trick is that we’re not going after this secondary group of outlaws because they’re bad, we’re doing it because they’ve either got something the boss wants, or they’re edging in on the boss’s turf. This sort of plotline sees the party disrupting or taking advantage of a rival’s operation, then taking over that operation and risking becoming just as villainous as that rival happened to be. This can also be combined with an “Up to no good” plot where both groups of miscreants need to step carefully without alerting an outside threat.

The lesser evil: This kind of plot sees your party sent out to deal with an antagonistic force that’s a threat not only to the boss’s plans but to everyone in general. In doing so they might end up fighting alongside some heroes, or accidentally doing good in the long run. This not only gives your party a taste of heroism, but gives them something in their back pocket that could be used to challenge the boss-villain in the future.

The double cross: In order to get what they want, the party need to “play along” with a traditional heroic narrative long enough to get their goal and then ditch. You have them play along specifically so they can get a taste of what life would be like if they weren't bastards, as well as to make friends with the NPCs inevitably going to betray. This is to make it hurt when you have the manager yank the leash and force the party to decide between finishing the job , or risk striking out on their own and playing hero in the short term while having just made a long term enemy. This is sort of plot is best used an adventure or two into the campaign, as the party will have already committed some villainous deeds that one good act can’t blot out.

Next, lets talk about the sort of scenarios you should be looking to avoid when writing an evil campaign:

Around the time I started playing d&d there was this trend of obtusely binary morality systems in videogames which claimed to offer choice but really only existed to let the player chose between the power fantasy of being traditionally virtuous or the power fantasy of being an edgy rebel. Early examples included:

Do you want to steal food from disaster victims? in Infamous

Do you as a space cop assault a reporter who’s being kind of annoying to you? in Mass Effect

Do you blow up an entire town of innocent people for the lols? in Fallout (no seriously check out hbomberguy’s teardowm on fallout 3’s morality system and how critics at the time ate it up)

I think these games, along with the generational backwash of 90s “edge” and 00s “grit” coloured a lot of people's expectations ( including mine) about what a "villain as protagonist" sort of narrative might look like. They're childish exaggerations, devoid of substance, made even worse by how blithely their narratives treat them.

Burn down an inn full of people is not a good quest objective for an evil party, because it forces the characters to reach cartoonish levels of villainy which dissociates them from their players. Force all the villagers into the inn so we can lock them inside and do our job uninterrupted lets the party be bad, but in a way that the players can see the reason behind it and stay synced up with their characters. The latter option also provides a great setup for when the party's actually monstrous overseer sets the inn on fire to get rid of any witnesses after the job is done. Now the party (and their players) are faced with a moral quandary, will they let themselves be accessories to a massacre or risk incurring their manager's wrath? Rather than jumping face first into cackling cruelty, these sorts of quandaries have them dance along the knife's edge between grim practicality and dangerous uncertainly; It brings the player and character closer together.

Finally, lets talk about ending the villain arc:

I don't think you can play a whole evil campaign. Both because the escalation required is narratively unsustainable, but also because the most interesting aspect of playing badguys is the breaking point. Just like heroes inevitably having doubts about whether or not they're doing the right thing, there's only so long that a group of antiheroes can go along KNOWING they're doing the wrong thing before they put their feet down and say "I'm out". I think you plan a evil campaign up until a specific "there's no coming back from this" storybeat, IE letting the Inn burn... whether or not the party allows it to happen, it's the lowest point the narrative will allow them to reach before they either fight back or allow themselves to be subsumed. If they rebel, you play out the rest of the arc dismantling the machine they helped to build, taking joy in its righteous destruction. If they keep going along, show them what they get for being cogs: inevitably betrayed, sacrificed, or used as canon fodder when the real heroes step in to do their jobs for them.

Art

#dm tip #dm tips #writing advice #evil party #drafting the adventure #dnd #d&d #dungeons and dragons #blades in the dark #ttprg #pathfinder

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siryouarebeingmocked · 2 months

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Canadian Newspaper Globe And Mail: Conservative Leader wants harsher jail sentences for repeat offender auto thieves.

Nora Loreto, self-described Socialist: Stealing cars is a victimless crime!

Loreto: Also, most people in our jails are innocent!

Loreto: As long as you use the extremely technical definition of “jail” that means “a place where people are usually held before trial and are therefore legally innocent”, which is not how it is generally used.

Loreto: I say this while ignoring how car theft means there is a victim, by definition.

Me:

Some idiot also claimed the real issue was car manufacturers making a ‘defective product’, and the “logical step” should be the government going after them for obvious collusion with insurance companies.

The intellectual titan agreed.

Even though about five seconds thought would go “wait, wouldn’t having an insecure car reduce sales? And don’t insurance companies try to avoid paying out money? And isn’t car insurance mandatory anyway?”

She has a substack post about it, and it’s, uh, special. As in Ed. (archive)

>For me, I understand a victim to be someone whose life is irrevocably impacted, negatively, by forces they cannot control.

>You’re not a victim if things can be made well through consumption.

If someone spills my drink in a bar, I'm still a victim even if they or I buy me a new drink. It doesn't un-spill the drink.

Even if I get a new car, that’s a lot of trouble to go through.

>You’re a victim if you’ve experienced something that means that you’ll never again be the person you were before.

Because no one's ever been permanently traumatized by someone using force to take their stuff. Even leaving aside the times where the thief assaulted and seriously injured the car owner.

>My immediate, half-serious reaction, that jailing people for a victimless crime is ridiculous, caught a lot of heat.

Ah, yes, the classic "I wasn't serious (except when I was)" dodge.

>Thousands of men told me how much they love their cars, how their cars hold them at night and make love to them. My emails and direct messages filled up with lots of “if you steal my car I will kill you”s and “where do you live so I can steal your cars”es. The people were mad that I could assert such a thing.

Along with the classic "let's make this a gender issue, for some reason" and "talking about the harassment so I look more like a victim while ignoring the actual criticism".

>It’s the formulation that this object is so premordial that anything that may befall a car, whether a jacking or an overpacked highway, is a personal attack on the car’s owner. It’s silly.

And naturally, a red just starts making up entirely new arguments for and assumptions about the critics from thin air instead of addressing the actual criticism.

A carjacking is a violent theft of an occupied car.

Which means the operator must a) be removed, by force and/or threat of force, or b) become a hostage of the 'jacker. Sometimes both.

It's amazing that this intellectual titan can even type while she's staring so hard at her navel. Or...another body part. From the inside.

#stupid #canada #crime #twitter #oh snap #long #lolgic #socialism #grand theft auto #strawman #crazy\

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 6 months

Text

He'll Follow me Down Every Street, No Matter my Crime

PAIRING: John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You had an affinity for shiny objects. This time, a sting of pearls locked away in a mansion calls your name through the crowd of a party - only trouble? You have a hunch the man you help at the front door isn't all who he says he is.

WORDCOUNT: 11.9k

WARNINGS: Guns, blood, death, gore, heists, theft, suggestive mentions, mentions of sex, heavy flirting because reader's a tease, propositions of sex, drugs, the reader is loosely based on Cat Woman from DC, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You wouldn’t call yourself a good person.

Life had given you the short end of the stick early on, taking what little you had in your grubby hands and shoving it into the ground, making you watch as they stomped on it until all that remained was a remnant of hope. Like a shard of glass, you held it even as it cut your palms open. But there was only so much that you could hold until you longed for more of it—until you wanted to take the broken bits and try and form a mosaic out of them.

It started as petty crime—the theft.

You got good at it. Very good.

You remember the first time you tried to pick a man’s pockets; aged fifteen with a switchblade in your pocket that you had never used before, bought off a man in exchange for cigarettes. When you’d been caught, the man—looking quite like Albert Einstein, mind you—had snapped your wrist so far back you heard it snap in two places. It still aches on cold days.

In that moment, a firm resolve had taken over you. A rabid understanding.

No one was ever going to do anything for you, and if you can’t rely on your skills to get you through, then you only had yourself to blame when it all went bad.

As you said, it started with petty crime. Then it got a bit more serious.

You dabbled with blackmail and multi-level schemes that involved all sorts of money and luxurious items. Extortion.

You considered yourself quite the salesperson, admittingly.

But personality-wise: arrogant, prideful, and vain. The list went on and with no near end in sight. It was life, was it not? You were finally able to live it lavishly even from the time you’d just gone past the border of the drinking age.

But the best part about it was that you were entirely alone. Alone in every sense—not even a cat or dog to your name, much less a person to care for or about. It was perfect.

Years of this went on, and you mean years. This was a job to you, and as you slipped into the hugging form of a deadly red dress, and rubbed your lips with the exact same shade—#4A0000 Oxblood—it was enough to make your pulse thump with excitement. The thrill of this made you want to never let it go; adrenaline junkie down to the jitters in your fingers when you first got the invitation.

‘On behalf of Victor Lawson, you are formally invited to his mid-autumn get-together at his estate. Enjoy such finery as a five-course dinner, open access to his ballroom and gardens, and the pleasure of the host himself who’s eager to have you over. This invitation is viable to bring a plus one. We look forward to having you. ’

It was perfect. Perfect.

Chuckling under your breath, you think of the items that Victor had in that mansion of his—the jewelry and the raw cut gems. Your particular interest was a set of pearls that his mistress wore, well, wife now. Affairs are such messy things.

Slipping into black heels and looking into the full-length mirror, you smirk slowly at yourself, glancing up and down. You were the picture of elegant perfection—like a woman born and bred into money. Your penthouse was layered with the remnants of your spoils, stories on every counter or vanity; engraved into the pieces of fine metal and stone you wear on your wrists and neck. Bleeding wealth. Everything you have you had lied for, but did lies not take more practice than truths?

You consider yourself an artist.

“Perfect,” you clip the heavy earrings to your lobes, seeing the skin droop at the weight of rubies. Brushing down your dress, you hum, clicking your tongue at the thought of how pearls would better compliment the outfit. “No,” you grumble, frowning in disgust. “Nearly perfect.”

Walking out of the fabric curtain you have to block off your room, your heels click against the marble floors, creating a large echo over the vaulted ceiling; the place had a coldness to it, really. A separation.

Not that you cared.

Grasping the modest wool dress coat from the coat rack, you slip it on with a huff and fix the collar; hand moving into the pockets to take out your silk gloves and move your fingers into them. Last was the purse—a small black leather handbag that you let hang off of its strap on your right shoulder like another limb. The invitation was kept safe inside of the wool.

One last breath to try and keep your cool and stop the constant smirk that tries to force its way onto your face, and you call the elevator to your floor before stepping into it.

“The pearls are in the office,” you say, inserting your key and pressing the button for the lobby. “His wife leaves them in the glass display case if that maid’s words are anything to go off of. And tonight,” you hum, finger grasping your phone from your purse and pressing into the front to unlock it. A social media profile pops up and you stare, eyes half narrowed in lustful pleasure. “She’ll be wearing her sapphires.”

Victor’s wife is pictured in blues and silvers, and you had to admit, it wasn’t the correct color scheme for a mid-autumn ball. But you supposed she wanted to be the center of attention anyway, so her plan if that was the case would pan out perfectly. No one wears a blue that shade this late into the season.

You drop your phone into your coat pocket and shrug, blinking slowly as the small waft of the elevator music is interrupted by the ding of the doors; that sudden lightness to your head shows that it has come to a stop. Stepping through the opening, you wave to the doorman and plaster a sickly sweet smile on your lips.

“I’ll be back soon,” you explain. “Don’t miss me too much, then.”

He grins like an idiot. “Yes, Ma’am! Here,” the man scrambles, “I’ll get the door for you.”

“Oh, lovely, thank you, Dear.” Outside is a nice chilled breeze, leaves moving over the street only a small distance of concrete away—your driver is waiting patiently outside of it, the tinted windows up and the engine already running.

Your body moves to it.

“Ma’am,” he nods.

“Hello there, Buck,” you blink slowly at him, politely reaching out an arm and squeezing. “So good to see you again—and the Misses?”

“At home resting, thanks to you.” You hum, dismissing the comment as the man pulls at the car handle and moves to the side.

“It was the least I could do. Such a horrible feeling,” your lips mutter, “getting sick. If I only have to throw some of my money to get people to listen to their patients, it’s money well thrown. Do tell her I hope she feels better soon.”

“Of course, Ma’am.”

“Wonderful.” Sitting down on the seat, you carefully tend to your dress so it won’t wrinkle, picking at loose bits of wool from your jacket and gazing at your reflection in the glass. Such a vain little creature you’d grown into. Your eyes trail down your nose, lips, down the swell of your neck, and the bones of your face; running a finger over your cheek and trying to stop itching at the makeup you already long to take off.

But beauty takes time.

You’d look better with those pearls.

Buck gets into the car and locks the doors, and soon the entire vehicle is speeding off into the darkening sky. Your skin tingles with anticipation.

You enjoyed making those who’d broken the backs of others see a bit of your power when they realized you’d won, but the instances when you could go in and leave without a trace made you feel on top of the world. A woman with such a desirable position; an unforgettable ease of mastering a conversation.

It was addictive to watch them fumble around like idiots. Go crying to authorities about things they could easily buy again and again. It makes you want to never stop talking. Your fingers twitch at it—your heart pounds.

A sly fox’s smile comes to your lips, and you hum under your breath as the car brings you into the lion's den.

—

“Well,” Johnny grumbles, voice gruff. “I don’t understand why it needs to be me. Gaz looks better in a suit and everyone knows it.”

“Damn right I do,” the man in question replies, tossing a belt the Scot’s way, to which Johnny catches with no problem, slipping it into the loops of his dress pants with a heavy hand. “Don’t forget it.”

MacTavish's throat echoes with an unimpressed grunt, side-eyeing Kyle as he smirks. Grabbing the fly of his pants, the man runs it up, moving his feet to make sure he’s not stepping on any of the fabric.

“Garrick needs to be nearby in case of trouble. He’s your oversight.” Captain Price leans against the far table of the hotel room, glancing at his watch. “Five minutes, Sergeant.”

“Five bloody minutes,” Johnny groans, blinking as he tightens his belt. “Couldn’t at least have bought a bigger dress shirt? Suffocating over here, Sir.”

Ghost glances at him from where he stares out the window, arms crossed and fingers tapping his bicep. “You can blame Laswell for that.”

“Just make sure you don’t rip it in the middle of the party,” Gaz pats his shoulder, and Johnny glares, sighing out aggressively at the pull of fabric. The fellow Sergeant is smug and amused. “Can’t go in and bring you another.”

“Ah,” the Scot grunts. “Don’t worry, it’s just a little public embarrassment. Nothing I haven’t gone through before.”

“Story for us?” Simon utters, raising a brow.

“Not one I’m willing to tell.

John interrupts the banter session easily with a sharp command. “Alright, you can trade stories all you want later, we’re short on time and the driver’ll be here any minute. Soap,” Johnny blinks over, buttoning up his waistcoat and pushing the blue tie under it. Price stares, raising a brow, but his lips pause for a minute. “...Why are you wearing a bloody blue tie, Son?”

“What?” Johnny’s face pulls in, stubble shifting the scar on his chin. The sides of his eyes crinkle in. “Why’s that matter?”

John’s eyelids close for a moment before he takes a long breath and looks to the side, shaking his head. “No time,” he utters before coming back to it. “Go through it again, Sergeant. Slowly.”

“Target is Victor Lawson’s computer—located in his office at the back of the mansion. Three rights and a left is the fastest way there, barring breaking down the walls.”

“Good,” John grunts, seeing Johnny’s smirk at his joke. The Scot goes and grabs his suit jacket. “And?”

“One gun and a knife, hidden in the back garden with a silencer near the fountain,” the man licks his lips. Gaz passes over an earpiece which he hooks into his shell, clear and nearly invisible against his skin. “M9 with only one magazine. Fifteen rounds.”

“You don’t have to use it,” Simon weighs in. “In situations like these, opt for a knife. Less mess to clean up if you do it right.”

“Don’t want to think about the types of parties you go to, Lt,” Soap sends a sly smile the Lieutenant's way. “Think I’d shit my pants if I saw you at one. Mask or no.”

“I like parties,” Ghost says blandly back, blinking at him slowly. “They don’t skimp out on the appetizers.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Johnny mutters, moving back and hurriedly flattening out his suit. “Right! Time to get this over with, boys. I’m goin’ in—don’t miss me too much while I’m away.”

Price’s hand goes to rest on his shoulder, moving him out of the door as Kyle calls his good luck to him. The Captain moves a hand in emphasis on the words he ends up speaking.

“In the inside pocket, you have a USB,” he says, and Johnny’s blue eyes stare at him, serious with his lips flat. “We don’t need the entire system—just plug it into the box and let it do the work.”

“Rog.” Soap asks, “Anything I need to expect from this Lawson fellow?”

John grunts. “Negative. Man’s a drunk who likes to flaunt wealth, he’s in the background of his practice; has others do the dirty work for him. But we need his intel.”

“Then I’ll get it,” the Scot assures firmly, steel determination in his gut. “M’not so easily distracted, Price. It’ll be like takin’ a walk through the park.”

—

“I’ll be back soon, Ma’am,” Buck comments as he opens the door for you, sticking a hand out to assist you out to the red-carpeted grounds. “Call if you need to.”

“Thank you, Buck, I will,” you chuckle, nodding.

Walking past you run your hands over your jewelry, slipping your fingers up the inside of your wrist until you grasp the sleeve of your coat and pull it down more. It was growing colder out, and it was best to get inside the party as soon as possible. Already the air was thick with the noise of music and small talk, properly illuminated by lights that spilled out like water from a river.

Around you, the front entrance was guarded by the tall sentinels of rose bushes; decorations in the form of strung lights and pumpkins placed and carved to immaculate detail. The mansion itself was the biggest on the tree-strangled street, and cars were coming and going quickly; lights moving through the dark trunks.

Looking and walking slowly down the red carpet to the front entrance, your shoulder is lightly grasped.

“Ma’am?” You startle, head whipping around to the sound of a deep Scottish accent.

Your eyes lock with cobalt blues, a large man behind your form holding a piece of paper in his hand. You look at it quickly, the calloused and firm fingers extending the item.

He was in a black suit, and while you fight to raise your brow at the deep shade of blue for a tie, you find that the outfit suited his stocky build quite well. You could see the size of his biceps easily, and in the light, your face nearly went slack at them.

Not even mentioning the thighs.

“Apologies,” the stranger breathes, backing up a step and releasing you with a soft smile on his lips. “Saw this fall out of your pocket. I’d hate for you to lose it so close to the door.”

Staying silent for a moment, you quickly fall back on your natural charm.

“My pocket?” Your hand extends, brushing against the man’s own before lightly taking up the familiar shade of the invitation. You flip it over in your hands, eyebrows raising in slight shock. Your other hand pats down your coat pocket, finding no firmness besides the body of your phone.

