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amoscontorta · 7 days

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Wine time with Sylus | ao3 | other stories in this 'series'

Summary: Sylus invites himself over, helps himself to your first aid kit and your kitchen, manipulates you into tasting wine with him, discusses his latest business venture, and gifts you more than one present before he's good and ready to finally leave.

Notes: Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, second person pov, no use of y/n

This story contains: fluff, banter, angst, mc with obvious self esteem issues, grief, self-destructive behavior, profanity, alcohol use, criminal activity, allusions to violence, sleepy kissing, biting, inappropriate thoughts regarding kitchen tools, the mental gymnastics mc engages in to avoid acknowledging or recognizing feelings on either side should come with their own warning to be honest, one very thirsty mc whose thoughts are NSFW. This part ends with a misunderstanding that you can bet Sylus will not put up with for long.

In the days following Sylus’s latest little… visit, you’re called out more frequently than usual to counter wanderer attacks. You’re barely home, and the few times you stumble home late into the night, you peel your sweat and sometimes blood-stained hunter’s uniform off right in the entryway, promise yourself you’ll do laundry soon, and drag your aching body to the shower. Then you usually spend what little night you have left lying there with your eyes closed, carefully keeping your mind blank as sleep remains elusive. You have to admit to yourself that the few times Sylus kept you company overnight, you slept like the dead, but you refuse to go so far as admitting that you wouldn’t mind if it were more frequent. If you were to admit it to yourself, which you will not, you only yearn for it strictly for the sake of your sleep schedule, and absolutely not because you’ve come to crave his warm, comforting bulk against your body.

Tonight is no different, but you’re both looking forward to and dreading the next few days, as Captain Jenna has ordered you to take some time off to rest and recover from the brutal schedule you’ve been keeping for months now, capped off by the recent spate of increased attacks. All of your wheedling to let you keep going, that you’re fine, that the people of Linkon need you, that you need the constant distraction, has proven useless. Apparently the frequency with which you are getting injured remains acceptable, but she is finally at the end of her patience reading your barely coherent, misspelled reports with unfinished sentences that you only manage to submit before Association mandated deadlines by the skin of your teeth.

“Go home, get your head on straight, and come back rested … and literate again, please.” She looks back down at the tablet on her desk, trying to dismiss you, but you stubbornly remain at attention at her desk.

“That’s discrimination, Captain. I can be a perfectly functional hunter without being able to read or write,” you protest, while Xavier winces behind you. “I mean, obviously I can read and write, I’m just a little tired, that’s all. Still able to destroy wanderers!”

Jenna’s already formidable expression begins to darken, but you’re not cowed. You open your mouth to helpfully point out that wanderers don’t care about how well you can spell, when you feel Xavier’s gentle hand on your arm. “Come on, why don’t we go together to get some snacks on the way home? I think they’ve started re-issuing that wasabi flavored chocolate bar we tried at the beginning of the year,” he says softly, and Jenna shoots him an appreciative look before proceeding to ignore you both.

You glumly follow Xavier out into the early evening. Rush hour is over, but the sidewalks are still bustling with life. You weave through the mass of humanity, resisting the urge to drop-kick anyone who cuts you off or brushes against you accidentally. I am a role model for the Hunter’s Association, even when I’m off the clock, I am not allowed to arrest someone for bumping into me…. I am not allowed to arrest someone for…

Xavier tries to distract you from your obvious frustration by describing the plot of the latest manga series he’s reading that he thinks you’ll like as you two make your way home. You listen absently, feeling slightly calmed by his soothing voice, despite its graphic descriptions of violence in the manga that you are pretty sure you’re going to really like.

“Are there any hot guys in it?” you ask as the mass of people begins to thin the closer you get to your building.

“Hot… guys?” he blinks in confusion, his impossibly blue eyes flashing in the streetlamps that have just turned on.

“Yeah. Like that other one we read, Help, I, a lowly office worker, went to sleep and woke up as the Queen’s assassin in the book I fell asleep reading. The main guy in that was super hot.”

“Well, it is by the same mangaka, so you’d probably like the way they draw the main character in this one too,” he says uncertainly, but with a strange expression on his face, like he suddenly doesn’t want you to read it with him anymore.

“Okay, I’ll give it a try. Have you finished the first volume yet? Can I borrow it?”

You’ve reached your building, the trees surrounding the courtyard rustling in the soft end-of-summer breeze.

“…Great,” he says after a brief hesitation. He holds open one of the entrance's doors for you to enter the your building’s foyer. Your boots and his echo on the polished floor as you make your way into the lift. “I’ll be finished by tomorrow. How about we go the bookstore and afterwards you can come over and read since we have the day off? You can start volume one, and I’ll start volume 2. Does that sound good? We can make fancy ramen,” he says, his normally sleepy energy spiking with the idea of adding a boiled egg and some frozen vegetables to the normally plain ramen the two of you consume more often than not while on the go. Xavier’s idea of fancy has always been adorable to you.

The idea of not just sitting in your apartment alone on the first day of your forced leave is a welcome one, and you agree that he can come find you when he’s woken up, so that you don’t risk waking him up. He likes this plan, because obviously, you’re hardly sleeping at all, and he sleeps longer than you ever would have imagined possible for humans until you met him. As the elevator approaches your floor and the doors slide open, you’re about to step out when Xavier’s soft voice behind you has you turning to look back at his pretty face.

“It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs, eyes searching yours. “I know you feel like you’ve lost everything right now, and that the pain seems unbearable.”

You quickly turn your head—you were not expecting this sneak attack of sympathy and kindness from him. You nod jerkily, trying not to let his warmth sink into you, or else you might start crying.

“It sounds cliché, but with time, even this pain will fade. And you have so much time ahead of you. I can promise you that. One day you’ll wake up, and it will be slightly less unbearable. That doesn’t mean you forget about what you’ve lost. But you can think of it without… without feeling like you’re destroyed again, every time.” He’s looking at you, but you also have the feeling that he’s looking at something else, from a great distance. Knowing how secretive he is, it’s unlikely you’ll ever know what it is he’s seeing.

You nod again, and whatever he sees in you profile seems to satisfy him as he offers you a soft ‘Goodnight,’ and you scurry from the lift to your front door. You tuck away his words, and push them down deep. You know they’re well intended. But you can’t handle crying right now. Not yet. Not yet. So you focus on possible plans for the days stretching ahead of you.

There is a part of you that’s looking forward to possibly being able to rest, it’s true. But the stretch of empty days, without work and battle and the social interaction of colleagues, had been filling you with anxiety before your plans with Xavier were made. But even after tomorrow, you’ll try to make the best of it. You can… try to remember what hobbies you had, before your life blew up. Maybe you can take up a new hobby! Within the span of a few days. Yeah, you can teach yourself to crochet,or make stained glass art, in a day, right? Online videos are super helpful. Maybe you’ll even deep clean your apartment, and go grocery shopping, properly, for the first time in weeks. You’ll buy vegetables that have to be prepped instead of the hottest insta-ramen you can find and slurping packets of applesauce while telling yourself that it counts as fiber, right? You can cook, and bake! You just haven’t in… a really long time. Maybe you’ll bake an entire cake, and then eat the entire cake. Yeah. You have plans, you think to yourself, pressing your fingerprint to the scanner under your flat’s door handle and pushing the door open when it beeps.

As soon as the door closes with a soft whump, you carefully hang up your blades and pistol holsters on your wall-mounted weapon rack, and then you’re furiously undoing the laces on your knee high leather boots, hopping from one foot to the other as you try to kick them off without actually having to sit down and pull them off. You yank off your socks, then shimmy out of your pants, which you also kick off unceremoniously. You’re going to be positive about this little holiday! You’re so close to being comfortable and staying that way for days. You almost rip your buttons in your haste to remove your shirt, and just as you’ve gotten the last one undone, you finally notice the dark, looming figure in the shadows at the end of your foyer.

You’re in your fucking underpants, barefoot, and your weapons are out of reach due to your current strangulation by your own shirt sleeves.

Heart racing, you throw yourself backward against the door, prepared to make a strategic retreat and escape into the building’s hallway to buy yourself some time to free yourself from your shirt, no matter the cost to your pride at being caught out in your underwear, when familiar scarlet-ink tendrils of energy gently wrap themselves around your waist and softly lift you in the air. You find yourself kicking and squirming like a kitten picked up by the scruff of its neck.

“The fuck, Sylus?” you choke out.

“Why are you still struggling, when you can clearly see that it’s me? Cease, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Why are you using your evol on me without my consent?” you retort, wriggling some more for good measure simply because he told you to stop.

“To prevent you from giving your neighbors the show of their lives without even charging admission,” he responds languidly, eyes the color of sunlight filtering through a glass of wine drifting from your probably red, sweaty face down your barely clothed body.

“Oh, they don’t get a free show, but you do?” you sneer, continuing to struggle to no effect.

“Look at yourself,” Sylus commands, and turns his head as if bored. You note absently that he’s wearing a ruby stud earring in his ear... the one that matches the earring in your own ear. So you never bothered to take it out. That doesn’t mean anything—you’re just lazy. You refuse to think about it anymore deeply than that, and then notice that Sylus not only looks bored, but also looks almost… offended? You do as he asks, and see that his evol is wrapping itself around your body in such a way that its bright-dark tendrils are covering all of your exposed, sensitive areas like a fluid robe.

“Oh,” is all you can think to say.

“Oh, indeed.” He continues to look away from you, aggressively bored, but his evol gently lowers you enough so that your bare feet rest on the ground, and then it loosens, but remains swirling around you.

“Then I’ll… just go get dressed.” You begin making your past him, but stop when you see him nonchalantly hold up a large, elegant shopping bag. It’s black, with some brand name you don’t recognize written in flowy silver script. “What is this?” You look from the bag to his face. He deigns to look at you again. Your eyes drift to his other ear, and you see that where it is pierced is empty.

“Wardrobe options,” is all he says, jerking you out of trying to puzzle out this opaque maniac’s intentions. You take the bag from him and quickly walk to your bathroom. No way you’re going to put on new clothes while feeling filthy from a long day and night of annihilating wanderers. His evol dissipates the moment your bathroom door shuts behind you.

It’s becoming a pattern. Thinking the worst of him, only to be proven wrong. But you don’t know how to overcome the cognitive dissonance of Sylus from your first meeting, and this Sylus who seems intent on taking care of you better than you take care of yourself.

You rinse off as quickly as you can in the shower, towel yourself dry, and take a peek in the bag that he gave you. The first thing you see is a black…? You lift it out of the bag, and it unfolds into a very large sweater. It’s thick, the fabric obviously of high quality. You touch it gently, running your hands along a sleeve—is it cashmere? It’s unbelievably soft. It’s probably a nightmare to wash. On impulse, you lift it to your nose, and take a deep breath.

Your suspicion is confirmed. It smells like him. This isn’t a brand new piece of clothing. This is one of Sylus’s own sweaters that he has worn before. The scent of his clean skin, the sharp tang of gunmetal, the bright burst of citrus, probably from some ridiculously expensive shampoo or body wash. The mix sends a thrill through your entire body: after only a few encounters, you already have bone-deep associations with the way Sylus smells. Fear and adrenaline, yes, but also anticipation—and bizarrely, safety. Instead of feeling terrified, you feel the way you would before riding a roller coaster. Yes, you’ll be screaming and holding on for dear life the whole ride, but you are also inexplicably convinced that in the end, you’ll have your feet firmly planted on the ground, safe again. A part of you whispers that it’s safer to avoid the roller coaster altogether—bolts come loose, wheels pull free from the track, tragic accidents happen all the time. But standing here in your humid bathroom, bone-weary from the day behind you, sniffing Sylus’s unwashed sweater makes you feel more alive than you’ve felt in a very long time.

You pull his sweater over your head, and you’re basically swimming it, it’s so big. The collar is big enough that it threatens to fall off one shoulder. But it’s so soft. And cozy. You hug yourself, and peek into the bag again. There are a few more sweaters, each dark with varying degrees of dramatic flair. This is part of Sylus’s wardrobe, after all. But there are also little sleep shorts, like the ones you were wearing the last time he invaded your home. You pick up a pair—no way would they fit on his big ass. You try, so, so, so very hard not to picture his thick cake stuffed into these tiny shorts.

You fail.

Your brain short circuits for a few seconds.

When it comes back online, you lift out a pair, and the fabric glides silkily along your skin. You’re pretty sure these are silk. They’re black, because of course, but they also have little red … happy pomegranates? Dotted along the hems. They’re adorable. You pull them on over your own bare ass and the sweater-shorts combo is probably the softest thing you’ve ever had on your body. The sweater swallows the shorts and makes it look like you’re wandering around without bottoms on.

You look at yourself in the mirror, silently telling yourself that you shouldn’t get on this particular ride. You don’t know where the track leads, and it scares you. What if it ends over a cliff, and the last thing you ever see is Sylus’s triumphant, cruel face looking down at you as you fall? There are other, less risky rides, certainly ones without wanted posters, right? Right? On second thought, you don’t even have to go the amusement park at all. You’re just fine with trying to get some fucking sleep, with continuing to hone your combat skills, with just trying to be a good person despite really liking knives and being an enthusiastic hunter.

But maybe you can just. Be friends with the roller coaster? Like, you don’t have to ride him. IT. THE ROLLER COASTER. YOU DO NOT HAVE TO RIDE THE ROLLER COASTER. You can just, watch it from a safe distance. You might indulge in little fantasies about what it’s like to ride… the roller coaster. And honestly, fantasies are almost always a hell of a lot better than the reality ever turns out to be. Not to mention! Sylus has never directly expressed any desire to ride … your roller coaster. Sure, he shows up unannounced and cares for you in ways that no one ever has, and he touches you a lot for someone who has no physical interest in you, but physical isn’t necessarily sexual, right? Maybe it’s an evol thing, and the way he touches you has to do with why you both find yourself inexplicably connected for periods of time. Like charging a battery. The point is! There will be no tickets to either ride, thank you, you aren’t open for business and he definitely does not have the proper safety inspection certificates in order, so. No.

You nod firmly to yourself in the mirror. This should be fine. You can be friends with Sylus. You don’t have to let him drag you over a cliff. Maybe you can learn a thing or two from him—he seems to be pretty competent at a lot of things that might be useful for certain aspects of your job. Like intimidating people. And exploding people with a thought and twitch of his fingers. And convincing them to do things they don’t want to do by sheer force of obnoxiousness.

Having sufficiently deluded yourself into believing that your plan of action has a chance of success, you slip out of the bathroom and find Sylus in the kitchen, next to a pretty wine glass that you certainly do not recall owning on the kitchen island.

He’s slicing strawberries with a very sharp knife that you do recall owning, because you do spend quite a lot of time sharpening the set it belongs to. They’re not kitchen knives, per se; you actually have them for work and they are really nice to throw. You already had so many knives before you moved into this place that you didn’t see the necessity of spending more money on probably inferior kitchen knives. But the large, really nice butcher block-style cutting board that he’s chopping the fruit on is not yours. And neither are the delicately arranged variety of cheeses, thinly sliced meat, and savory tarts set in puff pastry that fill up most of the cutting board. And lastly, you do not recall purchasing two bottles of what look like red wine sitting next to the wine glass, nor cleaning your kitchen so thoroughly that Zayne could probably perform surgery in here without worrying about risk of infection.

Despite your presence standing at the island before him now, he continues to serenely slice the ever-growing pile of fruit.

“Sylus?”

“Have a seat,” he says, not looking up.

“Oh, why thank you for offering such hospitality to me, in my own home,” you mutter, pulling out one of the wooden bar stools at the kitchen island. You’re about to sit down when you realize that the repetitive chop of the knife has stopped, and you look up to find Sylus frozen with the knife mid-slice in a fat strawberry. His eyes drift from your neck and exposed shoulder, down the soft expanse of sweater, to your bare legs, and then back again. You’re suddenly self-conscious—he’s the one who gave you these clothes. And now he’s staring at you like a wanderer is about to burst out of your chest.

“Did I misunderstand the assignment or something?” you ask, plopping down on the bar stool in the hopes of breaking him out of whatever weird trance he’s apparently glitching in. He swallows, flicks a final look at your shoulder, and then goes back to slicing.

“I’m simply shocked that you actually did as you were told, for once,” he responds, seemingly unruffled again. “You should also put one of the sweaters in your go bag as a backup in the event that your uniform gets destroyed, again, which it does at an alarming rate these days. The Association’s overheads for keeping you clothed must be in the stratosphere.”

“Mm, yes I’m sure you’re very concerned about the costs of doing business for the Association.” You rest your head in your hand, propped up by your elbow on the counter. The two of you sit in companionable silence for a while, with only the snick of the knife filling the space between you. The lights underneath your cabinets are on, emitting a soft warm glow from below, but you notice that he hasn’t put on the harsher, brighter overhead lights. The city’s skyline blinks serenely like an endless fleet of starships in the dark expanse of space through your windows, and a cool breeze wafts in from time to time.

Finally, Sylus is done, and he carefully rinses the knife in the sink and sets it on the counter. He turns back to you.

“No interrogation regarding why I’m here this time?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s wearing a light sweater in a deep grey, of a style quite similar to the one you’re now wearing. He looks domestic, and delicious, and you tell yourself sternly that he is friend shaped, you will not ride the Sylus roller coaster, you will not ride the Sylus roller coaster—

You have to say something. “Oh, are you missing my very effective questioning techniques? Sadly, I left my handcuffs at the office,” you lift your shoulders in a what can you do? gesture, and his eyes follow your bare shoulder again.

