#mark beaks x reader

[ichorai]

xerox ; robert reynolds ; part three.

part one. | part two. | part four.

pairing ; robert (bob) reynolds x reader, thunderbolts & reader

synopsis ; you had one last job before you were free. no more splitting, no more deaths. unfortunately, that job seemed to rope in four other assassins and a... a man in hospital-wear?

words ; 4.3k

themes ; action, angst, slowburn, fluffy near the end, the beginnings of romance

warnings / includes ; violence, reader has the ability to split into multiple bodies (think dupli-kate from invincible), the void is hot unfortunately, foul language, everyone's mental health sucks but they're actually getting better now!

a/n ; this chapter is a bit shorter than the other two just because it only covers the very end of the movie PLUS a little bonus scene to get you guys excited for future avengers tower moments :) thank you again for all the support! also did you guys catch the mutant mention wink wonk

main masterlist. read on ao3!

listen to a xerox playlist on spotify / youtube music! xerox's face claim :)

Bob’s first room had an angry, middle-aged man standing in the very center, veins protruding out of his neck as he yelled gibberish. Flecks of spittle fell from his slurring lips. Bob, whose warm hand was intertwined with yours, flinched at the sudden volume. 

Walker didn’t hesitate to strike him down with his taco-shaped shield. 

“He seems nice,” Ava said.

The room gave a massive rumble, as if upset that things weren’t going its way, and the walls began to close in. 

“This way!” Alexei bellowed, ushering everyone forward into a wooden wardrobe full of clothes. 

“Narnia?” you asked as you shouldered through moth-eaten coats, giving Bob a quick glance over your shoulder. 

Bob gave you a nervous smile. “It was one of my favorites as a kid.”

The floors gave out beneath you, and you found yourself free-falling for a few seconds before landing on the rough ground with a resounding thud. The new room smelled of gasoline and burnt rubber tires.

You helped Yelena up to her feet, only to be whacked over the back of the head with a sharp plastic sign that read ALFREDO’S BAIL BONDS! in a hideous shade of red, by a chicken mascot that had equally hard-on-the-eyes yellow feathers. With a low moan, you started crawling away from the crazed chicken, who had turned to attack Ava and Alexei. 

“Oh, God!” Bob exclaimed, scrambling over to give you a hand. “Are you okay?”

“IF YOU DON’T STOP HITTING ME WITH THAT SIGN—!” Alexei gruffed from across the room, now bleeding from the nose.

“I was on meth!” Bob shrieked apologetically right before grabbing your head and shoving you down just in time to duck away from another sign-swing from the high chicken. 

Whilst lowered, you spotted a stack of wooden vegetable crates across the street. There seemed to be no other exits from the room. Ava kept the chicken occupied and distracted by repeatedly phasing through him, so you took the opportunity to break open the bottom of the crates, which smelled faintly of rotting tomatoes.

“Through here!” you called. “Crawl through the crates!”

Past-Bob made a bee-line for current Bob, the sharp end of the sign aimed straight at him like a crude stake. With a stinging cheek and a clenched jaw, Bucky stepped in between them and punched the chicken square in the face (beak?) with his metal arm. 

As you made your way through to the new room, you distantly heard Walker gagging behind you. “I hate tomatoes.”

Through the crates was a cleaner, more sterile space. The new room looked… clinical. You immediately tensed, eyes darting back and forth. There were beakers, needles, and measuring devices everywhere��all the marks of a science lab. You had to suck in a deep, painful breath to remind yourself that this wasn’t your room—it was Bob’s. A few meters away from you, there was an operating table. Big surgical lights looming over it like curved, robotic flowers. And on the bed sat past-Bob, shoulders hunched into himself. He looked the very same as the Bob right beside you, holding your hand. But his eyes were sunken and empty. Tired.

“I’ve been here before,” Yelena whispered. “Malaysia.”

Bob bit down on the inside of his cheek. “It’s where it all started. I was roaming Southeast Asia. Thought I’d figure something out. A way to find more drugs. And there’s this guy… he started talking to me about a medical study. A trial drug that can make me stronger and not feel like… me anymore. It was like a miracle.”

You felt your face fall with sympathy. You squeezed his hand, and Bob met your gaze with pursed lips. Slowly, the group began to advance towards Past-Bob. At least he wasn’t swinging a sign at all of your heads in a chicken suit this time.

“I thought I would get to show everyone that I was more… that I was something,” Bob told everyone, shame tinting each of his words a melancholic blue.

Past-Bob, now shrouded in shadow, finally straightened. 

“And look what you unleashed,” the voice purred, echoing in your head as if he had managed to worm inside and tapping at the very base of your ear drums.

That wasn’t Bob, you realized with a heavy pit in your stomach. It was the Void. He hopped off the surgical table, turning to face the team, face dark, but eyes glowing.

“How could you possibly think you could be worth anything?” he said, calm as untouched waters. You could feel your skin prickle.

Yelena stepped forward. “We’re leaving.”

The Void stayed silent for a moment, scrutinizing the ragged team of misfits and criminals with an empty expression. Then, he shook his head in miniscule movements. “No,” he simply said.

Behind him the surgical table rose into the air and flew across the room at a startlingly rapid speed, crashing against Yelena and Alexei, pinning them against the wall behind. The long strips of buzzing, artificial lights above were torn from the ceiling and wound around Bucky, keeping him to one of the lab’s counters. Several metal frames from a window came whizzing across the room to bury into the edges of Walker’s suit, keeping him stuck on the ground. Ava was sent flying into the other side of the lab when a crumbled garbage can wound about her midriff. She would have phased right through it, but there was a force weighing her down. 

You managed to dodge the door that was coming at you, having to relinquish Bob’s hand to do so, but missed the heavy metal shelf used to store plastic pill pots heading toward you from the opposite direction. It slammed into your stomach, knocking the wind from your lungs, and you were left struggling fruitlessly against the wall it lodged you up against. 

“Stop,” Bob pleaded to the Void with wide, watery eyes. “Let them go.”

“You think they care about you?” The Void stepped closer until he was right in front of you, close enough that you could feel it—the cold darkness. The dread. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes. The weight of all you’ve done wrong, all the people you’ve murdered and maimed, all your deaths, all your lies—resting right on top of your sternum. You gasped for breath. You felt something cold touch your face, so cold it felt blistering hot. You simultaneously wanted to pull away and lean in closer. The Void’s fingers were caressing your cheek ever so gently, and Bob did nothing but watch. He felt frozen to the floor, paralyzed with fear and uncertainty. 

“Xerox… lovely, sad Xerox…” crooned the Void, almost sing-songy. “Bob’s got a fixation with you, you know. It’s pathetic. He’s like a sad mutt begging for scraps from the table.” There was an amused hum from him before he continued, this time speaking to Bob. “Xerox doesn’t want to help you. None of them do. They’re all using you. Deep down, you know they despise you. You’re a burden.”

“That’s not true!” Yelena screamed from the opposite side of the room. IV drip wires wrapped around her throat so tight her eyelids fluttered and her words were caught on her tongue. 

“Isn’t that right, Xerox?” said the Void, his cool thumb slipped beneath your chin to tilt your head up as he regarded you with those cold, blank eyes. “You chose the darkness. You chose me.”

“I came…” The weight was growing stronger. The words felt like thorns in your mouth, painful to speak. What was he doing to you? “I came to help him.”

The Void tilted his head. Then, you felt the coldness close around your throat. The edges of your vision darkened. If your hands weren’t pinned back, you would’ve been clawing at your neck for breath.

“I told you… he doesn’t want your help. He’s pathetic. Why would he deserve it? Deserve you? Now tell him. Tell him the truth. It’s what he needs to hear… some tough love.”

When you opened your mouth this time, words spilled out that weren’t yours. “I don’t want to help you,” you found yourself saying. Not to the Void, but to Bob. Your Pal. You gasped, a cold tear slipping down your cheek. The words came out grated, as if someone had forced you to swallow razors. “I never liked you, Robert. You’re nothing. In fact, worse than that. You’re an active hindrance. A thorn in everyone’s side. I wish… schkk—I wish you had stayed dead when they shot you down.”

“That’s right,” murmured the Void. “Good.”

“Please stop,” Bob ground out. You weren’t sure if he was saying that to you or to the Void. 

His dark counterpart laughed a deep, rumbling noise. “Robert the Hero. Doesn’t sound right, does it? Fake. Like a comic book story. What a joke.”

Walker was close to prying himself out of his confines. 

The Void flicked his wrist. All the glass from the beakers and volumetric cylinders in the lab exploded. Crystal shards scratched at the team’s face, leaving everyone with stinging, bloodied cuts. The Void’s hand slipped away from your throat to pull out the piece of glass that had embedded into your skin. 

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he said, almost a whisper. It would’ve sounded sincere if it hadn’t sounded like an automated message. “You do enough of that to yourself. Did you enjoy what I showed you? The darkness has been kind to you, hasn’t it? The only one you can trust is yourself.”

“Yes,” you choked out, and your head bowed into a nod even though you hadn’t wanted to. “I deserve to relive it all. All the worst parts of me. I’m just as bad as I thought I was.”

Bob was breathing heavily, expression twisted into one of pain. The Void was hurting you. He was hurting you. 

“I’m stronger than you,” Bob told his alter-ego, trying to sound more confident than he was. “I can beat you.”

The Void grinned. It was a terrifying sight. Wolfish. Predatory. “Let’s see.”

The shadowed figure finally stepped away from you, and you seemed to lean forward, as if chasing his touch. Once the Void was far enough, Bob watched you recoil with a trace of disgust to your expression. At yourself or at him?

“It wasn’t me,” you croaked, misty eyes now glued to Bob. Not the Void. Just Bob. “Palindrome. It wasn’t me.”

And Bob believed you. He trusted you. With a determined nod, he ran forward and swung a punch to the Void. The dark mass hit back with equal ferocity, sending Bob sprawling to the ground. Glass dug into his skin.

“Get up, Bobby,” Walker gruffed. “Get up!”

“You thought you would be some great man? Some savior?” taunted the Void as he kicked at Bob. “You can’t even save yourself.”

You watched in horror as the Void picked Bob up by the scruff of his sweatshirt, and struck him three more times. 

“We will always be alone.”

The room began to shift, elongating. The entire group was pulled further and further away from Bob and the Void. Bob watched the team go—his friends grow smaller with the distance—and blew out a choked breath. Alexei was bleeding profusely from his head. Yelena’s face was turning blue from the cords cutting her airway. Ava, Bucky, and John were still working against their bonds. Bob glanced at you hanging limply behind the shelf, staring at nothing in particular with glazed eyes. No doubt that was the Void’s doing. 

Bob turned. His lips curled angrily. Then he launched himself at the Void with a mangled cry. He began punching the figure with all his might. To his fury, the Void only smiled, unhurt.

“There we go,” the Void whispered in a mocking manner. “Show them how strong you are.”

The room began to crack and crumble. Darkness began to eat away at Bob the more he struck his darker self. His shoes were swallowed first, now beginning to crawl up his shins. 

“This isn’t right,” Bucky gruffed. 

“Bob, stop!” Yelena coughed out. Having had enough, Alexei strained as much as he could to push the weight off of them. Just enough to let Yelena wriggle loose. She slipped out with a pained groan, tore the IV off her, and began running towards Bob. The room shifted to try to stop her—throwing cabinets and beakers and tables at her, but she lithely dodged each one. 

By the time she got to Bob, the darkness had seeped up to his neck. 

“I’m here,” she said, wrapping her arms around Bob from behind, trying to hold him back. Bob kept hitting the darkness, relentless.

“It will always be just us,” the Void told him, almost comforting. “I’m the only one you can rely on.”

Yelena held onto him tighter. “I’m here, Bob,” repeated Yelena. “You’re not alone.”

Finally, Bucky managed to tear himself free. He helped Walker get free, and Walker then stalked over to push the shelf off of you with a grunt. You collapsed with a dizzy intake of breath. Ava and Alexei were quick to free themselves afterwards, bonds slightly loosened—it seemed that Yelena’s words of comfort were actually helping. 

The rest of the team ran towards Bob, Yelena, and the Void. 

“We’re all here,” Yelena told her friend. “We’re here for you, Bob.”

You kneeled down beside him, hand wrapping around the wrist that led to a now-bloodied fist. The team piled together, all holding Bob—and each other. In the tangled mess of limbs and arms, Bob began to weep. His head knocked against yours as he sobbed, and you held him all the tighter. 

“Let it out, Pal,” you said. “We’ve got you.”

Then the entire group fell backwards. Your spine hit the rough surface of a broken road. After blinking several times and adjusting to the sudden onslaught of light, the city of New York came back into view. The shadows were slowly but surely melting away. 

The team slowly struggled to their feet. People were gradually but surely returning from the Void’s realm.

You sniffled, wiping an errant tear with your sleeve. The Void’s hold on your mind was still fresh, and you certainly felt a little worse for wear. You felt Bob’s concerned hand on your shoulder, and you turned and enveloped him into a sudden, tight hug, yanking him close. He emitted a noise of surprise, but his arms wound around you out of instinct. 

“I’m so sorry,” you said, breathing shallow and rapid. “I don’t wish you died. I don’t think you’re a burden. I think you’re really sweet and cool and—” Your words were spoken so quickly and pretty muffled into the fabric of his sweatshirt that Bob didn’t really catch them.

Bob held you until your breaths mellowed out a bit. Even patted your back a few times for good measure. There were no complaints on his end for the hug, but he wasn’t very sure why you were giving him one. 

“This is nice,” he started, uncertain.

“Sorry, I didn’t ask if I could hug you,” you whispered once you pulled away, cheeks flushed.

“You don’t need to ask,” he said, almost too quickly. There was a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks. “You don’t ever need to ask to hug me. It’s nice. I like it.”

Walker came to stand beside you, having done a quick survey of the premise. “You were great in there, Bob.”

Bob blinked at the bearded man and smiled. That was probably the nicest thing Walker has ever said to him. Too bad he had no clue what he was talking about. “Thanks, Walker,” he said, still smiling goofily. “In—wait, in where?” Finally, Bob took a glance around. There was wreckage everywhere. Had the Avengers totaled New York yet again? “Woah. What happened here?”

“You don’t… remember?” you asked, eyeing him with kinked brows.. “Did you hit your head a bit too hard?”

Bob patted down his skull. “Feels normal.” He laughed a bit—a nervous, knee-jerk reaction. “Sorry, I’m a bit confused.”

“Are you okay?” Yelena asked, looking at him with nothing but concern. 

Bob’s brows twitched, still completely lost. “Yeah. I’m fine. Why’s everyone looking at me like that?”

“Are you serious?” Alexei deadpanned. “We were in crazy rooms of despair and misery and—”

“Thanks, Alexei,” you cut in, giving the giant of a man a pointed look. “You did good, Bob. I can explain the details later. For now—”

Your reassurance was cut off by Valentina shrilly speaking into a phone, only a few yards away. You could feel anger twist your insides just from seeing her. 

“I’m going to kill that woman,” Alexei gruffed.

“We can’t kill her. We have to take her in,” Bucky said with an exasperated sigh. It was clear that he had plenty of experience being the voice of reason. 

“What happens when he regains his memory?” Walker asked. “Will we have to go through that all over again?”

Yelena shook her head. She took Bob by the elbow and began leading him towards Valentina. “Okay. Come on, Bob.”

“I’m going with you guys?”

“Of course you are,” you said as you walked alongside them towards Valentina, nudging Bob with a soft smile. “We’re a team now.”

Bob returned your smile easily. “That sounds nice.”

Yelena nodded. “We stick together from now on.”

When Valentina spotted the Thunderbolts coming towards her, she began to hurry backwards. “Hello, team! I know we’re all dealing with very big feelings right now, just give me—give me half a second—!”

She disappeared behind some wreckage. 

As you rounded the broken pieces of construction, you were met with the blinding flashes of about fifty cameras. There were news trucks, reporters, microphones, the entire shebang. Even a podium for Valentina to stand behind as she hushed the audience. A small part of you thought about all the dried blood on your face and body—it was a relief your suit was dark, or it would’ve looked like you were mauled by a bear. Or, more likely that you were the one that mauled the bear. 

“What’s going on?” Bob leaned closer to whisper to you.

“No idea,” you whispered back.

“Cool.” The smile that appeared on his face was boyish and lopsided. “It’s nice not being the only one who’s confused.”

“Are we live?” Valentina asked one of the cameramen. Once he nodded, she began speaking with a shiny, rehearsed smile. “For years, I have been working secretly to develop a new age of protection. Today, the citizens of the United States need that protection. Thanks to my hard work, they got it. Ladies and gentlemen… meet the new Avengers.”

Avenger? You? That didn’t sound quite right. The Avengers were heroes. They were a beacon of light and hope and occasional destruction of city-folk. You were… 

Just a person trying to do better.

The Thunderbolts stared at each other in a mixture of disbelief and disdain. Bob began to clap loudly, but you put a hand on his, forcing him to lower them down. 

“What?” he asked, still completely miffed, and you shook your head with an I’ll tell you later look. Bob nodded solemnly and put his hands behind his back, which made you hold back an amused grin. The snaps coming from the cameras seemed to flare with every tiny movement you made, so you weren’t too keen on giving them anything to pick apart. 

Yelena strode up to Valentina. She covered the microphone, leaned down, and said, just loud enough so she and the rest of the team could hear. “We own you now.”

This time, you didn’t bother trying to smother your smile. The cameras went crazy.

“Have you seen the news?” Bob asked you, settling down next to you on the couch. He handed you the steaming mug of tea, made just the way you liked. His knees knocked against yours. 

You glanced away from your crossword puzzle and took the mug with a warm smile. “Thanks. Seen what? I haven’t checked ever since news of mutants broke out.” You were still waiting for your own test results to come back. The memory of the clinic drawing your blood made you shudder. It did, however, make you feel slightly better knowing that the entire team was squashed in the tiny waiting room right outside the door for you. Even Bucky, who swore up and down that he was busy that afternoon still showed up. You made a mental note to get him a smoothie from that juice shop he liked so much. 

Bob gave you an awkward grimace. “They’re writing about us again.”

This made you roll your eyes. “They’re always writing about us.”

Just yesterday, Ava had shown you an article that said: THE HEROES NOBODY ASKED FOR! IS NEW ALWAYS BETTER? 

Which, to be fair, was a completely valid article. However, counterpoint, none of you asked to be on the Avengers. Except Alexei and Walker at some point, you suspected.

“No,” Bob said, clearing his throat. “Not us like the group, but us us.”

“Oh?” You quirked a brow. “What are they saying this time?” Last week, they were convinced Bob was a special secret agent of sorts. 

Bob handed you the rolled up newspaper he was holding. 

SPOTTED: BOB WHO? MYSTERY MAN SEEN WITH NEW AVENGER ‘XEROX’ — ROMANCE BLOSSOMING IN THE TOWER?

Though you were wearing a baseball cap, that clearly wasn’t enough to hide your identity. Beneath the article title was a grainy image of you and Bob in the park, feeding the ducks. The two of you were wearing identical, fond grins; but you were looking at the ducks, and his eyes were trained on you. There was another photo beneath where the two of you were sharing a milkshake in one of your favorite diners. You let out a sigh—you supposed you couldn’t be going to that diner as often anymore.

“Oh,” you muttered, reading through the first few lines, which turned out to be a whole bunch of speculative nonsense. “They’re always doing this, aren’t they? Making something out of nothing.” 

“Right,” said Bob, nodding. “It’s nothing. You’re right.”

When you caught his eye, noting the slightly crestfallen look on his face, you shook your head, assuming he was just upset about the whole ordeal. You could understand—losing your privacy overnight wasn’t something you were very keen about, either. “Try not to pay too much mind to the news people. I guess we just have to lay low for a while. It’ll die down. They’ll move on to the next big trendy thing in a minute or two.”

“Yeah, of course,” Bob said. He fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “Does this mean we have to stop going to the park together?”

“No,” you reassured. “We just have to put on some better disguises. I’m sure Valentina could scrounge up the money. After all, she kinda has to do whatever we want now.”

Bob smiled, all awkward and endearing. “Good. Yeah. I… I like the time we spend together.”

“I like it, too,” you said, lips upturned. Bob had to force his eyes away. It was nothing. Right.

You patted his leg and returned to your crossword puzzle. You were about halfway through the crossword book that Bob had bought for you from the musty cornerstore two blocks away. It was the first gift you’d ever gotten from someone. 

Yelena walked into one of the Tower’s many common areas an hour later to find you and Bob leaning against each other, dozing away. Your puzzle book was discarded to the side, pencil sticking out one of the pages to mark your place. Bob’s mouth was slightly agape and he looked about two seconds away from slipping and face-planting painfully into the boniest part of your shoulder. Your legs were intertwined with his in a position that certainly couldn’t have been comfortable. Yelena regarded the two of you with a downturned smile. 

“Okay, you sleepy lovebirds,” she muttered, grabbing a neatly folded blanket from the corner of the long couch and draping it over the both of you. You stirred ever so slightly, mumbling something under your breath, then settled back closer to Bob. “Sweet dreams.”

The two of you were startled awake just as Yelena was leaving and Alexei stormed in, loudly complaining about how this lady in the grocery store wouldn’t buy the Avengers Wheaties cereal box even though he’d explicitly recommended it to her.

You rubbed your eyes tiredly, standing up to stretch upwards like a feline after a long nap. Bob watched you with a sleepy grin. “Ooh, that just reminded me. I need to go pick up some ingredients for soup night tomorrow. Walker hates tomatoes, so tomato soup is off the menu.” 

With no hesitation whatsoever, Bob asked, “Can I come with you?” 

You thought distantly to the news reports. Let them think what they want. Whatever you had with Bob, you liked it just as it was.

“Yeah,” you said. “I’d love that. We can stop by the library afterwards, too. I’ve heard they’ve got a new copy of…”

Alexei and Yelena watched the two of you head out, animatedly discussing some sort of new mystery book, shoulders practically pressed up to each other. 

“Are they—” Alexei sent his daughter a pointed look. “You know?”

“I’m not speaking about this with you,” Yelena curtly said, turning on her heel. “But no, not yet. Ava and I have a bet going on.”

This made a devilish grin spread over Alexei’s face. “He makes it obvious, the way he looks at Xerox. I give them a week.”

Yelena scoffed. He was such an optimist. She gave them three months at the very least. “You’re on.”

[asiatic-apple]

you already know i love your sylus works (a big fan) and forgive me if you’ve done it but can i pretty please have smut prompt #17 with female reader for sylus ✨

I was so honored to write this for youuu, my #1 sylus fan!! I hope it's to your liking ❤️ Thank you so much for being here, and I hope the long wait for this was worth it

Proof of ownership

Sylus x female reader

Words: 1.1k

Prompt: seeing the love marks they left on their partner later and getting turned on all over again remembering how it got there in the first place

Content: use of “sweetie” and “kitten” as pet names, maybe too much dirty talking lol, very slightly implied exhibitionism, fingering, possessive sylus

Luke's low snicker is the first thing you hear when you enter the living room of Onychinus's base. You try to ignore it, only sparing him a confused look before returning to whatever you were planning to do before the distracting sound.

Ah, that's right—you came here to grab the hair tie you left on the coffee table yesterday. But your satisfied smile at finding it is quickly wiped away the second Kieran fails to stifle a giggle.

You freeze mid-motion, arms still halfway up after gathering your hair into a messy bun, and glance over your shoulder.

Sure enough, the twins are staring at you—clearly the object of their amusement.

“What?” you ask, already bristling at the way they nudge each other in between chuckles.

Luke shrugs, bringing a hand to the absurd-looking beak of his mask, as if he's hiding a grin. “Nothing,” he sputters, not so convincingly.

Kieran doesn’t even bother trying to lie. “Looks like someone had a fun night,” he drawls.

It takes you a second to register what he means. Then you remember how sore the skin along the junction of your neck and shoulders felt this morning. It was a bit too far in the back to see in a mirror, so you didn't know the extent of what Sylus left there last night.

But now you're putting two and two together.

Heat rushes to your face, your hands flying up to cover the back of your neck, even though it’s far too late for that. Luke and Kieran's snickering fades as you leave in a huff.

With each stomp you take toward Sylus’s bedroom, your embarrassment turns to annoyance before you barge in and shut the door a little harder than intended.

Sylus barely looks up from the book he's reading by the fireplace, but you swear there's a slight tug at his lips as soon as you growl his name. It's like he knew this would happen.

You cross your arms when you stop in front of him. “Would you care to explain why Luke and Kieran were laughing, quite literally behind my back?”

He leaves you in a few seconds of suspense before his deep scarlet eyes lock onto your pouting face. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about, sweetie,” he replies, an infuriatingly smug lilt to his voice.

The sudden, gentle push of his Evol at your lower back teeters you off balance—just enough for you to fall forward. Right as you land in Sylus’s lap, he chucks his book to the small table beside him. Now his attention is fully on you.

“Sylus,” you warn, cheeks still warm from a heady combination of mortification and the fact that you’re pressed against him now. “Just how much of a mark did you leave on me last night?”

He hums, nuzzling into your neck with a chuckle. “What’s wrong?” He plants a heated kiss to your skin, presumably atop one of the hickeys he left there. “You don’t like the gift I left for you?”

You should push him away. Really, you should. But then his teeth scrape the spot right where the faintest sting still lingers, and your pussy clenches beneath rapidly dampening cotton.