“I didn’t even notice,” you chuckle lightly, focusing on the man ahead of you. A small flutter of upset moves in your veins. “Thank you very much, Sir. That would have been embarrassing.”

“Ah,” he shrugs his wide shoulders. “Don’t worry about it. And Johnny’s just fine, Dearie.”

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Johnny,” you move up and lean forward, lips shifting to leave a delicate kiss on the side of his cheek. Hearing a slight hitch in his breath, you hide your smirk, leaning back fully to stare into Johnny’s slightly widened eyes and the reddish sheen to his cheeks. He clears his throat, mohawked hair shifting in the breeze as he turns his head to the side for a moment. “You’re a lifesaver.”

You tilt your head.

“So, here for Victor’s party then?”

“Ah,” the man recovers quickly, nodding as you turn and begin a slow pace. The both of you stay near each other as the stairs to the front door get closer. “Yes, Ma’am. Have you…been to one before?”

You humph, shaking your head. “No way, I only ever go to these things once. Waste of time, in my opinion.” Your eyes send Johnny a glance to find him blinking at you in confusion. “What? You thought I would be all snobby about it? Most of the people here can’t even take back a shot correctly.”

A shocked chuckle exits the Scot’s lips, eyebrows raising on his face. A far more casual smile now takes form on his part.

“What are you even here for then,” he asks cheekily. “If you don’t mind me asking?”

You smirk. “The spoils of war, of course.”

“You’re strange, you are,” Johnny utters, but finds he can’t wipe the grin on his face for the life of him. In his ear, Price’s voice grinds through like iron.

“Soap, stay on schedule.”

He grunts, rolling his shoulders. Johnny’s thumbs go to rest in his belt, looping the brown leather.

“War’s a big word, Bonnie,” his blues glint.

“Would you prefer quarrel,” you dart back, and your spirits seem to enjoy this conversation some. The man was…new, so to speak. There was something different about him that you couldn’t place; he felt more layered than the normal people at these events usually came. Like you could speak to him for hours and only crack the surface. But, even by just his eyes, you could tell that he was intelligent. Very much so.

“That might be more your speed,” you end with a tilt of your head, jewelry lightly clinking against one another.

“I think you’d be surprised.” Your chuckle is smooth and easy to listen to.

“Perhaps.”

Johnny hums, smirking as he pulls ahead a tiny bit. “And what do I call you, exactly?”

“My name?” You find a hand in front of you when you make it to the stairs, and you mildly get thrown off by it. Blinking quickly for a moment, you recover and delicately place your hand into the Scot’s, smiling as he helps you walk up.

His flesh is warm, and you can feel it even through your gloves as it bleeds into you. A warmth that pushes back the chill of autumn, sending winter scampering like a dog with a tail between its legs. You ignore how your breath hitches at that action.

“You can just call me Cerise.” Is what you say as the doorman draws near and as Johnny stares with an intrigued furrow on his brow. Before the Scot can speak, you’ve already walked away, heels clicking and your purse swinging; hand whispering out of his like it was never there.

Blue eyes watch, but they quickly snap out of whatever trance was there beforehand.

There were things to accomplish—adrenaline was already taking hold in Soap’s bloodstream, making his focus hone in. While your conversation had been…interesting, and you were quite the beautiful woman, of course, he had a job to do.

But first, he had to get through the door.

As you were speaking with the doorman, easily handing over your invitation, the man slips his hand into his pants pocket to get it ready; voices from other guests all around.

But his hand touches nothing.

Immediately, Johnny feels his stomach drop.

“Where’s the fuckin’ invitation,” he hisses under his breath down the line, trying to keep his voice low. Soap’s eyes darted about on the ground, thinking that maybe he’d done the same as you and just dropped it. But no, nothing.

John’s hurried voice moves through the earpiece.

“Sergeant, don’t tell me you lost the fucking invitation.”

“It was in my pants!” He growls. “Bastard things that are making my thighs go numb.”

You’re none the wiser to the conversation in the man’s ear, only pausing when you hear the implication of something not going right. As the doorman takes your invitation and looks it over, you turn your head to the side and watch for a moment in confusion as Johnny pats his thighs and backside, hands over the pockets and his body turning in a circle.

“Johnny?” You call, walking towards him. The man freezes, eyes snapping back to you. You grab onto the tips of your gloves and begin taking them off, stuffing them into your coat. “Are you alright over there?”

His jaw is clenched, eyes simmering with annoyance. “Just fine, Hen, no need to ask,” your eyes narrow, slowly dropping to where the obvious lack of an invitation sits in his hands. “Just…uh, seems I’ve gone and lost something o’ mine.”

He goes back to whispering under his breath, throat bobbing with irritation that could rival even yours on a bad day. Even his cheeks gained a sheen of red to them, and not from the wind.

You blink, sighing under your breath.

You weren’t a good person, but you weren’t heartless either. The man had been good company, the least you could do was repay him. A good conversation is so hard to come by these days.

“Oh,” you play off with a chuckle, turning back around and speaking loudly. The doorman looks up at you quickly. “I’m so sorry, I forgot to tell you about my boyfriend, Johnny.”

The air halts, and wide blue eyes snap to the back of your skull.

“It must have slipped my mind in all the excitement, you can understand how such a magnificent property just takes all of my attention.” You chuckle, pushing an embarrassed sheen to your eyes and body—hunching your shoulders in, gripping by the elbows, even bending your spine lightly forward to lean closer to the man. “It’s so beautiful here, I was so caught up in the decorations. He’ll be my plus one for the night.”

The doorman chuckles with you, glancing at the Scot who quickly clears his throat; taking this blessing for what it is and ascending the last steps in record time.

A hand hovers over the small of your back, a bulky body slotting beside your own. Your nose twitches to the scent of hair gel and…you pause, swallowing down saliva. Was that the tang of gunpowder?

“It’s just fine, Miss,” you blink back to the present. The invitation is put to the side. “You’re both welcome inside. Please, enjoy your time in Mr. Lawson’s estate.”

“We will,” Johnny grunts, nodding. “You have a good night, Mate.”

You smile politely, the two of you walking through the open doors. A pair of lips moves to your ear, the words said with low reverence.

“I owe you, Bonnie,” he pauses. “Big time. Nearly scuffed the entire thing.”

“We can’t have that,” you ease, voice like water. “Quickly, what’s your last name?”

You both walk side by side, yourself only stopping for a moment to shimmy out of your coat. Hands move to the back of the collar, helping.

“Last name?” Johnny asks, confused at the instant question. “Why?”

“They’re going to introduce us when we walk in—I need to know so I can tell the announcer.”

The Scot stares, holding your coat as you take your phone out and put it into your purse. He passes off the item to a man near a side door, who asks your name and scurries off when he has it.

“MacTavish, full first name, John.” He grunts, admitting, “There’s a lot more to this than I expected.”

“It’s all for show, Mr. MacTavish,” your hand moves to his arm, lightly taking him along with you and restraining the want to squeeze the muscle under your fingernails. The man was as built as an Ox—what did he eat?

“There’s always more to things like this,” you chuckle.

A small silence falls, but it’s broken when Johnny’s curious nature betrays him. The way you had lied to the doorman…it had been so natural for you it had made him pause now that he had the time to think it over. Hell, he’d half-believed you himself.

Price had even been silent in his ear since then, only a shocked grunt moving across the line. As you shift a hand-held mirror out from your purse and bring it up, looking into it, he speaks up.

“You were good at that,” the Sergeant mutters, looking around at the paintings and decorations in the hallway, hearing more people entering from behind. The noise echoes from ahead as well, the party in full swing. “It was quick-thinking on your part, any reason as to why you’d help me?”

A smirk flicks over your lips as you snap your hand-held closed, moving it back into your purse. “You’re asking if I want to get into your pants?”

Johnny nearly chokes. “N-no! Not at all.”

Your head tilts, side-eyeing him, heels hitting the floor and carrying your snake-like stride. Not once do you blink at him, studying; taking him apart. Johnny’s enamored by the way you do it.

He suddenly knew to be far more cautious around you than he had been previously. His fingers twitch at his sides, and he goes to push back his mohawk with a run of his palm over his hair. He licks his lips and turns his face forward with a heat writhing under the skin.

“It’s alright,” you explain. “I wouldn’t be opposed, but, unfortunately, tonight I have other things to fuck than you, Mr. MacTavish. Perhaps at a later date.”

The man is at a total loss, jaw as slack as a piece of paper in the wind.

But what shocked response he could give you is lost as you move into a far more open room, you both at the top of an overhang—pillars and a large chandelier, shining bright. Marble with real vines wrapped around banisters; tables full of food in such quantity it seemed excessive. But the people. Hundreds of them, all dressed their very best at the bottom of these double stairs.

Soap’s eyes went over all of them, studying faces in an instant and memorizing them for later. No Victor from what he could see…he just needed an excuse to slip away when everyone was occupied. He had to get to the garden first; get that knife and his gun that had been stashed. If it all came to worse, he couldn’t afford to get caught without one of them.

Gaz can only do so much as overwatch from outside.

You move to a woman at the left, smiling as you move to whisper into her ear your title and Johnny’s.

“Miss Cerise and her plus one, John MacTavish.”

The woman nods, and no later does she call into the crowd, moving her voice above the bob and flow of the conversation waves. Many of the men in the crowd choke on their drinks—eyes snapping up—at the mention of your moniker.

“The Miss Cerise and her plus one, John MacTavish.”

“Johnny,” you call, and the man blinks, seeing and immediately moving out his elbow so you can loop your arm through his. “I am curious about one thing,” you say as the scent of gunpowder returns.

“Yeah?” Soap asks, scanning the faces that now pause their speeches and look at the pair of you. He grows uncomfortable at the attention, but you seem to soak it up—particularly the glares from a few faces that you seem to be acquainted with. “What’s that then?”

“You’re not here for the party, are you?”

Bloody fucking Christ, who is this woman?

“What makes you say that, Bonnie?” He forces out, his muscles winding up; jaw working itself in a tight clench. The Scot’s stubble writhes with the force of it. Has he been compromised that quickly? Not possible. Johnny’s mind starts running, and Price gets into his ear to call a firm order to move away from you immediately.

But that would make your unblinking eyes worse, and Soap didn’t want that. The hair on his arms starts to rise, spine straightens like a stick. You felt it, feet going down the stairs without having to look at them, your head is stuck gazing at him.

“No offense, of course,” your voice even results in his feet wanting to disobey him, to turn your way. The way you spoke was hypnotic. A siren. Some womanly beast from long lost history, coming to haunt him when he had a job to do on a limited schedule.

You continue. “But you’re not right. You don’t fit into this crowd.”

“What?” Soap tries to push a flat joke. “Did my hair give it away?”

You study him, smirking. “No.” There’s no other explanation beyond that.

This was supposed to be simple.

Give him a gun and he’d be the most experienced shooter in this room; a jumble of cables? He’d have a homemade explosive in minutes.

But why the hell would they put him in a suit?

“Listen, Cerise, Hen,” Johnny levels, “I’d love to stay and talk, really, but I need to fuck off and find some of my friends. Thank you very much for the save at the door, but there are some things I need to take care of.”

“And here I thought I’d get to keep my fake boyfriend,” you pout, leaning into his side. He watches you tensely.

Your lips move in a laugh like a ringing bell. “But, yes, you’re right. I also have to take care of my entertainment for the night.” You move up to his cheek again, placing a kiss on his stubble as you both reach the bottom of the stairs. You whisper into his ear. “It was very nice meeting you, Johnny. Do tell me if you’ll ever take me up on the offer I gave you.”

Disappearing into the crowd, it’s like you were never there.

—

Johnny grunts as he tries to bend down, the fabric around his thighs and arms pulling tight enough to stop the blood in his veins.

“If someone doesn’t get me properly fitted,” he growls down the line, “you can find a new demolitions expert, Price.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sergeant.”

“It was short notice, Johnny,” a Manchester accent follows.

Blue eyes glared at the bag hidden beneath foliage, a hand snatching out and grabbing it quickly.

“Ghost,” Soap huffs. “Good of you to join us with our late-night heist.”

“Figured you could use the support.”

“Oh,” Johnny scowls, “always. ‘Specially when I have to get myself surgically removed from this piece of utter shite.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic.” With a shake of his head and a growing smirk, the Scot takes out the M9 and the combat knife. Moving to attach the silencer to the gun. Blue eyes scan the garden rapidly; on the lookout for any guests or guards walking near the fountain at his back.

“Alright, I’ve got the gun.”

“Knife?” Ghost asks.

“Affirmative, Lt.”

“You’ll be smart to use it away from any prying eyes. Neck leaves too much of a spray—go for the gut and cover the mouth until they stop moving.”

There’s a moment of rustling fabric as Soap shifts the gun into the small of his back, the back of his suit enough to cover the grip but restricting the ability for a fast draw. Simon was right—the knife was the best option for him.

“You are stone cold, Simon,” the Sergeant smirks, eyes gazing over grass and gravel as the knife finds a home up his right sleeve, resting against his forearm. “Price, has Gaz checked in?”

“Affirmative,” the Captain comes back on as Johnny stands, re-hiding the bag into the bush. “Says he has eyes on from the neighboring mansion’s roof. He’ll lose you when you go inside, but if you need any guards terminated, lead them outside and he’ll take care of ‘em.”

Soap nods, head swiveling and brushing down his front. “Copy. I’ll keep it in mind.”

But as he’s walking, the Sergeant pauses, dress shoes getting brushed by the grass. A bead of silence lingers on him like a needle into fabric, a nagging feeling like an itch at the base of his skull.

“Price?”

“What is it?”

“I need you to look into someone else at the party, calls herself ‘Cerise’.” Johnny can practically hear the confusion over the line and he moves on to explain as he walks farther into the garden. “See if there are any files with that name. I have a bad feeling, and I can’t place it.”

“The woman?” Simon’s voice enters his ear.

“Aye, her. The things she said…they’re stickin’ with me.”

“Hate to tell you, Soap,” Price sounds slightly amused in his dim monotone way. “But the things she says stick to most men.”

He growls, face going heated as his chest tightens. “I’m not speaking ‘bout any of that.” Johnny’s head swivels up to the balcony of the ballroom, trying to pinpoint his location from the maps he’d memorized prior. “I’m talkin’ about how she—”

Speech halts in a fast instant of a choked-off sentence.

A flash of red catches his eye.

“Johnny?” Simon asks over the earpiece, confusion in his tone. But with a slack jaw, Johnny can only watch in awe and shock at the woman currently breaking into one of the locked balcony doors. And he knew they were locked. The informant had said they would be.

It was you.

Red dress and moonlight over your flesh, you look around the balcony before bending and opening up your purse, fiddling for a moment with the contents inside.

“Johnny, sit-rep.”

Unblinking, Soap watches as you take something out, moving closer to the door and inserting it into the door lock.

“She’s fucking picking the lock,” Johnny breathes, his breath making a cloud on the air.

“Who, Sergeant?” Price asks.

“Cerise,” Soap huffs, his jaw closes slowly, blinking as a hand comes up to rub at the back of his head. Only a minute or so later, you move back from the door swiftly, stuffing your items back into your purse and standing. Hand going to the handle, you push into it…and it opens with no trouble at all.

Walking through, Soap gapes as the door closes silently behind you.

“She got in,” he relays, and he hears Price order for Simon to contact Laswell—possible hostile inside of the mansion. “How do I go about this, then?”

“We need that intel—neutralize her if she interferes.”

Something swirls in Soap’s chest, but as he hurries to the stairs up to the balcony after you, gravel stuck into the grips of his shoes. With a grunt, he says, “Copy, Sir.”

Reaching the very same door you’d just gone into, the man slips inside without a whisper, clicking off his earpiece.

—

You trail a hand along the wall at your side, keeping to the barrier and resisting the temptation to fill your purse with expensive pewter statues and whatever other bits you can fit. But you can’t fight off the feeling for long, and before you take a fast right on the way to the office, your noiseless hand snatches at a small statue of a knight and stuffs it into your bag. A low chuckle breeds in your throat.

As you pass mirrors, you gaze at your neck, trying to imagine the glint of pearl and the way they’ll feel over your flesh; sitting heavy with wealth and dripping perfection down to the golden clasp.

“Three rights and a left,” you go off the words from the maid, pausing when you hear the sounds of staff or security. Heels muffled on the thin carpet, your body slinks along like a cat, red dress trailing with all its dangerous intentions.

You’re only one last turn to the hallway of the office when you’re unceremoniously grabbed by the scruff of your neck.

Eyes snapping wide, a sharp inhale is muffled on your lips as a hand settles over your mouth, ripped back along the carpet and shoved into the wall with a rattle of picture frames.

Ignoring the sting of your spine and the fingers that find purchase around your flesh, you blink away the sheen of panic and lock eyes into familiar cobalt blues.

“Johnny?” Your voice is muffled behind skin, and your hand snaps up to his wrist when pressure is set over your windpipe. Shock flies to every other emotion available, confusion taking precedence.

His face is rabid with anger.

“Who the fuck are you?” The words are snarled on his accented tone—lower than the bottom of a canyon.

Physical interactions, in this sense, were never your strong suit, of course. You specialized in getting out before anything like this ever happened, not when a hand was around your throat and starting to put pressure. In fact, now that you thought about it, the man ahead of you would have absolutely no trouble snapping your neck in a second. Despite all of your pride, a bead of fear moved up your back.

Yet, you still glare with all the venom you can muster over the barrier of Johnny’s hand. The weight at your neck stays, but the one over your mouth moves to lean into the wall beside your head.

“Get your hands off of me, you brute,” your words are tight, nails digging into his skin and making indents.

The man can feel your pulse under his hand, the thump of your blood as he looms, glaring heavily. He wanted answers.

“I asked you a question, Bonnie,” his jaw clenches, eyes unblinking. “I think it’s in your best interest to answer it truthfully, eh?”

“And what about you then?” You force out, “I guess my hunch was correct, you’re not here for the party.”

“I have a job to do,” Soap snaps under his breath, eyes moving the hallway as your free hand delves into your purse slowly. “I have a feeling you’re lacking in that department, Cerise, whatever the hell that name bloody means.”

“It’s French,” you snarl, teeth bared, and feeling insulted. “It’s elegant.”

“It’s a load of bullshit. That’s not even your real name, you minx.” His hand tightens even more, and your eyes gain a sheen of panic as your throat closes—his hold was unbreakable just as is, a trained and dangerous thing. Trained? Who was he? What did he want with Victor’s estate?

Was he a thief like you, or hired security?

“Answer me!” His face moves forward, nose nearly brushing yours and breath puffing your face. “Who do you work for?”

“Work?” Your voice raises, confused and angry. “I fucking work for myself, asshat! Do you think I’d waste my time doing this for someone else? Those pearls belong with me.”

His eyebrows pull in, face tight.