“Handcuffs aren’t the only means of restraint available to a truly resourceful hunter,” he says, shaking his head as if disappointed. “Your lack of imagination is boring.”

“Okay, Sylus. But only because you’re basically begging for it: why are you here?” You lift a puff pastry and brandish it at him like a knife. “Answer honestly, or you’ll really get it this time!” You take a big, aggressive bite as if to illustrate what he’s got coming to him in case of his non-compliance, and then moan because what the fuck, this is so good, is it goat cheese and honey? And suddenly you’re devouring it, licking your fingers clean when you’re done because you can’t get enough.

“This definitely counts as an enhanced interrogation technique.” His voice is low, and has a rough quality to it that normally isn’t there. You glance up from slobbering all over your fingers and find that he’s staring at you in what is probably disgust.

“Ha, yes, and I’ll keep subjecting you to it until you tell me what you’re doing in my home, again. And how did you even get in? I never got you a key.” You finish licking yourself like an animal and reach for a strawberry. If he’s going to play chef in your kitchen, who are you to refuse to enjoy the literal fruits of his labor? You just live here and pay the damn rent.

He holds up the index finger of his right hand, which is sporting a band-aid that you recognize as one of the same kind you have in your first-aid kit. They’re super cute, with a design of sad little cartoon mushrooms. “I was at my accountant’s, which happens to be in this neighborhood, and I got a paper cut while signing some documents.”

You pause before biting into the berry. “You… came to my flat. With extra clothing, wine, wine glasses, and various appetizers, in order to get a band-aid for your paper cut. Is this a correct summary of events?” You decide you’re not going to wait for him to answer, and take a big bite of the strawberry, feeling some juice drip down your chin. You catch it with your index finger, and then suck the juice off after you’re done chewing.

There is a long pause, and you look up to find him staring intently at your finger. You widen your eyes and wave your hand in the universal gesture of hurry the fuck up, get on with it already? He closes his eyes for a moment and breathes deeply. Apparently you’re so horrifying to witness eating that he needs to seek some zen before he can answer. It’s not your fault that he brought you half of his wardrobe and wine glasses but didn’t think to bring any napkins. “Yes, that is a correct summary of events,” is all he offers.

You look at him.

He looks back at you, occasionally flicking his gaze down to your mouth and back to your eyes. You consider baring your teeth at him just in case he wants an eyeful of the strawberry undoubtedly stuck in them, but refrain because you’re polite.

“Okay. Do you care to explain the motivation behind these events?” you ask slowly, thinking that maybe you will brandish a real knife at him to hurry up this so-called interrogation so you can straight up devour the rest of this charcuterie board that this wanted criminal has inexplicably prepared in your kitchen.

Fortunately, you don’t have to go for the knife, because he begins to speak. “There was a wine merchant that looked rather appealing on the way to your place. Since you revealed a deplorable lack of discernment when it comes to selecting a good bottle of wine the last time you hosted me, I thought I’d do my civic duty for the week and educate the less fortunate on how to choose, and enjoy, a decent bottle of wine.”

“I see.” You nod slowly. “That’s very civic-minded of you. You’re truly a model citizen. And the food?”

“It’s not wise to have a wine tasting without something to eat. Otherwise, you might find yourself making questionable decisions. We wouldn’t want that, would we, sweetie?” he seems to have recovered from his nausea at watching you wolf down food, because he says this with a playful lift of a silver eyebrow.

“Because letting a man whose baggage includes a wanted poster into my home whenever he wants could hardly be considered a good decision, and I made that one while sober,” you sigh. “I see your point.”

“Exactly. Just imagine what kind of trouble you could get into after a bottle of wine on an empty stomach?” He tilts his head to the side, and runs a middle finger slowly over his brow.

You shudder, because his big hands. You can’t pursue this line of thought.

“And the clothes?”

“Now you won’t need to borrow your partner’s clothes in case of an emergency. And I’ll have something to wear at my safe house in case you decide to assault me with beverages again.”

“That was one time. And if you don’t show up, then there’s no chance you’ll be assaulted. Therefore, no need for a change of clothes. And, pardon me, but your safe house? I think you meant, my flat. But what you’re telling me is that the whole reason you were coming to my flat in the first place was to put a band-aid on your boo-boo.”

He lowers his hand and begins running his thumb along his lower lip. “Even a small cut can turn life-threatening if not treated properly. And I wouldn’t want a scar, now would I? It’s not much of a safe house if I can’t make use of it when in danger of lasting bodily harm.”

“Mmm yes, what with your evol that renders scarring impossible for you, we wouldn’t want your paper cut to cause you lasting bodily harm. And you couldn’t acquire a band-aid at a pharmacy, perhaps like at the one next to the wine merchant I’m pretty sure you’re referring to?” You refuse to look at his big thumb pressing into his thick, soft-looking lower lip. You stare up at the ceiling, and consider cataloguing wanderers in your head to stem the sudden urge to vault over the island counter separating him from you and pulling that damn thumb into your own mouth.

“They didn’t have a box containing such cute little designs. I never knew I wanted anthropomorphized fungus to decorate a bandage intended to protect an open wound until I saw your own box.”

It takes you a second to remember what the hell the two of your were discussing when you realize he’s talking about your adorable little mushroom band-aids.

“A wine snob, and a band-aid snob.”

“I prefer the term cultured, but yes, I’ve told you before. Life is too short to waste on the inferior. Your sad little champignons surpass all others.”

He’s done it again. He has hardly even moved this entire time, and has managed to exhaust you to the point of blissful indifference. He shows up unannounced, rifles through your first aid kit, decides what you’re going to wear both this evening and in the future when you need a spare change of clothes, and has prepared an hors d’oeuvre spread worthy of at least a mid-ranged restaurant for you to eat while offering you a wine tasting? Fine. “Okay,” you say, reaching for another one of those puff pastries.

He watches you steadily for a few moments, as if trying to sense a trap. “That’s it?”

You shrug. “Sure. I told you that you could use my house if you needed it. I’ve just learned my lesson: next time I’ll be very careful in drafting the conditions of any deal we make, since your interpretation of certain terms appears to vary wildly from any reasonable person’s.”

“I think I’m quite reasonable,” he examines his nails. “I come bearing gifts, and this is how you show your gratitude? By insinuating that I'm unreasonable?”

Another thought occurs to you. “How did you even get in, Sylus?”

“Ah,” he says, squinting and looking out the window, as if contemplating a very deep philosophical question. “While you were sleeping last time… I took the liberty of adding my fingerprint to your door’s fingerprint scanner.”

What. The. Fuck. “What. The. Fuck.”

“Again, it’s not much of a safe house if I can’t access it without your presence. I didn’t think you’d mind. It’s not like I can’t just use my evol to teleport into your place anyway, but I thought you’d appreciate me coming through the front door. Fewer feathers. You didn’t seem to like cleaning those up the last time I teleported out of your place.”

You just stare at him. How would he even know that you cursed him, loudly, as you were mopping up the mess of blood and feathers he generously left in your entryway after being shot? And then it comes to you. Mephisto. Of course. You pinch the bridge of your nose, and visualize violently shaking that bird until his circuits are rewired.

Sylus continues, ignoring your mounting rage. “Come to think of it, we should probably upgrade your locks, kitten. It was laughably easy to override the system and add my print as authorized for entry.”

Forget riding the Sylus coaster—you think that maybe he isn’t even friend shaped after all. He might just have slid right back to enemy shaped. Frenemy shaped? Where does a frenemy lie on the spectrum of “fuck his brains out” to “polite, but distant acquaintances?” But then you remember that it’s not a linear spectrum, and fucking his brains out is not mutually exclusively to being mortal enemies. You’ve read enough enemies-to-lovers romances to know that perfectly well, so even if he is enemy shaped… you shudder. Why are you like this? You redirect your self-disgust and deflect, like a true emotionally well-adjusted adult:

“Why can’t you be normal? Like, do you do anything like a normal person?”

“Why would I pretend to be normal when I’m so obviously extraordinary?” he scoffs, looking at you like you’re the unhinged one in this little situationship.

“Sylus.”

“Yes, my heart’s delight?”

You stare at him, and he gazes back at you, leaning leisurely back against your counter, arms folded and long fingers slowly tapping out a rhythm on one bulky bicep. You know that if you remove his authorization on your locks that he will just teleport himself right into your place, and you’ll be endlessly cleaning up feathers. And you also really don’t want your neighbors to wonder who the hell the creep is loitering around your door at all hours of the night and then start asking questions if he actually honors your request not to simply appear in your place on a whim. You did previously offer him a key. Which he declined. Apparently because he was already planning this. You run your hand along the back of your neck in an effort to relieve some tension. “You can’t just let yourself into my place anytime you want. There need to be rules.”

“Fair enough. Provided that they’re not moronic, I can follow your rules.”

“And who decides whether they’re moronic or not?” you ask, knowing the answer.

He just smiles at you, radiating satisfaction.

“Okay. Rule number one—” you begin, only to be interrupted as he lifts a finger.

“I’ll follow your rules, if you promise to taste the wine I brought with me tonight.”

Even though you had already resigned yourself to whatever he had in store for you tonight, you can’t help arguing at this little added condition. “No, the deal is, you can use my flat, with your fingerprint, when you need it, if you follow the rules,” you huff.

He starts shaking his head. “I’m afraid not, kitten. You should have set rules at the beginning of our deal. You can’t just impose new conditions halfway through. A deal’s a deal. I suggest keeping that in mind the next time you have to deal with anyone else less… generous, than myself,” he intones, as if you’re a somewhat lacking student in need of instruction.

“So you’ll follow the rules if I promise to… taste wine tonight?” you ask, hoping that you can catch him out on a technicality and beat him at his own game. He considers for a moment, but must see something in your expression, because his eyes narrow and his smile widens to reveal his sharp canines.

“I’ll follow your reasonable, and not moronic, rules if you promise to taste the wine I brought tonight, with me,” he says.

You need to work on your poker face. You need to get Sylus to teach you how to improve it. Ugh.

“Fine.” If this means more food can happen soon, and honestly, yeah, a glass of wine, you’ll accept anything at this point.

He straightens from the counter and claps his hands once, looking more eager than you think you’ve ever seen him. “Excellent, let’s begin.”

“You didn’t even wait to hear what the rules are,” you protest, watching him fish out a wine corkscrew from his trouser pocket. It looks heavy, with a handsome wooden handle, and the stainless steel flashes under the soft lights.

“Send them in a text, I’ll redline them and return them to you, you can counter, and so on and so forth until we have an agreement. Like any proper contract negotiation. For now, it’s wine time.”

And with that, he sets to work opening the wine, humming a little tune so off-key that you have no idea what melody it’s supposed to be. It occurs to you that you’ve never used a corkscrew as a weapon, but as Sylus uses the small blade to slice through the foil covering the neck of the bottle, and then unfolds the lethal-looking twisted screw and begins expertly driving it into the cork, you realize that it could come in really handy in a fight. And there’s something else that’s really appealing to you—the combination of the contained savagery of the corkscrew, the assured movements of Sylus’s hands, the penetration of the cork—you feel a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the sweater you’re wearing.

“See something you like, kitten?” Sylus’s smoky voice drifts into your thoughts, and you look up, realizing you’ve been unabashedly staring at his beautiful hands, again, and the corkscrew, with undivided focus for the past few moments, and he has noticed.

You clear your throat, and then gesture weakly at the corkscrew. “That’s uh, a very nice looking wine opener.” You nod to emphasize your very normal approval of this very normal household item, because you are not thinking any thoughts about Sylus’s huge hands or screwing or penetration. None.

“Good eye. I’m rather fond of this model. I’ll have one delivered to you,” he says as he firmly pulls the cork from the bottle with a soft pop. He sets it on the counter, and picks up the other bottle.

“Oh, that’s not necessary. I’m sure it didn’t escape your notice that the kind of wine I drink tends to come with a screw cap instead of a cork,” you decline, shaking your head. You can buy your own damn self a corkscrew for tucking into your pocket if you ever find yourself at a wine bar that doesn’t allow patrons to be armed, but you anticipate needing some kind of weapon.

“Refuse me all you want,” he murmurs, and you feel like there’s an implied part of that sentence that he’s just not saying out loud. But then he’s repeating the opening process with the second bottle, and you suddenly find the night view outside your window immensely fascinating, because whatever is continuing to happen in front of you is just. Boring. Utterly sleep-inducing. You can’t look or else you might just pass out from the tedium of it before you even get to taste the wine. And a deal’s a deal, as Sylus is fond of repeating ad nauseum.

After hearing the soft pop of the other bottle, you sigh and turn back to find Sylus holding the wine glass and pouring the first bottle’s wine along the inside of the glass until it reaches the widest part of the bowl. For the first time, you notice that there’s only one glass on the counter. But before you can comment, Sylus begins to lecture.

“Now, if this were an ideal tasting, I’d have brought a decanter to let the wine breathe properly for an appropriate period of time before pouring. We'd also be using a container for spitting each mouthful out in between tastes, to avoid the intoxication and poor decisions I mentioned earlier and interfering with our judge of taste. But since we only have two bottles to try, and it’s just you and me here, I took the gamble that you wouldn’t mind if we were a little less formal.”

You wait to see if he has any other fun facts to share, but he’s looking at you to confirm that indeed, you can live with not waiting even longer to taste this wine that better have gold leaf flakes in it or something to justify this amount of ceremony and can also live with not… spitting out said wonder wine after tasting it.

But you recognize that Sylus appears to be truly passionate about this, and he’s looking at you so earnestly—you do not have the heart to meet his sincerity with sarcasm, when he's so sweetly trying to teach you something new.

“Your gamble paid off. I don’t mind at all,” you say, meaning it. He perks up and gives you one of his almost smiles, with just the corners of his generous mouth lifted. He then proceeds to explain, in great detail, what type of wine this is, where the grapes for it are grown, its signature characteristics, what year it was bottled, and how it was received by the international wine community. It’s all actually quite interesting, except once again, right now you’re at the end of a long day, you’ve run the gauntlet of interacting with this unpredictable force of nature walking around in the body of an extremely attractive man, and you feel like you should be taking notes to actually retain any of this information.

After he seems to have informed you to his satisfaction and is looking at you expectantly, you nod. “That is… very fascinating. So how do we go about actually tasting it?” You might be an uncultured heathen, but even before Sylus’s lecture, you knew there are rules when it comes to tasting wine. You just always had other things you needed to learn first, like the weakest spots on a wanderer or human body. Or the best method of sharpening knives for the sharpest edge. Or how to clean guns to prevent jamming. How to affix a scope on a sniper rifle and measure the effect of wind speed and direction on a bullet’s trajectory. Or whether you should use baking soda or baking powder as leavener when baking certain kinds of cake. You have priorities. But tonight, it seems, is the night for you to learn about wine.

Before he answers, he moves around the kitchen island to where you’re still seated on the bar stool and leans down, gently spinning your stool so that you’re facing him instead of the counter. He then pushes the one next to you closer and seats himself. Even sitting, you have to look up into his face. You suddenly realize that the way he has positioned the stools puts him so close to you that his long legs don’t have anywhere to go—he just spreads them so that one is stretched out on one side of you, and the other is between your own, his knee incredibly close to your lap. If you shift forward even a little, you could grind on him.

Why is he doing this to you? What does he want? But then it occurs to you that Sylus has never seemed to either recognize or respect boundaries like a normal person—maybe this is just how he interacts with his friends. Constant, small touches, no sense of personal space. You wonder if he and the twins huddle together on the couch, sharing a blanket, while watching something on television.

So maybe you’re the freak, imagining riding this poor guy’s meaty thigh when he’s only just trying to share his appreciation of a sophisticated beverage with you. You close your eyes. It doesn’t matter whether he’s playing this little game on purpose or not. You refuse to let him see how much his proximity is affecting you, because then he wins. You don’t know what he wins exactly, but you will beat him before you let him have it. You try to think about his big hand choking you, but instead of having the intended effect of reminding you why you should never even consider buying tickets to the safety hazard now wedged between your thighs, it has … unforeseen consequences instead. What has this man done to you?!

You open your eyes, reach across the counter and grab a handful of carefully cut pieces of cheese, and then promptly stuff them all into your mouth at once. When in crisis, cheese is always a good solution. Except for maybe the blue cheese you accidentally mixed in with the Manchego or whatever-the-fancy-fuck he brought with him. Aaaand now you’re going to smell like blue cheese for the rest of the night.

You stare at him defiantly as you chew with puffed cheeks, and brace yourself for whatever is coming next. He side eyes you, face impassive.

You’re expecting some biting comment, but “Well, that’s one way to make sure you’ve eaten enough to absorb the alcohol,” is all he says. He slowly slides the glass with two fingers along the base across the counter until it’s sitting between the two of you. “Whenever you manage to finish inhaling all that dairy, we’ll be sure that we’ve given the wine enough time to breathe.” He pauses. “It occurs to me now that while I was preparing the food, I didn’t think to ask if you’re lactose intolerant.”

You deliberately chew as slowly as you can, making him wait as a punishment for making you feel things that you should not be feeling. When you’ve swallowed, you shake your head. “Fortunately, not one of my many flaws.”

“It’s not a flaw.” He shrugs. “How can anything you can’t control about your body be a flaw? And Luke and Kieran are lactose intolerant, so I always have lactase enzyme tablets on me to avoid… unwanted consequences when they decide to have a cheese tasting contest.”

You cock your head. “A what now?”