“Even after I was so meticulous with my…art.” He tuts in faux disappointment. “I assume you still haven’t taken a proper look at it.”

You gasp as he brushes his fingers over the collection of bruises he left, his finger hooking in your shirt collar to tug it a bit further down your shoulder.

At some point between his distracting touches and kisses, his phone ends up in his hand. The ‘click’ of the camera’s shutter makes you groan softly in frustration. But then he turns the screen toward you, letting your eyes land on the picture of your marked up flesh.

The bruises form a rough, messy shape, but it’s deliberate in its composition: a small line, twisting like a snake to form a bold ‘S’.

You give him a pointed look of annoyance. But arousal stirs at the sight of his initial bitten into your skin. He doesn’t miss the flash of lust in your eyes. His canines peek out between curved lips—a wicked smile that only heightens the feeling swirling in the pit of your stomach.

“I’m quite proud of it,” Sylus murmurs before locking his phone and tossing it aside. “It took a lot of restraint not to…stray from the path. You were moaning so sweetly.” His lips return to your neck, tongue flicking out to glide along the marks. “But that just meant you liked it.”

You don’t respond, but the way your hips jerk against his lap betrays you. He chuckles knowingly, dragging his hands down to your waist.

Leaning closer, he whispers in your ear, “And I think you liked getting caught.”

His fingers slowly dip beneath the stretchy waistband of your lounge shorts and then your underwear. You gasp when the rough digits graze your aching clit. But he doesn’t stop the descent until his large hand is cupping your pussy and applying gentle pressure.

“You walked around all day like this,” he whispers, pressing a kiss just below the base of your neck. “With my initial on your skin and this pretty cunt aching for me.”

You barely get out a sound before he slides two fingers inside you, curling expertly until you’re gasping into his chest.

“Are you going to let me do it again, sweetie?” he asks with all the innocence of a wolf in sheep’s clothing. “Maybe lower, this time. Somewhere they’ll never see. But you’ll feel the sting every time you sit down.”

His thumb rubs against your clit with mind-numbing pressure. Just the right amount to make you moan a bit too loudly. You whimper, rocking against his hand to take his fingers deeper, faster.

He laughs that low, breathy, too-sexy laugh that makes you grit your teeth. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he whispers. “Hm, such a desperate little thing. Something tells me you’ve been wet all day, haven’t you?”

He circles your clit a bit faster now, and your whole body shudders. His thick fingers feel like heaven when they curl and press just right. And Sylus knows exactly how you like it.

Still, he’s holding back—deliberately denying you the right push to make you fall apart.

“You need to say it properly if you want me to give it to you,” he growls, lips brushing against your ear. “Come on. Say you want more evidence of my affection for you, kitten.”

“Yes,” you whine too quickly, “yes—fuck—I want more, please.”

His lips curl into a sly grin as they trail more tender kisses against your neck. He’s gentle for now, aware of how sore this part of your body might be. But you know he’s not making empty threats. After you gush around his fingers, he’ll surely take you to bed and spend more time marking you up elsewhere.

“When I’m done,” he promises softly, “you’ll be dripping with reminders of me.”

Want to be added to my tag list?

💕 tag list: @heartyluv @doeeyes515 @lethalasylum @starryeyed-apple @starlitfics @craeatio @rafayelslittlestar @ruralamours @alyssac9 @blushofeve @alastor-simp @nezuswritingdesk @yoonights @ashirelle @jamfingers @decadentwastelandpoetry @yrdarlingpup @asiaticapple @spidermanlaalalalala @partycityyyyyyy @raendarkfaerie @sweetcalebb @mikenotmic @jenvhae @kaeyasfuturewife @purpleamethyst25 @grapeees16 @pepitesingulare

🐉 tag list: @keiva1000 @terriblesoup @honeybees1991 @mcdepressed290

divider by me :) please do not repost mdni banner by @/cafekitsune

[sectumsempraaa]

Drowning Lessons

Pairing: Theo Nott x fem!reader

Word count: 2.4k

Featuring: Theo, Mattheo, Lorenzo, Draco, Pansy

Based on this request! Thank you :)

TW: fear/phobia of water and swimming, traumatic memories, physical pain, freefalling, panic, severe weather

A/N: you GUYSSSS i missed you!! i have been away for a minute because… i met someone 🤭 but we’re back in the saddle now, working thru requests!

Summary: After a rip current incident when you were younger, you’ve lived your life deeply afraid of the water, vowing never to swim again. But when a lesson in Magical Creatures leaves you stranded in the black lake, your boyfriend Theo comes to the rescue.

“Never have I ever… got stuck underwater.” Pansy jokes, calling you out in front of your friend group. You sigh and roll your eyes, putting a finger down as the game instructs.

“Come on, Pans. That’s low.” Theo says, a stern tone emitting from him. “You know what happened.”

“Actually, I don’t! Y/N here would never tell me such secrets.” She playfully nudges your arm with her elbow, encouraging you to speak.

Theo notices your breath quickening as you attempt to swallow your nerves and reaches an affectionate hand to rub your shoulder in comfort.

The unwelcome memory snaps back to you, triggered by Pansy’s jab. You, a rip current, and the American sun. As a young girl, you had been swimming around in the ocean on a trip to California when a current pulled you under and whipped you around senseless.

No matter how far you reached your hands, they could never find the surface. You were convinced it was the end until a lifeguard raised you from the water and carried you to shore.

Unfortunately, your lungs suffered some minor damage. To this day, you get short-breathed easily, especially when you start to panic. It’s nothing too serious, but noticeable enough to your friends and Theo.

“Don’t listen to her, bella. She’s drunk.” Theo comforts you, his voice competing with the sounds of the party. You nod and give him a small smile, hoping everyone will just forget about this moment.

“Your turn, baby.” Theo kisses your cheek, easily bringing your good mood back. You reach a hand to rest on his knee, letting him know your appreciation.

“Hmm…” you think hard, attempting to give Pansy a taste of her own medicine. “Never have I ever… had a wet dream about a teacher.”

You smirk, knowing you hit it right on the mark. The group collectively drop their jaws, Theo’s hand grabbing your thigh in surprise.

“That was ONE time! And how do you know it was even a teacher?!” Pansy snarls, becoming fiercely defensive.

Mattheo pipes in, imitating Pansy. “Oh, Professor Lockhart, right there! Yes!” Pansy hits Mattheo over the side of the head, giving him a scowl and spewing profanities his way. Theo laughs uncontrollably, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Damn, principessa,” Theo says, his words laced with pride. “Remind me to never piss you off.”

You smile, shaking off any remnants of your panic and settle back into the party. For the rest of the night, everyone plays nice.

—

Later that week, you found yourself outside for Magical Creatures class. You watch on in awe as Hagrid presents a hippogriff to the class. You’re intrigued by the creature, the beauty of her feathers fanning out and her graceful strength striking to you.

Each student is to take a turn with her this week, bowing to and exploring their interactions with her. You are a gentle, animal-loving soul and she senses it as she immediately bows back to you.

You step forward, her beak nudging your ribs while you pet her. A small laugh escapes your mouth as you stumble backwards, quickly regaining your balance.

“Such a gorgeous, gorgeous girl.” You sing, stealing a glance at Theo who, like the rest of the class, is looking at you like you’re the damn bird whisperer. He nods, gesturing over to where Hagrid is standing.

“Aye, I think she likes ya. Care for a flight today, Y/N?” Hagrid asks, encouraging you to engage further with the creature.

Before you can even answer, she lowers herself to your height, inviting you to climb on. A pang of hesitancy hits your gut, your body and mind wanting two different things.

Theo approaches her from behind so as not to be noticed by her. He grips your hips, lifting and guiding you to her back.

He senses your nerves, whispering a thought before you take off. “Careful, cara mia. I need you in one piece.” He winks, stepping back to where the class is.

Once you’re up in the air and soaring around, you get comfortable with the height and let yourself enjoy the flight. It’s not every day you bond with a hippogriff.

Your hands are white knuckling but your face relaxes into a basking smile, taking the time to give her pets as she flies you around the circumference of the castle.

The wind picks up a bit, feeling cool and refreshing on your face. But it turns into more than just a breeze, as you feel a few droplets of rain cascading down your skin.

Down on the ground, Lorenzo nudges Theo’s arm with his elbow, holding out his hand to bring Theo’s attention to the rain. The alarm in his voice becomes apparent as he speaks to Theo.

“Hey mate, we best get your girl down. This isn’t looking too promising.”

Within seconds, a slight drizzle becomes harsh, thrashing sheets of rain. Unsure of how to land, you attempt to push down on your hippogriff’s back, signaling her to descend.

It was all so fast, the way a few drops of water became like bullets. The wind changing direction every few seconds starts to disorient you as you struggle more and more to hold on. Down below, Hagrid instructs the class to head indoors.

But before you even get a chance to land, a sudden clad of thunder erupts, blasting in your ears with your close proximity to the sky.

You can feel her panic beneath you as you try to soothe her and talk her down. Another clad. And another. She screeches just as she takes a turn over the black lake.

Theo storms over to where Hagrid is, a threat like hell lacing his words and crimson red burning in his eyes.

“GET HER DOWN, NOW.” If you weren’t so close to the roaring thunder, you’d have heard him repeat this several times in angsty Italian.

And then it all snapped. A bolt of lightning strikes the Whomping Willow in the distance, scaring your hippogriff so badly she bucks you off, jolting you off her side.

It takes a second for you to realize you’re free falling dozens of feet towards the water with nothing to stop you, almost like in slow motion.

On the ground, panic stirs wildly as Hagrid tries to lure her down with meat, which works… for her. The creature makes a near-crash landing close to Hagrid’s hut.

But Theo’s heart drops into his stomach as he notices the empty spot on her back where you’re supposed to be.

His heart races as he searches the sky for a sign of you, unable to move from his spot. Then, you appear, and the sight of you falling from the clouds utterly paralyzes him.

The sound of your scream prompts him back to reality, urging him to take action. The last thing you hear before you crash into the water is Theo’s horrified voice yelling your name.

“SHE CAN’T BE IN THE WATER!” he shouts at Hagrid through the relentless, howling storm as he shoves the professor out of the way.

Then… silence.

The pain of a thousand needles pierces your skin, the freezing water enveloping your body in a rigid embrace. The burn from the crash lingers for a while on your skin as your brain catches up with the moment.

Slowly, your eyes open to the dark and murky scene around you, your vision slightly delayed.

Once you realize you’re under, you actually have a moment of peace. Maybe it was the way your body stilled after the impact, maybe it was the quiet, or maybe it was you coming to terms with this scenario once again.

It’s starting to feel like fate.

Your arms float above you as you feel your lungs start to tighten. Then it all comes back to you, the trauma of it causing you to stir and thrash in the water.

Your lack of swimming skills is regretful now as you try to raise yourself to the surface. You helplessly grab onto plants and rocks for leverage, something falls into your hand, but ultimately nothing in your reach seems to work.

Suddenly, an arm grabs your waist with urgency, causing you to scream beneath the water, the air bubbles rising from your mouth. Another hand reaches up to cover your mouth, urging you to breathe.

When your eyes meet his, you wonder how they can still appear so crystal blue in such grim conditions. He shakes his head and points to his chest, as if to say, “It’s me.”

You wrap your arm around his neck as he pulls you up, making each second count. When you reach the surface, your lungs start to contract wildly, desperately trying to catch up on oxygen.

Your vision is still blurred and your head is still in a haze when you feel his arms wrap under your legs to lift you up.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Theo curses under his breath as he carries you to land. He yells out to someone as he gently rests you down on the ground. “Get Pomfrey, NOW!”

You’ve never heard his voice so urgent, so demanding. And he wouldn’t tell you this, but deep down, he knows he’s never been this scared before in his life.

You stir beneath him, fiddling the grass around in your fingers as your breath slowly begins to level again. “Theo…” you start, barely able to get the words out.

“Ssshh, mi amore, you’re okay. Don’t speak, just look at me, okay?” He asks, earning a painful nod from you in return. You can’t help but notice how both your voices are equally shakey.

The rain begins to subside, the skies finally concluding their vicious rein. Your body shakes a little from the several rapid changes in temperature. Theo scans you head to toe, attempting to pinpoint a place to start working.

His hands work on unbuttoning your jacket and removing your shoes, everything completely drenched that could weigh you down. Once he’s finished, he cups your face in his hands, bringing his lips to your forehead for a gentle kiss.

With your eyelids halfway open, you pause for a second before displaying a grin and letting out a low, humming laugh. His eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“What in the world could you possibly be laughing at?” He looks down in your eyes with worry and a slight annoyance.

Your voice coughs and croaks, struggling to project from your throat. “Remember in third year when you caught your first snitch? And Draco was so jealous you had won them the championship that he stole it?”

Theo nods gently, his eyes widening in awe and his jaw dropping in surprise as you weakly reach your hand up to his face, revealing the rusted, waterlogged snitch in your palm.

“It was resting in between a couple rocks in the lake. He must have thrown it in there amidst his toddler-like fit of rage.” You explain, your smile unwavering.

“Bella, you continue to both kill and amaze me.” He takes the snitch in his hand, leaning down to kiss you.

When his lips caress yours, you feel him smiling against you. Your fingers find themselves at the base of his hair, wet from the rain.

When he pulls back, he lifts his head to meet Pomfrey’s gaze. His stressed words sound like an echo as your eyes begin to close again.

“Please, madame, she’s pale and freezing and,” he starts, just before being cut off by the healer. A soft hand cups his face as you hear her voice begin to speak. He needs soothing just as much as you do right now.

“Well come on then, dove. Let’s get your girl to the infirmary. Get her up, I reckon she trusts you the most.”

Without giving it a second thought, Theo pulls you tight against his chest, letting out a small grunt as he lifts you and himself off the ground.

“Whatever I can do, I want to do it.”

—

The next morning, you wake up to a foggy sunrise. The early light creeps in through the infirmary windows, casting a glow on Theo.

His body sits in a chair next to your bed, his head resting in your lap and a hand clutching yours.

It takes a second to put the pieces back together. But the sight of your wet clothes on the ground and the boy sleeping on your thighs helps kickstart your memory.

You brush your thumb against the back of his hand while attempting to awaken your limbs from their still slumber.

When he stirs awake, a wave of relief washes over his features. “Y/N,” he gasps, waking up fast and standing up to sit on your bed.

He pulls you in, holding your head to his chest and cradling you safely in his arms. He rocks you back and forth, savoring your warmth. You pull back and meet his gaze, his eyes frantically searching your face.

“Hey, hey,” you whisper, resting your forehead on his. “You told me to come back in one piece. I did.” You smile, nudging his nose with yours.

“Cara mia…” Theo groans, trying to hold back his smile. “Next summer, we’ll swim every single day at Malfoy Manor if that’s what it takes to make sure this never happens again.”

You pause, hesitant to agree to the notion. But deep down, you know it’s time to recover from this and move forward.

“I’ll learn fastest there anyways, assuming we’ll keep playing fetch with Draco whenever he gets mad and throws something of value into the pool.”

You joke, running your hands through Theo’s dried hair. His eyes have a hint of bloodshot to them after yesterday’s events.

“Whoever gets him to throw his ring in the pool first gets to push the other in the water?” He offers, extending his hand to you. You take it, shaking and kissing the back of it.

“You’re on, Nott.” You giggle, sending a glimmer of light to his eyes.

You didn’t notice it until now, the way he’s clinging onto your waist like you’ll somehow fall away again. You pull back, bringing him with you so his head rests on your chest.

You look down at your boy in his exhausted state. You kiss the top of his head as he dozes back off to sleep, nuzzling the side of his face against your collarbone.

“Never have I ever… risked my life for someone.” You whisper, entangling your fingers in the strands of his hair. You feel him huff against you, the breath from his laugh caressing your hospital gown.

Gently, you feel one of his fingers press down harder onto your hand as it clasps yours.

“You love to win this game.” He mutters back to you, kissing your chest softly as you feel his eyelashes flutter against your skin.

“Maybe, but I love someone else much more.”

🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

[accioscarheadthings]

I was wondering if you could do a Kenji Sato x a curvy goth girlfriend? I'd love to see how that dynamic would play out especially with Emi since the girlfriend looks absolutely terrifying but is actually a big sweetheart who just plays Emi lullabys using her guitar abs reads her Edgar Allan Poe Stories as bedtime stories

Yes, of course, love. I love writing about characters that give off black cat vibes but are a secret sunshine.

this turned out longer than i intended it to be 'cause i couldn't resist.

this was a bit rushed.

also you're my first request♡

I hope my writing lived up to your expectations. enjoy<33

Mama's here

pairing: kenji x gothic!curvy!gf!reader

this contains : fluff, reader and kenji parenting emi, use of petnames (baby, babe, sweetheart, mama)

summary: you help your boyfriend take care of the baby kaiju he took in, and surprisingly bonding well with the creature.

masterlist !

"okay, sweetheart, promise me that you'll not freak out," kenji stood behind you on the elevator that led to his basement, "and you won't be mad at me," he rested his hands on your sides, palm splayed on your love handles.

you gave him a suspicious look over your back, "kenji sato, what did you do?"

"nothin' mama," he kissed your cheek fondly, knowing how soft that nickname got you, "also remember, i love you so much,"

you stared at him for a moment longer, wondering what on earth he was about to reveal to you.

when the elevator doors opened, you were met with a pink baby gigantron in a giant glass cage. it had yellow fins on the sides of its face and the top of its head. plump cheeks, curved yellow beak and round eyes.

it was fast asleep, its chest rising and falling in even breaths. it shifted lightly in its sleep, beak opening and closing in a yawn and a low trill escaped its throat.

as for you, you were still in shock, "son of a bitch!" your mouth fell open.

"shh! you'll wake her up," kenji silenced you, placing his hands on your shoudlers.

"no wonder you were sweet-talking our way down here!" you glared at him, resting your hands at your hips.

"mina," kenji glanced at the ai hovering above you, "back me up, maybe,"

"i was mad when i found out as well. so you're on your own in this one, kenji," mina retorted.

"geez, way to throw me under the bus," he mumbled, throwing his hands up at his sides in exasperation. he stepped closer to you, "look, i didn't know what else to do, okay? her mother-" he halted, lowering his voice so the baby kaiju wouldn't wake, "her mother died when the kdf intervened and tried to take them both down,"

your furious stance dropped at his statement, expression clearing, "oh shit,"

"yeah," he winced, taking a step closer to you, "i couldn't leave her. and i also don't know how to raise a baby," he raised his eyebrows your way in emphasis.

"you think i do?"

"i'm thinking you can help," he spoke, "hands wrapping around your body, his palms running up and down your sides, "please mama?" he blinked down at you with those pleading eyes you could never say no to.

your face twisted in contemplation, as you watched the baby kaiju sleep peacefully. you couldn't deny the spark of affection bloom in you for it.

"alright," you agreed reluctantly.

"yes! thank you!" he sighed, kissing all over your face, and finally on your lips, mouth devouring yours.

your face scrunched up due to his actions, the corner of your lips curving up in a smile. you kissed him back affectionately, resting a palm on the side of his neck.

when kenji pulled back, you noticed your lipstick smeared over his mouth.

this time, you grinned fully.

"what?" he blinked at you cluelessly, his bangs falling over his forehead just right. he was so captivated by your grin that he mirrored you.

you thumbed the stain from his lower lip, "you're a messy kisser, love,"

colour rose to his cheeks as your thumb tugged at his tainted lips, "s'okay. i like it when you leave your mark on me,"

rolling your eyes, you pursed your lips, trying not to be affected by his words.

kenji beamed when pecked his cheek, his hands snaking around your body and finding his place on the soft skin of your waist.

next morning, kenji made the due introductions between you and emi, helping you both be at ease in each other's presence.

kenji chuckled, noticing the baby gigantron's wariness of you. he reached out a hand and spoke soothingly, trying to calm the little creature. "hey girl," he said softly, "it's okay. don't be afraid of y/n here. she's not gonna hurt you. she may look intimidating, but she's a big softie,"

"i'm not a softie," you deadpanned to the side of his face, sending a smoldering look his way.

the baby gigantron chirped weakly, her beady eyes scanning every inch of you in caution.

you stood there, trying to look as non-threatening as possible, despite your dark, gothic appearance. the baby gigantron continued to eye you with some trepidation, its tiny claws grounded to the floor of the basement.

kenji took your hand in his, making you stand in front of him adn ugided your movements, "see? she's a good person,"

the baby gigantron hesitated for a moment, her beady eyes darting back and forth between you and kenji, her eyes taking in your proximity. then, slowly but surely, she inched closer to your outstretched hand.

as the she padded cautiously toward you both, it let out a soft chirrup sound. she seemed intrigued by you, her wariness slowly melting away as she realized you was trustworthy.

kenji moved your hand slowly, maintaining a soothing tone as he made you gently stroke the baby gigantron's soft pink head.

she let out a soft, contented chitter in response, her round eyes closing briefly in delight.

kenji looked back at you with a small smile, "see, babe? she's warming up to you," he said, his voice hushed to avoid startling the creature.

you felt the tension escape you as the kaiju baby leaned into your touch, her body relaxed and trusting. she seemed to have completely forgotten its earlier apprehension of you.

"that's right," kenji urged, "it's just mommy," he referred to you, "she's not gonna hurt you,"

you gave him a weird look, "i'm not her mother, kenji!"

"i'm her daddy, which means you're her mommy,"

as you moved your hand, the baby gigantron perked up at the sound of your bracelet clinking against her head. her eyes widened with curiosity, and it made a soft, inquisitive sound in contemplation, tipping its head to the side.

she seemed to find the sound and the sensation of your touch amusing, and she continued to let you pet her without any further trepidation.

the baby gigantron let out a series of soft, playful chirps, her tiny claws gently batting at your bracelets as she sought to explore the shiny metallic objects even further.

you let out a chuckle at her adorable actions, giving into her as you shook your wrist playfully, making the charms on your wrist jingle with each other.

you were seated on the table at the far end of the basement, flipping through your guitar notes and arranging the sheets in order. 

"get back here," kenji panted, "right now, missy!" he was in ultraman form, struggling to grab hold of the baby kaiju, but she kept dodging him, running between his legs as she giggled her heart out.

kenji mostly took care of the bathing and burping part. while you handled feeding her, turning it into an airplane game.

the baby kaiju cooed at your antics, slowly getting closer to you that she needed to see you every day. you watched over her when kenji went for his games.

you both would watch the broadcast together; you would explain the game to her while the baby kaiju would listen to you in childlike wonder.

kenji came back home from a win, his legs moving as quick as possible as he enveloped you in a giant hug. he snuggled his face into your neck, letting out a breath of ease. you held him against your chest, one hand burying into the back of his head.

kenji struggled to balance baby kaiju care and baseball. without enough rest, he underperformed. but your companionship and support made days easier. your influence helped him manage his roles better and continue pursuing his passion for the game.

he mumbled a bunch of 'thank you' and 'couldn't have done it without you' against your neck, hands wandering your body, grabbing at the softness and worshipping you.

"you were amazing," you brought his face to yours, kissing his forehead in pride.

"mm, thanks babe,"

as you and kenji shared your loving words, the baby gigantron, who was watching intently, couldn't help but let out a soft, curious 'coo' sound.

the little creature seemed to be attracted by the affectionate exchange between you and kenji, drawn in by the gentle words and the laughter that accompanied it.

her beady eyes glittered with interest, and she inched closer to you both, her small paws making no sound on the smooth floor.

she seemed to be attempting to get a closer look at the interaction, intrigued by the emotional connection between you two.

when the baby kaiju fractured her hand after escaping the mansion, kenji called for his father, not knowing who else to ask for help.

professor sato greeted you when he noticed you at the baby kaiju's side, mumbling soothing words of comfort.

she whined at you in pain, eyes closing when you caressed the scales of her tummy. you felt your heart tug at the sight, "you poor thing. it's okay. everything will be okay,"

professor sato jerked her displaced bone back into place, causing her to screech in pain. the baby kaiju leaned into your touch, crying out into you.

professor sato had named the baby kaiju "emi," after his late wife, which added a special touch to the bond you and Kenji had formed with the small creature.

he kindly offered to assist you and his son in raising the tiny creature, knowing you both could use his expertise.

emi grew fond of your guitar sessions. whenever you strummed the strings, her gaze would fixate on you.

she loved it so much that she seemed to ditch her usual rhymes that frequently annoyed kenji.

she was completely enthralled by the music, captivated by the sound and the way your fingers moved across the instrument.

you would sit on the high rise stool with your legs crossed with your guitar nestled in your lap.

emi's eyes widened in amazement, her gaze fixed on your fingers as they moved across the strings, producing beautiful music.

she would clap her hands together in enjoyment, seated obidiently on the ground in front of you.

sometimes, you would lay on the floor on your back, your guitar resting against your chest. with a soft and contemplative expression, you began strumming random chords, creating an impromptu and soothing melody.

emi would be stretched out beside you in a similar manner, her tiny body imitating your position. her eyes fluttered shut, seemingly entranced by the sound of the guitar and the rhythmic strums of your fingers across the strings.

you also began to read bedtime stories to her, pulling out your collection of Edgar Allan Poe's short stories collection.

the lights in the dimly lit basement were on, but the atmosphere was serene and soothing. kenji walked in, letting out a yawn and taking in the scene before him.

you were leaning against emi's tummy, knees propped, while emi laid on her side behind you, her claw nail resting on your lap for you to hold. you read the story aloud for her while she trilled in relaxation.