You lash out with the pewter statue in hand, aiming for his head. Halfway there, the man’s limb beside your skull flashes out and you find your wrist captured, shoved back into the wall, and outstretched beside you.

Gasping at the pain that ricochets your bones, your hand drops the item in an instant. Your brows go tight with old wounds, the memory of your first attempt at pickpocketing sparking up along with the pinch of marrow.

“Not very bright, Hen,” Johnny’s voice is graveled, glancing at the statue as it bounces along the floor. His lips twist, expression shifting as he takes in your prior confession one word at a time. The attack hadn’t even phased him. The scar at his chin roaves, as he huffs out as the hold on your neck loosens, “Now what did mean pearls—?”

Your knee reems itself upward and connects with his crotch.

Balking back, Johnny’s spine bends, curling in as a long and loud groan enters the hallway—a curse hurled out soon after. Not planning on lingering, you bolt off, jewelry jingling, and lungs heavy in your chest.

“What the hell,” you gasp, taking that last left and staring at the large wooden door at the end of the lineup; fancy gold handle. Fingers shaking and neck aching, you hear the sharp call from behind you as your body gets to the barrier.

Yet, there’s no time to pick the lock. A curt bark moves along the walls.

“Cerise!”

“Fuck,” you draw the word out, quivering hand moving through your purse to find your picks.

Johnny rushes the corner, one hand still on his aching lower body and the other pointing down the hall.

“Get over here,” he snaps.

“Fuck you!” You snap, glaring. “Stop acting like there was anything down there for it to hurt!”

“I am five seconds away,” the man hisses, “from dragging you out of here by your arm and throwing you to the fuckin’ security. You’re a damn thief.” He says it with utter surety, knowing as he puts all the pieces together.

“I am a businesswoman,” you back up a step as he moves even closer, the bulk of his body intimidating now that you know what it could do to you. “And, apparently, you think it’s acceptable to toss one around like you’re trying to have sex with it,” your eyes flare, back going flat to the window behind you. Johnny looms once more, arms caging you in as they go beside your head and the fingers curl. Both of you bark at one another with, at present, no bite.

“I’m not opposed to fun, Mr. MacTavish,” your smirk is venomous. “But I prefer to do it when I’m not on the job.”

“Stop talking,” he snaps, eyes darting to your lips as your gut spikes with adrenaline. His front is nearly flush with yours. “This isn’t worth it—you’re wasting my time. I need to get into that office”

“Then let me go,” your lips are near his, brushing with every word. Now your silver tongue has something to latch onto. He wants to get into that office just as much as you do. “We can help one another.”

“You?” Johnny scoffs, tilting his head as footsteps echo down one of the nearest halls. “Help me? Sorry, Dearie, but after that stunt of kickin’ my fucking balls in, you’ll have to wait for ‘em to re-drop before I put any sliver of trust into you.”

“Tempting,” you huff, both of your teeth bared like dogs—not once do either of you blink away. “But you can’t get that door to move without me.”

Johnny raises a disbelieving brow, and you elaborate.

“If the pins aren’t all moved in under ten seconds, and the door opened, an alarm goes off,” the man stills above you, and you smile in pleasure. “All security in the area will come rushing down on you and your horribly styled hair,” he snarls, eyes flashing, but you continue, face triumphant. “And I hate to say it, Mr. MacTavish, really I do, but I doubt you can pick a lock better than me.”

Johnny glares still, and this time, it’s far more sharp. Something moves behind his blues; consideration or exasperation, you don’t know. Hell, you still don’t know what he’s going to do when he gets into the office. But this is an alliance between wild animals.

The man is about to open his mouth, jaw already loosening, when a loud, questioning, voice moves from the end of the hall.

Both of you freeze, pupils going tiny from where they stare into one another's. Even the blood in your veins slows to a near stop; shock so potent it renders you speechless. Someone was coming down the hallway.

“Is anybody down there?” A voice calls, echoing off the ceiling. There wasn’t anywhere to hide.

Johnny moves back immediately, a hand going to the back of his suit to try and grasp at something as you hurriedly blurt out, “Kiss me!”

The man flinches, anxious eyes narrowed. He blinks rapidly. “What?”

“You heard me,” you snap. Footsteps get closer and the Scot looks at you like you’ve gone mad.

“I am not fuckin’ kissing you, Bonnie,” he says bluntly, a chuckle on his lips. “No way on God’s green earth.”

“Do you want to get caught or do you want to play it off as a mistake?” Your hand moves forward and grabs at his tie, yanking him back to you. He barely budges, raising an unimpressed brow. “I swear to God, MacTavish, do not ruin this for me.”

The man glares, snapping, “I’m not the one that decided to kick a man in the dic—”

“Hurry up and kiss me!” No time.

Someone’s shadow cusps the visible part of the hallway, and you stare with a pleading expression, Johnny glances over his shoulder before he moves his hand away from the M9. With a deep grunt of disapproval, he leans forward swiftly and slams his lips to yours.

Gasping at the intensity of it, your face is smushed as the Scot’s hand comes up, grasping under your jaw and keeping you attached to him, the other stuck at your hip where it creases the fabric.

For a moment you even forget why he did it, and your body melts slightly as he huffs through his nose—your fingers finding his waist. He shivers as they dig in, and he pushes you into the wall, making the dichotomy of warm flesh and a chilled window leave your eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head.

When your tongue brushes his lips, soft smacking meeting your ears, he hums, leaning into you harder. Neither of you fight it when your lips meet again and again, this time making your hand go to the back of his head, greedy mouth opening when he growls into your flesh. It’s nearly feral with clacking teeth and a massacre of senses. His fingers knead at your jaw slowly.

“E-excuse me,” Johnny rips himself from you, whipping around with a red face. Keeping you in front of him, his pounding heart makes his eyes blur for a moment, attempting to focus. You peek over his shoulder, face burning like a million suns, but a smirk forcing itself forward.

The man behind the mysterious Scot is older, and not part of Victor’s security at all. Just a partygoer who had gotten lost along his way. How he even got back here through the main way without being spotted was something of an achievement, you supposed.

He stutters into the heated air. “Sorry to…erm, interrupt, but I don’t suppose you two know the way to Mr. Lawson’s garden?”

The both of you are brainless for a second, Johnny’s hand still on your hip.

“Two lefts and a right,” you utter on swollen lips, eyes smug. “Door’s already open.”

He hurries off, without a glance behind him, and silence falls again.

You blink at the man now suddenly unable to meet your gaze, backing off of you like you’re made of red fire. Your head tiles even as molten heat rages in your bloodstream, pounding in the base of your throat.

“My, my, Johnny,” you draw out, leaning closer as he sends sharp glances. “I’m impressed, who knew you had that in you?”

“Stop it,” he ends the subject, voice fast and firm.

“And here I thought you’d be a bad kisser. Very attentive to a woman’s needs.” You smirk, slinking past him and muttering in his ear, “Gold star for you, Mr. MacTavish.”

“Get the door open before I change my mind!” He snaps, but you aren’t put off by the darkness of his eyes.

You raise your hands, tossing a look over your shoulder.

“How did I know you’d be so pushy?” The man’s jaw moves as it clenches, nose twitching. He runs a hand over the back of his neck and glares.

You kneel, opening your purse and snickering as you grasp the picks and twirl them between your fingers. They were metal—long and bent to be inserted into the lock and manipulated until you found the correct sequence of pins inside of the mechanism. Inserting the first pick, you take and turn the knob slightly to the left, keeping it like that as you hurriedly insert the second.

“Ten seconds,” Johnny utters, watching closely as his anger simmers down to annoyance with you. Yet, he can’t deny that he liked that kiss, either. “Bastard has a lot to hide.”

You hum under your breath, face close to the door and ear twitching with each click. “Not for long.”

White pearls glimmer in your mind.

Feeling around, the pressure from one pin to another is easily definable to you—years of practice moving from brain to brawn flooding out. With every bit of loose metal identified, the handle is moved by the first pin to keep them from slipping back down.

“Five seconds,” the man behind you forces out, looking back from you to the hallway, anxious about getting caught.

“Do shut up,” you sigh harshly, head tilting. “Stop breathing down my neck and make yourself useful.”

“Doing what,” he grunts, blues getting stuck at the back of your scalp.

“Hand near the door,” your voice is easily forced to sound hurried. “You need to push it open, shoulder and all.”

“When?” He barks, already rushing to hover his large limb over your head. You finally get the small snap of all of the pins in place, a click of achievement.

Your heart skips a beat, yet you say casually, “Now.”

He nearly barrels it down, and your eyes widen as he moves through with the force of a bull, your left-behind form kneeling as the man’s shadow dashes. You blink a few times, brows pulling in with distaste.

While you should have been happy, all you do is stare with a raised brow at Johnny as he stops the inside handle from making a dent in the wall, head on a swivel.

“I said to push it open, MacTavish,” you grunt, standing. “Not bring it down, you idiot.”

He turns as you fix your clothes, taking out your compact mirror once more and running your hands along your neck; slinking into the office. Johnny huffs, rolling his eyes.

“Forgive me, Cerise, if I didn’t want the entire bloody party comin’ to me.”

You wondered if now was a good time to tell him you lied about the alarm but decided it was better to hold off until you had your prize. The less he knew, the better.

“Yes, yes,” your voice is low, “are you going to tell me what you want with this place or am I going to be left in a well of intrigue?”

“You’re not gettin’ a peep out of me, Dearie,” he levels looking around slowly—always keeping an eye on you. Johnny doesn’t trust you, but, hell, you don’t trust him.

Shrouded in mystery.

You shut the door behind you, gazing with glee at the expensive decor and knick-knacks. Was that a gold statue of a deer, you spied? Oh, that would fit just perfectly on your foyer’s side table. Pity you can’t just carry it out of here.

“Such a tease,” you hum, sauntering like a fox over the hardwood. “But I have to admit, John, I don’t care a large deal. You’re not important to me.”

“Likewise, Thief,” he grumbles, eyeing the way your hips sway with every step.

There’s the click of a safety going off, and before your fingers can card along the glass case set into the side wall, keeping velvet boxes in their clutch, you freeze. The door’s lock is reinstated.

Eyes still, you stare at Johnny’s reflection in the glass, heart slightly pounding faster. His face is staring, lips pulling into a smirk.

“As much as I’m just loving our little session, Ma’am, I just need you to understand something, yeah?”

You don’t speak, don’t blink. You hate to admit it, but you feel a droplet of unease as it enters your bloodstream. Had he had a gun this entire time? Your eyes find it now, an M9 hanging from his right hand. It’s black body and the long silencer, an image of death if you’ve ever seen one. You’re not new to guns—no, no, not with how you’ve chosen to live your life; the world you’ve taken by the throat and throttled. But getting threatened with one never became easier.

“I think I understand just fine,” you say, smoother than you feel. Shifting your head, you look over your shoulder, raising a brow. “I have business to attend to, MacTavish. I suggest you do the same.”

“I can’t have witnesses,” you laugh, shrugging. Your hands go to the clasp of the glass cabinet, flicking it to the side with a slide of cold metal.

“And I can’t go without these pearls, do you expect me to care about what you can or can’t have? My needs outweigh yours.”

A low rumble. Johnny’s hips shift weight, and that gun still hasn’t risen from the side. He wasn’t going to shoot you, though you recognize that it may be a bit of a shock to him as well as to yourself.

“I very much doubt that,” enters the air with an accented drawl.

“Doubt it, then,” your bluntness is cold and precise, attention already taken as you move to grasp one of the jewelry boxes, pushing the top open with a squeak of the tiny hinge. A silver sigil ring meets you, and your lips twitch at its shimmering material. “Just stay out of my way.”

“Bloody fuckin’ bastard,” the Scot utters under his breath, shaking his head harshly before his feet take him to the desk set near the back. He allows you to stuff your purse to your fancy, even as his mind screams at him to just put a bullet in you and end this—there wasn’t time for games. Certainly not ones played with a damn fox like you.

The memory of the kiss still sears the man’s brain, until Johnny thinks of every interaction you two had had over this fast-paced and stressful night.

But now it was time to hone in. Clean-up later.

“Price, I’m in the office,” Soap mumbles through the line, clicking his earpiece back.

“Good,” the reply is swift. Johnny ignores your small intrigued look, not commenting on the amount of valuables you suddenly have bulging out of your purse. Like a kid in a candy store. The sight is almost enough to make him smirk at you. “Insert the USB and let it do its work. Should take a few minutes—hunker down and assess the exits. There are three floor-length windows behind the curtains; if it comes to it, break through and drop into the pool below.”

“Swimming lesson?” Soap jokes, patting his inner jacket pocket and producing a small black USB stick.

“Eager, are you, Sergeant?”

“Not particularly, Sir.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Ghost joins on, dry response adding to the choir of strange humor.

Johnny’s fingers move to plug the USB into the port, hearing the click of it inserting and stepping back as lines of code jump across the now illuminated screen—files pop up and disappear just as quickly, and the blinking light on the stick tells him all he needs to know about if it’s working or not.

“Johnny,” Simon pipes back in, and the man shifts his body to the side, hand coming up to his earpiece on reflex.

“What is it, Lt?”

Across the way, your eyes glint.

Lieutenant? So the man’s military? Jesus, that changes things. I thought he was just some guy trying to get dirt on someone he disliked. Business partner, maybe. But military?

Your shoulders get a bit more tense, but it doesn’t stop your fingers from brushing your real prize—the last box inside of the case; red leather. It was all but calling your name like a veiled ghost of lust.

“Got a hit for a file with an Unknown, alias ‘Cerise.’ Laswell dug through the records.”

“Do you?” Johnny licks his lips, feet backing up a step and swinging his weapon. “Lay it on me, then.”

“Not much to relay—multi-year investigation, borders on some of their top classified cases for untouched HVTs. Don’t even have a description. String of high-caliber thefts, blackmail, extortions, and suspected of multiple murders to end it all off. Woman’s been busy.”

“Well,” Soap draws, tilting his head with raised brows. “Isn’t that just lovely?”

But the last part stuck with the Sergeant—murders? Call him naive, but you didn’t seem the type for that.

Blue eyes linger on you, slipping up and down with a twitch in their lids. He sees your face light up as you pop open a jewelry case; lips peeling in a violent smile as the round bodies of elegant and expensive pearls meet the light. Hell, Soap nearly hears you squeal.

Murder? But he knows that looks are deceiving.

He addresses Price, peeling his eyes away and taking a long breath. “Any advice, Captain?”

“She’s not the mission. Get what we need and get out.” It wasn’t shocking.

“And Gaz?”

“Still on overwatch—getting antsy. Says there are more security patrols in the gardens but they haven’t done anything more than speak to an old man.”

Johnny blinks. “Say again, Sir?”

“Old man,” Price repeats. “Have him out by the gardens, moving about; asking questions.” A pause. “Why?”

“We might have a problem,” Soap growls, and not a second later there’s news being relayed.

“They’re moving up the stairs into the mansion, Soap.”

“Fuck me,” the Sergeant snaps, rushing to pull at the curtains behind him, seeing the pool far below—it would take a bit of a jump to land a safe distance from the concrete, but there were limited options.

Making out in a hallway pretending to be horny partygoers wouldn’t fix this.

You glance over at the ruckus, in the middle of clipping your prized necklace over your flesh, feeling the weight of it against your collarbone. The sensation of pleasure was so overwhelming your gut swirled with achievement like a storm at sea.

It was perfect.

Staring long at yourself in the glass reflection, your smile is wide and sharp—uncaring to the Scot’s sudden anxieties. You had your pearls and a few extra treasures, that was all that mattered to you. All that was left was your escape. Taking your phone out of your stuffed purse, you text Buck and tell him you’re ready for a pick-up and to park a little way down the street.

‘Need to walk the drinks off a little bit,’ is what you type, before hitting a firm send with a smirk.

Moving backward, Johnny still speaks hurriedly into the earpiece you had deduced that he has, and has probably had since the evening began. Fast-clipped sentences, and glances to the whirring computer, the USB stick you see inserted into its body. Your curiosity has always been your downfall, but you weren’t about to mess with whatever heist this was; especially involving the military and their forces.

That was a cat you didn’t want to drag out of the bag.

Making your way to the door, your hand is just about to grasp at it when you full-stop. Blinking slowly, your head tilts, your ear twitching to hear the muttering from beyond the barrier. With a moment of understanding brewing, a hand lands on the back of your neck and yanks you back, dragging you like a toddler for the second time tonight

Before you can shout at the brutish man, a hand is once more over your mouth, and a voice in your ear. Was this really the only way he could figure out how to keep you quiet?

“No speaking—you’ll just give away our position.”

You glare, unimpressed, until he releases you—blue eyes firmly leveled on your face in order.

“Keep it shut,” he harshly whispers. As your mouth opens, he raises a finger and clicks his tongue, moving away quickly as you stare past in insult. Jaw loose, your eyes glint with hatred, growl in your throat as you turn after him.

“I’m not fucking three, you asshat!” You exclaim under your breath. “I bet I’ve gotten out of more situations like this than you have. And would you quit dragging me everywhere?!”

The handle across the way is jiggled, Johnny glancing at the computer screen in desperation. It wasn’t done yet. He scoffs, face twisting.

“Debatable.” You vehemently roll your eyes, looking around the room. This wasn’t exactly good—but it wasn’t unsalvageable. Looking at the woodgrain of the door like a plotting snake, you decide you could always play it off as one of Vicor’s multiple affair partners. He had scores, no way the man could remember them all. Tell security that he’d invited you here to discuss child support or hush money; that had to be fair play.

You hum under your breath, sighing. How would you explain Johnny? A lover? Bodyguard? Your mind runs through scenario after scenario, until a large knife is shoved right in front of your face. You balk back with a choking sound, startled like a bird on a line.

“Take this before I change my mind,” Johnny grunts, grasping at his gun firmly.

Your eyes stare with a sneer at the combat knife, which wiggles as the man’s hand shakes it impatiently.

“I’m not taking that—are you mad?”

Soap’s face is as stubborn as stone. “I’m not leaving without my intel, and neither are you.” A look is thrown up and down your body which makes you straighten, heels situating themselves below you. “You wanted to be here, Dearie, so you can’t back out now, can you?”

“If I was here alone, none of this would have gone wrong,” you get into his face, eyes deadly. The door shakes as someone runs a shoulder into it—loud shouting from the hallway.

“You’re a vain little minx that plays mind games because she thinks it’s fun,” Johnny hisses, breath atop of yours and eyes unblinking. “Mind yourself, you hear? This is bigger than a necklace, you vain creature.”

You huff. “It’s funny you think I care.”

“Little—” The computer beeps, and Johnny’s head whips back around as the frame of the door begins to crack.

The USB’s light glints a steady green, and then goes off, just as the computer screen blackens.

“Price!” Soap barks. “USB is done uploading, I need intel from Gaz, now!”