He rubs his middle finger between his eyebrows. “Yeah, they can’t help themselves from making a competition out of every single human activity, so on the nights the chef prepares a cheese board with dinner, they try to outmatch each other regarding who can identify the most flavors of cheeses without cheating by asking the chef or querying Mephisto or searching online. Or asking me, because I’m undefeated.”

You stare at him, and think if there’s ever any universe in which you voluntarily return to the base where Sylus kept you captive for days and touched you like he owned you, hand violently clasped in his, where you were terrified for your life, exhausted and confused… and if you ever have a friendly enough relationship with the chaos twins, you’re going to practice your ass off so that if you’re ever invited to such a competition, you can wipe the floor with them. Their cheese-off sounds fun.

Your train of thought is derailed as it registers how smug the last thing he said was. “You’re undefeated,” you repeat, giving him a chance to redeem himself. “At identifying cheeses by taste.”

“And smell, yes. So I’m not allowed to play anymore. My palate is too refined, and they know they don’t stand a chance.”

Oh, you’re definitely going to start sampling cheese every week. You cannot let this smugness stand.

“Ah yes, his royal snobness and his impeachable palate,” you roll your eyes. “Now, will his grace the Duke of Gouda please get on with the wine instruction?” You would give him a little mock bow, but that would put your face right in his formidable cleavage and you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from motorboating his unfairly huge pecs. Ugh.

He snorts. “Finally, you’re showing me some long-overdue respect.”

You nod gravely, thankful that the aether core in his eye is not currently delving the depths of your depravity. It’s time to focus. On wine.

“So why do you have to let wine breathe before drinking it?” you ask, because you’re focused.

He looks pleased that you’re interested enough to ask a question. “Much like people, it’s good to expose a greater surface area of the wine to fresh air for a while—it allows undesirable scents and flavors to dissipate, so that it tastes better when you do take a sip than if you drink it straight after opening.”

“Well aren’t you wise, philosophizing about wine and people,” you smile. You find yourself being surprised again and again tonight—at his presence, his bearing gifts, his surprisingly sweet attempt to teach you something, his kind takes on lactose intolerance and what people need to be healthy.

“Did you think I only consist of feathers and spite?” He lifts the wine glass by the stem with one hand, and your hand in his other. He gently wraps your fingers around his own.

“Let’s not forget hubris and violence.” You watch as he gently swirls the wine in the glass held between you. His hand is so warm compared to your own.

“If that’s all, then you still have a lot to learn about me,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t seem offended. Almost as if he’s simply determined. To do what, you’re not sure. “I’d tell you that you should always hold a wine glass by the stem so that the heat from your hand doesn’t affect the temperature of the wine through the glass itself. But your hands are so cold—I don’t think that would be a problem for you. But if you want people to think you’re a connoisseur, you should anyway if you’re ever on an undercover mission. Now, before you take a sip, inhale the scent we’ve just released by swirling the wine.”

You do as you’re told, and lean over, hovering just over the edge of the glass and taking a deep breath. The scent of the wine, warm and deep, fills your senses.

You look up at him and smile again. “It smells really good.”

“Of course,” he lifts the bottom of the glass with his free hand so that you can straighten, and guides your other hand to support the glass while slipping his own from around the stem and allowing you to hold it by yourself. Your hand immediately feels cold again. He leans one elbow on the counter, “I chose it for you. I’m not going to let you drink plonk.”

“Plonk?” What a cute word.

“Shit wine.”

“Mmm, not allowing me to drink shit wine, you’re truly a knight in shining armor.”

“I don’t need armor, kitten. Now that you’ve established that the wine hasn’t gone off by smelling it, you can take a sip.”

You’re about to lift the glass to your lips, when he reaches up and runs his fingertips along your wrist to stop you. “As you do, don’t swallow immediately. Roll the wine with your tongue in your mouth, and try to really think about what flavors you can taste: can you detect the oak from the barrels, earth, tannin, fruit or spices? Is it sweet or dry?”

You nod, mouth suddenly dry. But you follow his instructions and take a slow sip, rolling the rich liquid around in your mouth, and then slowly swallow. A familiar warmth spreads from your stomach, radiating out through your body. His blood bright eyes follow the movement of your lips, your throat. “I taste… fruit.” You pause, trying to appear very serious about finding the perfect description of flavor. You take another sip, close your eyes. “Yes, very fruity notes. Grapes, in particular.”

You open your eyes to find him scowling at you.

“Aren’t you the comedian?” he growls. “I’m going to revoke your wine privileges if you don’t take this seriously. How are you going to feel confident if you ever need this knowledge on a mission? Or on a date?”

You just laugh at him and try to turn a little on the stool, lifting your arm to keep the glass out of his reach, but his knee between your legs prevents you from moving, and he easily leans forward, fingers drifting up the length of your arm to then wrap around your own hand on the stem. He carefully pulls it back between the two of you. Your hand feels warm again. Safely wrapped in his.

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned my needing to know how to pass as a wine snob on a mission. What kind of missions do you think I’m regularly going on?” You gently lift the glass again, pulling his hand with you, and take another sip. It really does taste so good. You can’t tell if it’s wildly different than the wine you normally get, but you know it doesn’t taste like it’ll leave you with a headache in the morning.

He shrugs. “If we didn’t have to bring the place down when we were at the auction, people would have been watching you at the dinner banquet. What would you have done if people started to notice that you were clutching the wine and swigging it like a drunken toddler and started to suspect that your behavior wasn't matching your cover identity?”

You gasp. “Excuse me, you don’t know how I normally drink my wine!” Who does this bastard think he is? And here you were, thinking he was sweet, sincerely trying to share one of his interests with you. “I don’t need you patronizing me regarding how I’d manage at a formal event or on a date! I’ve been on plenty of dates where I was able to drink wine without driving off my partner.” You try to pull away from him, and the wine sloshes dangerously with your movement.

“Sit still,” he commands, holding your hand tight with his and placing one large palm on your bare thigh. You immediately freeze. “I watched you gulp wine from a mug the last time I was here,” he retorts.

“So you think that just because I don’t care what you think, I can’t read the room and act according to the demands of the situation?” The indignation coursing through you is amplified by the wine spreading through you.

“Then is it fair to say that you didn’t feel the need for any pretense between us last time because you’re so comfortable with me, and not because you’re as civilized as a cactus?” he asks, running his thumb gently back and forth along your inner thigh.

Your brain is being scrambled by his thumb, how close he is to you, his clavicle exposed by the V of his sweater’s neckline, the scent of his warm, clean skin, the wine going to your head after a long exhausting day.

“I’m saying I don’t feel the need to impress you in my own home when you show up uninvited and demand beverages and band aids,” you finally manage. You’re warm. Too warm. “And what’s wrong with being a cactus?”

“Did I say there was something wrong with it? Cacti can survive the harshest conditions on earth and still produce the most beautiful flowers. And they hurt when they stab you.” He smiles like the thought pleases him immensely.

You can’t process this. He says shit like this so easily—he can’t possibly mean it in the way you are trying so hard to deny that you want him to mean it. You refuse to be lured in, only to see the cruel lines of his face when he realizes you have pathetic feelings for him. The man who could as easily rip your spine from your ribcage as offer you a glass of wine, if you lose your usefulness to him. A usefulness you still don’t know the nature of.

You’re suddenly viciously aware of how close he is to you, how he is watching your face with an intensity that makes you feel like the use of his aether core is unnecessary: you’re afraid that he can see everything you’re feeling, and you hate it. You need space. “What are we even doing, Sylus?”

His eyes drift from your eyes to your mouth, and you try very hard to steel your expression, to conceal how utterly raw and exposed he’s making you feel. You can’t tell if you’re successful, when he finally lifts his hand from your thigh and runs the back of his knuckles with such softness along your cheek that it makes you ache. You resist the urge to turn your face and nuzzle his palm.

“We’re tasting wine, sweetheart.” He leans back, pulling the glass of wine you’re still holding with him. He inhales deeply, and then takes a sip, eyes glittering over the rim, watching you. “It is a good vintage. But it’s not the only one I brought.” He guides your joined hands to set the glass on the counter, and then gets up, rounding the counter to rummage in a bag on the floor on the other side. When he stands up, he’s holding another wine glass.

You do a double take. “You brought two glasses?”

He looks from you to the glass in his hand, then back to the glass still on the counter, and then lifts his eyebrows. “Is this a trick question?”

“Why haven’t we been drinking about of separate glasses then?” you demand.

He shrugs. “That glass is for that bottle,” he nods to the glass sitting next to you. “This glass is for this bottle.” He gestures at the other, untasted bottle sitting on the counter. “No need to rinse our glasses in between tastes.”

You want to laugh, and cry. You’re so fucking done with thinking for tonight.

“Okay, Sylus. Whatever you say,” you sigh.

“Oh, I quite like the sound of that,” he smiles, one canine peeking over his lip. “Then you’re going to enjoy the sorbet I brought for us as a palate cleanser.”

He proceeds to go to your freezer, scoop out some of the aforementioned sorbet that has apparently been in there all evening into a bowl, and takes the stool next to you again. This time, he situates one long leg on either side of you, caging you in. He takes a spoonful and offers it to you. “This will help rinse your palate so that you can taste the next bottle without any lingering effects of the other.”

You look from his seemingly guileless face to the spoonful of sorbet. Yup, you’re really done thinking for tonight. You lean forward and open your lips. He slips the lemon sorbet into your mouth. His eyes remain on your lips as he pulls the spoon away, dips it back into the sorbet, and brings it to his own mouth.

After he continues to trade spoonfuls with you until the sorbet is gone, he pours the second glass of wine, and you both take turns sipping it in companionable silence.

“Now tell me. Which one is your favorite?” he asks after you’ve finished the second glass, and return to the first to finish it as well.

“I like them both,” you shrug. “Sorry for not having a more sophisticated answer.” You’re feeling drowsy and loose. He can walk off a tall building for all you care if he doesn’t like your answer.

“They’re both excellent wines. Each one is suited for multiple situations or meal combinations. They’re versatile, just like you are. And I don’t require any particular answer, except your honest one. I think you already know that you don’t need to put on an act for me, ever.”

You rest your elbow on the counter, mirroring his position, and rest your head in your hand. “Why would I pretend with you, if you can just force the truth out of me?”

“I will never do that to you.”

You look away. “You’ve already done it to me once before. What else is there to hide, when you’ve seen the ugliest parts of me?”

“I will not do it again. Not unless you ask me to,” he says so solemnly that you’re tempted to be a fool and believe him. “And is that what you think? That what I saw was ugly?”

You sit up, take the glass from him and knock back the rest of the wine in one gulp. You can't do this right now. You can't think about the the violent hunger, the savage thirst, that his eye brought from the depths of your soul when he forced his way into your deepest, darkest desires the night you met. The extent of how much you wanted to kill him, and make it hurt, when you thought he had killed Caleb and your grandmother. How you still feel that hunger and rage, with every wanderer you kill, every time you hope some dealer in modified protocores resists arrest so you can put them down, with prejudice.

“I’m tired, Sylus. Thank you for the lesson. Now I can successfully fool rich assholes at upscale dens of corruption and unsuspecting dates into believing that I’m a sophisticated connoisseur of overpriced beverages, and swindle them all. And I’ll never horrify you again by swigging wine out of a mug like a drunken toddler. You should invoice the Association for your services. In the meantime, I’m going to try to get some sleep.”

“I see. You’re still on guard, and defensive, when you're drunk too. How fascinating.” He narrows his eyes, not seeming to get the hint that you want him to leave now.

“I’m not drunk. I’m maybe tipsy, and I’m fucking tired. I’m going to bed.”

“All right,” he says easily. He stands and begins tidying up the counter.

“All right,” you repeat, feeling a little dizzy, a little empty. “You know where the door is.”

“As you say,” he says serenely, pulling out food storage containers you also didn’t realize you own and packing the food away.

“Thanks again,” you say, because you are polite, dammit. You make your way into the bathroom and begin getting ready for bed. When you emerge, your flat is dark. The kitchen looks pristine in the streetlight drifting in through the windows. You stare for a moment longer, wondering if maybe he’s finally given up on whatever his agenda with you is after your little emotional display tonight, and he’ll stop coming by now. You’re fine with that. Maybe this is what you’ve needed to do all along. Get drunk and sloppy. Guarded, defensive, he called you. What an asshole.

You pad into the bedroom, yawning, pulling up your phone to look at it as you walk. Maybe you should try listening to audiobooks to try to help with the insomnia. Like, boring ones with deep, sexy voiced narrators who can bore you to sleep like Sylus did the other night. You crawl onto the bed, and then—

“The fuck, Sylus?”

He’s sitting in the middle of your bed, sweater off and replaced by… nothing. Just the expanse of his big, creamy chest. And he’s wearing a pair of silky looking loose, black pyjama pants. An impossibly soft looking line of silver hair drifts from his tight navel, disappearing under his waistband. His gold-rimmed glasses are perched on his nose, like last time, and he’s scrolling through something on his tablet. He glances up at you, but then goes back to his… spreadsheets?

“Haven’t we already been through that little routine tonight?” he asks, and yawns. “I’m getting déjà vu.”

“What. Are. You. Doing?” you seethe.

“Going over the financials from the meeting with my accountant today.”

“Why?” You just sit there on your knees, on your bed, gaping at him like an idiot.

“To ensure that my next acquisition is suited to purpose.”

“What?”

His gaze flicks to you, and he pushes the glasses further up his nose. “Well, I made a promise that I wouldn’t change a thing about my latest business venture, so now I need to ensure that the next chain of businesses I acquire can serve one of the functions I had intended for the arcades.”

“What function is that?” you ask, curious now, despite yourself.

“Well, one of two primary functions,” he amends, tapping his temple thoughtfully with a finger.

“Okay,” you say slowly, inviting him to continue.

“Money laundering.”

You shake your head. “Come again?”

“Oh, I’ll be happy to. Thank you for the invitation. I wasn’t sure I’d ever receive one again, what with your heavily implied dismissal earlier.”

“Sylus!”

“Yes, my most precious gem?”

“What do you mean you intended to use the arcades for money laundering?” You want to cry even thinking about it.

“To be fair, after you asked me so sweetly not to change a thing, I immediately agreed. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“But that’s why you wanted to buy them?” How many times can a heart hurt in one night?

“I said that was one of the two primary reasons I wanted those arcades,” he says, reaching out with one hand and softly stroking your knee.

You look down, watching his calloused fingers drifting so sweetly across your skin. How can this man be so cruel and so gentle at the same time?

“What was the other reason, then?”

“Guess.”

“I’m done playing games with you tonight, Sylus.”

“When was I playing a game tonight?”

“Fine, don’t tell me. Just promise again that you won’t change anything about my favorite arcade.”

He sets the tablet on his lap, and reaches over to grasp your hand. He links your pinkie with his, and lifts it to his lips. “I already promised. And I promise again.” He seals the promise with a brush of his lips, and then rests both of your hands on the bed between you.

You don’t know why, and you will probably never know why, but you believe him right now. It’s clear that no matter what you do, he will not be leaving tonight without great violence on your part, and once again, you’re just too tired to fight him anymore. He reads your body like a damn book, because he silently hands you the glass of water that was sitting next to him on the nightstand. "Even if you're not drunk, but only maybe just a little tipsy," he says, doing an awful imitation of your voice. "You should still drink some water so you don't feel terrible in the morning."

Perhaps because of your easy compliance with his reasonable advice by simply taking the water and drinking it, he seems to deem it safe to pull you into his side. You go down, resting your head on his thick shoulder, and let your gaze wander over his tablet.

“So what are you thinking of buying this time?” you ask, yawning.

He shifts, lifting your head so that he can wrap his arm around you, repositioning you so that you’re tucked a little closer under his chin, cheek resting against his chest. “A chain of casinos.”

“Casinos?” you laugh softly. “That’s on brand, I guess.”

“Mmhmm.” He runs his fingertips absently along your arm, from wrist to elbow and back again. “Lots of money changing hands. Ideal for functioning as a washing machine for the dirty proceeds from the weapons business, which comes out clean in the pockets of lucky winners.”

“You make your living profiting off the worst in people, you know that?” you ask sleepily, the numbers on the screen blurring.

“They’ll continue being terrible, with or without my involvement. I don’t make them take the bet, or pull the trigger. And if I don't, someone else will put the chip or gun in their hands. Might as well be me collecting the paycheck.”

“Maybe, through the power of friendship, I can change your mind,” you murmur. You don’t think you’ll need that audiobook to fall asleep tonight.

“Friendship, huh?” Sylus asks, but when he looks down at you, he sees that you’ve already fallen asleep. He traces the long sweep of your eyelashes across your cheeks with his eyes, feels your measured, calm breath drifting across his skin. He gently touches one finger to the ruby earring you haven’t taken out yet. The thrill of satisfaction he felt when you answered the door still wearing it would sustain him for weeks. He is absolutely certain that it won’t be the power of friendship that’s going to change him.

He pulls you a little closer into his chest, snorts when he feels you begin to drool onto his pec, and continues scrolling through his tablet.

That night, you dream. You’re walking through your childhood home—but not your childhood home from before your memories, because you will never know what that home looked like. This one, the home from your earliest memories, with its wood panelling on the walls, old-fashioned lace curtains in the windows that you can’t see out of, because it’s pitch black beyond the glass. Hallways lengthening at the same pace as you can walk down them, boots echoing on the polished hardwood floor. You walk and walk, and you can never reach the end. Doors that won’t open, but you know Caleb might be behind them, because in your dream logic, his bedroom is behind every door you pass. You turn the handles, but they remain locked. Sometimes you think you can hear the sound of someone biting into an apple, crisp flesh giving way to sharp teeth, but the door won’t open no matter how hard you throw yourself against it. You hear your grandmother speaking, just around every corner, but you can’t understand what she’s saying. You follow the sound, and every time you think that she’s just around the next turn in the hall, the corridor stretches in front of you again, empty.