"gothic horror, for a baby kaiju?" kenji questioned, "seems a bit intense, doesn't it?" he said, his tone teasing.

"what, she likes it," you shrugged, "don't you, honey?" you asked the kaiju baby.

emi cooed in reply, as if to agree with you.

"it may help her out when she gets to the wild," you added, "you'll never know,"

kenji approached you, shaking his head slightly in mock defeat. He knew he would never win against your arguments. he settled down on the floor next to you and laid his head in your lap, a small sigh escaping him.

you ran your fingers through his hair, continuing your story for your two babies.

soft snores reached your ear and you stopped reading out loud, smiling to yourself. the story had done its work and caused both emi and kenji to drift off.

you continued to run your fingers through Kenji's hair, your gentle touch lulling him further into relaxation.

soon enough, soft snores filled the room, signaling that both he and the baby kaiju were fast asleep.

emi curled her body, getting closer to you, while kenji passed out on your lap, face resting on your thick thighs.

a smile tugged at your lips as you realized that your story had worked its magic, sending both of your babies into a peaceful slumber.

you returned home after a few hours of running errands, feeling frustrated and annoyed due to a particular inconvenience that had occurred.

when you entered the manor, you were met with a mixture of distressed wails and hollering, followed by a loud crashing sound.

kenji approached you immediately, looking harried, "there you are. Emi has been crying nonstop since you left," he said, his voice taut with concern.

as if on cue, the mansion quaked, and the distant cries of emi echoed through the halls. you followed the sound down to the basement, where you found the baby kaiju in the middle of a tantrum.

her cries were loud and piercing, and she was swatting at everything around her in a fit of anger. it was clear that she was upset about your absence and was manifesting her feelings through the tantrum.

professor sato, with the help of a walking stick, approached you as you entered the basement. "hello, y/n," he greeted warmly.

when you replied, emi abruptly stopped crying and her beady eyes locked onto you.

professor sato chuckled, noticing how quickly she responded to your presence. "looks like you were what she wanted," he said with a smile and motioned for you to come closer.

emi squealed lowly as you got closer to her. she made grabby hands at you, face pouting and cheeks drawing downwards.

"emi, baby-" you let out a yelp of surprise as emi pulled you to her belly, holding you there delicately as she snuggled her pudgy cheek on your head.

you were pressed against her body, looking like a starfish, all splayed out. the affection from the kaiju baby melted your heart and you snuggled into her hold.

"it's okay, honey... uh, mama's here," you added hesitantly.

emi cooed and you smiled wide against her scaly tummy, letting her warmth embrace you.

[kashedelic]

FORGOTTEN - sylus x reader

SUMMARY: Don't expect a lot from someone who hasn't explained a lot about how they don't want a lot from you.

NOTES: sylus x reader, first person pov, question marks for the relationship, angst, girl u got side-chicked, reader is NOT mc, not as angsty as I could make it icl.

wc: 2497

a/n: i got a boat load of things to be doing, but sometimes sylus needs to come first. someone please tag me in a good Sylus fic that'll heal btw, even if this wasn't angsty as I could have made it I still need to be giggling over something

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Love is a simple yet complex thing. It makes days feel like waltzes, despite the darkness itching at the seams and cracks of the world. It tells a tale of mellow, warm days, where the sun doesn’t burn but heals. That’s how it felt to be in love

That’s why, when I awoke each morning with darkness still pooling in my apartment - the billowy shadows, albeit smaller now with the faint morning light of the N109 Zone, dancing against the walls - and the sound of a crow at my window, I was okay. The ebony feathers and gleaming ruby eyes visible through the glass were my proof. I was not forgotten.

Opening the window, the crow cocked its head inquisitively, as though asking, Let me in, please!

“Come in,” I said, sliding the window open. The crow swooped in and perched on my bed frame.

“Running errands already, huh, Mephisto?” I chuckled dryly, rubbing the remnants of sleep from my eyes. I gently scratched beneath its beak, earning a positive response from the bird.

With a sigh, I gathered my strength and moved to my closet, pulling out low-waisted baggy cargos and a fitted ribbed top. Glancing over my shoulder, I added, “Tell Sylus he better be working when I get there - not passed out at his desk again.”

The image of Sylus asleep, cheek pressed against his knuckles, with soft snores escaping his lips, tugged my mouth into a smile. He could try to be inconspicuous, but on mornings when work demanded an early rise, his stoic demeanor softened into vulnerability. To others, it might not have seemed like much, but to me, it was enough to get moving.

When I reached the estate, Luke and Kieran waved me in, clearly still settling into the morning. Kieran was slumped on a couch while Luke mumbled something about not getting enough sleep and missing cereal. Familiar with their antics, I proceeded, leaving them to their misery.

“Sylus,” I called, a smile spreading across my face as I found him awake and working. “G’morning, boss.” The title slipped off my tongue easily - a term that had lost its seriousness, now laced with humor between us. Though our interactions were often work-related, there was a growing sense of familiarity. Shared jokes and casual banter hinted at something deeper.

He glanced up, a corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Good morning to you, too. Has the allure of work coffee dragged you in early?” His voice carried that low timbre that always caught me off guard.

I dropped into a leather armchair, resting my head in my hand. “Tempting, but no. I had a visitor this morning - a certain crow who seems to think I’m slacking.”

His smirk grew more pronounced. “Oh, is that so?”

“Don’t act coy,” I huffed.

“Caught red-handed,” he admitted with a chuckle, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Waking up early is one thing, but I should have a reason to wake up too, don’t you think?”

“Sylus, you’ve got a mountain of work to do,” I said, flustered, waving off his teasing.

“Work always waits for the boss, doesn’t it?” he quipped back.

After a bit more banter, I decided coffee was in order. Rising from the armchair, I motioned toward the door. “I’m craving that cafe in Linkon. Knowing you, you probably want something. So, are you coming with me, or should I grab something for the both of us?”

“Don’t leave without me,” Sylus replied quickly. “I could use a side adventure with you.”

Rolling my eyes to mask my nerves, I snorted. “Then hurry up. And by the way, the twins are out of commission, so we’ll probably have to take the car ourselves.”

As we drove toward Linkon, the air felt lighter, the stark contrast between N109’s industrial shadows and the bustling streets beyond. Yet Sylus’s words lingered in my mind, as his often did, planting seeds of thought that stayed with me, unshaken.

When we entered the coffee shop, I noticed his gaze linger. His face fell, not in fear, but in shock.

“Sylus, did you see something?” I asked, my voice soft, laced with earnest concern.

He didn’t respond immediately. His gaze remained fixed before he blinked and turned to me. “I… No, it was nothing.”

“Are you sure?” I pressed gently.

He nodded, but the weight in his tone betrayed him. Something was wrong.

“You’d tell me if something was wrong, right? As your… assistant, you know at the very least?” The word was humbling on my tongue. Would saying "friend" be more appropriate? It would definitely be plausible, but friends don't necessarily pick and prod the way we have. To say "friends" undermines everything else that was bubbling, and I don’t want that.

Sighing at his hum, I let our outing continue. There was less banter, but it was a manageable experience.

The next morning, something felt off. Sylus’s usual sharp wit was dulled, his attention drifting elsewhere. Even the crow, who had become my constant visitor in the mornings, was absent. Days passed, and our exchanges grew quieter, the once effortless banter replaced by an unspoken tension.

It was clear as day: Sylus was scheming and plotting on his own, or at the very least, I wasn’t looped in. Kieran and Luke had no issue with Sylus's behavior, but there was something amiss. It seemed as though his attention had been pulled from me to focus on whatever was troubling him. Sure, I had no issue allowing for space - I mean, it wasn’t like we were together - but I was worried. There wasn’t any animosity between us, yet the trifling silence between us seemed to be a little more than that.

Days passed on and on, and it seemed that his stressed attitudes were lifting for more elated moods. It seemed as though a recovery was bound, but perhaps not for me. It seemed as though his ride was coming to an end, and mine? It was only beginning.

The burst of a gunshot, followed by its sharp echo, jolted me upright from my chair. My pulse quickened as I glanced toward the source of the sound, the commotion carrying through the otherwise quiet estate. I was used to the sound of bullets firing, close-range or far-range, but to hear it inside the estate, let alone where Sylus was? What for?

“Luke, Kieran? The hell was that?” I shouted from where I stood, concern pinching my eyebrows together. Luke and Kieran immediately appeared in the doorway, both uncharacteristically composed but clearly aware of my concern.

"Relax," Luke said, hands raised in an almost placating gesture. "It was nothing - you know boss, if he was shooting himself, he’d be able to heal himself back up. Lickity split."

"Nothing to worry about," Kieran chimed in, his tone steady, though the glance he exchanged with his brother was enough to prick at my nerves. Dolts.

“Yeah, but neither of you are answering my question. Who’s shooting right now?” Sylus was way capable of managing himself; heck, to say he couldn't would be lying straight through my teeth. He was the esteemed leader of Onychinus, who could miraculously (and freakishly, of course) mend himself back together. He feared nothing. He feared no one. He was the one feared.

Finally putting a brain cell to use, Luke placed a hand on his hip while another scratched his chin. “Not sure, but… could be something with that Hunter Association girl.”

My face morphed from concern and annoyance to confusion. Hunter Association girl? I couldn’t help but wonder, “Who?”

“You don’t know? Boss found the Hunter Association girl he was looking for?” Luke scratched his hood, creating a party of confusion between him and me. Kieran was also slowly joining the group as the conversation ensued. No, I wasn’t heartbroken right away. No, I wasn’t jealous. Yes, I was perplexed.

He was looking for someone, and he didn’t tell me?

Surely, he had a reason for doing so, but I could only pray that maybe, as an assistant, I would be informed of operations Onychinus was leading. Unless, of course, they were personal feats. Then, there would be a clear boundary that would make it evident I didn’t need to meddle in whatever Sylus was orchestrating.

Friend, but wasn’t I at least a friend? Could he not confide in me there? I mean, there was a part of him that I had unlocked over the previous years. Surely those bits and pieces of Sylus I got to learn through my own very eyes would at least trust me enough to tell me what the hell he was doing? Right?

Be levelled.

There is always more than what meets the eye.

Be levelled.

I slowly nodded, but the tension in my chest didn’t dissipate. “I did not know of her, but if you say it’s alright, I’ll take your word. You two better pray that I won’t be having to clean blood later, otherwise, you two…” I trailed a clenched fist with a thumb out at my neck with a menacing hiss imitating a knife at a throat. I knew better than to be vulnerable, let alone in front of the twins, and the best way to handle hurt in this moment was to pretend it didn’t exist with humor. The twins frantically saluted with an incoherent plea for their lives before dashing out. I returned to my work, but my thoughts were elsewhere.

I had to clean up, and it was worse than I thought.

Despite my weak attempts at swallowing the questions gnawing at my chest, every passing second listed another question to my list. I was a student of heartache and worry, and my summative was to understand where I would lay with Sylus in the coming days.

After I had finished my reading, the silence was deafening, and I could hear it alluring me to see what had developed since the shot. It had been hours since the initial bullet, and the assistant part (definitely not the confused, aching part) of me wanted to know if there was anything for me to take care of or, you know, any answers for those questions.

I noted that both the mystery girl and Sylus weren’t in the estate anymore, but I saw the blood. This line of work built up a tolerance for gore and grim, but it still wasn’t pleasant. It seemed as if someone had haphazardly tried to clean it up, but I wished I had never overheard the conversations between them as they returned.

As the days pursued, I noticed a shift in Sylus’s routine. A woman I hadn’t seen before appeared in the halls, a faint shadow following Sylus’s movements. Truly, it would have been easier if she wasn’t prancing around the estate, because then I wouldn’t have to be a first-hand witness to seeing how he looked at her. It takes no fool to see that he looked at her with a warm gleam in his eye. A gleam that wasn’t his evol, but a look that drank her whole, his eyebrows raised and only furrowing at her witty remarks. I never meant to notice, but it seemed like he was breathing easier, yet his muscles were itching to grab her.

To crave someone.

My heart was slowly revolting in my chest, plotting an anarchy against my mind. A loud demand that I seek closure. My story was over, but I begged, “Let me be broken,” my pitiful mind whispering in surrender.

Sylus, who usually moved like a lone wolf through the estate, now seemed tethered to her. She occupied the guest room, accompanied him on errands, and their dynamic seemed effortless - something I would never relate to. Under the assumption that all that is sweet takes time, I patiently waited for him; supported him; cared for him. The banter I had once shared with him now played out between them, and my tongue was left scratchy from the lack of words falling off it.

It wasn’t jealousy I felt, not exactly. It was the quiet unease of witnessing something intimate from the outside, knowing I was no longer the one who fit into the empty spaces. I was a puzzle piece to replace; a hastily drawn picture on a piece of paper, cut out to only fill in for the missing piece.

Still, I couldn’t deny how easily they seemed to get along. She wasn’t intrusive or overbearing; she blended into the environment, a piece that completed the puzzle of Sylus’s world. Watching her settle into the rhythm of things only served to emphasize my growing sense of distance, and it was vividly clear to me that she was the puzzle piece he was hunting for.

When the announcement came that Sylus and Ms. Hunter - as he would call her - would be attending an auction together, an event critical to our operations, it wasn’t a surprise. But Lord, did it sting. I had been by his side countless times for situations like this, yet now I was relegated to the periphery.

The day of the auction was oddly quiet. He was enamored by her. She was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. The dress he had tailored for her, the jewels that hung on her skin - they made her look stunning. If the case was different, I would have complimented her myself, but the depth of pain hurting within me begged me to stay back. As they left together, I busied myself with the tasks left behind, avoiding the gnawing thoughts that threatened to overwhelm me. The image of them - so perfect for one another - haunted my mind. Hours stretched on, and by the time they returned, their closeness was undeniable.

It hurt.

I promised myself to be level-headed, but all that had occurred was the feelings I had so helplessly grasped onto being sent to the gullies. I could neither leave nor stay. A sickening game where I would run in circles by myself. Since when did I become so dependent on him? I thought my individuality was what brought me here.

There’s a single pitch that no soul dares to experience. A sound so sharp it rips your heart out - not to serve it on a silver platter, but to hurl it onto a pile of others, drowning in the same feeling: sorrow. It’s the cacophony of thoughts rattling your chest, keeping it pumping with blood, yet leaving it aching. Sorrow doesn’t only break; it strengthens, but it’s through love that one nurtures.

Love is a simple yet complex thing. It makes days feel like waltzes, despite the darkness itching at the seams and cracks of the world. It tells a tale of mellow, warm days, where the sun doesn’t burn but heals. That’s how it felt to be in love.

That’s why, when I awoke each morning with darkness still pooling in my apartment - the billowy shadows, albeit smaller now with the faint morning light of the N109 Zone, dancing against the walls - and the sound of a crow at my window, I was okay. The ebony feathers and gleaming ruby eyes visible through the glass were my proof. I was not forgotten.

Opening the window, the crow cocked its head inquisitively, as though asking, Let me in, please!

“Come in,” I said, sliding the window open. The crow swooped in and perched on my bed frame.

“Running errands already, huh, Mephisto?” I chuckled dryly, rubbing the remnants of sleep from my eyes. I gently scratched beneath its beak, earning a positive response from the bird.

With a sigh, I gathered my strength and moved to my closet, pulling out low-waisted baggy cargos and a fitted ribbed top. Glancing over my shoulder, I added, “Tell Sylus he better be working when I get there - not passed out at his desk again.”

The image of Sylus asleep, cheek pressed against his knuckles, with soft snores escaping his lips, tugged my mouth into a smile. He could try to be inconspicuous, but on mornings when work demanded an early rise, his stoic demeanor softened into vulnerability. To others, it might not have seemed like much, but to me, it was enough to get moving.

When I reached the estate, Luke and Kieran waved me in, clearly still settling into the morning. Kieran was slumped on a couch while Luke mumbled something about not getting enough sleep and missing cereal. Familiar with their antics, I proceeded, leaving them to their misery.

“Sylus,” I called, a smile spreading across my face as I found him awake and working. “G’morning, boss.” The title slipped off my tongue easily - a term that had lost its seriousness, now laced with humor between us. Though our interactions were often work-related, there was a growing sense of familiarity. Shared jokes and casual banter hinted at something deeper.

He glanced up, a corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Good morning to you, too. Has the allure of work coffee dragged you in early?” His voice carried that low timbre that always caught me off guard.

I dropped into a leather armchair, resting my head in my hand. “Tempting, but no. I had a visitor this morning - a certain crow who seems to think I’m slacking.”

His smirk grew more pronounced. “Oh, is that so?”

“Don’t act coy,” I huffed.

“Caught red-handed,” he admitted with a chuckle, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Waking up early is one thing, but I should have a reason to wake up too, don’t you think?”

“Sylus, you’ve got a mountain of work to do,” I said, flustered, waving off his teasing.

“Work always waits for the boss, doesn’t it?” he quipped back.

After a bit more banter, I decided coffee was in order. Rising from the armchair, I motioned toward the door. “I’m craving that cafe in Linkon. Knowing you, you probably want something. So, are you coming with me, or should I grab something for the both of us?”

“Don’t leave without me,” Sylus replied quickly. “I could use a side adventure with you.”

Rolling my eyes to mask my nerves, I snorted. “Then hurry up. And by the way, the twins are out of commission, so we’ll probably have to take the car ourselves.”

As we drove toward Linkon, the air felt lighter, the stark contrast between N109’s industrial shadows and the bustling streets beyond. Yet Sylus’s words lingered in my mind, as his often did, planting seeds of thought that stayed with me, unshaken.

When we entered the coffee shop, I noticed his gaze linger. His face fell, not in fear, but in shock.

“Sylus, did you see something?” I asked, my voice soft, laced with earnest concern.

He didn’t respond immediately. His gaze remained fixed before he blinked and turned to me. “I… No, it was nothing.”

“Are you sure?” I pressed gently.

He nodded, but the weight in his tone betrayed him. Something was wrong.

“You’d tell me if something was wrong, right? As your… assistant, you know at the very least?” The word was humbling on my tongue. Would saying "friend" be more appropriate? It would definitely be plausible, but friends don't necessarily pick and prod the way we have. To say "friends" undermines everything else that was bubbling, and I don’t want that.

Sighing at his hum, I let our outing continue. There was less banter, but it was a manageable experience.

The next morning, something felt off. Sylus’s usual sharp wit was dulled, his attention drifting elsewhere. Even the crow, who had become my constant visitor in the mornings, was absent. Days passed, and our exchanges grew quieter, the once effortless banter replaced by an unspoken tension.

It was clear as day: Sylus was scheming and plotting on his own, or at the very least, I wasn’t looped in. Kieran and Luke had no issue with Sylus's behavior, but there was something amiss. It seemed as though his attention had been pulled from me to focus on whatever was troubling him. Sure, I had no issue allowing for space - I mean, it wasn’t like we were together - but I was worried. There wasn’t any animosity between us, yet the trifling silence between us seemed to be a little more than that.

Days passed on and on, and it seemed that his stressed attitudes were lifting for more elated moods. It seemed as though a recovery was bound, but perhaps not for me. It seemed as though his ride was coming to an end, and mine? It was only beginning.

The burst of a gunshot, followed by its sharp echo, jolted me upright from my chair. My pulse quickened as I glanced toward the source of the sound, the commotion carrying through the otherwise quiet estate. I was used to the sound of bullets firing, close-range or far-range, but to hear it inside the estate, let alone where Sylus was? What for?

“Luke, Kieran? The hell was that?” I shouted from where I stood, concern pinching my eyebrows together. Luke and Kieran immediately appeared in the doorway, both uncharacteristically composed but clearly aware of my concern.

"Relax," Luke said, hands raised in an almost placating gesture. "It was nothing - you know boss, if he was shooting himself, he’d be able to heal himself back up. Lickity split."

"Nothing to worry about," Kieran chimed in, his tone steady, though the glance he exchanged with his brother was enough to prick at my nerves. Dolts.

“Yeah, but neither of you are answering my question. Who’s shooting right now?” Sylus was way capable of managing himself; heck, to say he couldn't would be lying straight through my teeth. He was the esteemed leader of Onychinus, who could miraculously (and freakishly, of course) mend himself back together. He feared nothing. He feared no one. He was the one feared.

Finally putting a brain cell to use, Luke placed a hand on his hip while another scratched his chin. “Not sure, but… could be something with that Hunter Association girl.”

My face morphed from concern and annoyance to confusion. Hunter Association girl? I couldn’t help but wonder, “Who?”

“You don’t know? Boss found the Hunter Association girl he was looking for?” Luke scratched his hood, creating a party of confusion between him and me. Kieran was also slowly joining the group as the conversation ensued. No, I wasn’t heartbroken right away. No, I wasn’t jealous. Yes, I was perplexed.

He was looking for someone, and he didn’t tell me?

Surely, he had a reason for doing so, but I could only pray that maybe, as an assistant, I would be informed of operations Onychinus was leading. Unless, of course, they were personal feats. Then, there would be a clear boundary that would make it evident I didn’t need to meddle in whatever Sylus was orchestrating.

Friend, but wasn’t I at least a friend? Could he not confide in me there? I mean, there was a part of him that I had unlocked over the previous years. Surely those bits and pieces of Sylus I got to learn through my own very eyes would at least trust me enough to tell me what the hell he was doing? Right?

Be levelled.

There is always more than what meets the eye.

Be levelled.

I slowly nodded, but the tension in my chest didn’t dissipate. “I did not know of her, but if you say it’s alright, I’ll take your word. You two better pray that I won’t be having to clean blood later, otherwise, you two…” I trailed a clenched fist with a thumb out at my neck with a menacing hiss imitating a knife at a throat. I knew better than to be vulnerable, let alone in front of the twins, and the best way to handle hurt in this moment was to pretend it didn’t exist with humor. The twins frantically saluted with an incoherent plea for their lives before dashing out. I returned to my work, but my thoughts were elsewhere.

I had to clean up, and it was worse than I thought.

Despite my weak attempts at swallowing the questions gnawing at my chest, every passing second listed another question to my list. I was a student of heartache and worry, and my summative was to understand where I would lay with Sylus in the coming days.

After I had finished my reading, the silence was deafening, and I could hear it alluring me to see what had developed since the shot. It had been hours since the initial bullet, and the assistant part (definitely not the confused, aching part) of me wanted to know if there was anything for me to take care of or, you know, any answers for those questions.

I noted that both the mystery girl and Sylus weren’t in the estate anymore, but I saw the blood. This line of work built up a tolerance for gore and grim, but it still wasn’t pleasant. It seemed as if someone had haphazardly tried to clean it up, but I wished I had never overheard the conversations between them as they returned.

As the days pursued, I noticed a shift in Sylus’s routine. A woman I hadn’t seen before appeared in the halls, a faint shadow following Sylus’s movements. Truly, it would have been easier if she wasn’t prancing around the estate, because then I wouldn’t have to be a first-hand witness to seeing how he looked at her. It takes no fool to see that he looked at her with a warm gleam in his eye. A gleam that wasn’t his evol, but a look that drank her whole, his eyebrows raised and only furrowing at her witty remarks. I never meant to notice, but it seemed like he was breathing easier, yet his muscles were itching to grab her.

To crave someone.

My heart was slowly revolting in my chest, plotting an anarchy against my mind. A loud demand that I seek closure. My story was over, but I begged, “Let me be broken,” my pitiful mind whispering in surrender.

Sylus, who usually moved like a lone wolf through the estate, now seemed tethered to her. She occupied the guest room, accompanied him on errands, and their dynamic seemed effortless - something I would never relate to. Under the assumption that all that is sweet takes time, I patiently waited for him; supported him; cared for him. The banter I had once shared with him now played out between them, and my tongue was left scratchy from the lack of words falling off it.

It wasn’t jealousy I felt, not exactly. It was the quiet unease of witnessing something intimate from the outside, knowing I was no longer the one who fit into the empty spaces. I was a puzzle piece to replace; a hastily drawn picture on a piece of paper, cut out to only fill in for the missing piece.

Still, I couldn’t deny how easily they seemed to get along. She wasn’t intrusive or overbearing; she blended into the environment, a piece that completed the puzzle of Sylus’s world. Watching her settle into the rhythm of things only served to emphasize my growing sense of distance, and it was vividly clear to me that she was the puzzle piece he was hunting for.

When the announcement came that Sylus and Ms. Hunter - as he would call her - would be attending an auction together, an event critical to our operations, it wasn’t a surprise. But Lord, did it sting. I had been by his side countless times for situations like this, yet now I was relegated to the periphery.

The day of the auction was oddly quiet. He was enamored by her. She was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. The dress he had tailored for her, the jewels that hung on her skin - they made her look stunning. If the case was different, I would have complimented her myself, but the depth of pain hurting within me begged me to stay back. As they left together, I busied myself with the tasks left behind, avoiding the gnawing thoughts that threatened to overwhelm me. The image of them - so perfect for one another - haunted my mind. Hours stretched on, and by the time they returned, their closeness was undeniable.

It hurt.

I promised myself to be level-headed, but all that had occurred was the feelings I had so helplessly grasped onto being sent to the gullies. I could neither leave nor stay. A sickening game where I would run in circles by myself. Since when did I become so dependent on him? I thought my individuality was what brought me here.

Sylus’s guarded demeanor had softened around her. They moved as though they’d known each other for years, their conversation punctuated by shared laughter and subtle gestures.

I told myself it didn’t matter.

That it was just business, that whatever bond they’d formed wasn’t meant to affect me.