“Everything below the window is clear, Sergeant—get out!

“I need something to protect the damn thing from the water,” the man is already moving back, gun clattering to the desk as he opens drawer after drawer for anything—even just a little bag of—

“Holy shit,” you laugh, picking up something that had fallen to the floor in Johnny’s rabid search. “Victor was getting up to it.”

Cocaine baggie—the Sergeant snatches it from you.

“Woah,” you huff. “Wasn’t aware you had an affinity.”

“I am beggin’ you to keep your trap shut.”

“Ooo,” you smirk, eyes shimmering. “I like that.”

Johnny seethes like a dog, looking at you as he dumps out the drug and rips the USB out, shoving it inside as white powder hits his dress shoes. From there, the thing gets shoved into his pocket with a heavy hand.

“Come here,” he takes you by the arm, pulling. With his other, he grasps his M9 once more. Your annoyingly smooth voice in his ear is a constant knife right to his brain.

“Of course, Handsome.”

“Sergeant, for the love of God, tell me that Cerise isn’t in that room with you.” Price’s voice interrupts the two dogs at each other's throats, baring their fangs with sharp intentions.

Soap tilts his head harshly, moving to the window with you beside him. For whatever reason, he fights his senses to leave you here to be caught.

“Then I won’t tell you, Sir.”

“Fucking hell, Soap.” The Scot huffs, smirk at his lips.

“In a worse way because of it, too.” His hand tightens on your arm and you only chuckle, fingers to your mouth as heat moves up Johnny’s neck. He clears his throat, looking away, muttering to his Captain. “Won’t bloody leave me alone.”

“Awe,” your free hand captures his bicep, running up the fabric of his suit jacket. “I’d never leave you alone, Baby.”

Soap suppresses a whole-body shiver, your heated kiss still strangling him every second he gets a whiff of your perfume. His feelings towards you were strange; potent like a snake to a mouse.

The worst part was that he didn’t know who was who in this equation.

Releasing you, your body jostles at the sudden lack of a brace, but you recover with a laugh and a raise of your brow.

Johnny takes his gun and sends four rounds into the glass.

Yelping, your hands go to your head, covering your ears and slightly ducking.

“Time to go, Sunshine!” Your waist is gripped, legs jerked up with a grunt. All at once your eyes widen, your brain understanding the total lunacy that’s about to take place.

“Wait!” You shout just as the front door is busted down. “I’m wearing tangerine quartz—i-it can’t get wet!”

He’s already in mid-air, a smirk on his face, peeling back the stubble on his cheeks as his body crashes through the broken glass.

There’s the sensation of flying, briefly experiencing what a bird lives before gravity takes over, stealing you just as it does your stomach. You yell sharply, but that’s all you get above Johnny’s heavy chuckle before water enshrouds you both. It sloshes over your head, and takes you down into its depths; chlorine makes your eyes burn before you snap them shut.

You’re taken by the first thing that strikes you as your waist is pulled back to the surface—Johnny hiking you upward with your back to his chest.

Who keeps water in the pool this late into autumn?

Gasping as your head breaks out of the water again, your nails dig into Soap’s wrist, loud commotion from far above, and the screaming of orders.

A bullet whizzes past your face.

“I’m going to need Gaz on this!” Johnny shouts, unwilling to let you go as his legs begin kicking, water running through his hair and flowing off of his nose.

There’s a muffled call before one of the security guards from the office window is struck in the head, a spray of red popping from the burst container of his skull—body slumping out of the hole. He hits the ground with a slapping crunch as you pant on fast breaths.

Getting forced back along with Johnny, you curse in the open air at the sight, eyes wide as your dress is utterly ruined by the pool.

You’re tossed upward, body grunting and skidding along the concrete as your palms slap the ground. Scrambling up, Johnny pivots with you behind him, taking his M9 and leveling it up, firing off a few rounds before the sound of your rushing heels strikes him.

Soap calls to you, but you’re already speeding away to the tree line, water leaving a long trail as you sprint to the best of your ability. The pearls around your neck glimmer, slapping against your flesh.

“What the fuck,” you gasp, heart rushing like a lion. “What the fuck!”

Grass moves near your feet, the estate slashing by—gunshots still echo, those loud booms moving over the night; you even hear the loud panic of the party, beginning to understand what they’re hearing.

Stumbling on a rock, your palms skin themselves along the ground, but you don’t wait to think about the sting. You push back up and keep running.

“Cerise!” Soap barks, running after, looking over his shoulder as his earpiece is full of loud orders.

A hand swipes at the back of your arm and misses as you pivot and grasp your purse strap, swinging it around until it slams into Johnny’s head.

“Fucking hell!” He snarls, hand raising to shield himself as you do it again.

“You’re crazy!” You yell, mind stuck on blood and bursting heads. Your purse is in the air, swinging from your raised hand; feet still backing up from the bulky form.

Blue eyes blink at you, occupied with both looking behind for pursuers and shots as you both move into the trees rapidly, circling one another even while escaping. “You’re shooting people?!”

“It’s my mission!” Johnny shoves out, jerking out a hand. “We need to leave—now!”

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” You yell, looking him up and down, backing up, and bringing your purse close to your chest.

Both of your eyes lock in a battle.

“Bonnie,” the man levels, “You’re not staying here with them—they’ve seen your face.”

“I like my chances better when I’m alone,” you swallow down your tone, evening it out to emanate the confidence that you always try to carry like a sword. You’re not going with Johnny—not now. Now you had to go through aliases; move again—run like a petty criminal. You had to hide your valuables and get your finances together.

Staring, you pant, water dripping from your nose.

You needed to disappear again.

“Don’t be a bloody fool,” Johnny hisses, moving closer. “C’mon, we need to leave.”

“You’re right we do—go, then.” It’s final. “I’m not following you anywhere,” your eyes darted his form, remembering how his weight had pressed you into your wall. “Enjoy your intel, Mr. MacTavish, but I have my own affairs to deal with.”

You slip your purse strap over your body and unclip your heels, dangling them by your finger as you stand back to full height with a deep breath. You’re scared now—nervous. Being around guns was one thing, but watching someone get shot was another.

No one was supposed to die tonight; you’re shaken.

“Cerise,” Soap opens his mouth, annoyance in his veins. But he looks into your eyes and pauses, seeing the fidgeting, the flightiness. The man stills, glancing at your visible heartbeat, gobsmacked.

You were afraid. The woman who’d smirked when he’d pushed her into a wall—the woman who had no terror of getting caught. Afraid of him.

He backs up a step raising his hand.

“Hey,” Johnny eases, lowering his tone. You don’t change your attitude.

“No, MacTavish,” you clench your jaw. “This is where our game ends. For good.”

Eyes lock; stare. They dig and they stay still, night aflame with chaos. The game had been fun, but, Soap knew the truth about this as well as you did. It was felt in the very air along the vibrations. He can’t drag you along back to the Exfil point—it would bring nothing of it but wasted time and energy. There wasn’t any time, and even as his instincts told him to level the barrel of his weapon with your skull…he couldn't do that.

He had to let you go.

There aren’t any words spoken; none said in parting or goodbye—in all accounts, the two of you don’t even know if you like one another. Both of you would aggressively deny any such thing, even if the pair of you were absorbed in how one another feels rubbing your hands along clothes. That dig; that pull.

In the end, you turn, and you disappear into the trees, rushing to circle back to the front of the property where Buck will be waiting down the road. Your heart patters, your jewelry bouncing, and your purse full of your stolen quarry.

In the end, blue eyes watch you for a long moment.

And then Johnny backs into the shadows of night, and neither of you seemed to have ever existed at all.

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

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metamatar · 4 months

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But antara you work with computers. Your livelihood isn't dependent on art. People whose livelihood depend on making artwork are saying that this is bad for business. Shouldn't their voice matter here? They aren't imperialists for not wanting corporates to train softwares on their stolen art. And how long till artists contribution are curtailed even more. It is a competitive market. This will jack the competition level upto a thousand + level!

I never called them imperialists. The art is not stolen from them. They still have the original copies. Intellectual property theft is a genuinely meaningless concept. I understand that they're worried, and I have sympathy. But the problem is in their fear they're getting in bed with reactionary forces. That will hurt more than artists, it hurts everyone in the way it makes copyright enforcement more draconian. I highlighted what that looked like in the last reblog of this.

sure, you can standpoint epistemology me into a heartless techbro – but I find this insistence on the special position of artists to be considered for protection from technological forces frankly self invested too. we didn't get this hysteria when grocery store cashiers got replaced by self checkout machines or skilled assembly line workers got replaced by KUKA industrial arms or bookkeepers by accounting software – is it because some workers and their work involve intrinsically more valuable skills than others? if not, shouldn't we ban any technology that can potentially replace a worker? protein folding and drug discovery by AI may save lives, but its taking jobs away from older researchers who did traditional work. should we all burn down washing machines so we can have laundrywomen again? or should we argue for stronger social security and reorganise our society to enjoy reduced working hours when jobs are automated and let people pursue work that they want without market pressures?

#ai art discourse

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spock-smokes-weed · 5 months

Text

re the new hbomberguy video:

my jaw was on the floor for the whole second half of the video. The gaul of James Somerton and a lot of things getting put into perspective really shocked me.

I was never a subscriber of James, but with the spaces I moved through on the internet, youtube was always recommending his videos to be. I watched a handful of them and liked them well enough, but there was always this sour attitude from him I didn't like. He came across as an elitist so I just never stuck around with his channel. The thing that really made me stop watching entirely is the disdain he had for younger queer ppl. Like old man yells at cloud "these ungrateful fags don't know where they came from" type stuff.

But since his videos (for the most part) seemed well-researched and well-thought-out, I understood why he had the following he did and respected his place on the platform. Now knowing all of the parts I liked were stolen from other people and the only original thoughts he could bring to the table were all the snide remarks about other queer people really makes me fucking angry. I didn't watch him enough to know about the lesbophobia and misogyny, but fucking YIKES.

It really makes my blood boil to see a cis gay man make himself the main character by stepping on the backs of other people in the community.

Not only that, but it's fucking sick how many people he implicated in his plagiarism. He had people funding his scam, thinking they were supporting a small queer researcher. Literally taking money out of the pockets of the people he was stealing from. It's not 100% confirmed yet, but it looks like his co-writer also had no idea about the theft, and if that's true then James really is the biggest piece of shit on planet earth.

Does he get how serious plagiarism is? Does he understand what it means to be fucking implicated in something like that? He says Nick comes from academia and is a published author; does he realize this could fucking ruin Nick's career and any future potential in the publishing industry? It's also sick he would use an unsuspecting party as a shield for his own wrongdoing.

I'm currently in school for a career in academia and the situation Nick is in is the kind of nightmare that leaves you in a cold sweat.

#hbomberguy #james somerton

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darkbluekies · 3 months

Note

JERYETETEYETTYYT

smoching jerry drabble plis

I'm going to interpret this literally. warnings: suggestive themes, mentinos of breaknig knees and feet and identity theft

Mwah mwah

"What's wrong with you?" she asks, removing her jacket. "You look like you've watched sad videos on tiktok again."

"Not really, I just ... nah, it's stupid", you say, realizing who you're talking to.

"What's stupid?"

"Nothing."

"Don't fucking be like that, just tell me. Now you're just making it bigger than it probably was."

"I just saw this valentine's day video of a couple. I realized that we haven't done anything like that. Ever."

"Valentine's day's stupid, it's just a trick to get people to spend money. Why show love once a year? Stupid."

You don't answer. Maybe this wasn't a good idea to bring up, you think. Jerry frowns.

"Don't you think I show you enough love?" she questions warningly.

You shrug, while nervously playing with the strings of your hoodie. You know how easily she gets angry, and that she finds the slightest things to punish you for. She does everything from giving you hickeys you're forced to walk around with, to breaking your kneecaps with a baseball bat.

You feel her sit down on the couch beside you, and pull your face close to hers. before you have any time to understand what she's going to do, you feel her lips on yours. She's quick to seperate your lips, deepening the kiss without hesitation. She wraps her arms around your neck to pull herself nearer. You hug her close.

She's in control of the kisses, always has been, always will. You feel like Jerry's everywhere, you breathe her in, feel her under your hands, taste her. She has that affect, even if she never shows love like you want her to do. Jerry has you under her spell, and you can never leave her. If you try, you'll have your feet broken or your identity stolen.

Jerry pulls back from your face and squishes your face in her hand.

"You're too adorable for your own good", she says and scoffs, looking down at your chin. "Your lips are cute. Get up now, we're going on a date night."

"Since when?" you question.

"Since now."

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere mafia #yandere oc x you #yandere oc x reader #yandere female

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horrorhot-line · 3 months

Text

kairos

(n.) the perfect, delicate, crucial moment; the fleeting rightness of time and place that creates the opportune atmosphere for action, words, or movement.

➵ pairing: love and deepspace x reader

➵ word count: 14.2k

➵ genre: fluff, angst (if you squint?)

➵ warnings: spoilers for the game 'love and deepspace' below.

➵ summary: when you thought you didn't belong all your life, you had no idea it wasn't just in your head. now, you're thrown into a world you couldn't possibly have known was real and have to get used to your new enviroment. easier said than done when you keep running into certain men who make it hard to keep your cool.

➵ masterlist (requests are open)

The following content is protected under copyright laws. do not copy, modify, repost on other sites or claim as your own.

notes: to anyone waiting for more saiki k content, i promise it's on the way, there's just a few other things i'm working on so it might take some time, and in the mean time i wanted to practice writing for other characters to sharpen my skills.

to anyone who's new to this blog, hi, i hope you enjoy your stay here, and i hope you like my work, enjoy!

also: thank you to @kagadummis @vanillaschoko9353 @identity-theft-101 for giving me the motivation to write. and a huge thanks to @thecaminator for letting me throw ideas off their head to make sense of what i wanted to do with the series. you were a huge help!

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

There was no one moment that you could pinpoint and say was flawed or wrong. When had the world lost its colour? Had you been ignorant all your life and happened to notice one day, and now there was no going back? Did it even matter?

You didn't know when it all started to go wrong, but you were exhausted. The type of tiredness that no amount of sleep could ever cure. Every interaction felt like work. Every moment that you were conscious felt like work. Nothing ever happened, no one ever liked you, and even if something did come to pass- you could never immerse yourself in the feeling completely.

Chalking it up to, 'Everyone feels this way,' and 'I'm not the only one' only worked for so long. There wasn't really any place you could say you felt you belonged to. You didn't understand how people around you, successful or not, could confidently say, "This is what I was meant for".

Surely, there was more for you out there than working to live, going paycheck to paycheck, always having just enough. Waking up, worrying about trivial things, learning or working, getting stressed at minor inconveniences, eating, sleeping, all on repeat until death finally calls your name one day.

Wherever you went, you felt like you weren't ever really there. Your only comfort was, no matter how alone you felt, among the 8 billion people in your world, there was someone out there who was going through the exact same thing as you. Someone who knew what it meant to feel like you were in a universe you didn't belong to.

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

The first thing you felt was pain. It was dull at first, stirring you from your slumber and forcing your sluggish brain to wake up and find the problem. You didn't even get to open your eyes before it evolved into burning, searing you from the inside out. Your head throbbed, and your vision swam, your eyes barely registering the room's lights that you were in before you forced your lids shut.

You cried out, curling in on yourself in an attempt to soothe the pain, but to no avail. You tried to breathe through it, and assumed you were making progress when the pain dulled. You should've known that was only the calm before the storm.

Memories, hundreds, then thousands, filled your mind all at once. They started to blend into each other- familiar, yet not and try as you might, you couldn't quite place your finger on any of them. You wailed, clenching your jaw so hard you felt your molars push against your gums. Clutching your head in your hands, tears flowed down your face.

What was this? You had never been in this much pain before. You were dying; that was the only explanation. There was no way you would survive this pain. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This couldn't be it. You had so much left to do, so many loose ends to take care of. You were not about to die alone in your room because of a goliath of a headache.

The memories still trying to burn their way through your consciousness behind your closed lids started to slow down, and you could make more sense of them now. You furrowed your eyebrows at what you saw. An entrance exam? Holograms? Monsters? These weren't your experiences; you had never seen this before in your lif-

Wait. No. There was no way. You knew they looked familiar, but you would never have guessed… Those monsters, you recognised them. You had seen them on your flimsy phone screen while playing a dating sim the night before that had just been released a month ago. Love and Deepspace. A game set years in the distant future about romance and wanderers.

What the fuck? You blinked your tears away, the pain from earlier feeling more like a migraine rather than a death sentence. You ignored the sweat clinging to your skin and moved the hair plastered to your face out of the way. That was when your brain caught up, still taking its time to make logical sense of what had occurred.

You weren't in your room- for one, it was neat and tidy to the point of perfection. There was a hologram projected where your bedframe would have been, and the mattress was the softest thing you had ever sat on in your entire life. Despite waking up in a strange room you had no recollection of getting into, you didn't feel any unease, and that in itself had you worried.

It felt right, the feel of the plush covers against your legs and the aesthetic of the room itself. It felt like you belonged. You took a deep breath. Looking around to see if you could find your phone, you moved off the bed to go wander. When you saw a familiar black screen on the desk on the other side of the room, you rushed to grab it.

Getting a better look at it once it was in your hand, you realised it was a phone, alright, just not yours. You tried your best to ignore the odd feeling that washed over you when your fingers seemingly moved as if it were muscle memory and entered a passcode that opened the phone to reveal a home screen.

The top of the screen had bold numbers stating it was 18:46PM, with a few apps underneath. You tried to make sense of what apps were what when your eyes landed on the date in small text under the time. January 17th 2048. You froze, feeling like you had been doused with cold water. No, that couldn't be right. You tried flicking through the apps to see if you could figure out what in the fuck was going on.

You shoved down any thoughts of the isekai love novels you had read in the past because surely- surely, you couldn't have something as cliche as this happen to you. Your expression relaxed slightly, your eyebrows unfurrowing as you found what you thought to be a messaging app. Your eyes scanned the contacts briefly. The first was a message from… Caleb?

Who the fu- Oh. Oh, no. You really didn't want to admit it. You refused. You had not transmigrated. That wasn't possible. You tried to soothe your mind by telling yourself this was all a dream, but the dull headache you still had and the pain that came before it convinced you that you were very much awake. You ignored his message, choosing not to open it and reply.

You had to understand the kind of situation you were in first. The text underneath his was an unsaved number. You opted to open the chat, checking the unread message.

'Congratulations on passing the Annual Hunter's Exam! Please head to the New Recruits Registration Centre on January 18th 2048. Your appointment is set at 8:00 A.M., but we advise you arrive 15 minutes early to sign in. We hope to see you there! Our warmest regards to the new Hunters of today.'