You have been in this empty house for years now, and you’re afraid that you’ll never be able to get out. But you’re more afraid that once you get out, you’ll never hear them making these particular sounds again, this slim proof of their existence echoing through the empty hallways.

Slowly, you wake up, and in that endless moment caught between your dream and reality, it’s just peaceful and black—you are coming from somewhere so far away toward something you know will hurt, and you’re not ready to feel that yet. But then a feeling of suffocation is overwhelming you, and you open your eyes to realize you’re literally being smothered by a very big, very warm body.

The relief you feel, the gratitude, that Sylus is still here, that you aren’t waking up alone, again, from the nightmare in your sleep to the reality that the nightmare is real, and you’ll never be able to see your family again, is more overwhelming than your current need for oxygen. Sylus is still here, and the yawning emptiness you were carrying with you for what felt like years during that long dream dissipates in the warmth of his body against yours. You can’t help yourself. Your throw your arm that isn’t being crushed by him over his torso and hug him tightly to you, giving in to the urge to nuzzle his chest and just listen to his steady heartbeat.

You lie like that for awhile, blissfully listening to his soft breathing, when suddenly you realize that pressed so close to him, you can feel every contour of his body, from your chest against his abdomen, his muscular, silk-covered thigh wedged between your legs, and his apparently very, very big dick pressing into your hip.

You freeze, feeling like the creep you have accused him several times of being. He’s just sleeping, and you’ve plastered yourself against him like a vacuum sealed burrito. You have absolutely no business being utterly thrilled that this part of him matches the rest of him in terms of size and intimidation. You will not be taking this joy stick for a test drive. You can get out of this. You’re a very good hunter, and you can evade detection and make a tactical retreat when necessary. And it’s very necessary right now, because you do not want him to wake up and find you attached to him like a love-sick leech.

Slowly, sooo slowly, you slide your arm from where it is slung over his waist, and begin to incrementally scooch backwards, his leg slipping from between both of yours, freezing when he seems to shift a little, and then continuing the slow slide away when he settles again.

You’ve managed to extricate all of your limbs from him, except the one that is currently numb and squashed underneath him. You slowly roll onto your back and contemplate how you’re going to get it out from under him without waking him, when suddenly his arm flops over your waist. You jerk in surprise, eyes flying to his face, but his are still closed. His hand slides from your waist to your hip, and then snakes around to take a big handful of your ass. He makes a little happy noise and then pulls your body into his again. In the process, he has managed to jam his thigh back between your legs. You stare at his face, trying desperately to see if he’s starting to wake yet—how did you even end up in this situation? Then he pulls you even closer, causing his thigh to press deliciously against you. You suppress a whine, because it has been so long since someone has touched you liked this. But of course the person who is touching you is a maniac and is doing so while still asleep. You reach up and pat his cheek to wake him up, simultaneously trying to to pull away from him, but tightens his arms around you again, dipping his head to your shoulder still exposed by his too-big sweater. You freeze in shock as he inhales deeply and hums, and soft kisses trail from your neck down, and before you can push him away he bites into the meat of your shoulder. The pain, pressure, and warmth of his mouth on your skin have you trying to arch away and into him—you do whine this time, loudly, because it hurts but you want.

Suddenly, his whole body seems to tense. The pressure on your shoulder eases, and he sighs, his breath cool drifting along your over-heated skin.

“Good morning.”

You open your eyes, realizing you’d been squeezing them shut through the last few moments, and meet his sleepy gaze.

"Were you awake?” you demand, terrified of the answer. Because if he was, then what the hell was he thinking, pretending to be asleep? And if he wasn't, was he just dreaming? Was it you in his dream, or was he dreaming of someone else? You don't want to know. You have to know.

“Your rather loud response to my love bite woke me up, I think,” he smiles softly. "I didn't realize that I was... dreaming until then."

“So you didn’t mean to—” you start to pull away.

He tightens his arm around your waist. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Sylus, let go. I’m sorry for not waking you fast enough. I was just—I was just shocked. I know you wouldn’t have done that otherwise.” You struggle, but his arm is a steel bar holding you in place.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t have,” he agrees, and you feel whatever fragile, tender root that had been growing in the cracks of your broken heart wither, the dry husk drifting away in an autumn breeze. Replacing that faint feeling of hope, you're livid that you do not share the same teleportation ability that Xavier and Sylus have. If you could, you'd teleport in a poof of glittering light or melodramatic feathers. To anywhere else but here.

You nod, and nod, and nod, because he’s not letting you move but you have to do something or else he’ll see it right on your stupid, open face, and you’d rather he slit your throat than see the pain his rejection is inflicting on you. You had lied to him earlier, about not having anything to hide, about always being honest with him. You've been lying to yourself, and to him, ever since you met him.

“What I mean—” he’s looking at you intently, and you want to cover his eyes with your hands, because as always they’re seeing too much, but suddenly, the doorbell rings through your flat.

You both turn your heads to look at the bedroom door at the same time.

Oh. Fuck.

Xavier.

Sylus turns to look back at you, so close that his nose brushes yours. “Expecting company, kitten?”

“It’s Xavier. Shit.” You try to roll away, and this time he lets you. You grab your phone off the nightstand and see that Xavier has already texted you a few times to see if you’re ready to head to the bookstore yet. The texts grow increasingly concerned the longer you don’t respond. The doorbell rings again. “You have to go. Now.”

You turn to Sylus, who is now lying leisurely on his side, head propped up in his hand, silky silver hair cascading across his forehead, occupying the bed like an imperialist force annexing a weaker neighbor’s territory, with no intention of leaving.

“And what are you going to do?” he asks, eyes drifting from your face, to your shoulder, down to your bare legs.

“I need to answer the door and tell Xavier that I’m running late.”

“Late for what?”

“Sylus, I don’t have time for this. You can’t be here. Xavier helped me get into the N109 zone, he spends a lot of time there—he’s smart enough that if he finds out what you look like, he might eventually be able to figure out who you are. You can’t be here,” you repeat, starting to panic. Sylus may not have any feelings for you beyond friendship or a predator toying with its food, but you still don’t want him to get caught because of you.

“You’re not working today. What plans do you have with him?” he asks, completely ignoring your distress.

“We’re going to the bookstore. We were going to spend our first day free just reading manga and eating junk food,” you rush out impatiently.

Sylus just looks at you for a few beats, the picture of lazy boredom on a weekend morning.

“Okay? Are you satisfied? Can you please leave now?” This is good. You can avoid the inevitable, It was a mistake, thought you were someone else, was dreaming about a giant amorous anthropomorphized ruby, you’re not exactly my type, because my type is someone who has their shit together, can identify what fucking region a certain grape was grown in and its exact soil acidity based on the year of the vintage, my type is someone else, anyone else—you reach down and hit yourself hard in the side of your thigh with a fist to get your head on straight, and start heading to your closet, intent on throwing on a robe or longer shorts so that you don't answer the door looking like you're not wearing any pants.

Sylus's irritated voice follows you. “Satisfied? No, I'm not feeling satisfied. But I would advise against answering the door wearing that.”

You jerk to a halt. “Excuse me?” You turn to find him scowling at you.

He waves a dismissive finger at the sweater and silk shirts you’re still wearing. “I think you should change before you answer the door.”

“I look that bad, huh? Thanks for the advice. You need to be gone when I get back.” You turn, hating everything and everyone, and make your way to the front door.

You throw it open, just as Xavier is lifting his hand to ring your bell again. His sky blue eyes, usually so calm and sleepy, widen when he takes in the dumpster fire that you are today.

“Hi, yeah, sorry. I overslept,” you rush out, hoping you can skip this part and go straight to the moving on with your day and your entire life part. “I just need like, fifteen minutes, and then I’ll be ready.”

“Did you get in a fight with a wanderer last night after we go home?” he asks, hand lifting again, this time toward you, as if he wants to touch you, but then thinks better of it and drops it back to his side. He’s wearing the white hoodie that Sylus stole from him. What even is your life right now?

“What? No, I just had some wine and was really tired.” He’s staring at you, brow furrowed now, and it takes a minute to realize that he’s staring at the sweater hanging off your shoulder. You suddenly get a really, really bad feeling. “Why?”

He lifts his hand again, and points, but in a kind of timid way, like a little kid who knows that it’s rude to point but can’t help himself anyway so just points a little so that his mom won’t get mad at him. “It looks like a wanderer bit you.”

You lift your own hand and touch your shoulder, and feel the too-warm skin there, the ache spreading deep into the muscle.

“Oooh, yeah. Yes.” You decide that you need to take acting classes. That is what you will do as your new hobby, on your few days off. You’re going to win the best actor award if it kills you, because if it doesn’t kill you, the embarrassment will kill you instead. And you’d rather die convincing everyone that everything is normal and you’re fine, and not from the embarrassment of the fact that your not-boyfriend, not-fuck-buddy, not-interested-at-all, probably not even your friend anymore Sylus accidentally bit you while fucking asleep and left evidence of it for all the world to see. “I did respond to a really minor alert in the neighborhood last night. It was only one wanderer. Hiding in a trash can of all places,” you laugh, not at all sounding unhinged. Convincing. “Bit me pretty good, but it really was nothing, I had completely forgotten about it. So, still on for the bookstore?” you ask, chipper, eager, well-adjusted!

Xavier stares at your shoulder for a few seconds longer, and then just nods. “Yeah, just text me when you’re ready.”

Bless him. You’ve almost put him back to sleep with your absolutely stellar performance. “Okay, great! See you soon.” You back into your flat again and let the door shut with a heavy click.

Xavier stands outside your door for several moments after you’ve scurried back inside. He thinks about how sharp his light blade is. He thinks about how he’s going to use it on whatever motherfucker thinks that he has the right to mark Xavier’s partner like an animal. And then he yawns, and meanders back to his own flat to wait for your text because he has all the time in the world, and the patience to match it. Xavier is your partner, and he’s not going anywhere, anytime soon. If he murders whatever asshole was in your flat last night right now, that might interfere with your bookstore plans with him.

You stand on the other side of the door for a moment, just trying to collect yourself. You lean against the cool surface, look up at your ceiling. Breathe in the smell of shoe leather, oiled metal. Absently you lift your hand to your shoulder. Why didn’t Sylus warn you before you went to open the door? He even admitted that he wouldn’t have … done that to you if he hadn’t been asleep. Why would he just… and then it hits you. He did tell you to change clothes before you answered the door. The asshole just didn’t tell you why. But he would know by now that you’d actually do the opposite of whatever he says, because he’s not the boss of you. He played you like one of his fucking records.

But why the fuck would he want Xavier to see what happened between the two of you? Does he enjoy your humiliation that much?

You have no idea if you’ll ever have the chance to figure him out, especially if he got the hint that you don’t want to see him anytime soon. You shake your head. Even though you should be exhausted after staying up so late and ending up on the human embodiment of a roller coaster with its wheels coming off despite all of your promises to yourself last night, you feel well-rested. You will survive this. You can survive anything.

You head back to your bedroom to confirm that Sylus is actually gone, because last night proved that whether he actually listens when you tell him to leave depends entirely on his own whims. As you enter, the late morning sunlight spills into the room. He really left. The room is empty. The books and various weapons on your nightstands have been stacked neatly and lined up just so. The clothes that had been left haphazardly hanging off your chest of drawer handles or strewn over the floor are nowhere to be seen. It would be the tidiest your bedroom has been in weeks, if not for the fact that your entire bed is covered in a thick layer of black feathers.

“This bitch,” you breathe.

It’s going to take at least two full size trash bags to clean this mess up.

You decide then and there that Sylus doesn’t have a choice about whether he’s going to see you again. You’re going to bag up these feathers and then tar and feather him with them the next time you see his gorgeous, petty fucking face.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #l&ds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #my fanfic #love and deepspace fanfiction #this is over 13k long so if anyone actually reads this you're a goddamn hero #i've already written sylus's pov of this mess but it needs fleshing out #absolutely self indulgent over the top comfort food #which is what sylus is to me

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jellinuy · 3 months

Note

(saw your announcement so imma get this in real fast) post jjk! ( everyone lives bc gege is a menace) gojo, reader, and suguru living together :3

( roommates! )

౨ৎ incl. satoru and suguru.

౨ৎ a/n. first time i've actually written something that's NOT a drabble in like forever. can't decide on a format!! also i thought of reader being like their shoko, so this is completely platonic! urrghhh sorry this took me forever

living with the strongest duo would include...

Big house, first of all, because Satoru bought it. I’m talking, like, the three of you live in a penthouse, big.

Two VERY different sides of the house. Satoru's messy room consisting of strewn socks on the floor and food containers littered across his desk and an unmade bed and not a single cell in his brain to fix any of it until you or Suguru get on his ass: he says he has other things to worry about.

On the other hand, Suguru is something of a nagging mother when it comes to his sector of the house. Clean sheets every week, clothes in the hamper immediately after taking them off, shoes in his closet in a neat row, etc. You and Satoru like to joke about him having OCD.

Late night snack runs!! It usually starts with one of you complaining about being hungry at an ungodly hour, way too late for snacks but craving snacks anyway. It’s usually Satoru who gets you two up by video calling you from his room, making noise until you can’t take it anymore and decide to get up.

Suguru does most of the cooking. Satoru isn’t bad at it, per se, but he’s too lazy to try and so are you, let alone make big enough batches for three people.

Suguru is also lazy at times, but less than Satoru, so you two designated him as your personal chef.

Of course, there are always days when none of you feel like cooking — those are Satoru’s favorite days. You’ll order takeout (with his money), heaped in a tangle of legs and arms across the couch as you eat and binge watch whatever you three happen to find.

Suguru usually makes you guys lunch for work or school if you ask. Or even if you don’t.

Pillow fights! Or any kind of play-fight that involves throwing things at each other. They're usually initiated by Satoru when the mood strikes, and he'll literally beat you and Suguru over the head with pillows until the stuffing is everywhere or until you physically can't breathe.

A group chat! Satoru’s a frequent texter, Suguru not so much, whether it’s to show you two a picture of a stray cat he found, to ask what’s for dinner, or to beg for something.

Strangely though, when you or Suguru question him on why the trash isn’t taken out, he goes quiet.

Those two are the kind of boys who come into your room to knock something over and just leave without closing your door.

Movie nights are a must on weekends, unless one of you is extremely busy. That’s how the three of you unwind without really saying you need to unwind. You cuddle up on the couch in pajamas in one big messy heap and turn on a movie (based on who wins rock-paper-scissors) with a mountain of sugary and salty and spicy snacks at your disposal.

The three of you trust each other completely, so deep conversations are occasional, but comfortable. Neither of them would judge you for crying or being anxious or anything, and vice versa. When you need a hug, they’re there for that, too.

It’s not rare for the three of you to share a bed, or even cuddle. Granted, it took some getting used to at first, but now none of you find it weird, and it’s comforting to have a 6 foot heated body pillow, especially during the winter.

You three have an insane amount of inside jokes, and you bicker like siblings. Anyone who doesn’t get it would probably be concerned how much you insult each other.

“Shut the fuck up Suguru, didn’t you used to swallow balls?”

“Oh, shit.”

“Satoru, aren’t you still a virgin??”

“Fuck you! Y/N, what the hell are you laughing at, didn’t your date flake on you the other day??”

“Suck my dick!”

And then you’ll go back to whatever you were doing before like it didn’t even happen.

Whenever you or Suguru need to go shopping, you usually ask Satoru to Cashapp you before you go. He pretends to put up a fight, but to a guy who sees $2,000 as pocket change, he really doesn’t care. Hell, take one of his cards, go nuts.

#ᴊᴇʟʟʏ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇʙᴏᴏᴋ .ᐟೀ #ᴊᴇʟʟʏ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀꜱ 𓈒 ˖༉ 𓇼 #platonic #suguru x reader #satoru x reader #gojo x reader #satosugu x reader #geto suguru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #also i hc that gojo can’t really cook it’s just funny to me #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff

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dreaisgrayte · 6 months

Text

NSFW I See All | Kyojuro x reader

A/n: just a lil something ♡

MDNI/stalking/smut/mentions of plastic surgery/a bit psychotic/crazy loves crazy

I did it all for you. Our marriage fell apart because I was too complacent. I pushed you away with my lack of attention and late nights at work.

I will never make that mistake again.

You look beautiful tonight, your eyes aren't as puffy as the night you handed me the divorce papers. I could tell you'd been crying and it made my heart ache to know I'd been the reason. Yet, here you are, dining with me at the small Cafe you'd been frequenting after our separation. Though, all you seem to mention is my name. How much you loved me and how little faith you have in this ever working out.

Given the way you don't meet my eyes fully you don't know. How could you? I spent most of my money to make sure you wouldn't know. All I can think about is how good my plastic surgeon is and how delicious you'll taste cumming on my tongue like before I'd let you down.

I'd become a hungry man, starved even. I prayed to only drink your ambrosia, feast upon the supple flesh of your body, and worship you for eternity. I required no sustenance unless given by you.

"Kyojuro was good to me," my name from your lips brings my attention back to the physical you. For the last 3 months I'd been consumed by fantasies that the real you was a shock to my system. I was being selfish thinking of what I wanted to do with you when you're in front of me, craving the attention I hadn't been giving you.