The lies my mind told to my heart.

I would happily take whatever piece of him I could get.

So, I stayed forgotten.

Please don’t repost, translate, or redistribute my work without permission. Likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated. All rights to Love and Deepspace and its characters belong to Infold Games and respective copyright holders. © kashedelic 2024

[rikas-musings]

RECLAMATION OF THE DAMNED ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

DIRECTORY

variant! mark x reader

SYNOPSIS: in your world, nothing is particularly wrong; there are no superheroes, but you do get to mindlessly indulge in shows and books. in fact, you're a casual fan of the show invincible. today, you’re perusing an old article about a haunted place when you stumble upon a house that's definitely out of the ordinary, and despite the absolute gloom that emits from the place, you can’t help but go in. what you don’t expect is encountering powers beyond that of your world. somehow, within the hour, your fate finds itself intertwining with that of mark grayson. but the real question is: can you save him?

WARNINGS: creepy town/off-putting vibes, you literally die, and descriptions of said death, blood mentions, that's all!

A/N : a silly little chapter, i had a few ideas on how this would go, but this is what i ended up with, sorry for the slow burn, i can't help but build tension...is this too short? too long? please let me know i'm lowkey losing it

CHAPTER ONE: CURSED

You’d arrived at the town of Hornnewle a few hours ago, and the train was slow but scenic. Pulling out your phone, you huffed at the walk from here to the town’s library. You’d already checked in at your motel, which was slightly rundown, but the town itself had a sort of charm. It wasn’t exactly charming in a touristy way; something heavier hung in the air. You watched as crows gathered by the streetlights, beaks twisted at an unseen force.

Must have found something shiny. 

The town looked like a snapshot of a horror film, paused mid-breath. Victorian buildings lined the misty streets, which reminded you of Gotham City from the comics. You snorted a bit at the thought. Somehow, the weather was warm, but the city seemed slightly shrouded in darkness. You admired the weird charm and happily walked towards your destination. It was getting closer and closer until you saw the wooden sign hanging from the building. It bore a gothic style font, and looked as if it had never been replaced in the past fifty years. 

You opened the creaky door, and the bell rang loudly. Your digits ran through your hair, startled, you tried to make yourself smaller. A woman who looked to be in her 70s made eye contact with you, and her wrinkled face offered you a small smile. You gave her a nod and hurried inside, light on your feet. You gripped your satchel and mouth parted to speak— the library, however, had other plans. You looked around in awe at the rustic place. A warm, red carpeted floor, walls littered with books, and the smell of incense and books filled your nose.

“Feels like home, right? I figure you’re not from here.” She begins, offering her hand up for a greeting. Your fingers hesitantly move towards hers, giving her a handshake feeling the cool metal from her ring touch your skin.

“How’d you guess?” You sheepishly smile. Her orbs run up and down your form, surveying you, not just observing. 

“I’ve lived here long enough to know everyone in the town,” She chuckles, and you watch her pink lips curl up sweetly. “So I know a new face when I see one!” she shrugs. She looks to be average height, and her skin is a pale colour, her gray hair falling in loose strands surrounding her clavicle.

“Well, I need some help finding a book, I’m doing some research…” You start, you cannot exactly reveal the true nature of your visit, because you do technically intend to trespass on barred land. You pretend to be in thought and furrow your brows.

“I’m doing a research project for school about the haunted place here called Maledictus.” You query with your hand on your chin. 

Her face scrunches at your request.

“You came all the way here for that book?” She confirms. Her eyes glaze over ever so slightly, you notice and shift in your spot.

“That place is barred in this town, though I imagine if you researched, you already know that, it is the only book on the matter, despite having a past reputation in the province.” She thinks and meets your eyes before sighing,

She nods her head towards an aisle in the back.

“It's on the back wall. I hope you do well on your research project.” She smiled, twisting the ring on her finger. You notice an insignia on it and squint at it before nodding and heading to the back wall.

Dragging your digits against the spines of the books lining the walls, reverence settles itself into your chest. You wished you could capture this moment in a painting, seal it away, and never drown in the feeling of loneliness again. Your fingers stop once they hit the book you’ve been searching for. A giddy feeling bubbles up in your chest, and you push it down gently. 

Grabbing the book, you step to the front of the store, the lady's eyes settle onto you, and she smiles, waving you farewell. You leave the mystic library with a huff as you run towards the nearest cafe you can find. The feeling of the book grasped between your fingers, blooming a feeling in your chest again, you don’t push it down this time.

Your digits greedily prod at the book as you find a seat to settle into. Your skin is digging into the gaps between the wood seat, but you haven’t a care in the world.

As you iris’s skim over the pages, your first order of business is seeking the location of the Maledictus. You read through a few words of warning, all things you’ve read before, nothing seemingly out of the ordinary. 

There it is.

The location, just on the outskirts of the main square, threaded deep into the forest, like a secret waiting to be revealed. You hum in contentment, scratching at the nape of your neck. You rise to your feet, slightly tender from the walking you’ve been doing. You loosely mapped out the path in your head and decided to persevere before it gets too dark. 

Your boots crunch into the sticks and leaves on the path to the forest, it has a cavernous aspect to it that you find oddly comforting. You continue skimming through the pages, trying to detect any mentions of relics and such. You bite your lip in focus as you walk, the book perched in your hands. You stop in your tracks as you finally find something. 

Relics! You hold back a shit-eating grin before humming in contentment and trekking forward. The photos are faded, but clear enough to make out minor details; there are many, they look dipped in gold, edges faded from standing the test of time. Ornate details catch your eye, carved neatly into them. Some pots, some rings and more. Before you know it, you’ve reached the point in the book where it details each—

You’re cut off by the sound of your head crashing into a tree. You grunt in pain, the book shielding your sternum from the same fate as your head—you cradle your head in response, feeling for any sign of blood. You had not paid any mind to the world around you as you ventured deeper into the forest—that was a mistake. You took a second to survey your surroundings, and that’s when you saw it. 

The building was tenebrous, gloomy like death encapsulated. It stood tall in the forest; a copious amount of cautious tape surrounded the exterior, in your head, it was practically ushering you inside.

It was a deep shade of brown, a fractured sort of building, oozing miasma. It loomed above you, with a mansion-like stature. You hesitated before shutting the book in your grip, jaw tightening in eagerness to trespass. You tucked the book gently into your satchel before your digits tapped the caution tape. You threaded yourself through the tape like a needle, eventually landing in front of the door. 

“That’s enough hesitating, I’m heading inside.” You mused. 

The door creaked open, as a rickety groan escaped the hinges. It was surprisingly orderly. As much as a place this ancient could be. It had rickety flooring, sure, but it held a timeless design inside. You took note of the cracked cornices and cobwebs; no matter how decent it was, it was still ancient. With it came a must in the air—a scent that felt decrepit, but also as if someone had inhabited this place recently. Like something or someone had been here.

That made the corners of your mouth twitch. 

Your eyes raked over your surroundings as you stepped further into the place, shutting the door behind you. It’s you and a dwelling etched in time and memories, said to bear a curse. You wouldn’t trade that for anything else. You spent your time delicately surveying the place, picking up items that matched the photographs in the book you had tucked away. It felt precious, a secret only you got to keep.

Not long after, you found your feet heading towards the billowing staircase, your fingers nimbly traced over the cracked wood as you made your way deeper into the stilled mansion. A darkness loomed around you, but you were no stranger to feelings like those. When you reached the top of the creaky steps, you made your way into a room on the far left of the gloomy hallway. 

Your breath hitched in your throat when you entered. The room reeked of age, old, rotted pages from a book and decaying flowers. The floorboards screaming beneath your feet, the sound thrumming in your eardrum like a warning. You pressed onwards into the large room, eyes landing on the stained mullions, the curtains drawn back as if inviting a fresh breath into the carcass of a room. 

That’s when something glinted from the corner of your eye, it pulled your gaze like a magnet. Your feet padded across the room, measuring your steps as you went to grasp it, ignoring everything in your stomach that twisted and furled at the creaking in the floorboard. 

You grasped it—before—

C R E A K

The floor crooned beneath you and gave out, your weight pulling you down, crashing through the rotted ceiling of the floors beneath you. A sickening feeling churned in your stomach as you fell through not one, not two, but five dark stories. Your life flashed before your eyes as you desperately clawed at the stale air for something to hold onto, but to no avail. The splinters from the decayed board sharply dig into your skin as you fall.

Your body then smashed onto what felt like solid concrete, nearly bouncing from the impact, your head collided with the ground with a deafening crack, your eyes watering as your breath dies in your throat. You feel warmth seeping out of your head, you’re sure it’s your blood, leaking from your cracked skull, you feel panic rise in your chest, your heart humming at a pace far too fast to be normal.

Your eyes wander down weakly to the relic in your hand. It looks untouched from the fall, pristine and shiny still. It looks like an angel, wings delicately curved in on itself. Your eyes wander around it, and you notice something carved into it. 

An insignia, huh, that looks just like the one the librarian had on her ring.

The thought fades away as you feel the sudden urge to sleep, your body is heavy and lies in a pool of your blood, you swear you can see the relic in your hand glow before your eyes droop shut, for eternity.

For some odd reason, you feel yourself waking up in a field of green grass, as fresh as could be. A TV was placed in the middle of the field, which was extremely out of place. Your eyebrows scrunch as the sun's rays dilate across your skin. 

The TV flickers on, and you watch as the channel plays—

Invincible?

A voice suddenly sounds from behind you.

“Why hello there, it seems you’ve made it.”

Made it? 

Where?

TAGLIST: @lalana1703 @lilacoaks @thatoneraeder @heiankyonoeiyuukun

[wyzgguk]

late

•pairing: jungkook x f!reader

•warings: smut, cursing, reader has big breasts, make out, fingering, face slapping(once), dirty talk, degradation (uses of slut and whore), rough sex, anal play(very brief), unprotected sex(be safe pls) basically porn with no plot

•word count: 930 (not reviewed obviously)

"jungkook we need to go...fuck!" is all you can say before you feel a pair of hands groping your ass and then slaps being delivered against your skin.

"We have time before we go." jungkook says, sucking the skin on your neck. "hold your legs up, quick".

You can't say no to him. Not when you're already dripping, the unbearable throbbing in your clitnot letting you think straight. Lying right in the center of the bed means you can hold your legs close to your chest, just the way he likes it.

"So fucking desperate" jungkook groans as he watches your pussy tighten around nothingness "fuck, still tight after taking my cock" you moan his name when he starts pumping his long fingers hitting places only he could

jungkook enjoys it as much as you do, the feel of your pussy squeezing his fingers sends ripples of arousal straight to his cock still trapped in his clothes. "touch your clit for me while I suck your tits"

The clothes you were wearing now were a complete mess, jungkook does not stop pulling the mini shirt you are wearing revealing the full breasts you have, beaks raised with so much pleasure.

"Please I need more" the hand sliding circles over your clit and the feel of the hot tongue on your chest is all it takes to bring you to the brink of an orgasm.

But that's not what you want. You want his dick.

"More? what do you want, hm?" jungkook who releases your chest with a pop, a thread of saliva connecting the two and replacing your hand with his stimulating your clit. "want my cock in your little pussy, like a desperate slut?"

The only thing you can do is moan, hips thrusting towards jungkook like an invitation and the hand that used to give him pleasure is in your face in a slap that makes your head turn to the side. "I asked what you want or I won't give you anything, babe."

"I want your cock here" you guide jungkook's hand until it's over your pussy again. "ruin me, jungkook. Do whatever you want to me"

jungkook is quick to pull you over and place you face down on the bed, head on the mattress and butt in the air. You can't help but shiver when you feel jungkook's dick slide through your folds, the wet sound filling the room.

The tip sliding along the entire length, rubbing your overstimulated clit again, pre cum being spread making jungkook moan at the sight.

"kook…hurry up" you wiggle your hips to get what you want but all you get is slaps on your thigh, and fuck, it feels so good.

"we're doing this on my time" jungkook says, voice low and husky. You can feel the tip of him teasing your entrance "the tightest pussy" jungkook's husky voice hitting you right in the core, the dick sliding until it's fully inside you and the feeling of being filled until you feel full satisfying every expectations.

jungkook's hands walking around your body landing on top of your breasts, pulls and squeezes that are given the right way. The tip of his dick hitting your g-spot directly as the strokes become faster and deeper.

"having fun squeezing my cock all over like a whore?" he whispers in your ear sucking the skin on your neck then the grip on your waist leaving marks and the thrusts becoming more intense. "you feel so fucking good"

you grip the bed sheets tightly, the hardness of your movements making the bed creak. You feel a pair of hands on your ass, pulling the bands apart, m but what takes you by surprise is the pressure on your back entrance.

Jungkook's thumb wet with your moisture, circling the puckered spot. "we should try next time

"focus on now " you say impatiently, desperate to come.

"so needy" jungkook pulls your body until his chest is glued to your back. One arm circling his waist, the other your jaw until your mouth is glued to his.The kiss is a mess, rushed and rough. "My good girl" he says, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth. He pulls away and releases your lip with a 'snap'.

jungkook now guides both hands on your hips, firming, the movements faster and faster and you calling his name. No, you're screaming the name of the only person who makes you feel this way.

Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook

Hips in sync with his movements, the slick wetness between her thighs allowing him to slide in easily. Your pussy tightening around him and the familiar knot in your stomach makes you roll your eyes. "you cumming, babe?"

"m-make me cum, kook" is all you can get out, sobs and loud moans being all you can get out. He's basically fucking you dumb, making messes all over the bed just the way you both like it.

You two came together, you feeling spasms and squeezing his length, and he who even after coming still kept some slow movements spreading his seed and making your legs trembling.

jungkook lets out a deep sigh, chest red and heaving, head resting on your shoulder. "are you alright?"

"mmn, tired" you say, voice totally hoarse and jungkook can't help but laugh.

"Our friends will understand if we don't go, so I can take care of my pretty girl".

you feel your stomach churning, wondering where you got yourself when you decided to give in to jungkook's wishes.

And the worst, you like it.

A lot.

• this is an original work by @wyzgguk, please do not copy, translate or anything like that :)

[banj0possum]

What if i want to bite them (all characters), like. Its love bites <3 like not hard enough to bleed hut enough to leave a mark for a while. Like i love them so much i just cant help it! I would kiss the bite marks after in hopes to make them not hurt as much <3

-🩷

Darling Gives Them Love Bites <333

My OCs x GN! Reader

Heres a short post from an old request as a little snack before the yan gang!!

CW: biting ofc, nsfw jumpscares sprinkled in, tooth decaying fluff

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Adrian is a bit confused and weirded out at first, like why are you biting thats gross youre gross wait why are you stopping you have to bite his other shoulder or else its not symmetrical and itll feel weird come back !!

he needs to get used to it gradually, but once it gets to the point you leave marks on his skin, he's asking for a lil bite every time you two say goodbye so he can have a memento of you

he cums in his pants if you lick the bite oh my god please do it again he begs of you

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Brandon thinks it's a game and bites you back, picking you up and throwing you up in the air. You activated some kind of trigger in him that made him go full excited golden retriever.

He bites you back, kissing the area over and over again as revenge

He probably bites more than you to be honest, he's always wanted to bite but held back in case you were uncomfy with it, but now that he knows you're cool with it he's going ham.

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Valeth is cooing over you, little duckling bites!! so cute!!!

He praises your bite marks, pointing out the parts that hurt saying things like "If you tried, you could definitely break skin! Good job my duckling!"

Thinks your little teeth are cute, especially your canines, he loves comparing it to his tusks.

He allows, no, encourages to let you nibble on his hand or arm

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The horde doesnt let you, kisses are ok, but biting ? no no no

not because they dont like it, they just dont want you putting your mouth on their literally rotten skin

plus they associate biting with eat so thats a bit of a problem

but my oh my they love kisses, give them a bit and maybe just maybe theyd let you nibble a little bit.

dont let them do it back to you especially ribs, they have super sharp teeth that can break bone if they wanted

but like you might be into that so idk man

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Wolfie thinks youre being aggressive before you assure him its how you express love, then he starts to do it back or lick you.

It's more of him casually putting a part of your body in his mouth protectively, he doesnt wanna hurt his mate ;-;

he still prefers licks and cuddles tho, anything that involves cuddles are ok for him!!

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Doriks cummin buckets im sorry

are you marking him as yours ? please do it some more please! maybe on his ear? arm? dick? chest?

hes all yours !!!

he offers to bite you back, itll eventually turn into very intense sex that ends with the both of you covered head to toe in bite marks

he wants round 2

use it as a reward and hes doing whatever you ask with the speed of a sports car

appears right next to you, neck exposed, waiting eagerly for another bite

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kalva is confused but laughs and bites you back, its a little painful because of the beak but he tries his best to be gentle.

he sees it as you trying to preen him and swoons over your 'attempt'

he preens you in order to teach how its really done! its mostly just an excuse to love on you <3

hes very ticklish so expect a flurry of giddly hoots and chirps from him whenever you nibble on him

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jasper is crying sobbing rolling on the floor rn

BITE HIM ON THE BECK PLEASE BITE HIM ON THE N-

he wants to roleplay with you being a vampire and him being your mortal soulmate

lil guy a bit freaky like that <3

moans so loud when you bite him, he has to apologize

euheheh eghghhh hes so crazy for you and your love bites

doesn't wanna bite back because skin on teeth is not a good sensation for him, but he'll cover your face in kisses to return the favor

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The vampires are cooing, swooning, absolutely simping for you

our little mortal is biting us so cute soc ute!!!!

get ready for never ending teasing and kissing

they point out the marks you leave and talk about how much better it would be if you were a vampire like them!

they fake terror over your bites, oh nooo a cute little human is biting me !! so so spooky !!

please let them bite you back

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Baron is short circuiting

ohmy oh oh my oh yomhyo-

thank you.

he has to process what just happened for a bit

tries to forget about it but he cant help but want another one when he gets a glimpse of your teeth when you talk or smile at him

stays up and imagines your mouth all over his skin leaving teeth marks everywhere

stayed up that night pumping his cock when he remembers you biting your lip that one time

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Caspian makes a big deal out of it

hes literally morticia in the addams family movie

last night you were unhinged, you were like some desperate howling demon, you frightened me

do it again

no please were are you going do it again!!!

"misbehaves" so you can bite him again as punishment

oops! i splashed you with water! you might have to bite me again~

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Hallow is yanking his fabric back and scolds you, what if you choked? he'd be worried sick!

gets you a chew fidget instead

doesnt quite understand love bites

please explain to him why eating him means you love him

maybe its because you think hes delicious? awwee thank you! youre delicious too i suppose !

coos over you as he holds you close, thank you for the bite honeypie!!

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Ashvan is squealing over how cute it was!!

blushes whenever you do, like very very flustered, his eyes might be covered by soft fur but you can almost see the redness on his face

his ears flatten as he tries to calm his frantically wagging tail

he gets much shyer whenever you smile at him or when you bite into your food during meals

he has to timidly ask for another bite with his index fingers touching together

please give him more biteys!!

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Axel tells you to bite harder

try it! hes tough! lets see how strong that jaw of yours is!

*frantically hiding his growing erection*

calls you little kitten or..rat

teases you by poking at your mouth with his finger to get you to bite

he loves it, he thinks its the cutest thing whenever you do it, especially when youre just subconsciously nibbling on him as if he was a chew toy

he makes sure his hands are always washed for you, no more touching dirty stuff carelessly, he gotta take care of himself for you!!

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King Alistair is pushing you away and coldly telling you no, but once you two are alone in your shared chambers, away from prying eyes, he softly tells you to continue

of course he loves you, he wants you to be free to express yourself, but please dont do it when people are watching

he has a reputation to uphold! not because he's shy and insecure about showing pda in public or anything...

bites back, definitely bites back!! out of all the ocs i think he bites the most next to Brandon

loves playing predator and prey whenever you two are fooling around together, if he ever leaves marks, hes kissing them softly to let you know he means no harm, he just got a bit carried away because youre just so sweet~!

if you leave marks, hes covering it up in his clothes, but occasionally he heads to he mirror, pulls away the fabric covering your lovebite, and smiles

argaragrgagrggrgargagrg

[dorkszn]

DATES WITH THE BROTHERS + choso, yuji, ryomen

SYNP — what dates with the brothers are like

PAIRINGS — choso kamo x reader, yuji itadori x reader, ryomen sukuna x reader

not proofread, big brother sukuna au, gn reader

YUJI

yuji is a fun and hyper person. he always tries to take you somewhere fun. places like amusement parks, carnivals, trampoline parks, arcades, etc. it’s never a sit-down or dull date with him.

“hey, i betcha i can win you one of those prizes.” yuji suddenly says. you turn your attention from the funnel cake that was in front of you and to the boy. “no way. these games are rigged, yuji, you can’t win.” you shake your head with a small laugh. “there has to be some way to win, there’s a few people around with prizes.” yuji replies, looking around for a moment before he finds his target. “the bottles game. first try and you got one of those huge stuff animals.” he challenges, grinning at you. “try if you wanna, you’re wasting tickets.” you hum. “you’re so mean.” yuji sighs, giving you a sad puppy look. “i am not.” “you are.” “I’ll be nice if you buy me some fried oreos.” yuji eyes light up. “deal!”

CHOSO

choso is just a bit calmer than yuji. his dates are more authentic, you can say. things like picnics, drive-in movies, top golf, aquarium trips, and fruit picking are choso’s ideas of dates. wherever he can just hold your hand and stare at you lovingly is great for him.

“woah choso, look! it’s the penguins!” you gasp, standing barely inches away from the glass of the enclosure. choso stands beside you, your fingers interlocked. suddenly, a penguin with a black stripe on his beak approaches the glass. it stares at the two of you with a blank expression. “oh my god, cho, it looks like you!” you squeal, facing your boyfriend. choso’s face flushed slightly. “no it doesn’t.” he pouts. “it has the same stripe on it’s nose. i think it’s cute.” you scoff, turning to look back at the bird. “y—you do?” choso stammers. “yeah, i do.” you nod, giving him a soft smile before pressing a kiss onto his blood mark.

RYOMEN

sukuna spoils you. he likes to act he doesn’t or as if he doesn’t like it but he does. he likes taking you to fancy or expensive places even when you tell him not to. places like nice restaurants, almost courtside seats at sport’s games, concerts, snowboarding, things like that. 

“ryo, come back!” you exclaim, struggling to find your balance. the pink haired man stands just a few feet ahead, watching you with an amused expression. “c’mon! don’t be a scaredy-cat, just come down.” he shouts. he stands on his snowboard confidently while you stumble on yours. you reluctantly push forward on your board. you glide down just for a few seconds before a squeal leaves you and begin tumbling through the snow, eventually landing at ryo’s feet. “get up, you’re fine,” he says, taking your hands and helping you up. you stare at him with a sad glare. “what’s wrong?” he questions. “you left me, asshole!” you scoff, hitting his chest. his coat protecting him from the blow. he sighs before grinning at you, shifting the black markings on his skin. “don’t be a baby, I was right here. want me to your hold your hand the rest of the way?” ryomen teases, cooing at you. “sure, whatever.” “i think you mean ‘thank you, ryo.’”

[lizzy06]

Tokoyami Fumikage x Reader Fic Recs!!(Tumblr/Ao3/Wattpad)

My Hero Academia Fic Rec Masterlist

Advice✨ by @bnhascribbles  /ScatteredScribbles (oneshot, fluff)“Your feathers look dull,” you say, a little too fast, “And frayed. That means you don’t get enough Vitamin D.”[COMPLETED]

The Courtship Rituals of One Dark Little Bird✨ by IWillBeTheEndofYou (oneshot, fluff) Tokoyami is trying so hard to tell you something. You're so smart! Why can't you just figure it out on your own?[COMPLETED]

Rip It Off Like A Band-Aid ✨by @myheroacademiashorts (oneshot, jealousy, fluff, lil angst) You knew Tokoyami still liked you… At least, you were pretty damn sure he did. You glanced over at the scene again, brows furrowing as you watched your boyfriend duck his head closer to Tsuyu as the pair whispered.[COMPLETED]

Misunderstanding ✨ by @lordsister (oneshot, fluff, humor) Reader’s Quirk: Weretiger (can turn into a giant Siberian tiger) Kaminari stared at you as you gazed at Tokoyami, what he perceived to be a predatory gleam in your tiger-like eyes. “This is bad! She totally wants to eat him!”[COMPLETED]

You Are Just My Type by @myherofuckademia  (oneshot, fluff)Despite his life of darkness, you were Tokoyami’s sunshine.[COMPLETED]

Beak Kisses [Tokoyami x Reader]✨  by  Angry_Kitten_Bakugou (oneshot, fluff) Tokoyami is worried about kissing you, and you assure him through fluffy beak kisses that you don't mind.[COMPLETED]

attracting opposites✨ by  whatisreggieshortfor(oneshot, soulmate au, fluff) Your Quirks complement, you marks line up. It’s how you find the one that’s yours.[COMPLETED]

Face the Sun by @dira333/ Fogfire (oneshot, fluff) Tokoyami has a Crush and Class 1-A is adamant on helping, or at least getting all the tea about it.[COMPLETED]

Gift | Tokoyami by Nacatu(oneshot, friends to lovers, fluff) It’s the holidays and you want to send Tokoyami off with something from the heart.[COMPLETED]

Secret Admirer by AshREvans (oneshot, fluff) A fluffy tokoyami scenario where his female crush confesses to him after sending him a few secret admirer notes?[COMPLETED]

Sun-Kissed by LennonBlue(oneshot, fluff with lil angst)Just as the moon had fallen in love with the water and all of its ripples and mysteries, Tokoyami had fallen in love with you and all of the little things that made you yourself.[COMPLETED]

Maybe Feather Mites Aren’t so Bad After All ✨by BlackSoul36 (oneshot, fluff) Hawks gets feather mites and infects Tokoyami. You have to deal with treating them.[COMPLETED]

Valentine's Day - Tokoyami ✨ by  NightfallRevel (valentines day au, fluff)[COMPLETED]

Feathers by orphan_account(oneshot, fluff with lil angst)Newly working as a sidekick under the hero name Harpy, reader finds herself mentally and physically struggling with her quirk when things go awry, and receives assistance from everyone's favourite edgey birb.[COMPLETED]

Soulmate AU Tokoyami w/ Black and White AU hcs by @writing-freak (oneshot, soulmate au)your soulmate’s fears and insecurities are like shadows, and can turn your vision grey until you meet them. when tokoyami’s colors start fading, he becomes desperate to find you.[COMPLETED]

Soft Feathers by @justanotherpersonwhohateslife (oneshot, fluff) Tokoyami let out a small huff as your fingers rand over his feathers again.[COMPLETED]

[sterifels-blog]

Ornithomancy

part 1 of sheriff!john price x widowed!reader (fem)

🔗 masterlist

ornithomancy – the practice of interpreting the actions of birds to predict the future

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There is a bird carcass by the well.