You threw the phone on your bed, frustrated and confused, causing you to be reckless. This made no sense. How could this have happened? You couldn't rationalise any of it. You refused to believe you were in Love and Deepspace. For one, it was too good to be true.

You paced the unfamiliar bedroom, trying to figure out your next move. A mirror. You needed a mirror; it should have been the first thing you went looking for. Your legs carried you as if they already knew where you needed to go. Leaving the room, you turned right and opened the door to reveal a pristine white bathroom. You stopped yourself from gawking at how clean it looked (you swore you saw a bidet and an option to warm up the toilet seat) and headed to the cabinet with a mirror.

You blinked once, then twice, giving yourself a once over again. It looked like you- but didn't at the same time. It was… exactly like what you had chosen the main character of the game to look when you played. You looked otherwordly. Clear skin, smooth without a single bump or pore in sight. Naturally pink lips, long lashes and captivating eyes. The face of a model… of a main character.

You wouldn't have been able to explain the existential crisis you went through even if you wanted to, as you brought your hand up and touched your face. The reflection that greeted you was a stranger, but they felt so familiar. Was this really you? Was this your appearance now? Your life? What were you supposed to do? How could you possibly go back to your world? Did you even want to?

You shook your head. This was all too much. You let your feet guide you back to the bedroom, lost in your thoughts, trying your best to think coherently.

That's when you saw it. A small hologram, a pop-up screen, on the bedroom window that took up a whole wall. You paid no mind to the incredible view outside, too perplexed by the screen. You walked closer to it, realising there was writing. Had it appeared when you left the room, or had it been there from the beginning, and you had been too disoriented to notice?

Your eyes traced the words carefully, trying to understand what they meant. You reread it, furrowing your eyebrows. In bold and all caps, on a white background and written in serif print, was the paragraph,

"N/A Y/N L/N - TIME OF DEATH: [REDACTED], 18:39:03:153425

LINKON CITY [REDACTED] - TIME OF DEATH: DIED JANUARY 17TH 2048, 18:39:03:153425

CONDITIONS FOR SOUL SWAP HAVE BEEN MET. WELCOME TO YOUR ORIGINAL UNIVERSE. WE APOLOGISE FOR THE MISTAKE WE MADE AND THE INCONVENIENCE IT MAY HAVE CAUSED FOR THE TIME IT TOOK TO FIX. THIS IS YOUR ORIGINAL UNIVERSE AND WHERE YOU WILL CARRY OUT THE REMAINDER OF YOUR DAYS. ENJOY YOUR STAY."

Underneath the text was only one option. "ACCEPT"- no way of declining. Huh. Enjoy your stay? Apologise for the inconvenience? Delay it took to fix? Were they taking the piss? Pulling your leg? Dickheads. This was a joke. It had to be. Someone was kidding you, pulling some elaborate prank, and all you had to do was say, 'You got me!' and it would all be over… If only.

You weren't sure how long you stood there staring at the display, trying to make sense of it all. You were in a game. A game you had yet to finish because you had to wait to level up every day. A game where you found yourself fangirling over boys on your screen. And who could blame you? The three male leads were captivating. Beautifully drawn and animated.

Your eyes focused on the view behind the small screen of text, past the bedroom's window; the buildings were obscured due to condensation, most likely caused by the rain still falling across the city. You took a deep breath, closed your eyes, exhaled and promptly reached out to the accept button and clicked it.

It disappeared, and you were left alone with just your thoughts. You know what? No, you were not doing this today. You were going straight to bed; you didn't have the energy to deal with this. This was a problem for future you.

With that, you slipped into the familiar yet unfamiliar bed and closed your eyes, letting exhaustion and slumber take hold of you.

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

From what you could gather from your baffling situation and the cryptic message you saw yesterday, you were in the universe you belonged to. But how did that make any sense? The universe, or whoever was in charge, god, a system? They had made a mistake; you had lived your prime years in a world you were never supposed to exist in, and now you were back where you belonged?

Bullshit- You called bullshit. This was all too much. And if you were here, where was the woman who had been in this body before both souls were swapped? Was she in your uni- her original universe? …Good luck to her then- you hoped she managed to make sense of the shit show that had been your life the day before.

What you still couldn't understand was, how did the soul swap happen? What conditions could have been met to swa- was it the time both of you died? Fuck, this was giving you a headache. You had to blend in and not raise any suspicions for now. What else could you do?

You were sure the events that occurred to lead you to this world were irreversible, and you had no desire to take on some cosmic power that was, in essence, playing with your life. You would make a move once you knew more. Maybe.

You bit the inside of your cheek, miffed but feeling mostly defeated that your life had genuinely been turned upside down, inside out and then fucked sideways.

The walk to the New Recruits Registration Office had been uneventful. Something you were grateful for as it gave you time to take in all that was Linkon City. The skyscrapers were unlike anything you had ever seen, and you were in awe of all the wonders this new world had to offer. Scared and exhilarated, a great combination.

You pulled on the Hunter's Uniform you had found in the wardrobe. It fit you like a glove, but you still couldn't shake the feeling that this was wrong. Like your mind was rejecting the whole situation because it couldn't understand it all at once. Your soul felt at ease, though- something you were grateful for since you guessed that was the sole reason you weren't completely losing your mind. Despite your inner turmoil, you were sure you had never felt more at home.

You just hoped no one noticed that the characte- you, had changed. You checked your phone again, and your shoulders relaxed slightly at the realisation that at least you weren't running late for once in your life. Who knew you'd develop time management skills after you were smited by whatever power had brought you to this new world.

You made it to the building in time but slowly stopped in your tracks as you raised your neck to catch a glimpse of the whole place and realised there was seemingly no end to how high the structure was. You took a deep breath- tried and failed to steel your nerves before you entered the office that would be your new workplace. You attempted to distract yourself with the voice that came through the speakers placed everywhere in the building.

"…One day, we will be able to evolve from our current limitations, transcend the boundaries of life and reach the stars." You silently watched as the glass elevator took you to your destination, the people on the street outside forming little specks the higher you went until they were barely visible. "At a certain point in the future, we can pass through the deep space tunnel… and discover the future awaiting us."

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

You joined the crowd the minute you entered the Hunter's Association HQ, glad that the lights were dimmed and only focusing on the man you presumed to be the big boss of the place. The older man you assumed to be President of the HA stood on a podium, looking around and waiting for anyone else to join.

You really should have replayed the previous chapters in the game because even though you knew what was to come, your memory of the events of love and deepspace were hazy at best.

"…Fourteen years ago, the Deepspace tunnel appeared above Linkon. It led to anomalous geomagnetic storms, and the creatures known as wanderers emerged. From such an event, the Deepspace Hunter was born. Now, society has returned to a sense of normality, but there are still Wanderers lurking in the shadows. They-"

You didn't get to hear the rest of what the President was saying; a girl in the crowd to your right stole your attention. "After they hand out our badges, we'll be assigned to a squad, which will determine our future. Aren't you nervous?" You gave her a once over- what was her name again? Tasha? She was one of the side characters in the game and had a few scenes here and there.

You couldn't remember if there was an option to respond to her in the game or not. Would it change anything if you did? Did it even matter because this was your universe now? Fuck it. "Not in the slightest." You answered after a moment of silence, shooting her a small smile. You weren't wrong; you weren't nervous about your score- because if the game was anything to go by, your results were predestined.

You turned back to the speech. "You look excited, though." You looked at her from the corner of your eye, taking in her giddy form and fidgeting hands. "I am! I couldn't sleep all night!" She whispered back, covering her mouth with her hand to avoid getting anyone else's attention. It was hard to get over the fact that the person in front of you was real, and not a video game character.

She was the prettiest girl you had ever seen. Short hair that fit her face perfectly, clear skin, and a shine in her eyes you hadn't found in the passersby on the streets that morning. You gave her a soft smile, more sincere this time. You hoped she'd still like you like she had the MC of the game you played.

The two of you turned your attention back to the President, who was still talking. "…Goal as hunters is to extract the Protocores from Wanderers- in hopes of destroying them once and for all. That being said, congratulations on passing the selection process. We are grateful for your hard work." The President clapped, and everyone else joined in, including you, who was bested by social convention.

The President returned to resting his hands on the podium, "We will now begin the ceremony and hand out badges to the new Deepspace Hunters. First Candidate, 003931." His eyes swept the crowd, and you didn't need to see the number pinned above your chest to know it was you. At least you remembered that part of the game.

The girl next to you whisper-shouted as she looked at you. "That's you, isn't it? Hurry, get on stage!" And get on the stage you did. You straightened your back, pulled down your cropped jacket and approached the President. "Morning, Sir." You said, suddenly feeling awkward under his authoritative stare. He acknowledged you with a nod, gesturing to the screen on the podium.

"Place your hand here to confirm your personal info." You leaned forward to better see the display. You hoped the name that belonged to this body wasn't too out of character for you. You didn't want some 'Pride & Prejudice' ahh name. Anything but Jane Doe! Please!

You hesitated for a second before placing your hand on the podium and watched as a hologram popped up and generated your details.

"FIRST NAME: Y/N LAST NAME: L/N BORN: XX.XX.XXXX SECTOR: [PENDING]"

The hologram flashed the different level classification in the corner before a question mark appeared. The President gazed at the screen, "Ah, Anhausen Class… It's been a while since I've seen this Evol. You have a lot of potential for growth and might even acquire new abilities. I can see why Jenna picked you as soon as the rookie list was released to the public." You gave an awkward smile at his words, not knowing how to feel because, technically speaking, that was all the MC, not you.

The hologram made a sound, indicating an error. The word "LOST" showed up in red under the level specifications. "It can't be detected?" The President furrowed his eyebrows slightly at the screen. How did the MC explain this one away? You were sure it was something about an attack and the monsters of this world.

"I got attacked by a Wanderer in 2034, so my Evol isn't stable…?" It came out more like a question, something you inwardly cursed at yourself for. He stared at you for a moment before he nodded. "Hm. That event did change many lives forever. You're not the first Evolver whose levels couldn't be detected." He folded his arms over his chest. "This isn't the only criterion we use when evaluating a Deepspace hunter. As long as you have the skills, this industry welcomes you with open arms."

The President leaned to the side to grab a blue box. "Congratulations, you are now a Deepspace Hunter." He brought the box closer to you, urging you to accept your badge. You took it, muttering, "Thanks, Sir."

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

There was no chance to relax as all the new Hunters went out on rookie missions to prove their worth in the field. You damn near jumped out of your skin when your Hunter's watch went off. "Rookies, this is Jenna speaking. I'm your UNICORNS Captain today. Ten minutes ago, there was an abnormal Metaflux explosion at this abandoned base for Protocore research." So that's what this deserted place was.

You felt it in your soul first before the detector picked up on the change; a pulsating vibration passed over you, serving as some sort of warning. There was something here. "It's nearby." You muttered, bringing your Hunter's watch closer. It beeped softly, showing a window stating, "Energy Index", with the numbers 19.5-

"Oh! Your Evol's even better than the detector." You jumped, scared shitless for 0.3 seconds before your brain realised it recognised the voice as the girl from the entrance ceremony. You turned around, the numbers from before forgotten as you faced Tasha. As if she had read your mind and your mistake, she corrected you. "Hi. I'm Tara,"- shoot, you had gotten her name wrong this whole time- "Remember me? I was standing next to you during the badge ceremony."

"Yeah, I do. Fancy seeing you here." You let out a dry laugh, cursing yourself mentally at your awkwardness of having to interact with people you thought were game characters less than 24 hours ago before you were whisked away to this new universe. She quietly snorted at your antics, "You're so cute! I'm so happy we're in the same squad! I saw you, and I just knew we'd be friends!" You blinked, stunned at her compliment and her palpable excitement.

You didn't realise you were tensing until you relaxed at Tara's warm demeanour. "Why don't we team up, then?" You weren't sure if she liked the MC this much straight off the bat, but you were grateful for the inviting air she had around her. You gave her a warm smile of your own. "Sure! The tarot reading I did yesterday told me that I would be super lucky today-"

You didn't get the chance to respond; Tara's watch started beeping, stealing both of your attention. "Wanderers! They're here." Oh fuck. You were not ready for this. Did you have to battle monsters now? At least in the game, there was no way of dying; the MC would just retreat and level up. Did you have that option here? To go back in time or something?

Your watch alerting you of a mission brought you back from your thoughts. You were ashamed that you hesitated for a second, even though you had just received a hunter's badge. You hoped muscle memory would help you fight- Surely, the MC trained in her free time when she had this body. You accepted the mission and looked back at Tara.

"The biggest threat level here is only B, which matches the fluctuations we just felt." At her words, you felt your stomach drop. Why, you had no idea. "Something's not right." You voiced out loud, not quite sure if you could place your finger on what exactly it was. "Yeah, fluctuations normally don't have set values." Tara nodded, folding one arm over her waist and bringing a finger to her chin as if contemplating something.

"Why don't we split up and look around first. Just to be safe?" Safe, your ass! Splitting up in movies always meant death! You didn't want your career to be this short; people would laugh! You gave her a stiff smile, unsure of yourself, as you watched her take her gun out of her holster. "You stay inside- I'll scout the perimeter to see how far the fluctuations go. We'll regroup here once we're done." You nodded, watching her walk off.

You let out a shaky breath as you returned to exploring the building. Wasn't this where MC had to battle Wanderers for the first time? Fuck it, you were 58% sure you weren't going to die, and those odds were good enough. Better than being labelled a coward and, in essence, becoming the company's pariah.

What were you supposed to do now? Wait for your movements to trigger a fight scene or something? You mused to yourself to ease your nerves, but you couldn't shake the feeling that you were forgetting something really important. You didn't get to ponder on the thought; a pop-up screen appeared before you.

Okay. So, this is what it felt like for all those main characters in the Isekai game animes when they saw an instruction window in front of them. You squinted at the words, taking them in.

"THERE HAS BEEN A METFLUX EXPLOSION, BUT IT DOES NOT MATCH THE WANDERER'S THREAT LEVEL. YOU MUST INVESTIGATE THE CAUSE OF THIS.

p.s: we hope this message aids you in your mission. again, apologies for the inconvenience."

So, whatever stole your normality from you really did have a heart after all. You were still annoyed for being blindsided and thrown into the deep end but found you were less frustrated at your situation as you pressed the accept button underneath the text. The pop-up disappeared promptly, and you walked past where it had been seconds ago.

You nearly had a heart attack when you heard what sounded like rocks shifting or falling. Your grip on your gun tightened, and you found your body moving towards the noise rather than away from it. Stupid muscle memory! It chose the worst time to make its presence known. What manner of man runs towards the sound of danger rather than away from it?

You finally had more control of your limbs as you slowed down at a clearing. Nature had slowly started taking back the part of the building you had found yourself in, leaves and plants covered the ground.

Your breath hitched when you saw him. Xavier.

That was what you were forgetting! The male leads! They were real, and you were destined to have run-ins with them if the game was any help… You could leave. Turn back and look for the Wanderer yourself and avoid having to interact with someone who had you screaming into your pillow at odd hours of the morning when you were playing the game.

No. You wanted to slap yourself for even thinking that running away was an option. In what world would you give up the chance to see your favourite boys up close? Maybe they wouldn't fall for you this time around, and it wouldn't be happily ever after because you had replaced the MC, but you could at least bask in their presence and handsomeness, no?

You lowered your gun, slowly getting closer, almost as if you were trying to pet a stray cat outside and didn't want to scare it away. If you remembered correctly, MC would try calling for backup, thinking Xavier was injured and needed help, and a monster would show up. You knew from the game that he was fine, just tended to fall asleep no matter the situation- but you also knew you had to get him up because a wanderer was on its way.

Common sense dictated you shake him awake, but you felt guilty knowing he liked his sleep. That, and you were enjoying yourself. He was the most handsome man you had ever seen, and damn it, if you weren't going to admire this artwork before you.

To be or not to be, you mused to yourself as you got closer to him and kneeled to his height. "…Hello?" You voiced experimentally, wondering if he'd wake up. No such luck, you realised as you called out to Xavier again, shaking him slightly. What were you supposed to do? At this rate, you would have to call for backup, if only to get him out of his slumber.

It didn't help that he looked perfect even while he was sleeping. He was ethereal, otherwordly. You were in awe of how his skin glowed and how the light reflected off his hair, making him look like he was painted. He looked like he had been cut straight out of the magazine, not a single dirty blonde lock out of place and long lashes that nearly kissed his cheeks. Why was he so pretty? The universe clearly had favourites.

After your fifth and final attempt to wake him up, you gave up; the guy slept like a rock- what were you supposed to do? You felt too guilty to try again; you felt like a criminal for taking away his nap. You'd just have to wait for your death, then. "Please, I'm too young to die again." You thought out loud in desperation, which seemingly did the trick.

He stirred in his sleep, and your breath hitched as his blue eyes finally landed on you. Oh fuck. He was gorgeous. Like, make your knees go weak gorgeous. Like, get lost in his gaze type gorgeous. Like make you wanna bark gorgeou- No! You had to stop your train of thought, focus and try to end the awkward silence between you.

You took a breath, steeling your nerves and putting on your brave face, "Hi, I know you were sleeping, and I'm sorry I woke you up, but you looked injured, so I wanted to make sure you were okay." You gave him the classic white man smile, the awkward one you gave to someone who would let you go first when going through a door or something. You winced, cringing at your words.

You hoped he wouldn't think you were weird. First impressions were everything. "I'm fine," Xavier answered after a beat, gazing down at his minor wounds, and it was over for you. His lazy drawl was smooth and inviting, comforting like honey. "But, you-" You didn't get to enjoy the sound of his voice or hear what he was going to say as the ground started to shake beneath you. The collar on Xavier's neck projected a blue hologram, and you knew exactly what it meant. A wanderer. Oh fuck.

Your body moved by itself, bringing your arms up and pointing your gun at the monster that appeared. "Watch out!" Xavier leapt past you and summoned his sword to attack the creature. You watched in awe at the speed at which he moved, lowering your gun slightly. He faltered as his collar turned red.

He jumped away, finding his footing next to you as the monster disappeared. "It activated its Protofield. You're a Hunter, right? Let's defeat it together." You looked from the purple portal that shifted to Xavier, then back.

It wasn't like you could refuse, you thought to yourself as you entered the portal after the blonde. This was your life now; you had to try and get used to it, at least.

The following five minutes were a blur; you took a back seat and let your body move by memory to defeat the Wanderer. You felt the fear during your close calls, but you were grateful Xavier had your back. When the fight ended, and the monster was crushed, you both were teleported back to the abandoned building.

A purple orb manifested and floated towards Xavier, and you watched as he grabbed ahold of it, shook his head and crushed it in his hand. "This isn't it." You moved closer, interested in his motivations. "Was there something wrong with it?" You queried, regarding the man with curious eyes. "Huh?" He gazed at you, looking lost. So he had no intentions of answering you and was gonna be all mysterious? Cool.