I reach out to caress your bare arm, the contact nearly making me grow erect. A gentle smile curves the corners of my mouth upwards. "I can be good to you too." The words were said in earnest, but what I truly meant was I can be better for you. There wouldn't be a moment of dissatisfaction for you. I would fuck you until you were peacefully asleep, food ready when you awoke in the morning.

A smile flutters across your lips, the ache growing in the pit of my stomach as you lean forward. "Even if I'm still in love with my ex husband?" The boiling sensation floods over until I'm dripping with anticipation.

My cock had been tortured enough by the realistic memory of your cunt taking it to the very base. The temptation to grab your hand and lead you back to my car was growing by the second. "Especially then." I huff out and you lean back with a far off grin.

"Would you like to come back to my house?" You muse, your eyes finally staring into my own. "Back to our house?" Her words sink in after a beat and my eyes widen as I slowly turn to meet her gaze. "Really Kyojuro? Did you think your own wife wouldn't recognize you? Or could it be how careless you are about your surroundings?"

"What?" A cloudy emotion curls around my stomach as I watch the woman I've been obsessing over ever since I lost her.

You fold your hands under your chin, a leizurly grin molding your lips. "I was there Kyojuro, every time you were watching me I was watching you twice as hard."

I can feel my cock harden at the thought. "I knew there was a reason I couldn't let you go." I laugh, ready to leave this place and fuck you hard into the mattress of our room. You smirk.

"No, Kyojuro, I was the one that didn't let you go."

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yandersluv · 22 days

Text

Kael the stalker

ᴛᴡ: ᴍᴀʟᴇ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ, ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇs: ʜᴀʀᴀssᴍᴇɴᴛ, ɪɴᴀᴘᴘʀᴏᴘʀɪᴀᴛᴇ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ, ᴅɪʀᴛʏ ᴛᴀʟᴋ, ᴘᴏssᴇssɪᴠᴇ ʙᴇʜᴀᴠɪᴏʀ, ɴᴏɴ-ᴄᴏɴsᴇɴsᴜᴀʟ sᴏᴍᴏᴘʜɪʟɪᴀ . ғᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴍᴅɴɪ

ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇsʟᴜᴠ — ♡

Kael was a man consumed by an unhealthy, obsessive fixation on [Reader]. His light blue eyes would often gleam with an unsettling intensity when glancing at her, as if analyzing every detail of her appearance down to the face. This clingy stalker would appear unexpectedly wherever [Reader] went - in front of her home, at her favorite cafes, even lurking in the shadows around the college campus. Kael's very presence seemed to exude an air of possessiveness, his towering figure (at 6'4") making [Reader]'s body frame look almost doll-like in comparison whenever he loomed nearby. The Yandere's sole desire revolved around [Reader]- being near her, talking to her, learning everything about her, even if it meant violating her personal space. His fingers would frequently brush against her arm or hair as he "accidentally" bumped into her or playfully came very close .Kael's words dripped with insidious affection, often bordering on the verge of possessiveness. He'd profess his undying devotion, proclaiming [Reader] as "his light in a dark world" or "the air he breathes.""

As Kael's fixation intensified, his behaviors became increasingly inappropriate and borderline disturbing. One memorable instance was when he "discovered" [Reader]'s secret crush on a particular boy from school by rifling through her diary. Kael proceeded to confront the poor fellow, proclaiming their "common interest" in [Reader] and "offering" him a chance to step aside. The poor boy was understandably terrified, having no idea what Kael was capable of. Kael also started showing up at [Reader]'s window at night, his silhouette clearly visible as he whispered her name with an almost desperate urgency. If she didn't emerge, he'd leave her gifts or love notes, sometimes even small trinkets he'd stolen from her room while she slept, under the guise of being "get a souvenir." He would often corner her in secluded areas, pinning her against walls or trees as his hands roamed over her body, claiming she was "made for him" and that he could feel their souls connecting. His breath would grow hot against her ear as he muttered filthy promises, his hardening erection pressing against her through their clothes. Kael even went as far as to break into [Reader]'s house, hiding in the shadows as she prepared for bed.

As Kael's obsession with [Reader] deepened, his actions became increasingly perverted and depraved. One night, after tailing [Reader] home from a late shift at work, he found her curled up on the couch, half-asleep. Her fatigue only seemed to spur his desire, and he moved in silently behind her, his hands roaming her body with an ungentle touch. Kael's fingers slipped beneath the hem of her dress, tracing the warm, supple flesh of her thighs. [Reader]'s sleepy protests were muffled as his hand continued its invasive path, sliding higher to cup the swell of her ass. He squeezed roughly, pulling her back against his rigid erection. "Mmm, so responsive even in your sleep," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. "I wonder what else you're craving, my little [Reader]..."His other hand slid up to roughly fondle her breast, thumbing her nipple through the fabric of her bra.

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kaleldobrev · 1 year

Text

Pillow Talk

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Summary: A common theme of yours and Dean’s pillow talks happen to be about having that white picket fence and apple pie life

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Just Fluff

Authors Note: I’ve just really been in the mood for my fluff filled Dean | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

What initially started out as two friends finding comfort in each other’s arms after a nightmare or after a rough hunt, ended up becoming one of the best things to ever happen to either one of you; despite breaking an agreement the two of you had made when you first met. When the two of you first met several years ago, the two of you made the agreement that you were never going to become anything romantic, keeping it strictly platonic – strictly business. But over time, the lines blurred. Lingering touches that were once friendly turned into romantic ones. Accidental brushing of the hands that once meant nothing turned into ones that made both of your hearts flutter, giving each other goosebumps. Forehead kisses and cheek kisses lingered, came more frequently – sometimes in the middle of the night out of nowhere. But these kisses were always welcomed, making the both of you feel safe, feel loved.

Neither of you knew when the lines got blurred, but they did. The two of you were no longer just friends or business partners now; you were lovers too. Always finding comfort in each other, finding comfort in the simplest of touches, and the simplest of affections – affections that both of you desperately needed, desperately craved.

The two of you were lying in bed together, your head resting on his shoulder with one hand resting on his chest in order to feel his heart beating underneath your fingertips. Your legs were intertwined with each other, and his arm was wrapped around your shoulder, pulling you in close. He kissed the top of your head, and you gently closed your eyes briefly at the feeling before making eye contact with him. Your hand that was once on his chest made contact with his face, his stubble always felt nice on your very smooth skin. “Hi.” You smiled gently.

“Hi.” He replied back, leaning in and kissing you. The kiss was brief, but you cherished those ones the most. The soft ones, the ones that felt like he was trying so hard not break you even though he knew he couldn’t. “Do you ever think we could ever do normal?” His question seemed out of nowhere, but it wasn’t remotely. The talks of normalcy was something that Dean had been bringing up a lot lately.

“Like white picket fence and apple pie stuff?” You asked, your hand returning to his chest.

“Yeah.” He said. “You think me and you will ever have that?” His question was a simple one, but yet the answer was a complicated one. Dreaming of a normal life was something that had been on your mind for as long as you could remember; but it always seemed so far from your reach. You grew up similarly to Sam and Dean; as your father too was a single dad who was a hunter. It was only you and him growing up, and he tried his best to give you the best life that he could despite never staying in the same place for too long. Despite him not wanting you to be a hunter like he was, it was the only life that you had never known, starting up on the road with him when you were less than two years old.

“I’d like to think we could.” You finally answered, hesitant in your response. “It’s just…” You sighed. “Hunting is the only life I’ve ever known Dean. Hunting is normal to me, not hunting isn’t.”

“Not hunting…it’s a weird feeling at first but…it’s something you get used to. Get so used to that…it’s almost hard to go back.” Dean started to explain, his voice almost sounding sad, as if he was thinking about past memories of when he didn’t used to hunt. There were at least two times you could recall: when he was little, and a few years before you had met him.

“But yet you always find your way back.” You knew more than anything how much Dean had craved a normal life, but despite that normalcy that he craved, he always found his way back to the hunting life without fail; because in a weird way, it was a life that he was meant for, just like you.

“Yeah but, I didn’t have you before.” His words had made you smile. You didn’t realize how much of an impact that you had made on Dean in the little amount of time that you had known him. Yes, you’ve known him for the past couple of years, but the two of you had only started officially dating a few months ago.

“Really think I'd be able to help you stay out of the hunting life? Despite me only knowing that life?" You asked, your question a serious one.

”We’d help each other out. Keep each other in check.” His solution sounded so simple.

”I think you’re gonna end up keeping me in check more.” You said, no longer keeping eye contact with him. Your eyes now fixated on the invisible patterns you were drawing on his bare chest with your fingertips. “This won’t be…equal.”

”Hey,” he began, tilting your chin up, almost forcing you to re-look at him. Looking at his face now, his features seemed so much softer than they previously did. “I know we’d have our rough patches. But, I really do think we’d be okay.” Again, his response sounded so simple.

”Dean –” before you could finish your retort, Dean had cut you off.

”Y/N, Sweetheart.” His hand moved to cup your cheek. “Give yourself a little credit.” He said. “How many times have I gotten hurt on a hunt and wanted to automatically go back out the next day and you stopped me from going?”

”But that’s…different. You were hurt.” You understood where he was coming from, but at the same time, you felt as though it wasn’t the same thing.

”I know it’s not the same thing but…Look, what I’m trying to get at here is, you are capable of preventing me from going hunting.” You audibly ‘Oh’d,’ finally understanding his point.

”I guess, I guess I never thought about it that way.” You said.

”And that’s what Sammy calls perspective.” Dean smirked.

”I know what perspective means Dean.”

“Smartass.” Dean mumbled.

”How is that remotely–” Dean cut you off again, but this time by kissing you. For some reason (not that you minded of course) this was always Dean’s response whenever he knew that he wasn’t going to win in an argument with you; kissing you to shut you up.

The pillow talks that you had with Dean whether you had sex before or not always centered around the same theme: normalcy, not hunting. It was talks where the two of you could have a realistic yet unrealistic conversation about what your lives would be like. You had wanted more than anything (much like Dean), to have that normal life, away from hunting. But the two of you had loved this life, grew up in this life, were meant for this life.

Even though normalcy is something that you and Dean talk about often, it still seemed so far out of reach, despite it being so close. Dropping the hunting life seemed like an easy thing to do, but at the same time, you knew, just as well as he did, that the two of you would still be looking at the news wondering what creature was responsible. Thinking how easy it would be to take care of it. “Not my problem,” was a phrase that you knew you could never say.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @beansproutmafia @queenie32 @deanwanddamons @missy420-0 @jackles010378

If you’d like to be added to a tag list, let me know!

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #spn #supernatural #spn imagine #supernatural imagine #spn one shot #supernatural one shot #reader insert #female reader #dean x reader #dean x you

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klausysworld · 1 year

Note

Can I get some fluffy Klaus headcanons where he’s dating someone who cooks/bakes? Not as a career, but as a hobby

Klaus and his little baker girl:

When Klaus met y/n she didn’t know that he was a hybrid. She found it odd and somewhat worrying with how little he ate and often cooked or baked things for him whenever she saw him.

She knew her food was good, she’s had many friends and family members tell her so and so if he didn’t eat her food then she knew something was wrong.

Thankfully Klaus has good taste in all senses and nearly licked the plate clean.

He could see the glint of relief in her eyes and the warmth that spread through her when he told her how delicious her strawberry tart was and it made his heart swell.

It was clear to Klaus that this was y/n’s love language, giving to him and caring for him.

Klaus wasn’t used to walking in to a warm meal and a smiling face each night.

Every night he made sure to stop at y/n’s knowing she would have something ready for him no matter how late he showed up. He found that since knowing her, he felt hunger for something other than blood but instead for actual food and for her presence.

No matter what she was making: a stew, a roast, a steak, a pasta dish, a fish dish, something savoury or something sweet. Whatever she served him, was always delicious. And he always wanted more.

He wasn’t sure where she got all the time from to bake him his shortbread, brownies, angel cakes and other little treats. Between him being at her house and her being at work while he’s amongst a war, he didn’t know how she managed to find the time for her hobbies. But he was thankful she did nevertheless.

Klaus was certain that if he weren’t supernatural then he would’ve had diabetes from the amount of sugar she fed him. At one point he questioned if she was trying to ‘fatten him up’ to which she laughed and offered a ‘maybe?’ back to him.

He loved how sweet she was, so soft and innocent in the best of ways. Her biggest worry was that he didn’t eat enough and her main wonder of each day was what she would cook for dinner.

And when she accidentally found out he had a big family, her first thought (after getting upset that he didn’t tell her) was to invite them all for dinner. He was very reluctant but he couldn’t tell her big eager eyes no, not when he knew it was something she would love.

So after a lot of threats and physical fights, Freya, Elijah, Kol, Rebekah, Hayley and Hope all arrived at miss y/l/n’s home along with Niklaus of course.

She had made a mix of foods for them so they could pick what they wanted and made some simpler dishes for young Hope as the fancy foods didn’t appeal. It was something that instantly made the Mikaelsons like her and also have them all see the love shine in Klaus’s eyes. True, pure love.

It was the first of many things the mikaelsons would try from y/n.

Once she became a frequent visitor there and they came comfortable at hers, they were almost always snacking on something.

Elijah had a craving for cobblers and crumbles, Freya had taken to anything with strawberries in it, Kol went for anything in sight and Rebekah wanted to try everything at least once. Meanwhile Hope and Klaus were slowly learning some of y/n’s recipes and Hope was making slight alterations to make them more to her liking.

Often Klaus would notice y/n adding a cake to Hoped lunch box and sneaking out of bed early to set the breakfast table.

If she were to ever miss a meal then every mikaelson was on alert thinking she was missing.

If she didn’t bake something for a couple days then they were trying to find what was wrong and when she got too stressed and over baked Hope was bringing brownies to school while the vampires in the compound would come and steal a biscuit.

Everyone loved y/n’s baking and her cooking. Many times Freya, Rebekah and Hayley had tried to tell her to open a coffee shop but she argued she like her other job just fine and liked that food was something she did because she loved and not because it was a responsibility.

The mikaelson home was a brighter place with her cheerful smile and loving nature.

Klaus was so much happier with her caring nature around him. So much warmer as a person, whether or not it was the constant sugar rush or the flood of affection, he wasn’t sure but he loved it either way.

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mrsdarkandyandere7 · 2 years

Text

Dark HOTD: Non-Con

Dark Daemon, Aegon, Aemond and Jace.

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

(female reader)

WARNINGS: Non-Con; Mentions of Somnophilia; Unconsensual use of aphrodisiacs; Manipulation.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback.

Daemon

Daemon is witty and cunning and even after you make it clear that you don’t want to share a bed or a chamber with him, he still appears in them. You wake up in the middle of the night, the room swallowed by darkness and you find Daemon between your legs, sucking and licking you. You’re too weak by sleep and pleasure to fight him, even when he enters you.

Or he’d have some special tea sent over to you, so similar to the regular one that you’d never doubt that the maids switched teas under their master’s orders. It’d make you feel hot and bothered, flames of desperation inside your body that craved for Daemon’s cock to satisfy you.

You’d end up begging him to fuck you and he’s obviously oblige, but not before letting you beg for a good amount of time. It’s arousing to see how much of a slut you’ve become for him, when you were the one to shut down his advances. How the tables have turned.

“Go on, repeat yourself once more. I do not believe I’ve heard you correctly. You need me? Is that so? Lost your attitude already, princess?”

Aegon

Aegon is the one that does not hesitate before forcing himself on you. Your body is his, after all.

More often than not, he barges into your private chambers in the late night, for you to satisfy his hunger and he won’t take a no for an answer. Even if you’re already asleep, he’ll roughly wake you up with the force of his thrusts, uncaring of your sleep.

Aegon is insatiable and it shows. If you try to repel him, he’ll strike you before shoving you to the bed, manhandling you into doing what he wants. He keeps you busy until dawn and in the morning, you’ll have deep circles underneath your eyes as you attend to your royal duties as Aegon soundly sleeps back in your chambers.

The servants are very well aware of his behavior, especially your personal maids as they are the ones to wake and prepare you in the morning when they find you in a miserable state.

But no one is capable of helping you, you’re on your own with your husband.

“You fucking dare to refuse me? I’m your husband and future king, my word is the law and you shall obey me. Now spread your legs and take it like a good wife.”

Aemond

Aemond is your husband, so how in seven hells are you supposed to refuse him? He’d understand if these are rare occasions, but if it’s too frequent then Aemond is going to suspect your motives for denying him.

Are you not happy by his side? Do you not feel the same for him as he does for you? Do you have someone else?

Aemond is quick to realize that something is not right and he starts hovering over you like a hawk. The little freedom you had is readily stripped away and you find yourself smothered in maids and guards at all times, all of them holding down Aemond’s order to never allow you to leave their sight.

The maester is constantly checking you up for any disease symptoms while Alicent keeps making mortifying comments about your sworn duty towards her son.

Aemond is so passive-aggressive towards you whenever you decline him, making comments about your responsibilities or about your nonexistent lover.

The whole situation is so dramatic and ridiculous that you end up giving in to Aemond’s desire, allowing him to make love to you whenever he wants, without refusing him. You’re able to regain some liberties back but that also quickly comes to an end as you soon find yourself with child.

“Do you have someone else, is that it? If not, then why do you keep refusing me? If you won’t tell me the true reason, then from now on you’re prohibited from leaving the perimeter of the castle.”

Jace

Jace is not going to force you but he will get somewhat desperate and end up manipulate you into having sex.

Is he not a good husband? One that always takes care of you, respects you and he never forced himself on you after marriage even though most men would, then you should also retribute the favor by being nice. It’s this but in sweeter terms.