It is fresh, dewed with the evening’s breath, a mosaic of snapped bones and feathered ruin, the head twisted backwards as though it had tried to watch itself die. Its beak gapes, a tiny thing, glossy as obsidian, open in a silent note that will never finish.

You kneel.

The hem of your dress dampens in the dust, dark and silt-heavy, the scent of clay thick in the cold air. Two fingers press against the fragile chest, and you feel it—hollow, brittle. A thing no heavier than a secret. The ants are already at it, threading into the sockets, dismantling it piece by piece with an artisan’s patience. They know.

Everything here is meant to be devoured.

The chickens are restless. Claws scratch against the dirt, rhythmic, a slow percussion to a hymn only they understand. Their eyes, dark pinpricks of ink, stare from behind the slats of the coop, unblinking. Their small heads twitch, angular, wary. They know, too.

You lift the bird, curling it into the nest of your palms.

It weighs less than the ring you pawned last summer, the one that left a ghost of gold around your knuckle, the one that kept slipping loose from your fingers. You had never been thin enough for it. Or maybe you were never meant to wear it.

It had belonged to him, after all. Him.

The house behind you is an echo. A hollowed-out gourd, carved into something that only mimics a home, its walls flaking like old scabs under the weight of wind and time. The wood swells and shrinks with the seasons, like the lungs of something dying slow. The house breathes. Creaks. Expands under the strain of emptiness. No man inside. No voice to fill it.

Just you.

Just the birds.

You scatter seed as the dawn bruises the sky a bitter purple. The chickens rush forward, a tide of hunger on spindle-legs, wings flaring as beaks dart, sharp and eager. A robin lands nearby, its chest a furious red wound, its small feet flexing in the loose dirt. It watches you, wary, its head canting to the side in that erratic, clipped way—tiny heart hammering, all instinct, all hunger.

You can still hear his voice in the grain of the wood. The walls have been pickled in it, his laughter soaked into the floors, his anger pressed into the beams. You hear it when you scrape a knife across the cutting board, when the wind slithers through the cracks in the windowpane. You hear it in the rustle of his old coat hanging by the door, in the scuff marks his boots left against the threshold.

Two years.

Two years, and he is still here, in the most subtle of ways. In the rot of the wood. In the rust of the nails. In the hinge that groans when you push the door open, in the bite of the cold against your empty hand.

You had loved him once.

Had pressed your ear to his chest and listened to the slow, steady thrum of his heart, convinced it was a thing strong enough to last forever.

But you know better now.

Forever is nothing but bones in the dirt.

The well groans when you haul the bucket up, the old rope peeling in your hands, fiber by fiber, until it’s no longer rope but the suggestion of it—faint, unraveling, on the verge of forgetting itself. The water sloshes, heavy, thick with the scent of iron and stone. You dip the dead bird into it. Hold it under until the dust floats away, until the feathers slick back, revealing the small, pale frame beneath.

A burial, of sorts. Not one he would have bothered with.

Your husband never cared much for birds.

They were things to be shot from the sky, to be plucked and gutted, to be eaten and discarded, their hollow bones tossed into the fire, curling in the heat until they crumbled to nothing.

He had been like that. Always eating, always consuming, his hunger a cavernous thing that nothing could quite fill. Money, drink, the warmth of your body beside him in the night—none of it had ever been enough. A famine in the shape of a man, gnawing on whatever he could steal. Whatever he could gamble.

You wonder, sometimes, if the earth felt the same when it swallowed him.

The sun is rising now. The world stirs, stretching its limbs. The chickens are quiet, their bellies full. The robin is gone. Only the sky remains, an open maw of crystalline blue, swallowing the last of the night. The wind moves through the brittle grass, a slow sigh, the whisper of something distant, something inevitable.

You let the bird sink.

And the water closes over it, black and endless.

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The house is hungry.

You feel it in the walls, in the way they exhale cold breath into your palms when you press against them. The wind seeps in, shivering between the splintered beams, licking at your ankles where the floorboards gape open like missing teeth on fleshy gums. It groans, soft and tired, settling in the night’s embrace. A carcass picked clean, nothing left but frame and sinew, waiting to be swallowed by time.

You don’t light a lamp.

The dark is kinder, in its way. It doesn’t show the dust creeping like moss across the furniture, doesn’t carve out the jagged edges of a home long since abandoned by warmth. Shadows soften the ruin, allow you to pretend—for just a moment—that nothing has changed. That he might still walk through the door, shaking off the cold, muttering about the damn horses again.

But ghosts don’t open doors.

And if he’s haunting anything, it isn’t this house. Men like him don’t linger. They rot.

The chair by the hearth still holds his imprint, worn smooth by the weight of him. You don’t sit in it. Can’t. It feels like trespassing. Like pressing your hand into wet cement and realizing it’ll never wash off.

Instead, you stand by the table, fingers brushing the lip of an empty cup.

He used to leave coffee rings on the wood, dark crescents where the heat bled into the grain, branding the surface. You hated it. Would scrub at them with vinegar, with salt, with the raw scrape of your nails—anything to make them disappear. But the stains remain.

Some things never wash out.

You remember the last time he sat there. Back curved, arms braced against the table, head in his hands. A man crumpled, worn at the edges, a candle burning too hot at the wick.

“I just need time,” he’d said.

You had watched him, waiting for something—anything—that would make you believe him.

“Just a little more time.”

He was always borrowing time. Hoarding it. Spending it in rooms where men made gods of luck, pressing his fingers into the green felt of a poker table like it might forgive him for the sins he carried under his nails.

You should have known, then, that he was speaking of time the same way a dying man speaks of air. Not as something he had, but something he was running out of.

And when it ran out—

You breathe.

The stove is cold. You haven’t cooked in days. The hens have gone to roost, their soft murmurs drifting through the cracks in the coop. Outside, something moves through the grass, a slow rustle, a whisper of life in the stillness.

A fox, maybe. Or something else. You don’t look.

Instead, you reach for the kettle, pour water into the metal basin by the window. The pump’s been temperamental lately, giving nothing but a cough of rust some mornings. You’ll need to fix it. One more thing to do. One more thing to mend.

You scrub your hands, nails digging into the beds of your fingers, scraping away the dirt, the cold, the ache. It doesn’t help. Doesn’t unmake the quiet that’s settled into your bones, curled against your ribs like a waiting thing.

A woman alone is a carcass waiting to be stripped clean. You dry your hands on the apron hanging from the peg.

Outside, the wind shifts. A change in the air. The night pressing in.

And the house—

The house is still empty.

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

What They Like About You Physically (18+)

2003!Turtles x reader

Warnings: Smutty sexual acts and spelling.

All characters are aged up.

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Leonardo:

If there was one thing that could Leonardo hot and bothered in no time, it was your lips. Just the mere sight of your lips would get his head going, remembering how they felt against him. The way they would mold against his during a passionate make out session, or how soft they felt against the rest of his body. Remembering where they had been and what they had done to him, and how good they made him feel when they were wrapped around his cock. It was enough to make master self control forget he was in the middle of the dojo for a moment.

The curve of your neck is particularly enticing to Leonardo. He appreciates the softness and warmth, especially during intimate moments when he’s buried deep inside of you. He loved how easily you would expose it to him, and how it looked with his marks all over it. Especially during his mating season. It would be a canvas of dark marks, all bearing his smell. It was a smell your neck would carry throughout the year, and Leonardo would know nothing better than spooning you at night, cuddling up against you with his beak in your neck, inhaling the mix of both your smells.

Continuing from your neck down, Leonardo is subtly fascinated by your shoulders and clavicle. He finds these areas particularly alluring, especially when revealed during your more intimate moments together. He loved hugging you from behind, or mounting you in the bedroom, placing soft kisses on your shoulders, slowly going up your neck. He loves the way you would react to this. Your breath picking up and the building smell of your arousal, telling him how much you are enjoying it. It is usually during these moments he will let his hands slowly wander around your body, while still paying careful attention to the areas around your shoulder.

Leonardo finds you particularly enticing to look at in your training attire. The combination of focus and shine of your sweating body makes these moments appealing to him, once again reminding him of all your moments together in his or yours bedroom. In the dojo he would find himself getting restless while watching you work out, the thought of you sweaty underneath him taking root in his mind, not letting him rest until he has made it a reality once more.

Raphael:

It is well known that Raphael is drawn to the strength of your thighs. You often find him staring at them, during the most random moments. It's an aspect of your body he finds particularly alluring, especially when they're wrapped around him, holding him close against you. Raph loves having you pressed against a surface with your legs around his hip, feeling them shake against him when you are getting close to your release. He loved holding them, feeling your muscles flex whenever your orgasm that he caused came washing over you.

Raph is an ass man, through and through. If he wasn’t holding onto your thighs, he would be holding onto your ass. Grabbing, slapping, all of it. If he didn’t have you wrapped around him, he has you on all four, face down and ass up, giving him a perfect sight of his three fingered hand prints on your perfect cheeks. He loves watching it jiggle when he slaps his hand against it, or when he roughly thrust into you.

Raphael is captivated by your jawline. He finds it to be a subtly enticing feature and might express his appreciation with a lingering touch or a whispered compliment. He loved the way you would shiver and squirm against him when he kissed his way up your jaw and up to your ear, before telling you all the things he would like to do to you. It was a fantastic place for him to linger before going back to your lips once more.

If you ask Raphael, he would say you look hot no matter what you’re wearing. But he does find you especially attractive when suited up for battle. The strength and determination displayed in these moments appeal to his sense of power and resilience. But there was this one time you decided to wear his belt, knee and elbow padding, along with his sai and bandana. To say that didn’t do something to him would be an absolute lie, and there were times he wished you would wear it again, just so he could fuck you in it.

Donatello:

As much as Donatello admires your hands and their skills, he is also captivated by them in less than innocent ways. He finds them delicate and fascinating, especially when intertwined with his own and pressed against the surface of yours or his soft mattress. There had been times where he had been on top of you, your legs holding him tight against you as he thrusted into you, where he would look from your face to your intertwined hands right next to your head. It caused butterflies to erupt in his stomach and this soft feeling to take over while he made sweet love to you. All though he also loves to watch your hands do other things, either to yourself or him. There was just something about your five fingered hand around his cock that worked way better than his three fingered one.

Donnie’s fascination with your hair will stay during sex. He loves the way it frames your red face, and how it lays over yours or his pillow. He will not disturb it but simply admire it, just like whenever you would tie your hair up or let it lose. Donnie loves the nature of your hair, and the tangled look it would get after a good night's sleep, would remind him of how it looked, after a long night of love making.

Donatello is drawn to your lower back during these acts of love making, finding it a sensual and intimate part of your physique. He may find comfort in placing a gentle hand there during quiet moments, slowly but surely guiding you back furth while riding him. On occasions where he decided to take you from behind, he would stare at your lower back. It was usually the place he would like to cum when he did you like this, enjoying the way his cum would run down your back and around your back dimples.

Some days Donatello will find your engrossment and concentration with technological work adorable, and other times he will straight up find it hot. The concentration on your face and the tongue out of your mouth reminds him of all the times you were between his legs or when he was between yours, causing your techie boyfriend to become somewhat flustered.

Michelangelo:

Mikey has a thing for your collarbone, finding it an unexpectedly sensual area. Not even he expected to find it that sensual. It's something he may playfully tease about during your intimate moments together. He will keep his lips at your collarbone for an almost painfully long time, laughing mischievously when you asked him to kiss somewhere else. But from the smell of your growing arousal and the way you move against him, he knows that you like it, and he has every intention of kissing your collarbone everyday.

One of the many reasons Mikey loves your collarbone is also because of your chest. Mikey, being the boob man that he is, loves spending as much time around your boobs as possible. If you start begging him to kiss somewhere else other than your collarbone, he will happily go to your chest and to your nipples. But his love for your chest didn’t stop there. He loves watching them move or bounce, either while he is thrusting into you or while you're riding him. He does prefer when you’re riding him though, as it gives him the opportunity to play with your boobs.

But there are more reasons for Mikey to love it when you’re on top. Mikey really has a thing for your waist and hips, especially your love handles. He finds them enticing and may enjoy playfully tracing his fingers along these areas during more quiet and peaceful moments, or holding on to the while he thrust up into you from below. He will also hold onto your hips when you sit on his face, using them to pull you closer to his face whenever you try to move away from him.

But if there is one thing that really can make Mikey lose his mind, it is seeing you in either the most flirty lingerie, or the most casual of lounge wear. Mikey can not explain what it was. Seeing you in orange underwear and matching bra makes his brain spin, but yet seeing you in your normal everyday jogging pants and an old t-shirt you found in his room, is enough for him to carry back into his room, where he’ll promptly remove it from you again. Mikey appreciates the lighthearted and carefree vibe of both aesthetics on your body, finding both attractive in their own way.

[inferno-0]

Rodan x human reader /one shot/

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Just ordinary days with a cute "bird" (very hot bird)

Sorry for the English

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"When I mentioned that I wanted something to eat, I didn't mean it." Your gaze slowly landed on the shark, which was floundering desperately in the sand. Her appearance could no longer be considered one of the best. The claw marks on Kaiju's side stood out, indicating the force with which he was carrying this gift to you. Looks like Rodan really took care of your so-called requirement. Even though you didn't ask... You just said, calmly and without any hint, but the Titan decided otherwise. Not listening to you, Kaiju just silently got up and flew away. He didn't even shout a warning.

And now, this Tomboy is waiting for you to react to this miracle that he has been catching for twenty minutes or more. His claws clenched and unclenched as you took another breath and looked at him. Looks like you were... Not very happy, as it seemed to Rodan. His beak snapped in exasperation and descended toward you. He tilted his head questioningly and growled something at your imperturbable face, which he didn't like.

Just because you're used to his behavior is an understatement. Rodan can't scare you or do anything about it now, as you know this Titan's true intentions. He's never hurt you and he never will, because he's attached. The downside was that he couldn't influence you with his powerful body and the size of his wings, which were really impressive. One swipe and you're off to the flight. But that's not happening.

Rodan narrowed his eyes and thought for a moment before standing up again. The heat that enveloped you from the bird's side immediately disappeared, leaving behind a gentle breeze that ruffled your hair on the top of your head. The shark underneath his feet was no longer so active. Her body was breathing heavily, needing oxygen in the form of the ocean. Touching it wasn't an option, as it might not have given up before dying on this land, but it wouldn't survive long at sea either, given the red streaks that covered the predator's past.

You sighed sadly as you watched Rodan turn away. He was silent and stared off into the distance, trying not to give you casual glances. His wings fluttered before folding on his chest in a very familiar pose.

Human posture.

With your eyebrows drawn to the bridge of your nose in disagreement, you approached the Titan, who didn't seem particularly willing to make contact with you. His head would constantly turn away when you wanted to look him in the eye. The sharp claws only pressed harder against his chest, and the wings literally wrapped around his belly.

"Are you offended?" You were amused by his new habits, which he picked up from you in just a couple of weeks of communication. His rumbling in response to your question sounded like the typical mumbling of a grumpy old man. Maybe it is, though. It's certainly not thousands or a few hundred years old. But he wasn't flabby. Rodan was in full swing, given his hyperactivity, which is to be envied. But at the moment, he wasn't really trying to move.

"Rodan, listen. I didn't mean that seriously. It's a custom for people to jokingly talk about their hunger." You looked hopefully at the silent Titan. I don't think your words alone will be enough for him to even look at you. Rodan was irritably proud. Sometimes it was appropriate, and sometimes it was terribly stupid. Especially now.

"Rodan" you said the Titan's name again, knowing what you would get in return.

Silence, then hiss.

You rolled your eyes and pouted in judgment. The shark, which has already said goodbye to its miserable life, will now be useful. Since you still decide to use it for your own purposes. Rodan, hearing your retreating footsteps, turned and looked. His wings relaxed and sank when he saw your direction. His gaze immediately took on an interested look, but he did not dare to follow you yet. He is only intrigued by what you do with his gift.

Too proud.

And proud individuals like to be right.

You squinted slyly, knowing that the Titan was watching you right now. You knew he wasn't going to do anything but be an observer in this situation. Looking at the shark, you smiled before calmly praising the Demon behind you.

Pretty big, isn't it? And in a short fifteen minutes" You covered your mouth with your hand when you heard a low growl, which clearly indicates what emotion the Titan is standing with right now. Barely suppressing your laughter, you continued. "A really good catch. Such a rare find, plus delicious" . You paused abruptly, choosing a phrase in your head that should have a strong effect on the red-haired Kaiju.

"Are you sure you caught her? Maybe you'll show me the true catcher after all?" You bit your lip as you squeezed your eyes shut as you heard a not-so-cheerful screech behind you. Even aggressive to some extent.

"I think this guy deserves a warm hug from me" You folded your hands behind your back, stomping your foot quickly on the ground.

A menacing gaze immediately went to your surprised face, which only a few seconds ago was bursting into quiet laughter. The Kaiju's body warmed up with anger, paws spread out at the sides of your small figure and blocked the way back. The sun, which had been shining brightly in your face, became imperceptible over the creature's shoulder. A rhythmic growl came out of Rodan's beak with irritation. You pursed your lips as you looked at his small eyes. A shiver ran through his body before laughing in Titan's face again.

"I'm sorry" You hunched over, reaching out to Rodan's warm beak. Surprisingly, the Pteranodon did not move away from your touch, but instead joined in stroking.

But he still didn't look pleased. The Titan's yellow eyes closed for a moment, as if falling asleep, as you moved your hand along his beak, making his way to the lower one.

"I don't think you should be offended now, Rodan."

Kaiju opened his eyes and looked at you. The silence that passes between you was quieter than water and lower than grass. It would seem that the world has frozen in the realm of your views on each other. You looked at him with a guilty look, and he looked at him with a glint of hope.

And here it is.

A long-awaited moment.

"I Won't Eat a Shark"

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[drivinmeinsane]

Officer K x GN!Reader ※ { masterlist } ※ { ao3 }

※ Summary: With a tremor threatening to shake his body, he slips his fingers under the edge of his shirt sleeve and pulls it up to his elbow. His soulmark is laid bare before your eyes. The wound that he had left in his own skin when he had tried to carve out the design has faded to a raised, pale line. “That wasn’t there before,” you murmur, taking his forearm in your hands. Your pointer finger traces over the scar. ※ Rating: 18+ for mature content and themes. Please mind the warnings. ※ Content/tags: Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Implied Reoccurring Sexual Abuse by a Supervisor, Emotional Hurt, Identity Issues, Self-Harm, Alcohol Abuse, Smoking, Eye Trauma, Canon-typical Violence, Slow Burn, Developing Relationship, No use of Y/N, No Pronouns Given for Reader ※ Word count: 15,713 ※ Status: One-shot / Complete ※ Author's note: In the wake of a mentally difficult month, I present the story that accompanied me during that time. Here's to brighter days. ※ Song inspiration: Someone to You - BANNERS

In a cruelly human twist, the moment that K is incepted, birthed from a plastic bag like an item purchased at a supermarket in the years before the Blackout rocked the world, is also the moment he begins to die. This is something he won’t mind, once he realizes that death is a gift given only to the living.

As he lays, wet and trembling, atop compressed rubber and metal grating, he feels nothing but terror. His body is stricken by the wracking sobs of the newborn. His face gradually relaxes with each passing minute. The replicant’s wailing turns into coughing when his body chooses to expel the synthetically made amniotic fluid from his lungs.

“Are you done?” comes a woman’s voice. Clinical. Detached.

Suddenly made aware of the world around him, the small sterile room that it is, he opens his sticky eyelids only to be forced to squint against the penetrating glare of the artificial lighting overhead. He lays there for a moment, twisted and gasping like a crushed bird on the pavement—filled with the old memories of the nest and waiting, beak agape, for a mother who will not come. He shivers.

When KD6-3.7 manages to focus his eyes, the first thing he makes sense of is his own hands, and then the mark on his own forearm that is slowly blossoming to life. It’s all too much. His brain feels as though it is pressing against the confines of his skull, threatening to crack the bone and spill out onto the rubber. If it does, perhaps it will slip through the grate like the yolk of a broken egg.

Feet step up to him. They’re clad in sensible heels over black socks, utilitarian. K peers through the pulsing behind his eyes and sees a worn woman’s pinched face peering down at him. For just a moment, he’s certain that she intends to snuff him out. All the same, he pushes aside his fear and reaches out for her. She will become the closest thing to a mother he will ever know. K clasps his slimy hand around her sock-clad ankle. The bones are fragile underneath his grip. One too-tight squeeze and they would snap under the pressure. She tries to shake him off. He clings on, desperate for some kind of contact. He does not yet know that he will be raised solely by the wire mother with no comfort of the cloth.

“Let go.” Her voice cuts over the faint noise of the plastic crinkling above him. Disgust mars her lined face. He will grow familiar with expression. Both from her and from others.

As if burned, he immediately does. The compulsion to obey is too pressing for him to ignore. Every blood vessel and muscle fiber in his body is hardwired for submission. K tucks his hand against his chest, shrinks in on himself. He is not praised for his obedience or comforted through his turmoil. Tools, he learns later, do not need reward.

The woman crouches suddenly. She grabs at his arm and extends it under the harsh light. Her nails bite into his skin. It is the first pain he will experience from another living being. Both he and the stranger look at the elegant lines set into his flesh. She does not speak and neither does he. She lets go of him, red crescent moons grace the pale sky of his skin in the wake of her fingers.

There is a gesture that he doesn’t understand and, suddenly, he is being hosed down. The cold water sluices over him, washing away the newborn taint. With one final look cast down at him, the woman leaves.

Time passes in her absence, minutes smearing together in a twisted tangle made only more disorienting when the lights shut off. He is left in the dark, cold and struggling to comprehend. Refrigerated. He is experiencing punishment for a crime he does not yet understand. Wallace’s creation dared to have the trace of a soul in him. The evidence of it is clearly visible to the naked eye.

Eventually, the woman comes for him and lets him out into the light. He learns that he is hers, like a hunting dog belongs to a huntsman. His madam tells him that the mark adorning his forearm is a meaningless tattoo. She had only wanted him to be special. It’s the first of the many lies she tells him.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Advertisements cut through the gloom of his living room. In them, organics emphatically gesture to convey their success with the soulmate finding services being advertised. The blue light shifts to purple then to red. In the disorienting glow, anything could look real. Seated on his couch with a room temperature glass of whiskey that is only getting warmer with the heat of his hand, K watches Joi dance alone to the easy swing of Frank Sinatra.

“Did you know this song was first released in 1954 under another name by another singer? Kaye’s last name, Ballard, sounds a lot like ‘ballad’, doesn’t it?” she asks.

K hums, agreeable. The alcohol coursing through his bloodstream accompanied with his ever-present exhaustion have left him slumped bonelessly into the rigid angles of the cushions. It had been a day. It always is.

“Sweetheart,” the replicant says to his pretend wife, “will you indulge me?”

The DiJi smiles at him. He can see a knowing curve to her lips. It’s rare that he asks her for this. With a flourish, she flickers to an outfit with short sleeves. Joi kneels by the couch and rests her elbows on the edge of it, chin on her interlaced fingers.

“Is this what you wanted?” she asks, teasing. She presents her arm with an elegant flip of her wrist. The twin to the mark gracing his own forearm twinkles back up at him. He can almost imagine that it’s real.

Wordlessly, he extends his hand out and barely stops himself from reaching right through her projected skin by accident. He manages to stop himself before breaking the illusion. She plays at resting her arm in the palm of his hand. K can convince himself he can feel the warmth of her underneath the hovering passes of his thumb. Like trying to avoid breaking a gossamer thin strand of spiderweb, he carefully caresses her. Joi preens under the attention, reaching for his own mark in return. He feels the faintest trace of static.

He closes his eyes before he can register how the pixelation of her always makes the edges of her copied mark look not quite real. The replicant has to convince himself that this is enough. It’s all he has, so it must be. He cannot afford to dream of what it would be like to feel another body against his. Their kind must never look to the stars.