"Do you think there's more Wanderers lurking?" You changed the subject, guessing he probably didn't answer on purpose. "We became prey stuck in a trap the moment we walked into this warehouse," Xavier stated as he looked at his surroundings. "Come." He approached you, taking hold of your wrist as he led the way. You ignored the flip-flops inside your stomach and tried to keep your cool. You had to remind yourself he was doing this for the mission.

Xavier stopped, still holding onto you as he looked around, seemingly searching for something. "Did you enjoy your nap?" You piped, having spent too long in silence, the awkwardness nearly crushing you. "Hm? …Yes, I did." Xavier gave you a funny look, and you ignored it as you mentally cussed yourself out for asking him a closed question and murdering the chance of a conversation.

The uneasy feeling you had gotten since you came here had yet to leave you as you checked the screen on your Hunter Watch, confused as to why it didn't detect any Wanderers. As if reading your mind, Xavier answered, "They're Luminivores. No movement, no fluctuations." So that's why… You met Xavier's gaze as he brought his finger to his lips, signalling for you to stay quiet. "Over here." He cocked his head in the other direction, pulling you with him with his hand still wrapped around your wrist.

He pulled you to sit next to him, trying to hide your presence from whatever was lurking in the shadows, waiting for both of you. You sifted through your memories of the game, straining your brain to see if you could remember the chapter's outcome. As far as you knew, the Wanderers had set some sort of trap for Xavier, and both he and the MC had to take down other Wanderers before the stage was cleared.

"Feels like a trap set specifically for you." You voiced out loud after carefully thinking of what to say without sounding like some clueless Hunter who knew nothing of the monsters that attacked- you thought you did a darn good job considering you were someone who knew nothing about the Wanderers- and who could blame you? You played the game for the plot- the plot, of course, being the hot guys who got involved with the MC.

"I'm just a normal Hunter. You don't need to look too deeply into it." Your eyes softened as you looked at the man in front of you, realising from the game that he had a tendency to look away and avoid eye contact when he lied. Clearly, he wasn't ready to tell you what was going on, and you were okay with that. "Okay, I believe you." You stated, deciding not to dig any deeper.

You didn't notice the curious look he shot your way at your willingness to let it go. "What are you thinking about?" Xavier asked as he watched you furrow your eyebrows, deep in thought. You finally glanced up at him. "Why don't we bait them out and take them down in one attack?" You suggested, confident that the MC had devised a similar plan to defeat the Wanderers. "You…" He trailed off as he stared you down.

You ignored the heat rising on the tip of your ears due to his gaze. "Use your Evol." You stated, remembering the MC's words from the first time you played the chapter. He looked at where the Wanderers were starting to swarm. Xavier held his palm out before him, summoning light into it. The room darkened when he closed his hands. "Guess they took the bait. They're gathering now."

You willed yourself to shake the nervousness you felt, hoping your victory was predestined and that the two of you would get out of there unscathed. "There are a lot of Luminivores. If we don't take them out in one go, they'll respawn using the light." Your hand moved by itself, a feeling you had yet to get used to. You grabbed Xavier's arm, breathing as you willed your Evol to activate, "Then, let's use my Evol." He turned his attention from where your hand rested, to you.

His face… You thought to yourself what a shame it was to see his brows furrow, but fuck did he look good when he was all serious. You mentally shook yourself at the thought; now was not the time! "Please forgive me," Xavier stated as he moved closer, his breath tickling your cheek as he took hold of your right hand and rested it on his chest. You watched in awe as light gathered where the two of you met, a warm glow enveloping the both of you.

The wind picked up as your powers combined, and all you could think was, this was Resonance? It felt like you had joined on a spiritual level, your souls connected for a brief moment as your powers mixed and tangled themselves. All you could do was pay attention to his slow heartbeat and how good he looked with his eyes closed.

The Luminvores burnt away quickly; not a trace of them left as the light disappeared. Xavier got up, looking around and securing the perimeter with his eyes. "The fluctuations are gone, and so are the Wanderers. Your plan actually worked." You relaxed, your form no longer tense, as you realised you were out of danger for the time being. "Too bad we couldn't get any Protocores." You stated, remembering the procedure you were briefed on when it came to Wanderer clean up.

"Ah, they were accidentally blown up." You shrugged at his statement, not too bothered by the fact since you were still in one piece, which was more important. You had done it- with the help of MC's muscle memory. You had yet to get used to the foreign feeling of your body moving with a mind of its own.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, looking at each other, waiting for the other to talk. "…My uh, my name's Y/n. A new recruit. Nice to meet you." Xavier regarded you for a second, and you ignored how his eyes flicked from both your eyes down to your lips and then back. You definitely ignored your stomach doing the 'thing.'

"I'm Xavier." He paused, only for a second, before he turned to face you properly. "By the way, could you do me a favour?" And there it was, the line you were waiting for. "If anyone asks what happened, tell them that… Aside from the Wanderers, you saw nothing else, alright?" Ah, he was asking so nicely- how could you possibly turn him down? You never did understand why the MC was suspicious of Xavier when she first met him.

Then again, he was pretty vague and mysterious to start with. "Okay, if you say so." You accepted readily because, let's be honest, you were weak in front of that handsome face. Maybe it was because you hadn't seen his expression change much since you first encountered him, but you were sure you didn't imagine the slight raise of his eyebrows in surprise.

He looked like a lost puppy, reminding you of a golden retriever. His expression softened, no doubt confused as to why you agreed so readily to his demand, and you couldn't help the smile on your face. "Don't you want me to explain?" You softly shook your head at his question, "You don't have to explain yourself to me. Take it as a free pass for fighting with me."

Changing what the MC said in the game wouldn't hurt, would it? You hoped this didn't set off a butterfly effect that ended with you buried 6 feet under. Either way, he really did save you out there; you were sure if you had to take that Wanderer alone, even with the muscle memories of the body you were in, you would have been defeated. So all's well that ends well.

Xavier's lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but your Hunter's watch stole your attention. "I'm headed over to your location now!" Tara's voice came through the device, and when you looked up, Xavier was gone- so much for distracting yourself with eye candy.

The sound of footsteps getting closer had you turning around to face Tara. "I lost your signal and couldn't contact you at all. These protocore fragments… You took them down all by yourself." She asked, astonished as she lowered her gun. "Yep, all me." You mentally patted yourself on the back for how quickly you lied. "That's amazing! I'm so glad you're okay; we'll talk when the mission's over, all right?" You nodded at her suggestion, shooting her a small smile.

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

Once the Wanderer clean-up was over, you, Tara and the New Recruits were ordered to return to HQ. You were just glad to finally be able to relax as you leaned against a wall. Curse you and your unhealthy body that was used to spending your free time indoors. Nothing of note happened after Tara found you, and thank fuck because you weren't sure you could handle another battle.

It was nice and all, being in a game you had spent time and effort playing until you realised you'd have to relearn the meaning of 'normal'. The chattering of your soon-to-be colleagues did little to distract you from your inner turmoil. Your saviour came in the form of a girl whose name you had gotten wrong. Tara's voice pulled you from your thoughts, "By the way, did we get anything from the data we sent back to HQ?"

You gazed up at the ceiling, trying to recall what had happened since you returned through the blur of memories that day. "Something about waiting for results before jumping to conclusions. I guess Data Analysis still needs to do another investigation." You offered, hoping she wouldn't press you further about the mission. "I'm just glad you're okay; it must have been scary by yourself."

You released a breath you didn't know you were holding, a small smile gracing your face at her concern for your safety. "Yeah, even though you left me to fend for myself. Guess it's my super lucky day, not yours." You teased, remembering her comment about a tarot reading from before the mission. "You're still in the mood to crack jokes?" She quipped, placing her hand on her hip. You didn't miss the twitch at the corner of her lips, and you couldn't help but snicker at her antics.

"For your information, I was trying to contact you for ages! I was so close to trying just about anything possible, scientific and mythical!" You had a feeling the two of you would get along well. You didn't get to finish the conversation as the light dimmed in the room, and the most gorgeous woman you had ever seen walked in. She was tall, with the most perfect pixie cut, sharp eyes and plump lips. You couldn't help that your first thought was, 'Mommy?'

"Finally, we meet face to face, UNICORNS Recruits." The chatter in the room dulled to nothing as you lightly kicked yourself off the wall you were leaning on. "I'm relieved to see everyone has returned in one piece. Your performance was recorded and uploaded to our database by the Hunter's Watch each one of you is wearing." You absentmindedly fidgeted with your watch, hoping there wasn't anything suspicious in your results that would raise eyebrows.

You froze when she made eye contact with you and continued. "UNICORNS only chooses the best of the best. The squad will take that into consideration and assign you to your appropriate sector. In the foreseeable future, the difficulty of your assignments, nature of your work, and scope of your missions will correspond to your sector's role and responsibilities."

You stopped listening, your attention span coming to its end as you started daydreaming. So, Xavier and the other male leads were as real as they came, and you were in a world where you would manage to run into them. You had to wonder if you were still the love interest after swapping souls with a nameless character. You guessed you would have to find out for yourself.

As if on cue, applause erupted in the room as Jenna thanked everyone for their efforts and participation, and you, like the sheep you were, joined in instinctively. With that, Jenna gave a small smile and left the room. The lights switched back on as the room burst into excited chatter once everyone's Hunter's watch beeped, signalling the results were out.

The robotic voice of a woman sounded through the speakers. "Mission data analysed. Please report to your respective sector at 8:00 A.M tomorrow." Tara brought her hand up to inspect her watch, "Sector... Data Analysis. Captain... Andrew. Yes! I knew yesterday's fortune was right!" She turned to you, her hands clasping behind her as she leaned forward. "Well? What does yours say?"

You gazed at your own device, knowing the results already. "Sector, Alpha Team. My Captain's Jenna." Tara perked up, looking more excited about your results than her own. "You're working directly under Jenna? Wow... Can I visit you in the future whenever I want?" You didn't blame her for using you as an excuse to check your captain out; you would have done the same in her shoes. "Be my guest. We can admire Captain Jenna together."

Tara whooped at your suggestion, doing a little victory pump. "Wanna get some food?" You suggested, not wanting the conversation to end. You were relieved when she agreed, telling you she was starving.

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

Azure Square was beautiful, a cross between a park and stalls that lined the main street, branching off into the distance. Tara had led you there since it wasn't too far from HQ. Grabbing whatever street food caught your eye, the two of you strolled past the trees lining the path until you spotted a free bench near the square's monument.

You listened to Tara rant about her workplace crush, enjoying the scenery and her giddy personality. "…And just like that, the Wanderer was gone! Poof! Disappeared into thin air." You tried not to laugh at her gestures and hand movements that matched the story. "After escorting me to a safe place by the road, she said- "You're safe now. Go home." Aaaah! That's what we call max security!"

She lowered her clasped hands, and you got whiplash from how quickly she became serious. "So yes, as you can see, I became a hunter to follow in Captain Jenna's footsteps. I want to be as badass as she is- to be her equal and fight alongside her…" She blinked, trailing off before she rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. "Oh, I've just been rambling on. What about you? Why did you become a hunter?"

You parted your lips to respond, and you were not ready for the flashback her question had triggered. The screams of help were drowned out by roaring wanderers, the feeling of your stamina depleting as you sprinted through the streets covered in rubble, the panic of not knowing what was chasing you, the burning pain you felt as you were hit, the makeshift shelter you crawled towards in an attempt to save yourself.

Well, that was something, you thought to yourself as you blinked. The memory felt like it was familiar yet foreign at the same time. It was like trying to grasp at smoke, only for it to slip through your fingers. "Looks like you're reminiscing about something from a looong time ago." Tara's words snapped you out of your daze. "You could say that…" You trailed off, not knowing what else to say.

You were saved by the bell, or more like the drone that flew by to give a prerecorded announcement to the passersby. "This is a very important symbol for Linkon City! Mr. Guidey welcomes you to Azure Square!" The drone looked like a ball, clad with headphones that had bunny ears on top. "Here, the past and future coexist! The old and new mingle together seamlessly! This is the charm of Linkon City! Wow!"

"Ahhh, it's so noisy, like a kid who's constantly shouting." You agreed with Tara's complaints, but after a few seconds of listening, it started to grate on your ears like forks against a plate. Either way, you were grateful for the distraction. "Everyone, look over there! Tide Street is hosting a marine-themed exhibition! Follow me…" You followed the drone that whizzed off into the distance with your eyes before looking back at Tara.

Your silent question of, 'Wanna go?' didn't go unnoticed by her, and she promptly shook her head. "I'll call it here; we need rest for work tomorrow. After all, we experienced a real battle today- getting a good night's sleep takes priority. Plus, I live far from here, so…" You nodded, signalling you understood she had to leave. You gave her a small wave, one she returned as she disappeared into the crowd.

Once you knew you were alone, you couldn't help but think, 'What now?' It was too early to be left alone to ponder the day's events and how this was your new normal. As if the universe heard your inner turmoil, you noticed a boy in the bush near you, trying to look inconspicuous. You could sense the hesitation, but his eyes shined with determination. He was clad in a yellow hoodie and khaki shorts, perfect for the sunny weather and clear skies. You decided to call out to him, "You okay?"

That was all the encouragement the boy needed as he slowly stepped out from his hiding place, "So, miss, I overheard your conversation… Are you a hunter on mission?" You shook your head, correcting him, "A hunter on standby." You lowered yourself to his eye level, hoping you wouldn't intimidate him.

"Everyone says hunters are super strong, and you can do anything I ask, right? Riiiight?" You could tell he wanted a favour by the way he quizzed you. He confirmed your suspicions as he pulled out a stack of shiny, golden cards from his pocket, presenting them to you. "Here's what I'll give you as a reward! A full set of Super Hunters AR cards. Follow me!"

You didn't get a chance to say no as he grabbed your hand and whisked you away. "We're almost there. I need you to catch that little red fishie!" He dragged you to a stall and pointed at the prize he wanted. You nodded, signalling you understood the assignment. "I'll do it, but you don't have to give me your cards." This time, the boy didn't get to respond to you, as a little girl in the distance called his name.

"Lucas! You can't cheat in a contest!" The boy panicked, pushing you closer to the stall as he hurriedly spoke and threw the net at you. "Oh no, she spotted us! Take this net, and don't say anything about me hiring you!" He exclaimed as he ran off and left you by yourself. Were you still supposed to catch it from him?

You didn't get to ponder much longer; the sound of light footsteps approaching the stall urged you to turn around, and you regretted the choice immediately. You were not ready.

The man in front of you was drop-dead gorgeous. He had nothing on Xavier, and you could tell straight away that he had indeed been the game creator's favourite. A face sculpted perfectly, an alluring aura and the prettiest set of siren eyes you had seen and- motherfucker, was he glowing? "Unfortunate. This species of fish can only survive for a week on land." Rafayel stated as he stepped closer, gazing at the creatures swimming in the booth.

You inhaled and inwardly cursed as your breath hitched. You couldn't help but gawk, entranced by the beautiful man before you. His eyes met yours as he cocked his head and moved closer. "The fish is gonna slip away, you know." He pointed out before taking the net from your hand. You froze as his fingers grazed yours, not missing the feeling of electricity passing through you at the touch. He let out a little "Ta-Da!" as he went to catch the fish.

Rafayel caught it on his first try, manoeuvring the net in a circle, and the next thing you knew, he brought the tool closer to you and turned it around, showing you his catch. He gazed down at the fish between you, "The owner probably just wanted to throw in some fish to fit the theme- but this one, bright as a flame, is a real Flammula from Lemurian legends."

Your throat went dry, and you unconsciously gulped to relieve the discomfort, still starstruck as you looked at Rafayel. You couldn't speak even if you tried, and you weren't about to attempt to do so, only to have your voice crack, which you were sure would happen if you opened your mouth.

His eyes narrowed only a fraction, and had you blinked, you would have missed it. You wordlessly held out the container with water for the fish, nearly forgetting with all your ogling about the poor creature still flopping on the net.

He dropped the bright red fish into the water, never taking his eyes off you. Fuck's sake. Was he suspicious of you? But how? This was your first encounter in the timeline of the game. Had you met him before? Did he know you- the MC?

It didn't help that his collarbone was on show, and the little show of skin alone was nearly enough to make you go feral. His eyes dilated slightly in what you could only assume was… yearning? "Do you… Know me?" He asked finally, and you cursed at your lack of acting skills.

Had you actually played the game and paid attention instead of skipping lines until the MC interacted with the male leads, you wouldn't have had to suffer. What had the MC said to him in the game for him to walk off so easily? "I, uh… No? Should I?" You placed the container holding the fish down and shot him a question of your own, hoping it would open up a new chapter in the conversation.

Rafayel's eyes dimmed, losing the shine they had momentarily before he turned his head to look off to the side. "No… Nevermind." You tilted your head at his words- had you missed something? "Thank you for helping me, Raf- Ahh, rescue- rescue the fish." You winced at the way you stuttered, hoping he wouldn't notice how you nearly said his name without him introducing yourself.

"You…" He trailed off, stepping closer to you, and you did what any logical person would do when coming face to face with someone who was temptation and allure, personified- you moved back. Of course, of all the moments you could trip over your feet, it was then. You didn't notice the raised brick on the pathway behind you until your heel came into contact with it, sending you falling backwards to your demise.

Rafayel's eyebrows furrowed, and he moved with reflexes that surpassed even those of Xavier, grabbing onto your outstretched hand that had reached out instinctively to save yourself, his free arm coming to rest on the small of your back. Hand placement, hand placement, hand placement- "Are you alright?" He asked, gazing down at you with his unchanging expression. You realised then, on closer inspection, that his eyes were a mix of magenta and wine, a combination you never knew would look so captivating.

Fuck, his hand felt warm on your lower back; the heat from his hand managed to pass through your clothes, "Huh? Yeah… Uh, thanks- again for saving me this time." Once you had regained your balance, he let you go, but you didn't miss how his touch lingered ever so slightly. You watched his eyes leave yours, confused by the look of longing you found there.

You opened your mouth to speak, not yet sure what you would say, and as luck would have it, you didn't have to use your last three brain cells to utter a response. Your phone beeped, telling you your schedule for today still had a routine check you had to attend. "Damn." You mumbled, looking up as Rafayel stepped away from you.

He nodded, standing in place for a few more seconds as he gazed at you before he turned on his heel, silence following as Rafayel left you wordlessly, walking off with his brochure. You were still too caught off guard, not wanting to call after him with nothing to say. Fuck, you were sure there was something you were missing. You held the container in your hand before you, only then remembering the fish you were given.

That was it, you forgot to give it to him. Well, you had a new pet you had to take care of. You just hoped you hadn't changed too much of the storyline.

Unfortunately for you, small ripples had the power to create big waves.