And even if you are a bit reluctant, Jace will promise to take it slow and that you can try other things before doing the actual deed but as soon as he has you naked in front of him, he’ll end up convincing you to make love.

If you try to stop him, Jace will just silence you by swallowing your pleas into a deep kiss, quickly burying himself inside you. Once he’s inside, no point of stopping right? Might as well finish off and see if he can fill you up with his child.

“Do you not love me back? Do I, your husband, repulse you so much that you can’t even take my touch? Have I not treated you with utter respect and dedication? Then why is it too much to ask the same from you, my love?”

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victoria-grimesss · 9 months

Note

Can I request smut headcanons of how Dammon, Rolan, and Zevlor react to accidentally overhear his fem s/o masturbating while saying his name? She isn't aware that he was there since he was busy earlier!

masterlist ->Warning: light smut, talk of self-pleasure. ->A/N: MDNI! Sorry this one is a bit shorter than the last, some act three spoilers.

->Dammon: He was always working. You didn't blame him, since coming to the city his forge was one of the most popular in the city, but that new popularity was depriving you of him more frequently than you'd like. He worked nearly day and night, collapsing on the sitting area sofa most nights instead of your shared bed. So, you took matters into your own hands. Your hand would dive lower, and you would try your hardest to imagine it was your Dammon, saying his name enough for him to wake up and think something was wrong. Could you be ill? But as soon as he would enter the room his cheeks grew warm, and you grew embarrassed. The air was stiff before you spoke, "Dammon. I-" You were quite at a loss for words, now feeling your cheeks heat up from his stare..which was getting darker and more piercing. He would brace himself on the door frame before speaking. "Darling. I didn't realize how often I have been working. You need only ask and I shall be at your side." You sit up in bed, blankets bunched to your chest. "Well, may I ask for you by my side then?" "You wish is my command."

->Rolan: You had very little time for anything romantic until lately. The goblins, druids, shadow-cursed lands, and Kethric Thorm were all so much. But city life proved itself adequate and calming for your nerves. Rolan has been working the front desk as Sorcerers Sundries and was not due back until well after sundown. Closing up the shop and ensuring all magical items were securely locked away. You had found yourself in bed, hand underneath your night-dress wishing he were here instead. Wishing he were touching you and caressing you just the way you craved. You could vocalize such since he wasn't home, well you thought. He was exhausted when he arrived home, just wanting to crawl into bed and forget about the day. Until he approached the door to the bedroom, your breathing was quick and he stalled with his hand above the doorknob, heart racing and nearly all of his blood leaving his head. He hears his name from your lips, once, then twice. He nearly topples over his own feet entering the room. "Gods, it's about damn time you arrived home." He would give you that charming smile, already stripping himself of his shirt. "Now get over here will you." "Say no more my love." It was quite a spectacular way to relieve his stress.

->Zevlor: Appointed leader of the teiflings, the journey had not been kind to anyone and now the lingering threat of being kicked out of the grove you had just entered had not helped anyone's stress level. Zevlor most of all. As his partner you oversaw what he couldn't and even for you that was a lot. The food supply, the children, your own well-being. The stress was becoming too much and some well-deserved relaxation was calling your name. The cold of the cave you and Zevlor dwelled in was nothing like the heat of home. A small, secluded corner was what you call a “bed”. Some blankets and bedrolls padded the floor to provide some comfort and you savored the feeling of finally being able to relax. Atleast it was secluded, no others slept in the same cave luckily. You tried to be quiet but any small noises were amplified in the cave. One of them being Zevlor's name. You hadn't realized he had come back, earlier than you thought. Until you were spotted by him and the two of you shared a beat of silence where you felt like you were under a spot-light. "If you'd like to be left alone for a moment I can step out." By now you were just frustrated in more ways than one. You wanted to share the bed with your lover, but you knew how stressed he must be. "Zevlor, I'd rather spend some time with you but I didn't want to take you away from your responsibilities. I didn't want to seem selfish." He waved a hand, as if you were saying nonsense. "It is I who is selfish. There are plenty of people available to take my place on the wall but I stand up there neglecting you when you need me the most. Tonight I am yours, no war, no disruptions, just us."

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katelynnwrites · 1 year

Text

And That’s How It Works (That’s How You Get The Girl) | Ona Batlle

warnings: m for major fluff

word count: 678

summary: a short sequel to last year’s fic for ona’s birthday, Birthday Presents

a/n: unedited because i rushed to write this a whole hour before 10 june ended for me but happy international ona batlle day 🤣

It’s late at night by the time your love arrives home from national camp.

You’re already in bed and Ona’s gaze softens as she sets her bag down quietly.

You are sleeping on her side of the bed, wearing one of her oversized t-shirts.

Ona doesn’t know it but the whole time she’s been away, you’ve been sleeping on her side of the bed, more often than not, wearing her clothes.

It is Ona’s familiar, comforting smell that you have grown to love, on her pillow and on her clothes that gets you to sleep when she isn’t there to hold you.

Your England teammates often teased you when you wore Ona’s clothes at national camp but you didn’t care.

It was rare for you to sleep without Ona, England camps being the only times you do so and she had never seen you sleep in your shared bed, without her.

This is the one exception because you had gotten injured, right before the international break.

A concussion had kept you from attending your national camp and had nearly kept Ona from hers because you had barely been able to convince her to go.

Your girlfriend had been very worried, anxiously wondering if it would be better for you if she stayed to look after you.

While her concern had melted your heart, you had insisted she go to Spain. Millie and Hannah would come and check in on you, you promised.

Still, Ona had called or texted you every chance she had. She made time in her busy training schedule to frequently remind you to take your medicine and rest.

You love her, you really really do. How could you not when she so clearly cares for and loves you as much as she does?

Ona finishes changing into a more comfortable set of clothes and then climbs into bed with you.

She lightly pushes loose strands of hair out of your face before kissing you awake.

Sleepily, you reach for her.

‘Need cuddles.’

‘Okay.’ Ona murmurs, more than happy to put her arms around you.

You press yourself closer to her, fingers closing tightly around the material of her shirt.

‘I missed your cuddles when you were gone.’ You admit.

The Spaniard brushes a feather light kiss onto your hair, ‘Spots was no help?’

That had been the other thing she had done, that had melted your heart, bringing new depth to the love you had for the brunette.

She had left the stuffed cheetah you had gifted her with, for her birthday last year, with you while she had gone for national camp.

The cheetah that she had been inseparable with for a year.

When Ona had video called you one night, during the international break, Mapi had expressed her displeasure at the absence of their designated team mascot.

Ona had simply flicked the older woman’s ear in response, saying that you needed Spots more.

Despite Ona’s efforts to leave you with some form of comfort in her keenly felt absence, it wasn’t the same as having your girlfriend with you.

And you tell her as much, mumbling, ‘She wasn’t good enough. Not as good as you mi amor.’

‘Naughty Spots.’ Ona teases.

Rather smugly, you say, ‘I put her in the laundry basket.’

Your girlfriend tries really hard not to laugh, kissing your forehead gently.

‘A wash will do her good.’

You huff, fingers slipping under Ona’s shirt in search of the skin to skin contact you craved with her, ‘I hope she drowns.’

At that, the Spanish fullback that you are oh so in love with is no longer able to hold her laughter in, dissolving into a fit of giggles.

‘I’ll forgive you for saying that simply because I missed you so much amor.’

Ona kisses you sweetly and makes sure you’re covered by the blanket before she settles down for the night.

With your love back beside you, it’s not long before you’re falling back asleep again, this time into a much more fitful rest, with a smile on your face.

Spanish Translations:

mi amor - my love

amor - love

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icequeenbae · 8 months

Text

Boy Next Door (m) Ch.2 | BBH

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Neighbor AU, slow burn, hurt/comfort, fluff, smut

Warnings: Baek being the neighbor we’re all dreaming of, harassment (nothing graphic), a bit of body image/ insecurity, MC sucks at relationships, explicit content, unprotected sex

Word Count: ~18.5k (total), 5k (pt.2)

Summary: Your neighbor Baekhyun has been a pleasant acquaintance since you moved into your current apartment almost a year ago. Could he also be… a perfect match?

Chapter Masterlist [ongoing]: Pt. 1 > Pt. 2 > Pt. 3 > Pt. 4 (fin)

Author’s note: Okay, I am slightly late to throw this party since the follower count has hit 800 a while ago... BUT NOW IT'S HERE!!! 💜💜💜 And be ready for a bumpy ride with this one. All goes under the cut as it starts off with smut hehe

As usual I'd like to remind you that the more active you guys are, the more motivation I have to update frequently. I'm easy to reach through my asks and I check all of your comments and reblogs~ In any case, I hope you like the first half of this story (just 2 parts ahead!) 💫

Network Tags: @bbh-net @k-vanity @ksmutsociety

Baekhyun’s grip on your waist was tight.

It felt secure and confident enough, so worries about him having to hold you up were long gone from your head. Your usual shyness seemed to have dissipated, and in its place came utter shamelessness.

‘Fuck, Baekhyun-’

Your high-pitched moan made him grunt. He wasn’t very talkative of a lover, but he was invested in making you come. The two of you barely made it into the apartment, starting out at the front door and only just stumbling into the hallway. Where he had you against the wall now.

‘Please don’t stop…’ You begged, finding his grown-out hair to tug on.

Baekhyun’s hips jerked forward, nailing you into the wall, and he groaned into your neck. Barely able to hold on to his shoulders, you swayed your own pelvis to meet his thrusts. Your breathing was ragged, and the deep, messy thrusts had you both on the brink of orgasm.

‘Ooh, Baekhyun, I’m- Amph!’

Your loud wail broke into reality and woke you up.

Later that day you were telling your best friend all about your miserable existence.

‘I hate my life, Yu…’, you whined into the phone.

‘That’s understandable.’

‘Yuki!’

‘Don’t ‘Yuki’ me, I still can’t believe you didn’t drop your panties for that hot neighbor of yours.’ She huffed in the middle of lecturing you. ‘Your subconscious is doing well, showing you what could’ve been.’

‘We barely ever hung out! I couldn’t exactly jump him.’

‘You’re neighbors! Who cares about the ‘three dates’ rule? He’s been to your get-together, you’ve been at his place… eating ice cream.’ You could hear the eye roll.

‘So? That doesn’t mean we’re dating.’

‘Dating-shmating. Didn’t you just mention that you’re horny as fuck for Baekhyun?’

‘So what? I don’t even know what he thinks of me. What if he has a girlfriend?’

Your friend’s laughter filled your ears.

‘He literally cornered you at the door and told you to come back whenever you craved for your favorite ice cream flavor. If that’s not saying, ‘Let’s fuck, Y/N,’ I don’t know what is. I’m actually willing to give him extra points for this. That’s the type of smooth that you need.’

‘I need?’

‘Yep. You’re pretty gentle, you know? He probably got that when he invited you to his house, and you raided his fridge instead of his bedroom.’

She was always in your face about being too slow to open up. You’d had this conversation before, and her stance on it was unyielding – you needed to have a steady male presence in your life to gain confidence for a healthy relationship in the future. But you didn’t think you were made for such arrangements; you were quite conservative about dating.

‘He wasn’t inviting me for sex. There wasn’t anything suggestive of that!’ You countered, not sounding particularly confident.

‘You mean he didn’t make any physical contact all night? Well, that’s not solid-’

‘He did, but it was-’

‘Wait, what?? He did?!’

‘It was nothing!’ You quickly took it back, slapping yourself on the lips.

‘You know what? You don’t even have to tell me. I already know that he wants you, and you want him. I also know you’ll continue dragging it out instead of having sex with the gorgeous boy next door.’

‘That’s actually another reason why I’m reluctant. What if Baekhyun’s not into me? Or in a relationship already? Or what if it ends the usual way? We aren’t just neighbors; we’re the only people on our floor. How awkward would that be?’

Your bestie sighed, probably remembering your past relationships. She, of all people, knew precisely the terms you broke up on and how stressed you were about crossing paths with any of your exes again.

‘It does have the potential to be awkward,’ Yuki pointed out. ‘But also… can you imagine how fun it’s gonna be? You’re always grumpy about having no time for dates and stuff. But you live like 5 seconds away from each other. The universe has outdone itself, you ungrateful woman!’

She fell silent after your huff, and you called out her name to make sure she was still on the line.

‘Sorry,’ she said, not a tiny bit embarrassed. ‘I just imagined having Hoseokie as my neighbor. My body is jealous of you, Y/N. The amount of sex you could be having!’

‘Ugh. I haven’t gotten laid in eternity, yet you keep talking about sex.’

‘Sex is great, you should try it. I can’t even remember what you were like when you had it.’

‘Just as grumpy as now,’ you grumbled. ‘Don’t even count on that making me any more sociable. Once a homebody, always a homebody!’

‘Oh well, at least I’d be happy knowing your body is socializing plenty with your clothes off.’

‘Why would you think about me with my clothes off…’ You gasped.

‘Yah!’

‘I’m hanging up.’ You announced, pressing the red button.

It was your fault for telling your friend about your love struggles. You knew how she was, and you still asked for her opinion.

She texted you immediately after you had one-sidedly ended the call.

Ki-yaah | Rude

Ki-yaah | At least invite the hottie for dinner. Reciprocate his gesture, if you know what I mean

Ki-yaah | But this time don’t wear sweats!! Wear a dress! Something simple

Ki-yaah | And easy to remove;)

You | You are…

Ki-yaah | Helpful?

You | That’s not what I was gonna say, but let’s go with that…

Ki-yaah | So you will??

You | Maybe…

Ki-yaah | Gosh, why are you so resistant!?

You | Idk ㅠㅠ Stop yelling at me ㅠㅠ

Ki-yaah | If you’re really not feeling this guy it’s fine, don’t listen to me~

You | I’m scared of the opposite, Yu… I think I’m starting to ‘feel him’ way too quickly. He’s been friendly once or twice, what if I’m overreacting?

You | It’d look pretty pathetic if I made moves on him, and he didn’t even have any of that in mind…

Ki-yaah | You’re way too hard on yourself, girl. And you still cannot tell when a guy is genuinely interested in you…

Ki-yaah | Remember that party… I was drunk, but even I noticed the way he was looking at you!

You | Exactly, you were drunk! He was probably trying to memorize what I looked like, nothing more

Ki-yaah | Yeah right. Cause when a guy can’t keep his eyes off of you, it’s just him memorizing your features for a composite sketch in case you break the law

You | Stop rolling your eyes

Ki-yaah | I’m glad you noticed!!

Ki-yaah | I wish you noticed men giving you the eyes more often than you notice my eyerolls!

Ki-yaah | Just do it your way. Invite him for a snack, wear something moderately nice, be a tiny bit suggestive and see where he takes this

Ki-yaah | Also keep your counter clear, what if the sparks start flying in the kitchen? Some men get turned on by women cooking, you know? And since you’re a great cook, you might just get your answers quick and efficient~

You | If I could hang up on this chat…

Ki-yaah | Did you write this down?

You | Bye ><

Even if that could be considered decent advice, you still couldn’t muster up the courage to take initiative like this. So all that was left for you was to wait until some random occasion, pleasant or otherwise, brought you together again.

***

It was late.

It was way too late for you to be out, especially grabbing snacks in the supermarket. But you just couldn’t bring yourself to go to bed. You’d been too anxious from overthinking everything in your life recently, from your professional worth to relationships. Getting lost in reflection, you realized you desired someone’s attention and affection. You wanted someone to be close with, not just physically but also emotionally. Intimately. It wasn’t about simply being bored or lonely – any of your friends was a phone call away in cases like that. What you needed was different, and it was something that wasn’t available to you at this time, or, perhaps, ever. So, you decided that a quick run to the nearest store for something to munch on was a great idea.

Spoiler alert – it was not.

‘Damn, why did I buy so many chocolates?’ You puffed into your mask, frustrated with yourself.

Having a sweet tooth came with consequences, and you were really trying to watch your weight since you’d been stress eating for weeks (months?) due to your work-related and other problems. Now was the time to get your diet back to normal, not to maintain the harmful habits.

‘I shall bring those to work if I don’t want to eat all of them myself,’ you thought to yourself, using your code to walk onto the territory of your apartment complex. You were almost home since, thankfully, the supermarket was only a few minutes’ walk away.

The concierge was away, which you noted since you’d usually greet him whenever you came back. You simply headed towards the elevator this time, still consumed by your thoughts. Before you could get close enough to press the button, someone grabbed your wrist, startling you.

‘Excuse me!’

Turning around, you faced the stranger, who decided to stop you in your tracks so unexpectedly.

‘Yes?’

He stared back at you, and you at him. Did you know this guy? Was he new in your building? It was relatively new, so many people were moving in these days. You did, not too long ago. But he didn’t look familiar. Or trustworthy, for that matter.

‘Can I... help you?’

Moving your shoulder back you tried to break free from his hold, but didn’t succeed. This was strange.

‘You’re pretty,’ he suddenly said matter-of-factly. ‘Can I have your number?’

At this point the encounter had become creepy. You went out wearing non-flashy clothes, zero makeup and a mask. How could he even tell whether you were pretty or not? The fact that he was still physically holding you in place escalated the situation.

‘What?’ Dumbfounded, you blinked at him.

‘You’re pretty. Exotic. Give me your number, we can chat.’

Ah, that. You hadn’t been called exotic in a while, and you realized what type of guy that he was.

‘Please let go of me. Kindly.’ You asked, looking around to see if there were any security cameras pointed in your direction.

‘Give me your number first,’ he argued with a strained smile.

The contact became even more unwelcome.