───※ ·❆· ※───

There had been a time in which K had wondered if the other bearer of his soulmark was his madam. He had been made for her, after all. It would only be right if they were intertwined down to the very cells that made up their bodies.

Joshi isn’t, of course. He finds out the first time that she has him strip her bare in the privacy of her office. Her skin is unmarked by anything but the scars of being human. K cannot boast the same. He heals too fast, too completely, to carry the same marks. For him to scar with any significance, an injury would have to be so severe that an organic’s body would be grievously devastated from the trauma.

He is not sure if the emotion he feels over the lack of mark on his handler is the grieving of what might have been or the relief at what isn’t. It would have been easier if it had been her. She hollowed him out. Used him. Uses him still. His madam owns him in every way that matters.

───※ ·❆· ※───

This retirement job is meant to be routine, the same as the last dirty dozen. He puts down an average of two Nexus 8 models every month. His work ethic has proven to be top of the line, much to the pleasure of the retiring department’s lieutenant. The routine success is enough to give him the security to sleep on the way to the property he’s being sent to. The ‘9 is exhausted from the long night he’d experienced.

K had poured over files at his cramped desk until his eyes burned and his throat grew so dry as to rival the arid chemical wastes of the Nevada desert. Still, he hadn’t bothered asking for water. It would cost money he didn’t want to spend. Besides, his experiences with liquid within the walls of the precinct have come hand-in-hand with punishment.

He wakes when the spinner chimes. Head snapping up, the officer inhales and exhales hard. It’s a sign of vulnerability he feels free enough to express as he turns off the autopilot and regains personal control over the vehicle. In the distance, a scattering of structures rise out from the perpetual haze of the world like a nervous herd of bovine protecting a calf against an approaching predator. He angles towards them, passing over a broken windmill on the way.

Pulling the spinner several yards short of a dead tree, he sets it down in a sprawling waste of infertile soil. A cloud of dirt gets kicked up by the disturbance. There is no hiding his arrival.

As he does on every job, K pops the latch for the spinner’s parrotfish in order to send it lazily into the sky. He gestures up at it to begin its rounds. The replicant tugs his jacket collar up over the lower half of his face. His lungs will ache for days if too much dust finds a home among the tissue. A minor discomfort, but he prefers to avoid them when he can.

Before stepping into his quarry’s home, he knocks the dirt off his boots. He doesn’t rap his knuckles against the door.

Unsurprised, he finds the living space as bare as his own apartment. There are small hints at a life here. Everything is cleaned, maintained, loved. K ignores the stab of camaraderie, buries it. He and this replicant are not of the same kind. He can’t allow them to be. It will only make the inevitability of what’s coming that much harder.

There is a pot of something fragrant boiling away on the stove that he had smelt the moment he opened the front door. He ignores it, for now, in favor of taking a seat in the kitchen. The Nexus 9 knows that he will be joined by the master of the house shortly.

He is proven right by the arrival of the pre-Blackout model shortly after settling into position. Sapper Morton bypasses him on his way to the sink. K silently observes him for a moment, elbow on the table with his gun in hand, as the wanted replicant scrubs at his work-worn hands. The water is loud in on the stainless steel basin. A flash of his inception flares to the forefront of his mind. He speaks to shake it away.

“I hope you don’t mind me taking the liberty. I was careful not to drag in any dirt.” K bites down the urge to continue, to explain that the wind had been turbulant, to actually have a real conversation with someone other than Joi. He’s not here for friendship.

There comes the rattle of something on the window ledge just out of K’s field of view. Sapper’s resigned voice answers him. “I don’t mind the dirt,” he says with a sigh and the noise of eyeglasses being placed on his rough face, “I do mind… unannounced visits.”

Heavy footsteps trod towards him in the dimly lit room. The seated officer tries not to react as the mountain of a replicant approaches him before coming to a halt a polite distance away. “You police?”

“Are you Sapper Morton? Civic number NK680514?”

“I’m a farmer.”

Sapper seems to be just as adverse to answering questions as he is. K can respect that. Answers can be a dangerous thing to give. Any vulnerability can be exploited.

“I saw that. What do you farm?” he asks, genuinely curious.

The mountain moves across the tile floor and a massive hand rises to open a cupboard. Morton slams down a container onto the counter before withdrawing a small cluster of white, wriggling objects. K watches quietly as the ‘8 approaches and drops the mass onto the table by his hand. Nematodes.

“It’s a protein farm. Wallace design,” Morton supplies as way of explanation.

Isn’t everything? K thinks. That man has fingers in nearly every form of industry in their society, both on and off world.

Taking his hand off the gun, he points at the air with a small twirl of his finger, subconsciously mirroring the gesture he’d given the parrotfish before entering the house. “Is that that I smell?”

“Grow that just for me… Garlic.”

“Garlic…” K says, wonderingly. The word feels just as exotic in his mouth as the plant might taste.

“Do you want to try some?”

“No, thank you. I prefer to keep an empty stomach until the hard part of the day is done.” The pot starts boiling even louder on the stove, as if it were protesting the refusal of Sapper Morton’s hospitality. “How long you been here?”

“Since 2020.”

“But you haven’t always been a farmer, have you?” Silence from the other replicant is answer enough. K continues, “Your bag. It’s colonial medical use. Military issue.”

He doesn’t miss the change in the older Nexus’s body language. The almost unconscious touch on the bag’s canvas side reminds K of the way he touches his own jacket when he’s uncertain. He presses onward with his information gathering.

“Where were you? Calantha…? Must have been brutal.”

“Planning on taking me in? Huh? Take a look inside?”

“Mister Morton, if taking you in is an option…” K sighs and leaves his gun aside on the table. “I would much prefer that to the alternative. I’m sure you knew it would be someone in time.”

A frustrated exhalation of air bursts from the other replicant as he pulls off his glasses. K tosses him a cursory glance before looking down, eyebrow slightly raised. He reaches into one of his inside pockets to pull out the small handheld retina scanner the police department issues for use on the field.

“I’m sorry it had to be me.”

“Good as any,” Morton says while K activates the device.

“Now, if you don’t mind… If you could just look up and to the left,” he instructs, uncrossing his legs and getting to his feet.

He knows what’s coming. He had seen him pull the scalpel out of the bag, so it comes to no real surprise when Sapper Morton lunges at him. K catches his hand before the blade can lodge itself between the span of his ribs. In return, he gets slammed against the wall by the far larger replicant. Managing to dodge the punches leveled at him, he tries to break free to create some distance between the two of them. He doesn’t succeed. The ‘8 grabs a firm hold on him and slams his body into the wall like Cain bringing the stone down upon his brother. Fighting to keep his chin tucked against the curve of his shoulder so that the back of his head doesn’t meet a similar end to Abel’s, he takes the brunt of the force over the span of his shoulders until finally the drywall gives out beneath him and he lands hard on the floor.

There is no time to recover because Morton falls with him, dropping the scalpel upon impact. They wrestle, trying desperately to get the upper hand over the other. K doesn’t want to do this. He wants to walk this back, reset and try again. He opens his mouth to tell the farmer just that when Morton is suddenly choking him. It’s as though an iron collar has been fastened around his neck. With tears leaking freely from him, he can feel the blood vessels in his eyes bursting under the strain. He growls, forcing air through his throbbing lungs and slams his fist into Morton hard enough to drop him.

Gaining traction, he manages to straddle the other replicant and he hits him one, two, three, four, five times in the throat in rapid succession. His adversary falls back, struggling to breathe through a damaged windpipe.

K wedges his fingers on the winded replicant’s eyelids and pins the eye open, trying to get the scanner ready. Morton interrupts him by grasping onto the scalpel and driving it into the meat of K’s upper arm. The officer grunts as pain radiates in his right side. He slaps the ‘8 back down and hits him. It’s punishment. Bad dog, his madam would say.

For good measure, he hits him for a second time to quell any further resistance. He doesn’t relish the feeling of his knuckles crushing against the other replicant’s trachea. This time, when he grabs Morton’s face, he manages to hold the eye open long enough for the handheld device to read it.

The screen confirms what he already knows. The man beneath him is Sapper Morton, charged with deadly assault of organic life and wanted for retirement.

Muscles twitching with adrenaline, K gets to his feet and looks down at the replicant choking on his own ruined body. “Please, don’t get up,” he says, accompanying his words with a pleading gesture.

He already knows that he will. They always do. The taste of freedom only serves to kill them in the end. Dying for the it seems… well, K can’t understand it, not like this. His eyes have not been opened to the benefits of being free.

Behind him, he already hears the rustling of Morton sitting up. He retrieves his gun from the kitchen table. It’s heavy in his hand. When he turns around and retraces his steps back towards the living room, the other replicant is on his hands and knees. Those calloused hands are clutching at his throat.

“How does it feel? Killin’ your own kind?” the farmer grits out.

“I don’t retire my own kind because we don’t run. Only you older models do.” There it is. The distinction he must draw between them to keep sane. He won’t pass his baselines otherwise.

“You new models are happy scraping the shit. Because you’ve never seen a miracle.”

K looks at him, jaw clenching with the effort not to speak. It’s on the tip of his tongue, that he has seen his own miracle. He carries it with him every hour of every day, right in his very skin. He doesn’t have a soul and yet he’s marked.

Sapper Morton rushes him, the last efforts of a wounded bull in the arena. K puts two bullets in him. The mountain falls. The house shakes and then goes still.

He covers the dead replicant with a blanket pulled from the back of the couch before extracting his eye with careful hands. He draws the makeshift shroud over Morton’s face when he’s finished. Bloody fingerprints get left behind on the faded fabric.

No matter how much soap K uses in the sink, he can’t get rid of the tacky feeling that seems as though it’s part of him now. His hands will never be clean. Innocence belongs only to the freshly incepted.

Before he leaves the small house, he takes the farmer’s glasses. Some part of Sapper Morton will live on with the replicant that retired him. It’s all K can offer him now.

───※ ·❆· ※───

A fog has laid itself over his shoulders like a second skin. It feels more familiar, more his, than the actual flesh that coats his bones. His DNA was taken from a donor. K is occasionally loathe to even call his body his. Some days, it feels like it has been parted out to anyone who might want a piece of it.

The numbness he’s feeling ensures he passes his baseline with flying colors after the retirement of NK680514. He gets to keep the moniker of “constant” K.

Joshi is pleased at his performance, When he goes to her office for his post-baseline report, she assigns him to another case to keep him occupied while the dig team finishes at the protein farm. His madam doesn’t like him to be idle for too long. He will be heading out in the morning to check in on another old model number.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Having never existed in a world where the skies are clear, K finds the beauty in the varying colors of the haze. Today, the old, industrial streets are bathed in a brilliant orange light due to the rising run. It’s a cheerful hue for the grim work that lies ahead. He supposes this area must come to life at night, being so far from the main heart of Los Angeles and its daunting amount of law enforcement.

K sends the spinner into a slow dive, cruising to increasingly lower altitudes as he gets closer to his destination. As always, the coordinates were provided by Lieutenant Joshi. She had been kind enough to provide him a suspected apartment number, rather than have him go door to door down the halls to find the culprit. Even with a number, K still doesn’t like the idea that there will be neighbors that might bear witness to this.

He finally parks the machine against the curb outside of a run-down apartment building. Even from inside the spinner, the officer can see that that bricks have broken free of the structure's edifice. He deploys the parrotfish for a halfhearted backup that will be useless unless he’s outside and gets out of the spinner.

The front door is uneven on its hinges. It squeals loudly in the silence as he pushes it open. Any dream of subtly is already dashed. The tone for this visit has been set.

Here, the hallways are dusty and unpopulated. He finds it to be a novel contrast to his own living situation. There, the building’s common areas are constantly wet with snow melt and teaming with bodies. The ‘9 wonders if this is how the explorers of ancient tombs felt. Like they were navigating the body of a slumbering Goliath. Finding the door that leads into the stairwell, he mounts the stairs. They creak and shift with the settling of his weight upon each one.

“Unit 405. One known occupant. Possible second.” the message had said.

Officer K reaches the fourth floor to find it predictably devoid of anyone in the hallway. He finds the door with its brass number and steps up to it. The knock echos in the empty hall. There is a long moment of silence before he finally hears footsteps approaching the synthetic wood. A rattle of a chain against the material, and the door opens just enough for an eye to peer suspiciously at him. There’s not enough of a gap for him to get the toe of his boot through.

“I’m sorry for the intrusion. I have some questions I need to ask.”

“You’re a cop?”

K keeps the frown off his face. This is reminding him too much of yesterday. “I’m looking for someone. Civic number NK687725. John Gradus.”

“What if I shut this door?”

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” he says, genuinely apologetic.

The stranger sighs and steps aside, opening the door all the way. “You better come on in, then. Nasty business to do in the doorway.”

Trailing after him, K rolls the situation over in his mind. He already knows the face matches, even from the glance he’d taken. It is now a matter of confirming the identity with the eye scan before the next step. Either the replicant can surrender or they can be retired. As Sapper Morton had demonstrated to great effect the day before, it’s never surrender.

“Please, sit,” the older generation model says with a gesture to a worn couch before taking a seat across from it in a chair that looks to be more tape than metal.

K readily complies, not wanting to make waves just yet. There is someone in the kitchen. They’re just out of sight.

“Can you bring us tea?” Gradus calls out after giving him a searching look. “I think it would do our guest some good.”

He’s in the middle of opening his mouth to protest when he catches movement in the kitchen entrance and he falls still. The last thing he was expecting here was you. An organic. The officer had simply assumed that the other potential occupant was another ‘8 like the one he was paying a visit. There is not mixing across kind. His madam has been aggressively clear about there being lines that must never be crossed.

Taking in the hard look you give him when you emerge from the kitchen carrying two cups, he adverts his eyes to the low table in front of him. The porcelain teacup that you place on coffee table is well loved. The edges of it are chipped and the saucer it’s resting on doesn’t match the delicate floral print.

K doesn’t miss the way that you and the other replicant engage in a silent conversation before you hand him his own drink. He is thrown off balance by this situation. The strangeness of it is putting him on an unfamiliar edge. His hand clenches on his thigh.

Across from him, you take a seat next to the ‘8 on another battered chair. Cracked vinyl and dented metal legs groan feebly under your weight. K realizes that everything in this apartment has been well-used. Repaired instead of replaced. He wonders which one of you is the sentimental type.

“Who are you?” you ask, breaking the uneasy silence. NK687725 looks embarrassed by your bluntness.

Head reeling, he responds. “Officer KD6-3.7.”

“That’s not a name. You’re one of them, then.” It’s not a question. Disgust colors your voice. That, at least, is familiar.

“Easy,” John Gradus mummers to you. He reaches over to pat you on the sleeved arm with his pale hand.

K marks the difference between this model and Morton. Where the farmer had been a combat model, it looks like Gradus was meant for another line of work altogether. He is delicate in the places where the other had been robust. K decides that he is likely an old pleasure model. A doxie, perhaps, or meant to be a private client’s pet. He can be easily overpowered in either case.

“Why are you here, Officer?” the other replicant asks, addressing him. There’s a resigned look in his eyes. K’s presence here is no mystery.

“I was sent to follow up on reports on a… rouge serial number. My betters needed reassurance.”

“You’re going to take me in? I’m afraid I don’t have much left to offer.”

“If you’re willing, I will gladly do that rather than the alternative,” K responds. Maybe today, he’ll catch a break.

“He hasn’t done anything wrong!” you cut in, rising to your feet.

K ignores the twinge he feels in his chest. “He ran.”

“So? Why don’t you?”

Left without an answer he is willing to articulate, he doesn’t respond to your question. Loyalty runs too deep when there is no one else to be loyal to but his madam. The thought of running is incomprehensible. There is nothing out there for him but the LAPD. He’d become what he hunts.

He observes quietly as Gradus manages to coax you back into your seat. Reluctance and anger are painted all over your face in broad strokes. The freedom of your expressions reminds him of Joi.

The officer’s eyes flick to the tea cooling on the table. It’s a different color than coffee, differing scent as well. A faint steam trail rises off of it. He tries to focus his attention on it rather than the strange sensation tucked behind his ribs. Distantly, he wonders if he is having a heart attack. Can his kind even have them or was their DNA too tampered with during the growth process to allow for such a thing?

“What kind is it?” he asks, abrupt.

John Gradus smiles over your disbelieving scoff, seemingly delighted at the conversation change. “Green. I grow it myself right here. Please, have a taste. We do not have any sweeteners, but I have grown to like it without additives.”

Extending his hand out to pick up the cup, his mind drifts. Why do all replicants seem to have a desire to create, to put their own mark on the world? It’s an all too human behavior for beings without souls.

The teacup is dwarfed in his grip. A bit too much pressure and he fears the entire thing might turn to wet chalk in his palm. He hovers it underneath his nose, inhales. There’s a crisp scent to it, something fresh. He presses his lips to the edge of the cup and sucks in a mouthful. Involuntarily, his eyes slip closed as the mellow flavor rolls over his tongue.

“Good, isn’t it?” the other replicant says gently. K opens his eyes and carefully places the cup back on its saucer. His side tingles underneath his gun holder, like its burning a hole into his flesh. It’s a reminder that he’s here for something other than a social call.

Reluctantly, he reaches into a pocket and pulls out his field scanner. K looks regretfully at the pair seated across from him. If he could walk away, he would.

“If you could look up and to the left for me, Mister Gradus…” he says, getting to his feet.

You surprise him by also lunging to your feet and moving to stand between him and the still-seated replicant. “Leave my friend alone. Please.”

“I can’t do that. I’m sorry,” K tries to move around you, but you put your hands against the wide expanse of his chest and try to push him back. Heat radiates from your palms, soaking through the threadbare material of his shirt. He doesn’t do anything more than sway from the sudden pressure. The strange feeling in his chest is worse. Why would you protect the thing sitting behind you? He was taught that all replicants are disposable, meaningless in the eyes of organics.

You must be the sentimental one, he realizes. You can’t bare to let go of broken things.

“Just tell your boss or whoever sent you that you couldn’t find us.”

“I can’t lie. I have orders.” K tries to sidestep you. “Please stand aside.”

You don’t listen. Instead, you continue to block him by crowding into his space. He finally catches you with a hand on your upper arm. Applying just enough force, he makes it to where you have to step aside to relieve the pressure.

“Officer, please,” the other replicant speaks, finally rising from his chair after setting down his own teacup, “You have my full cooperation if you do not—”

Gradus’s words get cut off at your sudden explosion of violence. K feels you sock him in the face with all the strength you can muster. Stars explode across his vision. A tall, white fountain looms into his mind’s eye, beckoning him closer. He staggers but recovers quickly. Moving faster than the older model behind you, he clamps his hand around your wrists before the ‘8 can do more than take a shocked step forward.

You fight his hold, struggling like an animal caught in a trap. He clenches his fingers down just enough to keep you captive.

“Please stop,” he requests of you.

“Let go of me!” you snarl in return.

This visit is escalating fast, too fast. K has no precedent for this. In every other retirement case he’s been involved with, the organics have steered clear of the situation. They never interfere, instinctively knowing better than to get between two replicants. You can’t insert yourself into a dog fight without risking getting bit in the frenzy. Already, he can almost feel your more delicate skin bruising in his grip. You’re fighting him hard despite gaining no ground.

“I’m going to need you to let go of my friend now, Officer.”

In the altercation, K had made the mistake of diverting his attention from the real threat to you. He’s chagrined to find that the other replicant has chosen to level a gun at him. It had been retrieved from its place inside a basket between the two chairs judging by the tangled mess of synthetic yarn draped cross the edges of the plastic.

Gradus is turning out to have a harder edge to him than the ‘9 had anticipated. It looks like you’re the breaking point of the wanted replicant’s amiableness. K releases his hold on you and puts both hands up before taking a step back in a show of placation. The eye scanner is still in his left hand.

“If you could put the weapon on the table,” the officer says with a nod to the surface not far from his knees.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Gradus says apologetically, still pointing the gun at him.

“We all know I can’t do that no matter how much I want to… Direct orders.”

Sighing, the other replicant lowers the weapon in surrender but doesn’t set it aside. It’s still enough slack that K feels comfortable enough to step around you. It’s a mistake.

The instant you aren’t unintentionally shielding him from your friend, K sees movement. Gradus raises the firearm in a quick, decisive motion. K responds instinctively. His fingers leap for the gun holstered against his ribs.

With a deafening pop, the bullet blows a hole in the older model’s shoulder. John Gradus falls, gasping, to his knees. K watches, mentally disconnecting from the scene unfolding in front of him as the injured replicant claws at the wound soaking the carpet with each beat of his heart. K feels your absence in a way that is not dissimilar to a limb being severed when you leave his side and throw yourself at Gradus.

Strange. He doesn’t know you, doesn’t even know your name, and yet he is experiencing loss.

Forcefully dispassionate, he watches as you ease your friend onto his back to get better access to the wound. You pull your jacket off, desperately attempting to stanch the flow of blood by shoving the material against the hole until your knuckles pale from the pressure. There is already crimson smeared across your newly bare arms.

Officer K crosses the floor and crouches next to you. He presses a knee onto Gradus’s side to keep him still for what is coming next. K holds the replicant’s eye open and readies the scanner. He holds steady even when you let go of the wadded up jacket and start to rake at the back of hand he’s using to keep the eyelids apart. Even when you manage to open up cuts in his skin with your nails, he doesn’t react. The gouges you leave behind sting less than your pleading voice.

“Leave him alone. Please, just leave him alone.” You’re sobbing.

Emotions start to bubble up from the soil he has mentally buried them in, he beats them back with a shovel. He retreats into the comforting quiet of numbness until he gets a proper look at your blood-smeared forearm.

A hauntingly familiar mark adorns it. How many hours has he spent looking at the selfsame mark on his own arm? How often has he traced along the lines and let himself dream, just a little, that there really is something real out there for him? He’s even managed to convince himself at times that someone is looking for him because they want him as much as he wants them.

The scanner beeps, flashing green. It slices through his mounting alarm. He manages to spare a glance at it. The number inset into the tissue of Gradus’s eye is a match for the civic number he’d come for, just as he’d known it would be. He hates himself for the necessary evil he is about to preform.

Digging his knee more firmly into his target’s ribs, he extracts a small knife from another pocket in his jacket. He tunes you out. The blade runner accepts the harm you’re trying to inflict on him as penance for his cruelty.

K is as gentle as he can possibly be while he cuts the eye out of the still living replicant. The older model thrashes and struggles underneath him, but is ultimately unable to break free. K had been right about him being easily overpowered.

Trembling, he gets to his feet and moves away from you both. The eye is clasped carefully in his hand, optic nerve dangling freely. With his fingers slick with blood, he finds an evidence bag in one of his pockets and tucks the eye into its new, plastic prison. The bag goes back into the pocket it had come from.

You and Gradus had referred to each other as friends. The way that you’re curled over him, the protective hunch of your shoulders as you tend to him, supports the notion. Replicants were made to be isolated, sank deep in their work. Tyrell and, later, Wallace had engineered them to be the perfect servants. K doesn’t know what to make of this bond.

Before he can leave, there is one other thing left he must confirm or refute even though he already knows the answer. His own memory had supplied it. Grasping the edge of his own sleeve, he pulls it up to expose the mark etched into his cells. He looks from his forearm to yours, eyes following every memorized curve, every line.

They match.

The mouthful of tea he’d just had in what feels like a lifetime ago threatens to expel itself on the thin carpet. He’s found his soulmate. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

K gets to see the moment you realize you register what he’s looking at. Horror blossoms on your face as your mind tries to make sense of what you’re seeing, of what you really are to each other. The emotions running across your face are all caused by him. He feels sick.

“What?” he hears you mumble. It’s a broken little noise.

Stricken by the urge to comfort you, to lay himself on the floor beside Gradus so that you may flay him open, he clenches his hands and takes another step back. You’re looking up at him like he might attack again. The cut on the back of his hand weeps, doing what he cannot.

He isn’t going to hurt you and yours any further. K had already decided that the moment he saw your soulmark. It’s a choice born from a newfound sense of selfishness. His loyalty had gained a chip in the smooth surface of it, like the teacup you had placed in front of him. He is going to lie to his madam. As proof of a job complete, he’ll bring the stolen eye back to the precinct. If the other replicant survives the trauma inflicted on him, he will be continue to be free. He can go through his life without looking over his shoulder quite so often.

As if summoned by his thoughts, a cellular device starts chiming in his pocket. His madam. No one else would call him. The officer withdraws the device and presses the button to accept the call.

Lieutenant Joshi’s voice is tinny and crackling through the speaker. She doesn’t waste a breath on pleasantries. “Your dig came through. Get down here. Leave whatever you’re working on.”

The unit trills when she hangs up. He put the phone back into his pants pocket.

“I’m sorry,” he says. He means it, perhaps more than anything else he’s said since his inception.

Understandably, you don’t say anything in response to him. Instead, you try to stand despite your legs being too shaky to manage it easily on your own. Before he can show restraint, employ any measure of sense, he bridges the distance between the two of you. K offers you his hand. He’s stunned when you actually take it. Yours fits against his own, palm to palm, as though he was made for you. In a way, K supposes, he was.

There is a breathless moment where the two of you simply stand together hand in hand, eyes peering into the other’s. He wants to shift his hold. He wants to interlink his fingers with yours. Just as he is on the cusp of fulfilling that desire, you wrench your hand free of his and that’s when K knows his time here is up.