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

Rushing over to Akso Hospital in time for your appointment, you focused on breathing through your nose and getting your heartbeat under control. You were lucky you made it just in time since you had to find a fish tank for your new pet, food, bring the fucker back to your apartment, set everything up and not forget your medical report on the way out.

You noted that the hospital didn't feel like one; it looked more like a law firm. The only thing out of place was the receptionist at the front desk dressed in nurse scrubs. You were glad you got close enough to look at her name tag before you spoke.

"Hi, Yvonne. I'm here for my appointment with… Dr. Zayne? Is he still here?" You hoped to everything that he wasn't and had gone home. Out of all the male leads in the game, he was definitely the one you were most nervous to meet. He was a main character- and to top it off, his backstory meant he knew the MC.

Zayne had met the MC when her grandmother took her in; you were sure the two of them were neighbours or something- and that, by default, meant he would pick up on the fact that your mannerisms were different to the woman he was accustomed to. Fuck's sake. You had debated whether to miss your appointment on the way to the hospital but decided against it.

You'd run into him sooner or later; you would rather bite the bullet as soon as possible. Get it over and done with. "Don't worry, all checkups are in the system, which sends out notifications- Dr. Zayne can't forget them." Hah. So he hadn't gone home, and you were going to have to see him. Great.

You debated taking a seat in the corner where the waiting area was for a second to save yourself from standing in awkward silence next to the reception. The nurse looked up momentarily, her hand hovering over the computer's keyboard. "You've known Dr. Zayne for a while, right? I'll transfer your call over so you two can get started." She stated as she pressed a button on the front desk's phone.

You desperately wanted to refuse but had no legs to stand on. What could you have said? No, you didn't know him- the woman whose soul was in this body yesterday knew him? "Akso Hospital, for a brighter future." An electronic device sounded over the phone, and you knew in that moment that your fate was sealed. No turning back.

"Good job, you were ten seconds away from being a no-show." Zayne's voice followed, and you fidgeted with the paperwork in your hands. "At least I managed to get here." You mumbled, feeling like a kid getting a scolding from a parent. It didn't help that his voice was thick, a low timbre that was deep but didn't grate your ears.

Biiig breaths, Y/n, big breaths. "Don't worry, we have five seconds left." You wouldn't run for the bus if it was rounding the corner- what made him think you would run for him? "That's not fai-" He cut you off, still counting down. "Three, two-", and you were off, bounding down the hallway, not wanting to make things worse for yourself.

When you pushed past the doors and first entered Zayne's office, disinfectant was all you could smell. You scrunched your nose slightly at the assault on your senses, glancing around the room to find the man who had rushed you. Your eyes landed on him, gazing down at the computer's interface as he sat in his office chair.

You were floored. Utterly gobsmacked and starstruck at the mere sight of the man. His jawline looked as if it would give you a papercut if you traced it with your finger, his black hair was parted perfectly at the side, and fuck, those glasses really did it for you. "Congratulations, you weren't late. Is this impeccable timing a new Evol ability of yours?" He remarked, still typing away on his keyboard. When you didn't answer, too busy checking him out, he looked up at you.

Your lips parted slightly- the game did him no favours; he was beautiful in person. So handsome it hurt, with looks that could knock the air out of you. You looked away first, finding it hard to hold eye contact with the man. "I showed up, didn't I?" You retorted half-heartedly, sounding less confident in your words than you would have liked.

An uncomfortable silence fell as he continued to type away, returning his attention to the monitor before him. You walked over to him, sliding your medical report onto the desk between you, suddenly feeling awkward and out of place.

Normally, you were grateful when a message from- whatever power placed you in this world- materialised in front of you. Not this time. You turned your attention to the pop-up screen on the desk, obstructing your view of the paperwork you had set down moments earlier.

"MAINTAIN PHYSICAL CONTACT FOR 15 SECONDS.

REWARD WILL BE GIVEN ONCE THE MISSION IS COMPLETE.

A BONUS PRIZE WILL BE GIVEN IF TIMER EXCEEDS.

PENALTY FOR FAILURE TO COMPLETE WILL BE DIRE."

Okay, fuck whoever decided- what the fuck did they mean physical contact? And a penalty for noncompliance? You ran your hand through your hair, tongue in cheek, as you silently seethed at whatever deity was messing with you.

You turned your attention to Zayne, your features softening as he pushed his chair back slightly. "Report." Was all he said, looking at you through the lens of his glasses. You wordlessly bent down, pressing the "ACCEPT" button- because what else could you have done- as inconspicuously as possible.

The pop-up screen disappeared, and you pushed the medical report closer to Zayne, hoping he hadn't noticed anything was off. He picked it up, skimming through it before something caught his eye. "Any changes recently?" Yeah, maybe the fact that you woke up in another world the night before- you couldn't say that, though. You bit the inside of your cheek, looking off to the side when he glanced at you.

You had to think up a good enough lie that he would believe. "I've had patchy sleep, nothing big." Zayne's eyes narrowed at your words, and you shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "Sleep-wake syndrome… That's cause for concern- you do know that, don't you?" You didn't have it in you to care; you were too busy thinking about how you'd have to touch him for more than 15 seconds or face the consequences.

"It's 'cause I was nervous for my first day at work, I'll sleep like a baby tonight." You hyped yourself up for coming up with a fib so fast. He raised an eyebrow at your statement before going back to flipping through your report. "Ignoring medical advice about sleeping like it's nothing. I suppose you're just here to go through the motions." Zayne placed the papers down and moved his chair closer to his computer.

At first, you were offended by his words until you realised he was right; you had come here just to get it over and done with. Damn, you had no comeback. Except one- but it was risky… Fuck it, the impossible had happened overnight; this was your world now- what was the point of thinking and regretting? "Of course not. I came to see your handsome face." You leaned forward with a small smile to sell your sentence.

You placed your hand on the arm closest to you, thinking you'd shoot two birds with one stone. Zayne blinked, raising his head to look at you before he looked at where you two connected. His gaze narrowed at you, and you cursed yourself for the decision you had made. His fingers came to rest above yours before he gingerly moved your hand from his arm, and you swore you stopped breathing when he paused before he let go.

The tips of your ears started to burn, and you prayed he didn't notice the colour travelling to your cheeks. "Patients aren't supposed to flirt with their doctors, you know." He said nonchalantly, but you didn't miss how his jaw clenched. Your lips parted before you could contemplate what to say. "...Yeah, but it's not like you're just my doctor. I've known you long before today- or did you forget?"

Technically, you weren't lying; you knew a lot about him through the game, but you couldn't act on any of that knowledge- even though you wanted to. And let's not forget, he didn't know you. He knew the MC, who was now gone thanks to some prick who made a mistake with your places in the universes.

Now that you thought about it, out of the three male leads, wasn't he the one who had feelings for the MC before the game started? He shook his head at your words, sighing to himself. You didn't get to retort; the pop-up screen showed up yet again, now hovering in front of the curtains at the back of the room.

"PHYSICAL CONTACT: 9 SECONDS

6 SECONDS REMAINING."

Nice, there was a loophole. You didn't have to continuously touch Zayne for 15 seconds; you just needed to hold onto him here and there, and the time would accumulate. Okay, that was easier to work with. Movement in your peripherals caught your attention, and you shifted your gaze as Zayne moved to the other side of his desk, leaving his computer behind and effectively blocking your view of the pop-up. "Sit over here, please."

You let out a "Hm?" in confusion- unsure of what he was asking of you. Zayne cocked his head to the side, "Listening." So... being vague was another one of his talents. At least you understood that he wanted to check your heart rate. "Sure thing, Doc." You remarked as you walked behind his desk and seated yourself on the little stool in front of him.

You watched as Zayne took the stethoscope's end out of his pocket and placed the tips into his ears before leaning in to listen to the beating of your heart. A small blue hologram, sort of like a loading screen, showed up on the side of the stethoscope on cue as the device synced itself. You raised your chin slightly when you felt his hand graze your rib, your stomach dropping like you took a dive off a rollercoaster. He was really testing your self-control.

Hopefully, he wouldn't find anything of suspicion. Fuck, he was too close, and you were so close to losing all willpower. You had to say something; the silence and his movements drove you up the wall. You inhaled softly, "I think I'm fine. My first day was stressful, but it's not like I'm ready to be hospitalised-" Your rambling was cut short as he hushed you, and you pursed your lips. So much for that option.

His brows furrowed ever so slightly in concentration, and you couldn't help how your eyes trailed to his lips. "Don't talk, but you should still breathe." Zayne finally looked up at you, and the inhale you took at his words got caught in your throat- you were sure your pussy did the 'thing'.

You had thought his eyes were amber when you first saw him, but with how close he was, you realised they were a bright hazel, a mix of green and orange that blended seamlessly. Zayne moved closer, moving the tip of the stethoscope across your chest. You tensed when his finger grazed your boob, your breath hitching at the touch. "A fast resting heart rate. What riled you up this time?" You swallowed, trying and failing to steel your nerves before looking up at him.

"You must be hearing things." You supplied meekly, cursing yourself for not sounding more believable. Zayne looked back up at you, raising his eyebrow, and you were sure you felt your cheeks warm but refused to acknowledge it. Clearly, he didn't believe you. Your only option was to be honest- well, semi-honest. "What do you expect when you're so close?"

He sighed, taking the stethoscope out of his ears and letting it rest on his neck. You opened your mouth to clarify, hoping you hadn't pushed his buttons too far, but you never got the chance. You didn't get to brace yourself as you felt your vision swim and your body go weak. You felt faint like you were barely there. Oh, fuck. The stress of everything that occurred that day finally caught up to you.

You felt your world tilt sideways, and through blurry eyes, you watched Zayne reach out to you, trying to grab you in time. You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for an impact that never came. Instead, you opened your eyes to having your face buried in Zayne's shoulder. He had pushed his chair closer to you since the distance between you was short, and he had his arms wrapped around you tightly so you wouldn't fall. You rested flush against his chest, no way of escaping his grip- not that you'd want to.

You breathed him in, your mind still trying to process what had happened. Zayne had caught you, thank god, and saved you from getting a concussion. Your heartbeat hammered against your ribcage, but you ignored it, enjoying his warmth while you had the chance. He moved back slowly, his arms still wrapped around you as he searched your face.

Zayne's eyebrows unfurrowed themselves when he realised you were okay for the most part. He closed his eyes before he leaned forward, and you were sure he was going to kiss you- so you did the most rational thing in your mind. You braced yourself, closing your eyes only to feel his forehead against yours.

"No fever..." He trailed off as he moved back, and your eyes fluttered open, trying not to feel embarrassed at your thought process. As if you were ready to throw all logic down the drain and kiss him, unbelievable. "Must be low sugar levels." He stated before his eyes met yours. His gaze fell from yours, and you caught how he looked at your lips for a second before clearing his throat and letting go of you.

"Try not to faint again, hm?" Your ears burned at his words, and you wished a hole would open up and swallow you whole. He turned back to his computer, sliding a sweet to you before going back to typing. You felt your stomach flip at the gesture, completely enamoured with the man before you and his silent concern as you ate the treat. If Wanderers didn't do you in first, you were sure his presence would take you out.

"Heart arrhythmia, premature ventricular contractions, heart murmurs, and now low blood sugar." Zayne voiced aloud, and you had no fancy retort for him. "Damn..." You trailed off, and there was no smart comeback on the tip of your tongue this time. You took a peek at the pop-up screen still in front of the curtains.

"PHYSICAL CONTACT: 1:36 SECONDS

0 SECONDS REMAINING.

REWARD FOR COMPLETION WILL BE HANDED OUT ACCORDINGLY."

You breathed a sigh of relief that at least one thing had gone your way that day. "Despite being aware of the risks, you still became a hunter." He remarked, turning his chair to face you. "I had my reasons, didn't I?" You shot back, the flashback from Azure Square still fresh in your mind. He sighed at your response, turning back to his computer, clearly frustrated by your career choice.

"Linkon has been the safest it's ever been under the watchful eyes of our skilled hunter, Y/n." You snorted at his response, not expecting the dry humour coming from the rock of a man in front of you. He side-eyed you, and you shot him an innocent smile, feeling less embarrassed at the physical contact the two of you shared earlier. "Who knows? Maybe my skills will come in handy, and I'll end up saving you from a Wanderer one day." You retorted half-heartedly as you leaned closer.

Zayne looked back at you, taking you in for a second before he shook his head slightly. "If you wish to hold something over me, then I suggest you be careful while out on the field." He placed another chocolate on the desk, on top of your paperwork, before sliding the pair towards you. "I'd prefer not to see you be airlifted to the hospital via helicopter." He turned to you once again, his expression still serious.

You shot him a small smile- you had been nervous to meet him at first and had forgotten in the process that he was the biggest softie in the game. He just hid it really well under his cold demeanour. The man in front of you was genuinely concerned for your safety, and you were sure you could feel your heart melting at his quiet gestures and vague words.

"Don't worry, Zayne. I'll be careful, just for you." You announced, your eyes softening as you stood up from your seat and popped the chocolate into your mouth. You grabbed your medical report, turning on your heel to leave, not knowing that if you had waited just a second more, you would've seen the starstruck look on his face.

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

Once you took an elevator up to your apartment and unlocked your door, shutting it behind you, you debated passing out on the floor. Fuck, what a long day. Who knew meeting such handsome men in the span of a few hours would take everything out of you. You sighed, finally relaxing as you realised you didn't have to interact with anyone else until tomorrow.

You walked over to the fish container you had brought earlier, tapping it lightly with your fingernail to see if the Flamula fish would move at the vibration. It looked up at you for a second before it went back to swimming back and forth in the water. You fed it the recommended amount of food for the day after briefly looking at the back of the fish food you had grabbed from the store.

You kicked off your shoes, too tired to place them neatly by the door before you entered your bedroom to strip out of your clothes. You huffed, finally out of the tight-fitting outfit, grateful you could breathe easier. You fell backwards onto your bed, enjoying the way it made your body bounce for a few seconds before you felt yourself sink into the memory foam.

The sound of distant thunder had you tilting your head back to catch a glimpse of lightning strike across Linkon City. A storm, huh? Good thing you were indoors. Your thought process halted at the sound of your phone going off, and you shot up in bed to grab it and answer in time.

Your eyes barely registered the caller ID- Caleb, before you swiped right and picked up the call. Putting it up to your ear, you let out a, "Hello?" The voice on the other end spoke up, and god damn, he sounded like pure sin. "I knew you'd still be awake. What're you up to?" You glanced around the room, unsure how to react to hearing your- MC's childhood best friend.

"Resting after a rough day, I guess." You answered after a moment, not sure what else to say. "Your first day of hunting. Well?" He was curious, you could tell. You turned to lay on your stomach, the phone still up to your ear as you watched the view outside your bedroom with half your attention. "It wasn't that bad, I'm just exhausted. Social interaction isn't really my forte."

You knew you had to be easygoing with Caleb- you couldn't sound stiff because this body you were in knew him well. "Well, that's good. What matters is you're alive." You snickered slightly at his words, "What do you think I am, a weakling? And why are you calling me so late? Don't you have things to do?" You teased, hoping he wouldn't pick up on the fact that the person he knew his whole life was gone, replaced by you.

"I should be cruising along. My military flight operation wrapped up quite nicely and ended early." You nodded, not registering that he couldn't see you as you hummed in response. "You didn't see any dangerous Wanderers, did you?" You hoped you hadn't made a mistake and that his work was similar to yours so your question didn't sound out of place.

"Are you actually worried about me?" It was his turn to tease, and you scoffed at his remark. "Yes, of course I am." You answered truthfully; you weren't heartless enough to wish ill upon the guy who was supposed to be your best friend. "Come on, I know how important it is for you to visit Grandma with me at the end of the month. Even if I was in a wheelchair, you'd push me there."

You shook your head at his statement, "I'm not that mean. I'd let you wheel yourself there, don't worry." He let out a genuine laugh, choking on his words as he understood your reply, and you couldn't help the grin that took over your features. "Yeah, yeah. You know what- it's been peaceful, so I won't jinx myself. The field within the tunnel is as stable as it can be. Very few Wanderers, don't worry." You could still hear the smile in his voice.

You turned onto your back again, gazing up at the ceiling as he continued, "Everything else is top secret. My lips are sealed." You hummed again in response, familiar with workplace confidentiality. "Yeeep, mysterious and spooky." The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, one he broke after a beat. "It's late. You should go to bed now. Sweet dreams."

After saying your goodbyes, you threw your phone on the other side of the bed. You checked your alarms for the next day, setting multiple just in case the first one didn't wake you up before you turned off the lights and got into bed.

Tossing and turning before you found a position where all your limbs were comfortable, you let your eyes close, hoping sleep would kick in.

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

You didn't realise you had dozed off until you woke up. Your vision was blurry at first, and you rubbed the sleep from your eyes before you realised all you could see was white for miles. What the fuck? Were you still asleep? Lucid dreaming? Sleep paralysis?!

Your answers came in the form of a woman whose face you were sure you recognised but couldn't quite place your finger on. She had materialised in front of you, looking around before her eyes landed on you. A light bulb went off in both of your heads simultaneously as the two of you realised what was going on.

"THE REWARD FOR MISSION COMPLETION HAS BEEN GIVEN. 1 MINUTE, 36 SECONDS, AS WELL AS A 5-MINUTE BONUS FOR EXCEEDING THE TIMER.

WE HOPE THIS PROVIDES CLARITY."

You quickly accepted the pop-up screen's words before turning your full attention to the woman in front of you.

"You're- You're her. MC." The woman before you was drop-dead gorgeous and had nothing on Jenna. Her hair framed her face perfectly, cascading past her shoulders, not a single lock out of place. Her eyes shined as if someone had stolen stars from the galaxy to place them inside her irises, her lips were naturally red as if she had lip tint on, and she had the longest lashes you had ever seen.

She smiled softly at you before she parted her lips to speak. "Hi, it's nice to meet you." You were star-struck. Was falling in love with her an option? Probably not, but you would have been grateful for the choice if it was there. "Hi." You didn't know what else to say. Sorry for taking your body and your life?

Yeah, that was definitely a good place to start. "I'm sorry for…" You trailed off, hoping she would understand what you were trying to say. She shook her head slightly, looking down as she contemplated what to say next. "It's okay, I uh, I actually wanted to apologise too, for…" You sighed; this whole situation was impossible.

She looked up at you, her brows furrowing softly as if she was afraid your exasperation was aimed at her. "It's not your fault; it's whatever brought us here. Don't worry." She perked up at your words, happy to hear that your frustrations weren't because of her. "At least we're back in our own worlds, even if it took time."

You nodded at her words because even if you weren't happy about your situation, you had no choice but to accept it. There was no turning back the decision the universe had made for you. "How is- how is everything?" You asked, curious as to how she was coping with what used to be your life. "It's great, actually, I've never felt so at home. I didn't expect it, but it's everything I asked for." She claimed, fiddling with her fingers as she looked down.