‘Let go,’ you repeated firmly, jerking your arm even though your wrist began to hurt.

‘Oh, come on. I just want your number; I’m not asking for your apartment passcode! Don’t be difficult.’

You were being difficult? This guy would piss you off if he wasn’t getting scarily persistent.

‘I said, let me-’

‘What’s going on?’ A familiar voice, an octave lower than usual, rumbled from behind you.

Turning back, you realized the elevator doors were open, and your neighbor walked through those in long, determined strides.

‘Is there something you want?’ Baekhyun grabbed onto the man’s wrist. ‘Hands off.’

‘Hey, I’m just asking for some contacts, chill.’

The atmosphere seemed to get even thicker with danger. He wasn’t letting go of you, and Baekhyun seemed like he wouldn’t let it fly.

‘You followed her here in the middle of the night, trespassing, by the way, to ask for her number?’

‘What, I can’t be friendly to a nice girl?’

Baekhyun suddenly moved, tapping the intruder on the throat with his palm and using the brief daze of his opponent to unclasp his fingers from you and twist his arm behind his back. Pushing his face to the wall harshly, Baekhyun held him there for a few moments.

‘Let go of me! You’re gonna break my arm, you psycho!’

Your neighbor didn’t seem fazed by the screams.

‘Listen carefully, you fucking punk. I’ll give you ten seconds to make yourself scarce before I alert the police. And if you ever see her again – run the other way. You’ll experience more than a broken arm if you lay a hand on her, you got me?’

The guy only yelped, swearing and begging for mercy at the same time.

‘Do we have an understanding?’ Baekhyun pressed before letting him go.

‘Ye-yes! You’re crazy!’

As soon as he was left alone, your attacker stumbled towards the door and quickly ran out of your building, still holding onto his arm pathetically. Meanwhile, your vision was entirely blurred out, eyes only focused on the broad back in front of you. You were surprised when Baekhyun turned around and slowly walked towards you, looking into your eyes inquisitively.

‘Y/N-ah, are you okay?’ He asked in a much softer voice. ‘Are you hurt?’

His hand touched your reddened wrist gently, and you shuddered.

‘N-no. I’m okay. Th-thank you.’

Baekhyun’s eyes searched your face for clues and seemed to have found some. He took another careful step towards you and cautiously wrapped his arms around you. The action was much needed, and you were glad he did it. His hold made you feel grounded and secure, and you were clinging to him instinctively, searching for comfort.

‘It’s alright. He probably scared you a lot,’ he murmured, voice soothing. ‘But you’re safe now. I’m here.’

Belatedly, you realized that you were sniffling quietly into his chest the entire time, grabbing a handful of his shirt.

‘I’m sorry,’ you whispered, pulling away. ‘I didn’t mean to cause you-’

‘Y/N,’ he instantly cut you off. ‘You didn’t cause anything. But preferably don’t walk around this late all alone.’

Baekhyun cupped your face and wiped your tears with his thumbs.

‘I live just next door. Tell me if you need company, or if anyone bothers you again.’

He paused to look down and bent forward to pick something from the floor. The plastic bag from the store that you dropped during the struggle.

‘Let’s get you home now,’ he hummed, guiding you to the elevator.

‘But-’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.’

Baekhyun delivered you onto your doorstep in silence.

‘Do you have ice to put on your wrist for bruising?’ He inquired, and you nodded timidly.

Not that you weren’t thankful, you were just still a bit shocked, and embarrassed too.

‘Y/N-ie,’ Baekhyun suddenly patted you on the head like a little girl. ‘Are you sure you’re gonna be okay?’

‘Y-yeah. I just need to… I just need a moment.’

He nodded for you to press your passcode in, and held the door for you before giving the bag with your snacks back.

‘Text me if you need anything,’ he stressed. ‘Okay?’

‘Mhm.’ You simply nodded.

You couldn’t exactly say that he was what you needed right now.

‘See you, Y/N-ah.’

***

The incident greatly impacted your (usually) pretty peaceful life. And it actually pushed you towards interacting with Baekhyun much more often – from the occasional small talk whenever you ran into each other, to the actual… hangouts? You swiftly went from acquaintances to friends.

In the span of a few weeks, you became a frequent guest at his home. One could even say that the negative experience turned out to be the catalyst of your relationship. You’d grown much closer afterwards. So comfortable with each other, that you found yourself in his living room in front of the TV every other day.

‘Yah, why didn’t you pause while I was on the phone? I can’t trust you to give me the short version, you take longer than if we actually rewatch it!’

‘What? I can be pretty laconic if I need to!’ You threw a carrot slice at him.

You had so much popcorn lately that a healthier equivalent was more than necessary.

‘What’s this, a bunny attack?’ Baekhyun threw it in his mouth and crunched on it. ‘Get back to where I left off.’

‘Alright, oppa.’

He drove you crazy with his bossiness sometimes.

‘That’s right. Respect your elders,’ he teased.

‘Why do I put up with this…’ Rewinding the episode, you scratched the fluffy head in your lap. ‘Mongryong-ah, I only endure this for you!’

Baekhyun looked down at his corgi.

‘Wah, living your best life, aren’t you, old man?’

‘You didn’t have to mention his age! You’re still adorable, Ryongie,’ you stroked the dog’s back.

‘He likes you too much,’ Baekhyun noted. ‘This grandpa usually isn’t this mellow with strangers.’

‘I’m not a stranger!’

‘With new people,’ he corrected, laughing at your exasperation.

‘I like him too. It’s mutual,’ you hugged the corgi, stretching his long body along yours, and rubbed his belly.

‘Wow. Literally a pile of mush, disgusting.’ Baekhyun said, looking at his happy dog.

‘You’re just jealous ‘cause he’s never this cute with you.’

‘Or I’m jealous ‘cause I want a belly rub too,’ he retorted, finally pressing play.

‘All you have to do is ask,’ you thought.

Unfortunately for you, Mongryong actually lived with Baekhyun’s parents, so you couldn’t use him as an excuse to come over that often. Even though your neighbor was diligently informing you about his pet’s visits. You really should’ve read between the lines, but even if you realized he did like you… It wouldn’t have changed much. You were just not the type to make the first move, so you just went with the flow. And if there was no opening for you to spend time with Baekhyun, you just… didn’t.

But the universe had its own ways of pushing you.

‘Why isn’t it working?’ You grumbled, pressing the numbers on your keypad lock. ‘Please, don’t tell me…’

An odd thought had crossed your mind. You hadn’t changed your batteries since you’d moved in, so what if those had completely drained? Today, of all days! When you went out to buy some cereal and ended up running home from the store under pouring rain?

‘No, dammit!’ You cursed under your breath.

‘Trouble with your lock?’ The voice from behind made you jump.

‘Oh god, when did you get here?’

‘Just now,’ Baekhyun hummed. ‘You look stressed. Are you locked out?’

‘Yeah. The battery died… Very timely. What do I do…’

‘You need a 9V.’

‘A what?’

‘A 9V square battery,’ Baekhyun laughed. ‘Which, I assume, you don’t have.’

You stared at him blankly, looking absolutely clueless.

‘Come here,’ he grabbed your wrist and led you to his door. ‘I’ll go to the store and get you one. But you need to change, or you’re bound to get sick.’

It wasn’t like you would say no – you were shivering already.

‘Here, you can wear this for the time being. And a towel,’ he handed you a small pile as soon as he left his bedroom. ‘Use a hairdryer for your hair.’

‘You really don’t need to-’

‘Go, you’re freezing. I’ll make a quick run to the store and back, and you warm up in the shower.’

‘Thank you,’ you managed to say while he was nudging you into the bathroom.

You locked the door behind yourself just to be sure, although you trusted that Baekhyun wouldn’t try anything. Still, taking a shower at his place was kinda intimate… and exciting. Maybe because it was the first time you’d ever done it in another man’s home?

‘Get ahold of yourself, Y/N-ssi,’ you told your reflection in the mirror.

The color in your cheeks seemed too bright. Taking your clothes off was strangely a big deal, so you hurried up and jumped into the shower quickly. Your body welcomed the warmth, so you spent at least ten blissful minutes under the hot water. Baekhyun’s wash smelled nice, and you stood there for a few minutes, thinking about how familiar the scent was. You’d seen him fresh out of the shower, so you knew this smell even though it was less concentrated on him. And now you had it all over yourself.

‘Stop wasting someone else’s water,’ you scolded yourself for your dreaminess and finished your routine quickly.

The thought of you smelling exactly like Baekhyun made you squirm. Were you a pervert? This shouldn’t have been this thrilling. Continuing to scold yourself, you got dressed.

‘Gosh, this shirt is long,’ you mused, trying to see the fit in the mirror. It reached your mid-thigh and was the best Baekhyun could offer of his own oversized clothes. You daydreamed for another minute about how broad and chic his shoulders must look in clothes like these.

‘I really do need to get a grip.’

Another ten minutes later, you finally stepped out of the bathroom. You found Baekhyun in the kitchen, moving stuff around on the counter. Certainly, with how long you’d been in the shower… he was back already.

‘Oh, Y/N, you’re done already?’ He asked as soon as he spotted you. ‘Sit down, I’m making you some mint tea.’

Mint tea was actually something that you brought into his life. Baekhyun wasn’t into tea – like almost any Korean, he preferred coffee. But once you’d introduced some variation into his beverage selection during one of your visits, he grew to appreciate the new flavors.

Instead of taking a seat, you came closer to see how he was brewing his tea. Baekhyun was very focused, and you couldn’t help but smile.

‘You didn’t have to do this,’ you murmured, sounding softer than you expected.

He looked down at you, eyes wandering around your face for a few seconds before reaching your mouth.

‘It’s no problem. I don’t want you to get sick,’ he said, turning away and licking his lips. ‘Here.’

You accepted the cup from his hands and took a sip.

‘Oh, that’s good! Thanks!’

Baekhyun nodded, watching you have more.

‘Did you get the V.. battery thing?’

‘Oh, about that… They didn’t have any. But don’t worry, I ordered express delivery online, should take a couple hours tops.’

Catching your uncertain expression, he suggested moving to the living room.

‘We can watch something or just chill.’

Although you agreed, you knew there was no way to pay attention to anything on the screen. You were acutely aware of the fact that you were in Baekhyun’s home, wearing his clothes, smelling of his shower gel, and sitting on his sofa. And the person responsible for your unstable control over your feelings was slowly catching up.

‘You sure you’re okay, Y/N-ah?’ He asked, leaning in to touch your forehead. ‘You seem a bit distracted and quiet.’

‘No. I mean, yes. I mean- I’m fine,’ you blurted out too quickly.

He stayed close, examining your face in great detail.

‘Your cheeks are red,’ he said, making you hold your breath. ‘And you’re pretty without makeup. As usual.’

You swallowed, afraid that your voice could betray you if you answered. His lips parted as soon as his eyes fell on your mouth again.

‘You’re always pretty,’ he said, distracted by your lips.

Without realizing it, you cocked your head slightly to the side, inviting him to kiss you. He was slowly getting closer, and your mind blacked out for a second.

When the lights in your head turned back on, you were full-on making out. It started slow initially, then it led to you two viciously attacking each other’s lips. Just the sound of your kissing made you shiver, and the pleasant tickle of butterflies in your belly accompanied this madness. You hadn’t experienced it for so long, it seemed new, and strong, and addictive.

Baekhyun didn’t waste any time, hands wrapping around your unsuspecting form to hold you against him. You gasped for air, but that was a short-lived pause. His tongue slid between your lips mischievously, and you could only grunt. You’d be down for anything he suggested right now. It was hard to tell how much time had passed while you were kissing, but you relished every second of it. His warmth, his skill, his gentle touch… He was way too perfect, and there was no way you could stop at your own volition.

But the doorbell disrupted your craze within a second.

Both of you stared into each other’s eyes, breathing heavily before he finally moved to get off of you. Sitting up, you tugged at the hem of your shirt, unable to recall just when he got on top of you. Not that you minded, anyway.

‘Ah, why did I order express delivery…’ Baekhyun muttered frustratedly, closing his eyes. ‘Give me a minute. No, twenty seconds.’

Nodding, you chuckled at his impatience. You felt exactly the same – eager to pick up where you left off. Although you weren’t the type of girl who’d give in to her desires easily, you’d been tiptoeing around your devilishly handsome neighbor for way too long. What happened just moments prior was solid proof of how weak you were for him. It was the first time ever you dove into a makeout session so fanatically that your memory was spotty afterward.

But the worries suddenly replaced your giddiness. What if he thought… that you were into that sort of thing? What if he now believed that you casually came into men’s houses and jumped them like a hungry lioness? Was it too needy of you?

‘What the hell are you doing here?’

The undertone of Baekhyun’s voice instantly got your attention. He wasn’t pleased to see whoever it was at his door. Could there be any trouble with the delivery?

‘Aw, and I was under the impression you’ve been missing me like crazy, babe.’ The flirty female voice answered.

Oh no.

Oh hell no.

Did he… have a girlfriend?!

The thought was like a cold shower to your body. Of course. An attractive young man lives in a fancy apartment complex and drives a luxurious car… How could he ever be single?

You were so naive.

And now you were about to get caught.

Springing up from the sofa, you darted towards the door and then froze. You couldn’t walk out of the living room without being seen. This was a nightmare, your worst nightmare coming to life.

‘I signed off on your delivery for you. Can’t you be grateful for one second, Baekhyunie?’

Her voice seemed closer. She was definitely inside the apartment. Maybe she’d believe your explanation that he was just helping you out? Solely friendly neighbor stuff? Oh gosh, you were totally done for.

‘Just get out.’

‘Why, are you hiding something?’ She asked, a bit less playful this time.

‘No.’

‘Are you sure?’ You could hear her taking a step.

‘Didn’t you hear me? Get out.’

There were a few seconds of silence that made you quiver with anxiety.

‘Is there someone in there, Baekhyun?’ She repeated.

‘Is it any of your business?’ He gritted. ‘Where do you think you’re- yah!’

The noise from the hallway could only mean one thing – she was walking right this way. Your mind couldn’t develop anything slightly useful at that point, so you simply stood there. In front of the sofa where you’d just almost… yeah.

She stormed into the room, pausing when she saw you. She was taller than you and very, very skinny. If you’d ever met her outside, you’d think she was a model. She wore a black ensemble that you could only guess was some hot-ass designer, and her hair was perfectly styled. She didn’t blink her faux eyelashes once while scanning you head to toe.

‘Are you freaking serious?’

The way she scrunched her nose, almost in disgust, made you shift uncomfortably. You’d definitely tell her off for this, if not for the shame you felt for being caught red-handed as ‘the mistress’.

‘Are you serious? Stop walking around like you own the place.’ Baekhyun fired back from behind her.

‘I go to the States for a few months, and then you’re snatched when I return?’ She huffed in disbelief. ‘Or is she paid to come here? Judging by the attire you were saving up. And I wouldn’t wear anything revealing with legs like that.’

Your mouth opened, but before you could even respond, your neighbor grabbed her forearm.

‘You really are delusional. Get out of my house.’

He dragged her back to the door, and she continued to yell at him.

‘Are you kidding me, Baekhyun? I can’t believe you’d kick me out to stay with some hooker!’

He stopped abruptly, turning to face her.

‘My mother taught me not to swear in front of ladies. But I hope you shut your fucking mouth right now. I’m only warning you once.’

He shoved her forward towards the door and cleared his throat.

‘Get your shit and leave. I’ll have a word with our security about how you got in.’

‘Fuck you, Byun. I’ll walk these heels over your balls when you realize you’ve made a huge mistake!’

‘Please, spare me your sick fantasies.’ He rolled his eyes, swinging his door open. ‘Out.’

The door slammed shut as soon as she left, and Baekhyun sighed loudly. He ran his left hand through his hair, still on edge, and pressed a button to turn the display on to see your floor. When she was gone, he sighed again, this time in relief. And you… felt so confused. And ashamed. And humiliated.

When Baekhyun turned around, it struck you on the spot. You couldn’t face him right now. Suddenly you felt small and exposed, and all you wanted was to be alone. So, you rushed back into the room to grab your phone.

‘Y/N-’ He began, walking after you. ‘Wait.’

You avoided his touch as you busted out of the room.

‘Where are you going?’ He asked as you slipped your feet into your wet shoes. ‘Stop.’

His hand caught your elbow, and you shivered as his skin burned yours.

‘Please, don’t follow me. I need to go.’ You asked, facing the door.

‘But-’

‘Baekhyun.’ You pushed.

He didn’t say anything for a moment. You heard shuffling, and then he put something into your palm.

‘You’ll need this.’

The battery.

Masterlist

A/N: Happy (belated) Lunar Year to everyone btw! And also huge thanks to all of you sweethearts who take time to read my stories and leave me long kind messages and comments, I appreciate you so much ❤️❤️❤️

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dutifullylazybread · 5 months

Note

just found you, i see a lot of pre and post family with the teefs. what about during? and directly after? how do they care for their partner during pregnancy? especially if its a diffcult one? and afterward when their partners body has changed and maybe they're less confident about the extra weight, softer body, the extra rolls and teh stretch marks that wont go away? how does each bachelor help or make it better ir suddenly realize that is even wrong to begin with? what if they accidentally something bring out that newly found weakness in their partners confidence? ( sorry if youre busy i know you got stuff to do- i just figured youre the person who could slam dunk these thoughts i had)

Have I... GOTTEN TO THE POINT WHERE I CAN JOIN THE TIEFLING HEAD CANON SQUAD???????