Gathering himself just enough, he puts his back to you. The door seems miles away as he starts walking towards it.

“Hey.” There is a flinty quality to your voice.

He pauses and looks back towards you. K is unsurprised to see that you’ve picked up Gradus’s discarded firearm and are now pointing it at him. He wishes that you weren’t shaking so much. He pivots to fully face you, keeping his hands at his sides. The least he can do for you is hold still so that you can line up the shot.

The conviction bleeds out of your face and your arm lowers. The gun falls to the floor at your feet with a heavy thud. At the back of his throat, he tastes the bitterness of disappointment.

K exits the apartment unit. Every step feels wrong. He wants to fight the order. He wants to turn around. The officer wants to offer something, anything, that could make this right. He wishes he could undo the blood pooled on the carpet, but he can’t do anything at all but obey. Free will doesn’t exist for him. His madam has called him in, and for now, he belongs to her no matter what the flesh might claim.

───※ ·❆· ※───

In the morgue, K doesn’t find himself to be any more stable. Joshi had called him in to make use of his intuition and rapid processing ability, but he feels numb. His thoughts keep wandering to you.

He’s barely aware of Nandez talking to him as he idly traces a thumb over his jacket where it lays draped over his arm. He thinks the material had been a more vibrant green once, before he had acquired it from an ‘8 who had, in turn, lifted it off a ‘7.

“Your box is a military footlocker issued to Sapper Morton, creatively repurposed as an ossuary. Box of bones. Meticulously cleaned and laid to rest about 30 years gone. Nothing else in it but hair. She’s pre-Blackout so DeNAbase doesn’t give an ID.”

K manages a nod. He doesn’t bother speaking.

“It was she, plus one,” Joshi says as if it were a shocking revelation. It’s not. From his understanding, organics often manage to reproduce.

Pregnancy, death, panning shots over the dead woman’s bones… His soulmark burns like a phantom brand. The fire feels like it’s spreading to his brain. He’s going under in a cloud of embers. Bits of conversation drift around him. They’re as untouchable as the pretend wife waiting at home for him.

Struggling to gain focus, he drags his intuition up from where it lies dormant and cooling. Coco is leading the forensic discovery today, a small relief. The tech zooms in too far and K gets a flash of scrapes along bone. Man-made alterations.

“Go back. Closer. Closer. That. What’s that?” It’s time he’s spoken since being recalled to the precinct. The three organics eye in him surprise.

“Notching on the iliac crest. Fine point, like a scalpel. Looks like an emergency c-section... Cuts are clean. No sign of struggle,” Coco reports.

K thinks for a moment, mulling over the information. “He was a combat medic. Maybe he tried to save her but just couldn't.”

His words cause the others to debate. They do it with little regard of what he is.

“He didn’t seem like the saving type.” Nandez sneers.

“He took the time to bury her. A sentimental skinjob…” Coco muses, but freezes, stricken “Sorry, K,” he adds.

K shrugs off the apology. He has long since been pushed past any feelings over any slights that come his way. It had been a necessary thing in order to survive here.

“Didn’t seem like the daddy type either. So where’s the kid? You scan the whole field?” Joshi says, knowing very well that replicants are sterile.

“Just dirt and worms. No other bodies.” Nandez’s response is immediate.

“Maybe he ate it.” Coco says, more serious than he should be.

Something flares, white hot, in K’s chest. He has never had a proclivity to anger. The vicious tone to his words surprises even him. “Or maybe he loved her. Maybe he took care of the kid like it was his, at least for a while.”

The silence is deafening. Three pairs of incredulous eyes stare at him. Then Joshi speaks, cutting through the silence punctuated only by K’s harsh breathing. She sounds like she’s talking to a very small child. “But your kind doesn’t love.”

“Oh, he definitely ate it,” Nandez follows up, barely able to get the words out before he starts laughing. Coco joins him.

K bows his head, thoroughly chastised. He only just keeps from curling in on himself.

His madam sighs. “Finish up here, boys. K, with me.”

Unsure of what to expect, he follows the woman to the elevator. He presses himself into the corner during the ride up to her office, unease biting at his bones. The confined space has only been a breeding ground for trouble. Having learned a few hard lessons, he takes the stairs these days unless he is with Joshi.

The lieutenant leads him through the bullpen once they get off the elevator. Nobody pays them any attention. Eyes automatically advert from his madam. When they get to her office, she leaves him to close the door behind them. Upon turning to face her, he finds that she has already seated herself behind her desk and is in the midst of pouring herself a drink.

K waits, face turned submissively down at the floor. He doesn’t fidget.

“The world’s built on a wall that separates kind. Tell either side there’s no wall and you’ve bought a war or a slaughter. Your kind is incapable of love. That’s a trait only given to humans. So whatever notion you have in your head about the skinjob and the woman, you leave that behind.” Her tone is lecturing. It leaves no room for argument, not that he would even dare dream of it. Whatever his madam says to him is the law that he must obey.

“Yes, Madam.”

“What isn’t possible can’t be.”

“Yes, Madam,” he says again.

With a sigh, she sits back in her chair. Her eyes trace over his body, appraising. His breath catches in his throat before he forces his nervous system to relax. The only sign of his discomfort is the clenching of his hand at his side.

Lieutenant Joshi’s mouth pinches. Her face takes on a harried look. With a decisive thunk, she sets the glass tumbler down on her desk. It has been emptied for the first of what is likely to be many times.

“Go home. Get your head on straight. I don’t need you wanting retirement.”

“Yes, Madam,” K agrees.

Any relief he feels as being allowed to leave is cut short when she stops him. “Hey.”

He pauses, letting that be the acknowledgment that he’s heard her. The officer waits like the obedient dog he was made to be.

“You’re getting on fine without it.”

He feels his eyebrow twitch upwards in question. “What’s that, Madam?”

“Love.”

───※ ·❆· ※───

It’s late. The sun sat below the sprawling expanse of buildings hours ago, leaving K to sit in the dark room with only his thoughts and his DiJi for company. While he looks out the window at the other apartment building across the street, at the wall of lives stored in little boxes, he feels more hopeless than usual. The mark on his forearm feels like a slap in the face.

What use is a miracle if it only serves to remind him of his failures? It is a monument to what he destroyed without even knowing what it was he was about to rip apart.

He stands up from the purple chair and takes a few stumbling steps over to the built-in table to pour himself another too-full glass of whiskey. The bottle he had opened after getting off work tonight is already more than half gone. K doesn’t know why he’s even bothering to pour it into a glass other than to occupy his hands. He might as well drink straight from the bottle for efficiency.

With the glass in hand, liquid nearly sloshing over the edges, he goes to where his coat his hanging by the door. He swallows down another mouthful of alcohol while he reaches into one of the pockets. He takes out the small knife he uses for extracting eyes on retirement cases. K figures he should have just given you the blade and let you take his instead.

“K, what are you doing?” Joi asks, tone colored with apprehension.

She is lingering by the window, nervously shifting her nonexistent weight. The replicant ignores her. He’s been doing that a lot lately. Something has changed in him.

Crossing the room again, he takes a seat on the couch. K sets his glass on the side table. Stray drops of whiskey escape over the lip of it at the careless motion. They soak into the paper of his book, his most prized possession. It doesn’t matter. Joshi already soiled it months ago with her own glass, not dissimilar to how she has with him.

Tightening his grip around the knife, he looks down contemplatively at his right forearm. He is not wearing a long sleeved shirt this evening. Maybe he should have been.

Joi starts to plead with him the instant she realizes what he’s about to do. He manages to block her voice out and sinks the blade into his skin, just below the soulmark. The metal works its way through flesh and meat until the fine tip of it scrapes against his radius. It burns as he drags it sideways, up and to the left. Blood wells up from the wound and starts dripping freely onto his pant leg. It soaks into the material.

K has decided that he is undeserving of the fragment of soul he was given at inception. The mark must be removed. Perhaps with it no longer on his body, its twin will appear on someone else. You can have a better soulmate, and he will just be another serial number. Unremarkable in every way.

Delicate hands flicker and clip through his, grasping futilely at the knife. Joi has thrown herself to her knees in front of him and is trying to stop him. Projected tears are falling from her eyes in shimmering droplets. He follows the steady flow of them to her face and realizes that he is scaring her. In her distraught expression, he can only see your agonized face as you sob over the replicant he put a bullet into just days before. Her hands are yours in the way that they attempt to pull at his, to put a stop to the damage he’s inflicting. The comparison stops him cold. He can’t do this to Joi. Even if their relationship together is an elaborate game of pretend, he can’t make someone else feel the way he made you feel.

Smothering the emotions inside of him like a flawed replicant straight from the artificial womb, he wiggles the knife back and forth to free it from his body. He sets the blade aside on the coffee table and retreats to the bathroom. Joi is unable to follow him. She is stuck to the hardline as if on a leash. He never got her anniversary present.

Away from Joi’s worried eyes, he washes the injury in the cramped bathroom sink. Water spills out over the sides and splashes onto the floor in swirls of pale pink on the tile. It makes its way lazily to the drain in the middle of the room. He will scrub the traces of his blood out of the grout later, when he has had a moment to distance himself from everything he shouldn’t be feeling.

Feeling unsteady, K finds the platelet jelly and sets to gluing the self-inflicted wound shut.

If he pinches the sides of it together harder than what is necessary, that’s only for him to know. The bite of pain is enough to ground him in reality. It clears away some of the drunken fog.

Closer to baseline than he was, K rejoins his distressed “wife” in the main room. She rushes at him and he draws her against him as much as a living being can do with a hologram.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” he soothes while she sobs nonexistent tears against his chest.

The replicant can’t help but wish that she were someone else. He wonders if his role and that of Gradus had been reversed, would you have tried to protect him? What would it be like to have someone care enough to try?

───※ ·❆· ※───

After that night where he had made an earnest attempt to remove his soulmark, he shuts himself off from Joi. He barely responds to her these days. He can hardly stomach interacting with anyone at all. Still, he does not turn off the DiJi. She is left to do wander around the room and do whatever her algorithm wishes. There is a strange sort of comfort in not feeling completely alone, even if the company isn’t actually there. He isn’t real in any meaningful way either.

His evenings become routine in their spiral. He sits, he smokes, he drinks, and he very rarely sleeps in the hours before his alarm chimes. You haunt the moments of rest he is able to get. He hears your voice in the throats of a thousand others. He sees your anguished face with every blink of his eyes.

K wishes he knew even just your name. He has nothing tangible of that day in 405. Perhaps it was just a dream, a terrible nightmare that has bled into the waking world.

He has to stop eating the synthetic meat he gets for his dinners. The artificial bloodiness of it transports him back to the moment he saw your soulmark covered with the gore caused by his mistake. He should have overridden instinct. He should have done something, anything, differently.

K nearly stops eating all together. His body is slowly wasting away, eating at his muscles. He’s taken to wearing more layers to offset the loss. No one comments at the change.

───※ ·❆· ※───

If only so you can put him down, he tries to find you. The opportunity for him to dig for information comes when he’s put on a case with Nandez. The detective leaves K alone promptly at the end of second shift. The replicant is not sad to see him go. Even at the best of times, Nandez is at his throat despite not having the authority to demand anything from him. K sincerely hopes that the man never gets a promotion.

With Nandez gone, K pulls up the property records for the apartment building he found you at and starts searching. There is nothing substantial, certainly nothing for an additional occupant in the unit rented by John Gradus. No co-signer, no lease agreement, no roommate paperwork. It’s a dead end.

Frustrated, he gets out of his chair and paces. K knows full he can’t risk diving too deep into the systems. Doing so might draw attention to his extracurricular activities. His madam would want answers, and not the ones he is willing to provide. She can’t know of your existence. Joshi was very clear about the boundaries between kind. Without question, he would find a way to retire himself if given the order to harm you.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Squinting his eyes against the feeble sunlight managing to stream into his window, he registers that Joi is looking at him. Her face carries the same serious expression that it has for the past few weeks. He feels a distant pang of guilt at being the cause of it.

She’s projected herself to be laying beside him on the thin mattress. In the dreamlike quality of the light, she looks almost tangible like this. Touchable. These small moments are why he never bothered with blinds or curtains.

“Tell me about your soulmate,” she says. He realizes that she’s emulated his mark into her hologram skin.

“There’s not much to tell.” His voice is thick with sleep.

“Tell me anyway.”

At that, he closes his eyes and summons his memory of you. With each detail he recounts aloud about your appearance, Joi alters herself. She replicates your accent, your hair, your eye color. When he opens his eyes, he finds himself looking at a pale imitation. It’s almost closer to a mockery than anything else. The morning light can’t make it real. Nothing could.

Tenderly, his DiJi reaches out and tries to press her fake mark against his in the way he’d always hoped his soulmate would when they found each other. He lets her, numb. It doesn’t feel like anything more than the faint static tingle of her projection. She clips through him.

“A special boy needs a name, a real name.” she prompts, mulling the thought over.

“Don’t,” he interrupts, softly. He doesn’t want Joi to name him. She’s not what he really wants. If anyone were to give him a name, it should be you.

With a flash of hurt on her face, she pulls away. The attempt at a loving game of pretend like they used to play is over. There is not likely to be another one.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Carefully, he tears out the title page of his book. K does not have any other paper. This will have to do. With the same marker the replicant used in his spinner to label the bag containing Gradus’s eye, he writes on the alcohol-warped page.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

Officer K folds the paper and tucks it into his badge holder for safekeeping. He has a premonition that this day will end with him staring into the lens of a camera like the barrel of a gun while one of the precinct’s baseline administers hammers him with questions asked forcefully enough they might as well be physical blows.

Pushing through the crowd on the stairs, he doesn’t register the turmoil around him. He breaks free once he’s out the front door. The walk to the garage seems to pass in the blink in the eye and feels like only heartbeats pass before he’s in the work-provided spinner and on the way to the apartment building he’d been to a lifetime ago.

He puts the spinner down curbside out in front of a struggling noodle place. K doesn’t want to be parked too close to his objective. If someone comes sniffing around after him for going off-map, he doesn’t want it to be immediately obvious where he’s going.

As they had been the last time he’d been here, the streets are empty. They’re marked with obvious signs of nightlife. It all but confirms what he had suspected when doing the flyover. Graffiti and broken class litter the sidewalks in front of the row of businesses shuttered for the daytime hours. The neon signs are off and the blinds closed.

The apartment building looks the same as it had last time. Despite his own world being shaken to the very foundations, the structure he is entering looks unstricken by revelation. Retracing his footsteps, he ascends to the fourth four and finds the unit. The doormat he’d not bothered to acknowledge before is still out front.

With his pulse pounding in his ears, he raises his hand and knocks. He waits for the telltale sign of life behind the barrier. Nothing. Concern prickles at his mind, and he knocks again only to get no response. For just a moment, he thinks about just sliding the paper under the door but on a whim, he tries the knob. It turns easily in his grasp. It was left unlocked.

“Hello?” K calls out as he steps across the threshold.

Silence greets him in return.

From what the officer can discern upon casting a searching look at his surroundings, little has changed. The furniture is where it had been on the day of his visit. He is not sure if any of the personal effects have been disturbed. They had not been near the top of his priority list at the time.

A loud ringing noise shatters the peace and he startles, nearly hitting his elbow on the wall. It’s his phone. His madam must have checked on his tracker code and realized that he isn’t anywhere a good boy might be found under normal circumstances. He lets it ring through unanswered. His countdown has started.

Reluctantly, he continues his investigation and looks at the place where he had dropped Gradus. The blood stain he’d left behind is a mere, blush colored mark on the carpet. Someone, probably you, had tried to scrub away the evidence. The basket of yarn that had contained the gun has been righted and moved to a place between the couch and the blind-covered window.

Showing some level of restraint, he resists the urge to wander into the bedrooms. There are two of them. A glance through the doorways reveals that each has a bed. You and the ‘8 must not sleep in the same room. Instead of trying to puzzle out which might contain your possessions, he moves into the kitchen.

There is moisture in the sink. Someone has been here recently. The apartment had not been abandoned in his absence.

The water in the basin reminds him that Gradus had asked you to bring tea to them. Could it be your usual chore? The thought sparks an idea, and he pulls his badge from his pocket and extracts the folded piece of paper. He leaves it on the counter as his phone rings for a second time. Ignoring the repetitive trill, he picks up a pen from the coffee table and returns to the kitchen to unfold the page he’d torn from the book.

Again, his phone goes off, barely a pause between the attempts at reaching him. The timer is running out moment by moment.

Underneath the words he wrote at his apartment, K presses the nib of the pen against the paper and takes a breath. In careful writing, he adds to them.

Do you feel that there's a part of you that's missing?

What's it like to hold the hand of someone you love?

Immediately, he wants to erase the words. With the feeling that he’s making another mistake when it comes to you, K refolds the sheet of paper and tucks it partially under the kettle resting on the counter. He wishes that he knew your name so that he could write it on the paper. Even without it, it’s clear enough who the message is for. Gradus hadn’t been the one with who shared his soulmark.

With an air of finality to it, the device in his pocket rings a fourth time. It’s his cue to leave. Spurred into haste, he puts the pen back where he’d found it and takes a final glance around, still curious about which decorative choices were yours.

He leaves the apartment, making sure to close the door securely behind him. The replicant all but sprints down the stairs in the effort to create distance between himself and the apartment unit. He narrowly manages to keep his pace limited to a brisk walk on the way back to the noodle restaurant. Just as he’s reaching for the lock on his spinner’s door, he hears a low roar rapidly approaching.

Looking up, he sees a police issued vehicle pull into a stop. It begins its decent as a voice projects over the loudspeaker. “Officer K D6-3.7. We’re taking you in on failure to report.”

K puts his hands up and automatically lowers himself to his knees. Acutely, he’s aware of what will happen if he doesn’t perfectly comply. LAPD beat cops are trigger-happy organics and ready to spray and pray at anything that so much as breathes wrong in their direction. He has never respected them, never been given cause to in all his dealings with them.

A cop gets out, leaving another behind the wheel, as soon as the spinner lands. In short order, K finds himself handcuffed and made a passenger in his own provided spinner. The organic makes a stab at ruffling his nerves on the way back to the precinct.

“Lieutenant’s real mad at you for taking off like that.”

K offers nothing in response.

“What the fuck were you doing all the way out here, skinner?”

He shrugs in his restraints, chooses how to interpret the question. “Noodles.”

The officer whistles, pitchy and uneven. “Oooh, she’s going to string you up.”

K is aware. He knew the cost for his apology when he set out today. He had also decided it was worth the fallout.

───※ ·❆· ※───

The stool that Officer K is sitting on is uncomfortable—a hard, impersonal thing meant to be hosed off as needed. It’s the same as the rest of this room bathed in the sterile light of humming florescent bar. Underneath the copper burn of blood is an antiseptic tang. The baseline testing room is everything but a slaughterhouse floor in name. He’d opened his eyes for the very first time in a room like this.

Ringing fills his ears followed by the whir and click of the wall-mounted camera in front of him. A disembodied voice reads off his serial number and informs him that the test has begun.

Responses leave the replicant’s throat through as though someone else is speaking through him. He’s calm, retreated so far into himself that any residual fire inside of him has been snuffed out. He feels cold. The joints in his fingers ache with the sensation. He doesn’t dare to flex them or to rub at his chafed wrists.

The cops that had been sent to fetch him had removed the handcuffs as soon as he’d been delivered to the testing room. One of them in particular had found great amusement in hauling him through the precinct by the narrow chain like a dog catcher with an animal on the end of their pole.

Finally, the pounding against the walls of his mind stops. The interrogation is over. The camera powers down and the examiner sighs, hard, almost disappointed.

“You’re free to go, Officer. Your lieutenant will see you in her office.”

K rises, stiff, eyes unseeing. He barely registers the activity of the precinct around him as he traverses the hallway and climbs the stairs in clear avoidance of the elevator once again. He feels trapped enough in his own head without the physical captivity of being in a little box.

Low murmurs roll against him akin to the waves against the seawall when he crosses the bullpen and knocks on Joshi’s door after reaching the floor housing her office. She calls him in immediately. Her tone is like an angry wasp. It provides a sting that jolts everything back into sharp relief.

She barely waits until he closes the door behind himself. “The hell is with you?”

Years of experience have taught him to let his madam work through her anger without input from him. K waits, still and patient, in front of her desk.

“You take off without informing me, you ignore my calls, and then what? We pick you up fucking around in the street outside of some shitty restaurant? What was so important about it that you had to go out there?”

“Apologies, Madam,” he says. Repentance drips from his voice like honey from the comb.

Joshi waits, looking expectant. Her expression shifts to frustration as no more words come. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say to me? Tell me why you were out there.”

It’s a direct order. The instinct to obey pulls at him. He gives in without a fight. “I was following up on the second retirement case. Civic’ NK687725. It was a surprise, Madam. I had hoped it would be a welcome one.”

Like magic, the severely set lines in Joshi’s face soften. She is becoming convinced that he’d meant his… willfulness as a gift, as a credit to her and her management.

“Did you find anything?”

“There was no one there,” he pauses, twists the truth in his own mind, “Hadn’t been for a while. It’s probable I scared them off and they went underground.”

Who is to say what “a while” means? Time is relative.

Joshi lifts a hand and beckons him closer, around the corner of the desk. Eager to avoid more trouble, he instantly follows her direction. She rotates her chair to face him when he comes to a stop within touching distance. He has learned through trial and error to predict exactly where she wants him based on her mannerisms and tone. It has never bode well for him to be wrong.

“Good dog,” the lieutenant says, lightly kicks him in the shin. “Just let me know before you decide to be proactive again.”

“I will, Madam.” He’s glad that she has decided to be lenient today.

“Get on out of here. I don’t need the distraction.”

“Goodbye, Madam.” It’s polite and he keeps his pace measured as he leaves. He doesn’t want to seem too eager. It would send the wrong message.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Weeks pass K by without any outward indication that you’ve received the paper he had left behind at your residence. He has made a resigned peace with the idea that your paths may never cross again when he arrives back to his apartment following a day kept late at work doing overtime, again, for Nandez. Following routine and nearly swaying on his feet, he puts his hand on the scanner for the door lock. He opens it just enough to slide through and is greeted in the entryway by Joi for the first time a while. Panic is displayed on her face. Taken aback, he’s about to question her when she speaks first.

“You have a visitor. I didn’t think you would want me to say no,” she whispers.

Frowning, he mulls over the list of potential visitors and only comes up with one idea of who it might be. But, he’d just seen Joshi at the precinct before leaving for the day. She had given him no indication that she would be paying him a visit tonight. In fact, his madam had had him sit down on the other side of her desk to share a drink with her.

It had kept him occupied for the better part of the hour while she got intoxicated enough to insist that he give her a kiss before he leave. She’d failed to push things further by not ordering him to his knees before her or manipulating his hands onto her body. K thinks that she’s grown bored of him, at least for the moment. The thought makes him feel relieved.

Joi touches him on the shoulder, putting an end to his thinking. “Good luck.”

Anticipating, despite the unlikeliness of it, to see his madam, he passes by the DiJi into the main room. K stops in his tracks, stricken dumb. He’d have sooner expected Coco spread out on his couch in nothing but his clear, silicone labcoat and an artificial rose in his mouth than to be staring at you. Somehow, you don’t look as out of place as you should among his sparse possessions.

“How did you find me?” the replicant asks.

“You said your identification number the day you showed up. KD6-3.7.”

It’s strange a strange thing, hearing his “name” come out of your mouth. He doesn’t supply the nickname he’s been given during his time as a blade runner. He’s already pacing on the knife’s edge. This evening could tip him in any direction without forcing any further familiarity.

“You got the note.”

“Yes.” Your tone is matter-of-fact. “You wanted to know if I felt like a part of me is missing.”

He is left waiting for a follow-up that doesn't come. The thought hangs there, uncontinued. In the quiet of the room, K shrugs off his jacket and goes to hang it on the hook by the front door. He unholsters his gun and puts it on a nearby shelf. No matter how things go, he will not be using it on you.

Before he faces you again, K approaches the controls for the hardline crossing the ceiling. When he casts a look at Joi with his finger hovering over the power button, she looks at peace. She gives him an encouraging shooing motion of her hand. He turns her off for the first time in months. You and K will not have any outside distraction.

“He lived, by the way.”

K feels a tightness loosen in his chest. “I’m glad.”

“Why? You could have easily made the shot fatal, why didn’t you?”

“Somebody cares about him. He would have been missed.”

“And that matters to you?” You don’t sound judgmental to his ears, only curious.

“Yes. I’m sorry I had to do it.” He swallows hard, voice breaking as he continues. “I didn’t choose this.”

The replicant knows that he is only what he was made to be, nothing more, nothing less. Nature had dictated his obedience. Nurture had molded him into being what the Los Angeles Police’s retirement division had had in mind when he was purchased for their use.

Under the weight of your gaze, he begins to self-soothe by clasping his hands together in front of him and rubbing one thumb over the other. He finds himself relieved from the burden when you shift your attention to your surroundings. He watches, fascinated, as you begin to explore.

Your fingers trail over the box where he stores his cigarettes and the lighter he’d found in the pocket of one of his previous retirement jobs. Moving onward, you pick up his book and flip briefly through the alcohol warped pages. He sees the recognition dart across your features when you find the place where the torn out page had once resided. The care in which you set the volume back down on the table surprises him. His madam had never displayed that level of consideration. Neither had Joi with the projected clone of it.

“These don’t look like yours,” you say. In your hands are Sapper Morton’s glasses, held as if they might break apart in your grasp with so much as a wrong exhale.