She perked up, looking more excited as she went on, "And, do you know TikTok?" You nodded, confirming that, of course, you knew of the biggest app of your time. "I managed to go viral on it. I don't even know how I was just experimenting, and boom! Apparently, I'm an entrepreneur, and people want to sign music labels with me!"

You were stunned at first but smiled softly at her, happy she wasn't struggling. You had to agree; you knew how she felt. You felt in that moment as if a huge weight had been lifted off your shoulders. Standing in front of you was the only woman in the whole universe that understood what you were going through.

You opened your mouth to speak, wanting to ask her more questions, but your voice caught in your throat as an all too familiar pop-up screen showed itself.

"1 MINUTE AND 36 SECONDS, AS WELL AS THE BONUS TIME HAVE PASSED.

YOU WILL NOW BE TAKEN BACK TO YOUR WORLD, AND THIS POCKET DIMENSION WILL CEASE TO EXIST.

WE HOPE YOU ENJOYED YOUR PRIZE."

There was no option to accept this time, and you leaned sideways to catch a glimpse of the woman you had been dying to meet all day. She began to disappear, starting with her legs. Her lips parted, and you strained your ears to try and hear what she had to say. "Please, keep a look out for the red ey-" The rest of her sentence sounded garbled, like a PC game glitching.

You furrowed your eyebrows, trying to understand what she meant as your surroundings collapsed in on itself. You reached out to try and grab onto whatever was left of the woman before you, only for your eyes to shoot open.

You sat up in bed, still trying to wrap your brain around what had just occurred, only then noticing that your alarm had been going off. You would have to contemplate later; you had to prepare for your first official day as a Hunter before anything else.

➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵ ➵

➵ next part - moonstruck (coming soon!)

The following content is protected under copyright laws. do not copy, modify, repost on other sites or claim as your own.

#love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader #xavier x reader #xavier love and deepspace x reader #rafayel love and deepspace x reader #zayne love and deepspace x reader #x reader #x reader fluff #fluff #love and deepspace caleb #caleb #transmigration #soul swap

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rinhaler · 1 month

Text

I Guess I Can't State My Feelings Too Soon

Your big brother is jealous and he hates himself for it :(

✧˖*°࿐: 18+ only, no minors. ✧. ┊ step brother!taiju shiba x f!reader

Genre: porn! (minimal plot) Notes: my first tokyorev fic since i moved blogs wheeee did NOT think it would be taiju but i cannot stop thinking about that man Warnings: 18+, fem!reader, stepcest!, jealousy ♡, possessiveness, co-dependency, virgin!reader, male masturbation ♡, sex toys ♡, porn consumption, panty theft ♡, unhealthy relationship, power dynamics. Words: 3.5k

He often wonders if you realise how ungrateful you come across, sometimes. Not only ungrateful, but disrespectful to boot.

Do you know how hard your big brother works? You’ll say you do, if he were to ask. But he’s sure you have no idea. He shielded you from the horrors of his world as you were thrust upon him out of nowhere. His new, beautiful step-sister who’s eyes would spill tears around raised voices. What choice did he have? You’d never understand or be able to comprehend his way of life or the world he had built for himself and his family.

As your other siblings grew up and drifted away, Taiju kept you dependent on him. He made it so you had to rely on him for everything. He’s putting you through fashion school while subsidizing your very existence. He keeps you fed and clothed all in the comfort of his beautiful penthouse.

You want for nothing.

And he’s never made you feel inadequate for your obvious dependency.

He doesn’t use it as a weapon or hold it against you. He just adores you, wholly. His beautiful little sister, the sweet little darling who needs her big brother to do everything for her. It motivates him, truthfully. When things feel hard, mundane, tedious, he reminds himself who he’s doing it for.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Takashi.” you smile, giddily, waving like a schoolgirl with a crush as you watch him leave.

He waves, too. A wide grin on his face as his eyes scrunch up with joy. It soon fades, though, as he finds himself accidentally walking right into your brother’s chest. Taiju’s expression harrows, though you don’t register it as you focus on the way Takashi smiles at you before excusing himself.

You’re ungrateful, and disrespectful.

His neck and jaw jerk as he tears off his tie. He’s visibly irritated, but you’re too naïve to realise. You greet him, excitedly, though you’re soon left feeling dejected when he opts to ignore you instead.

“Get me some wine from the cellar.” he demands. Without a please or even a glance in your direction, you know something is wrong. You’ve never been one to deny him, however, slinking away to the lounge to retrieve an aged red from the wall-built cellar.

He looks at you when you return, sliding the bottle to him across the marble countertop of the kitchen island separating you. It’s a brief look, that makes your heart throb with hurt. He’s mad at you, but you don’t know why. Soft yellow eyes that only offer gentle glances are showing you a side to your brother you didn’t know existed.

His pupils are almost slitted like a wild animal, eyes you’ve never seen before where your brother is concerned. He sighs, watching the cogs clank in your brain as you try and analyse who this man is before you.

Luckily for you, he doesn’t think he’s capable of staying angry with you.

“Would you like a drink, little sister?” he questions. It stops you from thinking, momentarily.

It’s a first. He’s never let you drink before, let alone his prized cellar wine. You take a seat on the bar stool regardless, nodding excitedly at the prospect of having your first real drink with your favourite brother. He twists off the lid and slides the glass he’d gotten for himself over to you.

Your heart rate quickens as his eyes, those same, predatory eyes, remain fixated on you as he pours. The wine spills like blood, sloshing into your glass until it’s halfway full. And somehow, without even watching what he’s doing, he managed to not spill a drop.

He takes off his blazer and sets it down on the counter. You watch him as he rolls up his sleeves and turns away from you to fetch another glass for himself. His muscles flex and you see his exposed, veiny arms sheen with sweat as he reaches up to grab the nearest glass.

“Pour it for me.” he tells you, setting it down as he turns to face you again. His eyes seem tired, now, but still unfamiliar to you. And so you find yourself nodding, doing exactly what your big brother has asked as your hairline begins to form beads of sweat.

You don’t look at him, not even briefly, as you start to pour. You’re slow and patient, but you feel him staring at you all the while. And it’s menacing. Even with patience and focus, you spill a drop onto the pristine marble.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him.

You move to find something to wipe it up with, but he stops you before you can even jump down from the stool. He presses his thick thumb into the cherry red liquid, seemingly absorbing it all before he raises it to his lips. You watch keenly as your brother’s tongue juts seductively from his lips before he meticulously licks over the pad of his thumb to taste it.

He clears his throat and leans across countertop.

You feel so small.

“Was that your boyfriend?” he wonders, eyes glued to you as he speaks with a low, gravelly tone. He sips soon after, making mental notes of your responses as you process his words.

“U-Um, no, Taiju,” you shake your head. You feel blistering heat in your face as you think about your classmate, and the intimate thoughts you’ve had about him for weeks now, all while your brother’s attention is entirely fixed on you. “We’re in the same class! He came to drop off some books he thought might help me.”

It’s a confession that is entirely the truth. He isn’t your boyfriend and you’re sure he never will be. Not unless he makes the first move, that is. You’re far too shy to even suggest that your feelings for him a more intense than they should be for simple classmates. Taiju nods, finally looking away from you as he takes another drink.

“Finish up and go to bed.” he commands.

You nod, too nervous to argue. You’ve never seen him like this or even heard him be so curt with you. It won’t bother you to go to bed, not one bit. Hopefully tomorrow he’ll be back to his usual, loving self.

He leaves you alone as he strides towards his study, finally giving you the chance to breathe. You knock back the remainder of your wine and pick up your book bag and school supplies, your pace hastening as you get closer to your room.

“Oi.” Taiju speaks, voice booming through the hallway before you can open the door to your bedroom. He leans against the doorframe to his office, arms folded as his eyes squint at you. “If you want to have people over, clear it with me first.” he demands.

“Oh,” you sigh, and it’s riddled with relief as you realise that is what the problem has been all along. He’s upset you’ve invited a stranger into his home without asking. It’s understandable, and you’re soon smiling again as you look at him. “Of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d mind.” you admit, regretting it almost instantly as it soon feels irrelevant to have said.

“I don’t want boys I don’t know here alone with my little sister.” he tells you.

He approaches, and your anxiety soars once again as you sense a looming threat in the air and the shortening distance between the two of you. He smirks as he takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, your breath hitching at the contact while he forces you to look into his saffron gaze.

“You are very dear to me,” he confesses, “If anyone were to take advantage of you… well. You’re going to do as I ask next time, aren’t you? We won’t have to worry about that.”

“Of course… I’m so sorry, I should have—”

“You should.” he snarls. “But I forgive you. Go to bed, now.”

You nod, feeling slightly more upbeat after hearing he’s accepted your apology. He stops you from retreating to your room, though. His large, heavy hand encasing your forearm in a tight grip whilst his thumb still caresses your chin. It drifts, though, pulling the fat of your lower lip before he pulls it away. He taps his own lip twice, his expression still unamused as he looks at you.

“A goodnight kiss, princess,” he orders. You nod, it’s not out of the ordinary to kiss him goodnight. You stand on your tip toes before leaning in to peck his lips. They’re soft, and fit against yours beautifully as both of your eyes close during the contact. It’s chaste, to the point, and yet you’ve never felt an intensity during a kiss from him like you have just now.

His eyes are gentle, again. And the smile he offers is earnest. He kisses your cheek before you go, whispering in your ear sensually enough for a chill to traverse down your spine.

“Good girl.”

He opens the door to your room, remaining in place until you go inside. He shuts it after you get inside, leaning his back against the nearest wall as his head thuds against it. The cold metal of his rings cools down his flushed face, though he finds himself breathless.

Not from the act of a simple kiss, it’s the shame. Feelings for you, his sweet little sister, bubbling to the surface despite trying to repress them for so many years. He’s jealous and he’s ashamed of himself for letting things go this far. But you are his.

His sister.

His responsibility.

His property.

“Jesus Christ—”

He catches himself. He kicks away from the wall and rakes his fingers through tousled hair as he decides to distract himself with work in his office.

It’s taken blood and sweat to reach what he’s achieved. From being a sixteen year old menace to society, he’s now a highly respectable businessman with a chain of restaurants under his belt. Among other, less legal sources of income, of course.

It’s all for you.

As he looks through business expenses and documents from his lawyers, all he can think of is you.

It’s all been for you.

It’s always been for you.

He pushes his hair out of his face, noticing how it’s starting to cling to his forehead as he sweats profusely. Thoughts of you plaguing his every thought. His cock begins to throb in his slacks. His eyes drift from the papers scattered across his desk to his computer monitor. And then, slowly, they sink to the locked top drawer of his desk.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He ignores the drawer, instead, deciding to ignore his responsibilities as he types Pornhub in the search engine. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he speaks, exasperated as the homepage is flooded with an assortment of trending step sibling videos.

His heart pounds as he scrolls for a while, but eventually finds the willpower to click away, opting to find something else. He’s a simple man with simple taste. He’s always been into rougher stuff, deciding something along those lines will be best to quickly rub one out and clear his mind so he can focus on what he actually needs to be getting on with.

He clicks on a video, immediately cringing at the corny plot and dialogue as he unbuttons his shirt and rids himself of his belt. He’s panting as he pulls out his cock. If he’s been honest, his cock has been leaking since you fetched his wine so obediently.

He hisses when he realises he’s thinking about you again.

And soon enough he’s willing himself to concentrate on the girl in the video getting fucked within an inch of her life. It’s loud, rough, aggressive. Just how he likes. He tugs desperately, a vein popping in his forehead as he eagerly tries to get off to what he’s seeing.

It’s your fault.

He’s wondering if you’d ever be into fucking like this. He’s sure you’re a virgin, so he’d have to be careful with you at first.

“Fucking stop,” he whines.

He wants to cum to her, the girl in the video. It’s a lie, though. He wants to cum to you. He wants to hear how gorgeous you’d sound if he were the one to defile you for your very first time. Your own step brother, infiltrating your walls and making you cum around his cock.

“Shit,” he keeps trying to concentrate on her. His eyes soon wandering to the locked drawer again. He glances one final time at the video, grunting as he continues to fuck his fist until ultimately giving up.

He searches something new. Something he’s never beat one off to before. Softcore virgin. He grimaces as his finger hovers above the enter key, he knows he won’t be able to finish otherwise, but part of him thinks it’s not too late to turn back. His eyes widen slightly, taken aback by the sheer amount of results that are step-sibling videos. He considers it, again. He really does, but as he continues to scroll, he starts to take an interest in the masturbation videos.

The soft, feminine moans immediately make his cock jump. It’s perfect, it’s so sickeningly perfect because he can pretend it’s you. And if he’s this far gone, he feels no need to deprive himself anymore. He lifts up his keyboard, sliding the locked drawer key from a hidden compartment underneath. His hands are practically shaking as he tries to slide it into the slot. He quickly turns, breathing heavily as he almost rips the drawer from its place as he opens it.

He scoffs as his hand flies to a clear fleshlight, yanking it out and setting it down on his desk before he retrieves what he’s really been avoiding this whole time.

You’ve never had to do laundry, and he doesn’t do it either. He hires staff to come through the week to do tedious things like cleaning the apartment and washing dirty clothes. It’s been about a fortnight since he saw an opportunity laid bare before him.

You were at school, a fact now he’s growing to despise as he imagines you flirting with Takashi Mitsuya during your classes. But he was working from home, too irritated to handle business dealings in person on that particular Thursday. And he happened to see a maid emerge from your room with a laundry basket, a frilly pink thong atop a pile of outfits you’d worn through the week to college.

He wrestled with himself, he did.

But it wasn’t too difficult to distract the maid for long enough to pocket them for himself.

The video continues to play, his cock gushing as he stares down at your panties. He’s too far gone. He’s too aroused and his mind is muddied as he thinks about everything going on in his life and yours. You’re too honest to lie, Mitsuya isn’t your boyfriend, but that doesn’t mean he’ll never be.

He snatches the thong and strokes his cock with it in hand. His eyes roll back, a broken moan leaving his lips as he continues to pleasure himself. He stops abruptly, though, as the woman in the video he’s watching stops teasing her clit. She shows off a dildo, slowly rubbing it through her wet folds until she eventually begins to push it inside of herself.

She’s cute, but she isn’t you.

If he closes his eyes, however, she is. He looks to his fleshlight, deeming this the closest he’ll get to fucking you no matter how desperately he yearns for it. He carefully guides his tip into the plastic pussy, moaning a little louder than intended as he bottoms out.

He bites his lip as he recalls the woman in the store squeezing her thighs together as she helped him pick the toy out. It makes him laugh, briefly, as he recalls how forward she had been. He fucked her in the changing rooms as she insisted she’d need to see what he was packing so that she could help him pick the perfect model.

She sent him away with the biggest size.

Your pussy won’t feel like this, though. He’s certain you won’t be so generous and accommodating. Your tight little virgin cunt will fight against him, but he’ll make it fit.

“Jesus, fuck—” he groans, admitting defeat for the final time as he brings your panties to his face and almost suffocates himself with the material.

His chest swells as he inhales, before it deflates with shuddering breaths as he savours the scent of your used unmentionables. He picks up the pace with his toy in tandem with the woman in the video. His moans are boisterous and uncaring, he’s lost the ability to feel shame as he imagines you bouncing on his cock crying his name and trying to become accustomed to his length.

He needs it more than air.

He needs it more than he needs to fucking breathe.

“Shit, ah—” he grunts, he bites his lip as he continues to pound into the fucktoy in his grip. He grunts stridently as he spurts into the fleshlight. He watches through heavy, lidded eyes at the clear plastic, watching how his balls tighten and deposit his creamy load into the faux pussy. “Fuck, Taiju.” he sighs, but laughs as he slowly begins to stroke himself with the toy. He hisses, feeling sensitive from his release as he milks himself of every last drop he can drain.

He exhales breathlessly once he’s done. His chest rising and falling as he allows his body to melt into his leather chair. He looks around the room, and he looks at himself. The crushing reality of what he’s just done weighs down on him. He’s spent, but finds enough energy to put your panties back in the drawer, locking it promptly.

The fleshlight, on the other hand, he leaves out after making space for it on his desk. He winces as it rolls and his sperm begins to drip out onto the glossy, chestnut tabletop. The comedown from is euphoria is like reaching a new low. He can’t even bear to look at the scene of his filthy indiscretion any longer.

But as he’s about to stand, the door swings open.

“Taiju?” you pout.

He scrambles to hide his exposed lower half under his desk and dump some of the papers littering his desk over the sticky fleshlight. He can’t hide the grimace on his face as the corner of one of his documents begin dampen from his cum.

“O-Oh, sorry, I forgot to knock… I should have knocked.”

“Yes, you should.” He says, gruffly, “What is it?”

You’re quiet, allowing your sock covered foot to glide across the wood flooring as you awkwardly look down at them. It’s not like you’re scared to talk to your brother, but you know he doesn’t like to be interrupted when he’s in here. And you don’t want to embarrass him.

“Answer.” his order startles you, his voice almost thunderous as he commands your attention. Your eyes fill with water, but you bat the tears away as you speak.

“I thought I heard you yelling. Or… in pain.” you tell him, voice below a whisper as you confess you’ve been unintentionally listening. “I thought you might have hurt yourself.”

Pink dusts over his face, you can even see it from only the light of the monitor. He looks around, suspiciously, though you don’t notice or comment on it.

“Why were you listening to me? Can’t you sleep?” he wonders. “… Don’t worry. I’m fine.” he assures you.

“I was worried. A-About earlier. I don’t like it when you’re mad at me… I promise I haven’t got a boyfriend and I’ll never bring anyone here without permission again.”

He smirks at that, all of his teeth bared and you still don’t understand what kind of sick depraved man your big brother really is. Maybe you aren’t as ungrateful or disrespectful as he thought; it was wrong of him to even assume that when you’ve been nothing but a doll the whole time he’s known you.

You poor thing.

You’ve been fretting over your brother’s wellbeing and state of mind since he sent you to bed so long ago. He’s been on your mind this whole time. You’re more like your big brother than you even realise, he thinks.

You’re so timid.

So obedient.

So good.

“You must be so tired, princess…” he coos, and you nod dumbly. He tuts, feeling sorry for your innocent nature and naivety, but sweet little you thinks he’s sympathetic to your exhaustion. “Do you want me to help you sleep? Shall I play with your hair like I used to when we were younger?”

“Really?” you ask, eyes lighting up at the proposition.

“Of course,” he nods, grinning wildly. “What are big brothers for?”

#🦋 — luxe writes #taiju smut #taiju x reader #taiju shiba x reader #taiju shiba smut #shiba taiju smut #taiju shiba #shiba taiju #taiju shiba x you #taiju shiba x y/n #tokyorev x fem!reader #tw jealousy #tw possessiveness #tw codependency #tw stepcest

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