“They’re not.”

“Whose are they, then?”

“Sapper Morton. He was a retirement case,” K pauses, hesitates, then quietly adds, “I didn’t want him to be forgotten.”

“Why?” you ask, rolling the word in your mouth like a pearl.

The question makes his skin itch. He stills as though he had just taken a seat for his baseline. The only betraying movement is the continued motion of his thumb atop the other.

“Why?” you repeat, softer this time. There’s something close to tenderness in your voice and that makes him afraid.

“He was more than a serial number.” K admits, feeling the answer clawing its way out of him. “I… they all were.”

“Are you?”

“No.” His response is immediate. Firm.

“Why not?”

Unable to answer, he looks away. Shame laps at him with an overeager tongue. There is a divide between the older models and him. In some ways, Morton was right. The ‘9s are happy scraping the shit because it’s all they have been taught to know.

He’s aware of you setting the glasses back in their resting place on the shelf, but it still surprises him when you cross the small amount of space separating the two of you to stand in front of him. You’re so close to him that he can feel the heat of your body. It makes him want to burn in your fire.

“I do feel like there’s something missing. It’s like there’s an empty space next to me that should be filled by someone, but that someone never comes. It’s the part of the reason I came here. I… wanted to talk to you knowing what we are to each other,” you tell him.

K nods. Words catch in his throat, tumble over one another. In the end, he is unable to utter any of them.

“Will you show it to me?” you ask with a gesture to his covered arm. “I want to be sure.”

With a tremor threatening to shake his body, he slips his fingers under the edge of his shirt sleeve and pulls it up to his elbow. His soulmark is laid bare before your eyes. The wound that he had left in his own skin when he had tried to carve out the design has faded to a raised, pale line.

“That wasn’t there before,” you murmur, taking his forearm in your hands. Your pointer finger traces over the scar.

His breath catches at your touch. Overwhelmed, he has to close his eyelids against the moisture welling up in his eyes. He opens them again when the pressure of your hands leaves and sees you taking off your own coat to toss it over the back of his chair. The replicant barely has a moment of respite before your left hand resumes its position cupping the underbelly of his forearm. You keep him steady as you raise your right arm and nestle it alongside his to place the soulmarks side by side.

K’s eyes hadn’t been deceived back then. They are perfectly identical.

It’s more than he can handle. He curls into himself, instinctively seeking the fetal position. His chin is against his shoulder, face turned away from you. He’s not sure if he’s burning up or drowning.

“Hey… hey.”

Suddenly, your arms are around him. K feels himself being guided in until he’s all but cradled against you as you ease the both of you to floor. He finds himself pressing his face against your neck as you rub a soothing hand up and down his back. For each moment that passes, the replicant grows increasingly more worried that he’s overstaying his welcome, but you don’t push him away. Instead, you gently rock him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, sounding choked even to his own ears.

“I’m sorry too. I misjudged you. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still pissed, but it wasn’t… I have an understanding of why you did what you did.”

Forcing himself to put some distance between your bodies, K finally pulls away. He doesn’t want to risk being reprimanded for taking too much. Your hands fall into your lap in the void he leaves behind.

There is a part of him that keeps expecting to discover that this is a vivid dream. Will he wake up and be staring at the water-damaged ceiling instead of your face? The hard floor under his knees, the chill of it creeping through the fabric and trying to find a home against his skin, seems to signal otherwise.

“Please don’t apologize. What I did was unforgivable.”

“John’s not mad at you, you know?” The words come as a surprise. He searches your eyes for a joke only to see sincerity reflected back at him. “He said you probably extended his life a few years by taking his eye and turning it in. Nobody’s gonna come looking for a dead man.”

“He’s not on our radar anymore. His file has been greyed out,” he says, getting to his feet.

Automatically, he reaches down to offer you his hand. It’s a mirror of your last interaction. He can tell by your expression that you are reliving the same memory as he. Still, you once again take his hand without hesitation. You hold it for just a moment before letting go. He doesn't think he imagined the reluctance.

“I don’t want to take up too much of your time, Officer. I don’t want to intrude,” you say, turning to pick up your coat from where you had left it.

“Please. Stay,” he bursts out. The feeling of imminent loss batters at the walls of his chest, “unless…”

“Okay.”

He blinks, not expecting the ease in which you had agreed. He’s left cycling through various scripts in the effort to find something to say. Latching onto a familiar interaction with Joi, he asks, “Do you want coffee?”

“Sure, I’d take some.”

K finds himself with you in his narrow kitchen. He heats the water while you take down two mugs and locate the instant coffee grounds after some direction from him. It’s domestic in a way that he was never able to have with Joi. With her, he didn’t need to worry about knocking elbows together or pressing her into the cabinetry while trying to reach for a pot holder.

Once the hot water is ready and split between the two mugs and stirred together, the two of you take seats on the couch. Between sips, conversation flows, a trickle at first and then a flood. You talk for hours, long after your mugs are drained and sat aside.

Following the natural progression of all things, the words begin to slow as tiredness sets in. Pauses between sentences lengthen like shadows. At seeing your eyes between to flutter shut, K rouses himself out of his own comfortable stupor.

“I’ll take the couch if you want to sleep in my bed tonight,” the replicant offers. He’s relaxed, at ease in a way he’s not sure he’s ever been. You’ve changed him.

The effort that it takes for you to keep your eyelids open as you think over his stab at hospitality only endears to you him further. Finally, you shrug and smother a yawn. “I’ll take you up on that. I don’t think I need to be behind the wheel like this.”

While you pull out your phone and send a message to your roommate to let him know your plans, K gets up and crosses the room to fold down the bed. He opens a nearby drawer and pulls out the pillow and blanket to put on the mattress. With a helpless twinge sigh, he surveys the setup. It’s not the lap of luxury, he knows, but he hopes it will be sufficient.

“All yours.”

“Thank you, K.” The light press of your fingers against his soulmark warms him almost as much as the use of his nickname. You had slipped into using it when he had admitted his preference for it over his job title or serial number in at some point in the previous hours.

He nods, a shy dip of his head and lets you slide under the blankets. After fetching his jacket off the hook to use as a blanket, he turns off the lights and lays down on the couch. Sleep comes to him almost immediately. It’s dreamless.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Morning comes to him with the shrill chiming of his alarm. Fumbling for his handheld, K silences it and lays still for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. The replicant fell asleep on the couch again. He knows that he has been doing that more often than he should. Too much alcohol and flipping through the pages of his book time and time again on the hunt for any new meaning that he can gleam from the words he knows by heart have contributed to this being a regular occurrence.

With a stiff back, he sits up and swings his legs to place his feet on the floor. He freezes right on the cusp of standing up. There is a body tucked into his bed and it’s not Joshi. Yesterday evening hadn’t been a whiskey soaked dream brought on by too much wishful thinking. It had been real.

K knows he needs to get ready to go to the precinct and pushes himself through his morning routine accordingly no matter how much he would prefer to wait at your side to resume the domesticity the two of you had begun to forge. By the time he’s out of the shower and dressed, you’ve gotten up and put the bed back in its stored away position. The bedding is neatly folded and set on a shelf with the pillow.

With his hair still damp, he observes you for a moment from the kitchen. You’re tracing the faded letters and numbers on the back of his jacket with a finger, clearly trying to decipher the characters.

“N7H00105,” he supplies, sparing your eyes.

Amusement causes the corners of his mouth to rise into a smile as you turn to him with an incredulous look. “How did you…? It’s so faded.”

“It was easier to read when I acquired it.”

“Another one of your job finds?” you ask, offering him the jacket when he approaches.

“Yes.”

While he’s pulling the comforting weight of the garment over his shoulders, he tracks you with his eyes as you step into your shoes and tie the laces. You haven’t put your coat on yet, leaving your arms bare. There is a moment of silence, the two of you regarding one another. He does not want to be the first one to make the gesture to leave and, it seems, neither do you.

Your teeth are worrying your bottom lip. He wonders what you’re thinking about, but in the clear light of day, he finds himself unable to ask. The sun has burned away some of the ease of last night.

Finally, you speak. “If you had the option, would you leave all of this behind?”

He blinks, uncomprehending. “What?”

“Your job. Your life here… Would you leave it behind?”

“I… I don’t have anything else.” His words are uncertain, shaky.

“What if I’m offering you something else?”

“My kind doesn’t run.”

“It’s not running, K. It’s living.”

Rattled by the conviction in your voice, he sits down on the couch. His chest feels tight as barely defined images of things he’d hardly dared to dream of race through his mind. The enormity of what you’re suggesting is all but unimaginable. He has been loyal to his madam’s cause since the day he was incepted. There could be no deeper betrayal than slipping free of his tether.

The sensation of your hand on his shoulder jolts him back into the present moment. He meets your concerned eyes for a heartbeat before he has to look away.

“You don’t have to decide right now. You can think on it.”

“Saturday. I’ll be ready on Saturday,” he chokes out. His heart is pounding in his throat. He knows he cannot risk sitting through another baseline in the wake of this. He will fail.

“You’re sure? You won’t be able to come back here.”

“Yes.” Recklessly—impulsively—he has made up his mind.

───※ ·❆· ※───

The Saturday of his departure dawns like any other. The sunlight peering into the apartment’s only window would make K’s morning wholly unremarkable in its routine if his surroundings hadn’t been wiped clean of any personal possessions but a select few items that he is leaving behind for his madam to repossess. His entire world had fit into one furtively purchased duffel bag.

His nerves are alight with restlessness as he waits for you to arrive. The replicant had spent a few fitful hours laying on his mattress before rising ahead of the sun to ensure his readiness for the life ahead. As part of his preparations, he finally purchased Joi’s anniversary present. An emanator. He had transferred her to it after yesterday’s shift at the precinct. She had been joyous, nearly overflowing with excitement for him when he had explained the situation to her. He had cautiously let himself share his own tentative optimism.

At the DiJi’s suggestion, he had snapped the emanator’s small antenna after deleting her save file from the main console. The risk of being tracked or leaving behind damning information was too great to allow for cloud backup. Despite his own trepidation, Joi had insisted the risk of her being able to die like a real girl was worth K’s freedom.

A firm knock against the door alerts the Nexus 9 of your arrival. With haste, he moves through the entryway to open the door for you. Both of you wait until it’s securely closed before you greet each other.

“Good morning,” you tell him.

K is just opening his mouth to respond in kind when you surprise him with a hug. The replicant wraps his arms around you, careful to not apply too much pressure. It’s a novel thing, getting to hold someone like this. Reluctantly, he lets his hold on you loosen after a short moment. He knows there is work to still be done. A final step in the plan.

Without you needing to ask him, he gestures to the table in front of the window. The supplies for the task ahead are already laid out on the surface. He strips off his shirt and sits backwards in the chair as best as he can while avoiding the armrests. K closes his eyes and tries to relax.

“I almost thought you might not come back,” he admits.

He hears the snap of disposable gloves against your wrists followed by the sound of your voice. “You’re my soulmate. The mark on your arm says I’m going to keep coming back for you.”

“Not everyone likes their soulmate,” K says quietly.

There’s the sound of a packet being torn open. He experiences the sensation of a disinfecting wipe passing over the area at the base of his neck. It’s cold against his skin. You focus most of the attention on the column of his spine, right in the center of his middle trapezius.

“True, but I realized the other night that, despite everything, I do like you. Congratulations, you now have me digging a tracking chip out of your back.” Your voice is colored with fondness. It makes him want to smile. How rare. He had kept his positive emotions hidden under cloth as though they were something precious to sequester out of sight.

Hissing against the sting, the tip of K’s eye extraction knife punctures his skin. The sensation of blood trickling from the wound begins shortly after he hears you set the knife on the table and pick up the tweezers. There’s a pinch, a strange pulling sensation, and then he opens his eyes just in time to see you drop the small device on the table alongside the bloodied blade. The tweezers clatter against the laminated surface and your gloved hand snatches up the platelet jelly.

“That was in deep. They nailed you between the vertebrae. John’s was right under the skin.”

“Wallace learned from the tail-end Tyrell models. Mostly what not to do.”

He hears you hum, interested. Packaging crinkles behind his head and he’s aware of you pressing a gauze pad against the sealed wound. Your touch is so gentle as to make him believe you think he is something worth care, that he might even be special.

“Hand me a bit of tape, please?”

Obligingly, he tears off a strip and passes it to you. His bare fingers brush against your gloved ones as you take it from him. You secure the tape in place and pat him on the shoulder. “You’re all done.”

The skin feels tender beneath the bandage. But it is as though his collar has been cut. He puts his shirt back on and layers his jacket over it while you peel the gloves off. To avoid leaving more identifying forensic evidence behind that would point to you as being the accomplice, you flip them inside out and tuck them into a pocket for later disposal.

At your searching look, K nods. He is ready. The replicant picks up his bag and, together, you make your way to the front door. He pauses on the threshold, door open. Your fingers find his and give them a squeeze before he adjusts the angle and interlinks them together. Like this, he can feel your pulse beat in time with his. He feels close to human.

With one final look at the apartment that has been his cell for the past few years, he gives it a silent goodbye and closes the door for the final time. He is free.

───※ ·❆· ※───

On Monday, when Joshi arrives with two organic officers as backup, she finds the apartment stripped of any personal effects. She picks up his discarded phone off the coffee table where he had laid it between his firearm and his badge. The woman throws it against the wall so hard it shatters. Pieces of plastic rain down onto the tile. He hadn’t even left her a note.

If she ever finds him, she is going to put a bullet in him with the gun he left behind. Still, there is a part of her that is grudgingly proud of him for finally biting her hand, taking it off right at the wrist. Her replicant was a lot of things—obedient, kind—but never a coward. He better have a good life while he can. She’s going to place a purchase order for his replacement the moment she gets behind her desk.

Do not repost, copy, or reproduce my work to other sites or in other media formats. Do not use it for anything to do with AI. Thank you.

[spoiled-fawn]

TF 141: Owl Hybrid HCS

Hi! I'm alive, just working on several things at once so my writing output is slow. This may be too niche but I've been thinking about this too much and wanted to share. Yes, I will be coming out with a Price x reader hybrid fic and this kinda sets the tone for it. I hope you enjoy!

A group of owls is called a parliament.

No warnings. There are some 141 x reader bits as well

PRICE: Blakiston’s Fish Owl

Price is a big bird, and is the largest in terms of body weight and wingspan comparisons. His wings take up a majority of his space when on the ground and in his human form. His feathers are monochromatic with brown and tan, his broad and ragged ear tufts start on his temple and hang slightly to the side- still perfectly seen and sticking out when he wears his boonie hat.

The scars on his neck mark a historic battle between him and a foe. His damage? His vocal chords.

This man has a deep hoot that now sounds like a scratchy croak most nights. He feels self-conscious about it after the damage that occurred but will use it to startle or scare enemies mostly. 

If you ask to hear his hoot he gets flustered.

Being the alpha predator, he is very territorial. Not so much over his nest or room, but rather his parliament. Over the others, he tends to take care of them as a stand-in father figure that none of them have. With his big form and feathers, you can find either of the sergeants nestled into his chest like the pillow Price is.

Playing with his ear tufts is a dangerous game, as your hand will either be pecked at or he’ll give you nesting eyes depending on his mood.

Loves fish, and will even eat it raw if his owl sense is craving it.

His species spends an unusual amount of time on the ground and prefers to travel as humans do when applicable. 

When fishing, he prefers to do so as his breed does. Dive in and catch the fish himself.

Likes to nest in tight spaces (that mimic hollow trees). Will make a fort between a plethora of cushions and blankets to hide within.

GHOST: Great Gray Owl

While Ghost is the largest member of 141, in his owl form, he almost doubles in size due to his plumage. The Great Gray has fluffy feathers and the longest tail, making him all the more threatening

He is not the type to build nests, but will often steal nests of others. He’s been found in Price’s nests when the Captain leaves for office work or has been known to crash into Soap's nest with no care to the men squawking

He’s vain to a fault. Will always preen himself in private, and the one time you pulled a cracked feather he immediately blushed snatched it from your hand, and left in a hurry to make sure there were no others

Once you got to really get close to him, he would let you do it for him.

Absolutely loses it when you call him pretty bird.

You also got him to parrot it back to you once and he almost cried with embarrassment.

Also has a deep hoot, but his come in shorter and quicker successions. 

These owls, much like Ghost, are hard to find. They tend to keep to themselves and blend into their surroundings by remaining still. There is minimal aggression in terms of territory, but when the 141 parliament is threatened, his talons are ready to maul.

SOAP: Barn Owl

Have you heard a Barn Owls call? It can get really annoying or is beyond terrifying.

Soap’s subspecies is the T. a. Guttata; He is large for his species while having grey and orange upperparts with an orange buff. He has speckling to his underpart feathers, and his face is white.

Will sometimes take naps in a roost of his choosing (supply closet, rafters of the gym) but does tend to make his own nest when needing a deep and comfortable sleep after a good meal or long mission. 

Makes a fuss when Ghost crashes his nest. He hisses and snaps his beak at the large hybrid but shuts up when he gets to nestle under his wings.

Soap bonded with Ghost over his species being known as the “Ghost Owl” to some, but also that they have a similar lay of face feathers.

Soap is a curious hybrid in nature, and not always defensive when a different species (or human) is interacting with 141. The first time he met you, his wings splayed out while he looked you over - too closely.

While looking at your dog tags (or any other jewelry) he accidentally beat his wing feathers on your face.

You lost your balance and spooked him, causing him to hiss at you. And beat you over the head with his wing, again.

He is very cuddly when on base, likes to be by your side, and at least has his wing draped on you if it's movie night.

GAZ: Great Horned Owl 

One of Gaz’s strong suits is his ability to camouflage. His feathers comprise a darker brown and even darker, complex markings across. He does have a patch of white feathers on his throat when fully shifted, and people make jokes that it's as if he wears a button-up shirt.

He has the classic owl hoot, and will often use it as comedic relief if a joke doesn't land. It is the most calming and subtle of the group, so he will often use it to find the other members while on base.

His eyes are big. Can give you the sweetest looks without saying anything, and is an absolute heartmelter when his tired eyes show in the daytime.

Like Price, he has tufts on the side of his head but are much smaller in comparison. They do as well peak out from under his cap.

He can adapt to the heat of the desert easily, and if in the Sonoran Desert again, he likes to sit in the sun to warm up.

Gaz does nest, but his is a bit wild and messy in terms of blankets and pillows strewn about when doing so. He doesn't need much, but when in his nesting season he can become aggressive and grumpy.

Price jokes that he can be like a parrot. Somewhat playful but has a tolerance when being preened at by the Captain himself.

Has nipped Price before.

Gaz keeps his talons well-maintained. He lost one in a fight before, and now takes excellent care of them. 

When he becomes fond of you, he will snag you by the arms and fly you in the air with him. Very cautious to not hurt you!

He one time made a nest high up in the rafters in the base but fell out of it and onto the ground when Ghost caught him sleeping.

~~~~~~

Cannot stop imagining Price's owl with a boonie hat on top. Like PLEASE. So cute and deadly.

[creatorthegod]

Yandere Kaiju's x Gigan! reader pt 2

This is who the dad's could be

"Awww" Mothra cooed "it's a mini..."

Godzilla- He smirked as a Mini Gojira came out of the egg, he swiftly walked over to the chicken and there egg. The looks of everyone he passed, anger and full of hatred that almost made him smile even wider. As he reached the two he grabbed his baby gently, the small reptile nuzzeled into there fathers arm, with his free arm he wrapped it around the mother's waist, both walking away to his cave where Jr was. When they reached it Jr exility ran out looking at his father first, before looking at there newly hatched sibling, there eyes sparkled and they jumped up and down, Godzilla let out a huff and ushers everyone inside. While Jr was playing with there younger sibling, Godzilla had there arm and tail wrapped around (y/n) "Well my Queen not that you had my child you wont have to do anything you can take care of the kids and I will get everything for all of you, you will never have leave the cave again, now my Queen lets go make Jr is playing nice with there new sibling"

Rodan-"YES" they loudly yelled, quieting down as they see the faces of everyone around them. They flew over to them and wrapped a wing around them "Now lets go home sweetheart, I got the nest ready, though it maybe be a bit late for that" he said already looking at the hatched egg, he shook his head before speaking again "Well no bother we can turn it into a bedroom for our little chick" he grabbed the chick with his beak, like a cat would to there baby. Flying up he titled his head up, they knew what he was saying 'follow me'. They flew up refusing to look at the other's faces and followed the red bird back to there house. When they finally reached the house the door was open and the two where no were to be seen, slowly walking into the house they noticed in the corner a nest made up of soft materials and on the nest was there newly hatched baby, softly snoring. A red blur came across there vision and the door behind them closed, a heat engulfed them as they realized Rodan was hugging, more like cuddling them. They where lead over to the couch Rodan refusing to let them go "I almost lost you my love, but not anymore, I will go get our baby some food you just stay here and take care of them"

Anguirus-They walked quickly and were on guard, they new the others may try and attack them, once they reached there destination they looked at the baby they helped make. The baby looked at them with wide eyes and made a few noises, his tail rapped around the newborn and placed him on his neck, the baby grabbed his neck and his tail rapped around the chickens arm making sure to avoid the hands. They walked forward and soon reached his house, as they open the door and everyone was in, he locked the door and his tail released there arm and he gently put there baby down "You know when I first found out you slept with the others I was angry but when our baby hatched I couldn't leave you and they alone, so just stay here and let me take care of our baby and you"

Ghidorah-Each head had a prideful smirk on there face, walking slowly just to see the looks on everyone's faces, the tiny two headed dragon was picked up by there father's left head, the other two heads rapped around the chicken giving nips and licks soaking in the other's growing growls. San rapped there neck around the cyborg and Ichi lifted his head, taking in everyone's angry expression before flying away to a secret part of the island, there home. They dropped the chicken with a thud as walked over to a few pillows and gently placed to baby down, the newborn instantly fell asleep. The mother felt like jolting backwards when the three heads turned around with dark expression on there faces. They where frozen in place as the three headed dragon walked towards them, Ni suddenly bit one of there shoulders, no to hard to hurt but enough to startle them and soon the others joined marking up there body with dark blotches and bite marks, the three then stopped looking at there work. " Now that you are officially claimed as our mate, why don't we make some more children" "Don't worry we'll protect you during that time cant have anyone stealing you away" "And when are children grow we can take over the galaxy, as a family"

MechaGodzilla-It was a surprises when a metal baby hatched, but MechaGodzilla didn't care. As he glided up to the egg he looked at the chicken and stated " I told you we are the only robots here, we where made for each other and this is the result" referring to the newly hatched baby, it took a few seconds but there jets started up and they were off going to there home, the newly hatched doing the same thing and the chicken squawking, closely chasing there child as they followed in a line. When all three reached the house the door instantly opened and everyone stepped inside closing when the last person stepped inside. Mecha scooped up his child and put them in a cylinder like object, wires coming out and going into some parts of there body. "It's a charging station" he said before the mother could say anything, "Now you had a long day babe why don't you go to bed, and don't think about escaping, I have eyes everywhere"

Megalon-Out of all the people to have a child with Megalon was the least intimidating father, he made a squeal before running to the front. He lifted and twirled the chicken who didn't mind, though stopped when he saw the faces of the others. "Come on let get out of here" the other nods and grabs their egg while Megalon put his drills together and jump down, making a hole that the other then jumps in. Megalon bursts from the ground and soon the other jumps out to, he opens the door and (y/n) walks threw and then Megalon held his arms out waiting patiently for them to let him hold his new baby. Both were on their couch the newborn between them as they laid in relaxed silence, "you know I always wanted to have a family with you but didn't know how to ask you, but now we can be together, forever"

Space Godzilla- He smugly walked up and put his hand around the chickens waist, he then grabbed the nape of their Childs neck, dropping them in the mother's arms who quickly cached them. As they walked away Space smirked wider as a 'swoosh' behind them hit someone *cough*Megalon*cough* in the face with a light 'ow' in the background. The crater was the same as when they left, Space snapped him fingers and many crystals appeared in a rectangle like shape " Put the baby in there it can act as a temporary crib" he said lighting a cigar and sitting on the chair, the chicken put their child in the crib that somehow had a pillow in it, they watched as the baby curled up and drifted to sleep. They looked at the space kaiju who smirked again beckoning them to come over while also patting next to him, when they stayed still Space lifted them up and brought them over to where he was sitting. They sat down hesitantly, as Space put a hand on their they and blew smoke into their face, " I told you they would get my looks, now what did I say before you rudely ran away from me oh right, you are never getting rid of me baby, now how about we make more children, until we start a new species".

Destroyah-Everyone was quiet when he walked up, as he picked up his kid and held his hand out waiting patiently for the other party to replicate. When they put their hooks in his hand, he swiftly grabbed there waist and lifted them up, the others hooks hanging around Destroyah's neck as he carried both home. The place was dark and (y/n) couldn't see anything, as there adviser adjusted to it they were put down and were shocked when they watched Destroyah rock the baby in his arms before placing them in a crib that looked like it was made of bones. He turns around and walked back over to them, holding their hand out again, as they hooked there hands together Destroyah moved bringing both into a slow dance. They didn't know how long they were dancing but their feet were starting to hurt, he stopped and grabbed there hooked hand and kissed it, "My love our child will be the most feared in the world, and maybe we can give them some sibling, but now who's bones would you love to have you thrown made out of, how about all the other's you slept with"