ADDED 4/26/24: This might be a rough list, but I hope you all enjoy!! ❤️

OKAY. I GOTTA ADD CAL. I'M ADDING CAL. THIS SWEET MAN IS A TIEFLING BACHELOR AND DOES NOT HAVE ENOUGH FAN CONTENT... YET.

And thank you for bearing with me--I know that this ask was sent in a hot minute ago! I'm hoping I answered all of your questions; I got to a point of this sitting in my drafts where I just felt bad about how long it had been there, so I tried to be thorough but I wanted to get this out sooner rather than later. I mostly worked on this when I had a few spare moments between chapters, and then I said "screw it. This is getting done. TODAY."

So, for Cal, Rolan, Zevlor, and Dammon--let's go!

DISCLAIMER - I do not have children myself, nor have I ever been pregnant. So I shall do my best!

JUST IN CASE - A CONTENT WARNING: While writing these head canons, I did refer to the tiefling's partner as "you." If reading about being pregnant makes you uncomfortable for any reason, please be aware and be kind to yourself. I have zero doubt in my mind that I will be creating another head canon list, so if you need to pass or wait on this one, that's absolutely okay. Your mental health is important.

Cal

While Cal's partner is pregnant, he will do absolutely anything and everything to make sure they are comfortable. To say that he is doting is putting things very mildly.

He will make your favorite meals, will go out and get whatever you are craving (late night runs--not a problem), will rub your swollen ankles.

Too hot? He's asking Rolan for a cantrip scroll to fix it. Too cold? He's already piling you with blankets.

Are you feeling sick and nauseous? He's already prepping something for you to eat/drink that doesn't have an offensive smell.

And if it's a hard pregnancy? I don't see him leaving your side. If he does, he has Rolan create a sending stone set for the two of you so that you can reach out to him for anything and everything.

Honestly, he doesn't get far enough for him to even use the sending stones. He is looking for anything and everything to make the pregnancy easier on you. If he wasn't a light sleeper before, he is now because he doesn't want you to lay there in pain.

There may be points where he feels helpless because while he can do things to try and alleviate any physical discomfort, there are just times when he might just grasp at straws.

And, in situations where he can't alleviate your physical discomfort, he will do what he can to distract you.

He keeps his stress managed well enough, but that doesn't mean he won't snap at Lia or Rolan if he is too anxious. If he does get openly frustrated with them, it takes both off guard.

I also think he just holds you. A lot. Part of that is to comfort you, and the other part is to assure himself that everything will be okay.

If his partner is dealing with body image issues after giving birth, I see him being confused. You? The most enchanting person he has ever known?

Cut to him kissing you and holding you whenever possible. He'll ask Lia and Rolan to watch the baby whilst the two of you go on outings when your health permits. If it helps you to hear it, he'll remind you how lovely you are. Frequently. Hourly. Every five minutes? Not quite, but close enough.

Personally, I don't think his doting goes away after the pregnancy. And, if it is too much, it might make you feel like he views you as helpless.

If you give voice to this, he goes into immediate mediation mode. He will be extremely apologetic. He loves you and never wants you to think he perceives you as anything other than the phenomenal person you are.

Rolan

Ugh. My beloved.

He might be more stressed about having a child than you are.

He never anticipated being a father, and that might be for 15+ reasons, but he feels drastically unprepared (even if the pregnancy was planned).

He reads every. Single. Book. On pregnancy. He is the parent who gives himself nightmares when he reads about birthing complications.

Every sign of discomfort that you show is a catastrophe on the horizon.

And if it's a difficult pregnancy? Yeah. Dial that up by five notches.

He is preparing for all worst-case scenarios.

If it weren't for Cal and Lia keeping him in check, he would be safety-proofing everything in the tower.

He crafts sending stones so you can call for him if you need anything. ANYTHING.

But also, he starts shadowing midwives and asking lots of questions. If the worst were to happen and you couldn't reach a professional, he wants to be there to help you.

After giving birth, I see him splitting his anxiety between your health/recovery and the baby's overall well-being.

"The baby sneezed. That might indicate five different lethal illnesses. I'm fetching the cleric."

This is another situation where you, Cal, and Lia might have to remind him that, yes, babies do sometimes sneeze, and not everything that lands in the diaper spells doom.

Rolan might not initially understand why you're feeling self-conscious about any weight gain. Of course you're lovely. Also, isn't that what happens with pregnancies? (His words--not mine).

He assures you that you're lovely, but words might not be enough here. He might shove his foot in his mouth while trying to make the situation better.

But the best thing for him to do is remind you, repeatedly, that you are lovely. And that might not have been something he was accustomed to even saying to you prior to you conceiving. He would assume you knew that he was attracted to you.

It honestly might be the strangest (and most endearing) thing to have him say "You look very lovely today. Yes, even with the baby's spit up on your shirt."

Zevlor

*nervously staring at the tiefling I am the most unsure about writing.*

*cracks my knuckles and cries because it hurt like hell*

Zevlor has been through some of the most heinous things that can be thrown at someone. He is a seasoned soldier. A Hellrider. Surely he can help his partner through pregnancy. After all, there were plenty of soldiers in the barracks who has pregnant spouses. He's heard enough stories that he feels prepared.

He survived the Elturel's Descent. It's possible that he helped safeguard someone who was in the middle of giving birth or guided expecting parents to safety. Maybe he had to fight off the devil's skulking the streets if they caught wind/heard that person enduring birthing pains?

So maybe, he thinks, he has already seen some of the worst births ever. Maybe, he thinks, in this time of relative peace, in this home that he and his love have created, it'll be easier?

My personal headcanon for Zevlor is that he put EVERYTHING into being a Hellrider/paladin. It was his life. It was his every breathing moment. And when he became an oathbreaker, it destroyed him. His life was devoted to protecting others, and he feels that he failed in the worst of ways possible.

He certainly had friends and very possibly family that he would see on occasion, but I think that, if you didn't fight alongside him/live in the barracks too, you very likely didn't see much of him.

So maybe he has heard a great deal about pregnancies. And maybe he knows about the complicated ones--just a bit. But he himself is at a loss for when his partner tells him that they are pregnant.

Is he excited? Absolutely. Is he terrified. Oh yeah.

Regardless of how complicated the pregnancy is, he is nervous. He is worried that he will slip up in all the ways that matter, and he is terrified of letting you down.

He's a soldier though, and he prepares for everything.

He has additional blankets and pillows next to the bed.

Hot and cold compresses are ready to go.

He makes sure that he accounts for your cravings whenever shopping.

He has medicine for when the pain is severe. And when the medicine doesn't cut it, he tries his best to distract you--his mileage varies.

And this man adores you. So after the pregnancy, if you are feeling self-conscious, he will worship your body.

Dammon

I could see Cal and Dammon both being very doting, but Dammon would be juggling the forge and helping you.

If you spent a lot of time in the forge with him prior to pregnancy but find that being in there now makes you feel ill, he will absolutely feel lonelier. He is definitely the sort of person who gets very absorbed in his work, and I think this makes him feel guilty. Especially if he feels like him being there could have made things easier for you.

He becomes a meal prep king. Will cook several comfort meals for you to eat while he is working.

Massages swollen ankles and feet and anything else.

While he might have worked later hours in the forge before, he makes a point to wrap things up sooner to spend evenings with you.

That doesn't mean he isn't nervous--you're about to have a child, and he does worry if there will be enough money.

He worries that if he does slow down, commissions will dry up, and then where will that leave the three of you?

If the pregnancy is difficult, he feels guilty for leaving you alone and looks for hundreds of ways to make things easier.

Eventually, he creates a small sitting space for you near the doorway to the shop itself. It's not so close to the forge that you'll be uncomfortably hot or so close that the smell will make you sick, and he sets up a small tarp to create some shade.

If you helped Dammon in the forge before the pregnancy, he is likely hesitant to have you come back and immediately help. Especially if the birth was difficult.

But what you need, more than anything from him, is time

And Dammon wants to be a parent who is present in your life and the baby's, so he does everything to be there.

But money is still a stressor. And he might worry about you being in the forge again. So he's stressed on all fronts.

And while I don't see him commenting or changing how he treats his partner because of weight change, I do see him being VERY reluctant to have you work in the forge with him.

And this may lead to an argument. You know he is stressed about commissions and being there for you and the baby, but you still want to help.

So Dammon dials it back several notches and agrees that you know your body best. So long as you feel comfortable working in the forge, and so long as you listen to your body, the two of you can start it from there.

And it gets easier to balance the forge and child rearing. While the baby isn't allowed close to the open heat/flame until they fully understand why they must be careful (and until their lungs are developed), you and Dammon create a small swing/play area nearby.

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7077070707 · 1 year

Note

Hey!if you do headcanons can you do platonic relationship headcanons for Mikasa and Reiner and maybe a parental relationship with Levi?also you don’t have to do all of them lolol (and I would prefer a fem reader please!)

aot platonic relationship headcannons

ft — levi ackerman, mikasa ackerman, reiner braun.

warnings — none, which is surprising for something aot related

a/n — MY FIRST REQUEST! I’M SO HAPPY!

LEVI ACKERMAN

you and all the rest of the gang lowkey viewed levi as a father figure of some sorts.

it makes sense since you were orphaned and young, craving for parental affection and stuff.

you all had been through a lot together, and levi’s dealt with a lot of loss in his lifetime.

he would let the beast titan chuck him like a baseball before ever admitting he held any amount of care for you (but we all know it’s in there somewhere).

he’s a great mentor and parental figure, despite being harsh.

i definitely feel like you could just go and vent to him about whatever, and he’d either just sit there and listen silently or give a few words of advice.

DEFINITELY the type to scold you. you and the crew would be doing all kinds of shit (obv spurred on by hange) and he’d be on the verge of losing his shit.

“for god’s sake, would you all just FUCK O–”

but usually when he’s annoyed by your antics, he’d just glare at you or say “tch..” under his breath.

a great hand to hand combat teacher, but you’d get absolutely shitted on whenever you’d fight him.

he’d blankly state where you went wrong, what you could’ve done, or if you missed a blind spot as he’s throwing out punches and sidestepping.

after the sessions, you’d always leave with a bunch of muscle pain and bruises.

calls you brat so frequently to the point it was a bit of a shocker whenever he’d call you by your actual name.

you and the squad have accidentally called him ‘dad’ on MANY occasions and usually he’d just side eye you.

gets so MAD whenever a place is unclean or if you’ve made a mess.

“y/n.. get over here. clean this mess you’ve made.

“on it dad!” you’d salute and he’d threaten to throw you into a titans mouth if you didn’t hurry the fuck up.

overall, a traumatised man makes an elite parental figure for a bunch of equally traumatised teenagers.

MIKASA ACKERMAN

you guys met in the cadet corps, and you were basically in awe with how she seemed to do everything so effortlessly.

you noticed how she hung around with eren and armin a lot, but stayed alone whenever all the girls stayed in the barracks.

it wasn’t that she was hostile, she was just quiet and probably passed the eyes of a lot of people.

you decided to make your way up to her and strike up a conversation. at first, you could tell she was quite reserved, but overtime as your friendship blossomed you grew fond of her dry humour and passive expression.

through mikasa, you also grew quite close to eren and armin.

through you, mikasa got closer to the rest of the squad.

DEFINITELY the mother hen of the group.

constantly badgering you over injuries you suffered, or telling you to eat or to get some rest.

would probably slam you during training sessions, but would try her best to help you with technique and forms.

i feel like she’s the type of person to ominously hover behind you as you’re talking to someone else and kinda just stare at them until they get uncomfortable and leave.

it wouldn’t even be on purpose, she just wanted to hang around you silently.

HOWEVER, could definitely scare off someone who’s visibly pissing you off with a silent death stare.

the best person to tell secrets to, she would never tell a soul.

late night talks where you’d just talk about everything and anything under the stars.

she’d open up to you about eren and the mixed feelings she felt about him.

you’d also open up to her about whatever, and she’d be the best listener.

gives very straightforward advice but it’s oddly comforting.

overall, a 10/10 friend in whether you want someone to confide in, or someone to beat a dude’s ass.

REINER BRAUN (before the armoured titan reveal)

best older brother figure!!!!!

for some reason, it felt easy to trust him.

he was just a dude everyone liked and respected, since he was so good natured and down to earth.

he’d also give crazy bear hugs.

you’d widen your arms for a casual hug and he’d absolutely engulf you.

it may or may not seem like it, but he’s got a great sense of humour.

i feel like he’d be scarily good at card games.

he’d teach you how to shuffle and how to play loads of random games.

the only time you were ever able to beat him was in a game of snap, but that was only because he sneezed the moment the cards were matched up and you slapped your hands on top of them.

you cheer and celebrate, and he just lets you have it despite the unfair circumstances.

but don’t think he’ll ever let you win again.

has really good vibes and is just a guy you can’t hate.

overall, a very great and supportive buddy.

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truerhearts · 8 months

Text

you’re mine - toji one shot

masterlist | ao3 | requests

★ warnings: very toxic, possessive af, and overprotective af toji

★ summary: (y/n) and toji are friends with benefits, until (y/n) ghosts him. While he's usually aloof and detached, he begins to grow curious, and then a bit obsessive of her whereabouts. He'll stop at nothing to get her back.

3rd person

5.5k words

mature rating (lil spicy at end but not 18+)

★ a/n: i've been sitting on this for three weeks now, writing on and off. I hope you guys enjoy

Toji wasn’t one to get worried, or jealous, or anything along those lines. His stoic demeanour meant he could remain detached, and he became quite adept at keeping people at arms length. Though lately, that was changing.

He despised the fact that he had been growing curious about (y/n)‘s whereabouts; it had been over two and a half weeks since he last heard from her, which was quite unusual. The lack of her presence had become increasingly difficult for him to ignore. It was unusual for them to go this long without contact; even if he refrained from reaching out for a few days, (y/n) typically took the initiative at some point. They had never gone this long without contact since they began their frequent rendezvous.

The agreement of their arrangement was quite clear. Casual sex, no strings attached – don’t catch feelings.

Easy enough. He’d done it a few times with other women before and it went well enough. Maintaining the friends-with-benefits dynamic was as easy for him as breathing itself.

But for some reason, (y/n) was different. He didn’t understand why he cared so much, why all the sudden he was craving her company in a way that was different than just a casual hookup.

Though for the few months they had been copulating, they had grown slightly closer, even if Toji hadn’t realized it. It was nearly impossible to meet up with someone a few times a week and not get to know them in some regard. It was mostly in the few hours where she would stay after they had sex that they would end up conversing. She was the one that initiated it, and the first time she stayed he thought it was odd - he was used to just parting ways after the deed was done. But things were different with (y/n). They both seemed to be different people after sex. They normally had a fiery relationship. They tended to get on each others nerves quite often but as soon as they would finish with each other, there was a sort of calmness in the air. They would have intellectual conversations and learn a lot about each other. She laughed at his jokes, and she told him her dreams and aspirations. He would share his as well, though he wasn’t quiet as ambitious as her. He slowly started to realize that he enjoyed spending time with her. Most nights after she left, Toji found himself questioning how he was able to open up to her like that. It ended up growing on him and he looked forward to it every time they made plans to see each other – even if he didn’t realize it.

He sat in the living room of his upscale apartment, (y/n) being the one and only thing on his mind. He stared at his phone that rested in his palm, fingers gripping the edge, a new message to her open and blank. He typed a few words: “where the fuck have you been?” Then deleted them. Then tried again: “why haven’t I heard from you?” Then deleted them, again.

He clicked his tongue and closed his phone, running a strong hand through his raven-coloured hair. The more he tried to stop thinking about her, the more she stayed in his mind. He sighed heavily, leaning back in his leather armchair. The fan whirred overhead, blowing cool air on him. It was refreshing.

He thought back to the last time he saw her as he stared up at the fan that spun hypnotically. He didn’t treat her any differently than he normally did. The only difference was she left shortly after they finished having sex, which was unusual. She’d usually stay for even just a little while. But this time she got dressed and left. He was confused, but she explained that she had to be up early in the morning and was tired from the night before. So, she left. He didn’t walk her out. He stayed in bed, bitter at the fact she was leaving so soon. He linked his fingers behind his head as he stared at the ceiling, hearing his door close signalling her departure. The silence that followed was deafening, and his abode never felt emptier.

Maybe he should have walked her out, or at least pried and asked her what was wrong. But at the time he was none the wiser. He was kicking himself for it now.

He sat up on his chair resting his elbows on his knees and cradling his head, a soft, frustrated “fuck” escaping his lips. It was bothering him. It bothered him that she left so soon after, and it bothered him that he hadn’t heard from her. He felt like he was losing control of their situation, which made him want to sink his teeth deeper into her, like a wolf on its prey, just to get a grip again.

He opened his phone once more and sent her a simple “Hey.” He closed it immediately after mentally scolding himself and regretting his decision. But there was no going back.

Now, he needed a distraction. He decided to prep for a job he needed to complete by the end of the week. He figured he might as well do it now, as if he sat in his apartment any longer, he felt he was going to go mad. He made a mental list of everything he needed and made his way around to collect it all, shoving all of it in a small duffel bag.

He just finished turning his key to lock his door when he felt his phone vibrate. His heart jumped and he pulled it out with such haste it was as if it was already ready in his palm.

“hey” she replied. Nothing extravagant, but it was a reply, nonetheless.

He dropped his duffel bag and grasped his phone with both hands, feeling like he was about to type the reply of the century. But he found it hard to formulate a proper response. He felt like he needed to tread carefully, like saying the wrong thing would send her running. He wrote a few words then deleted them again like before, then finally settled on: “I haven’t heard from you in a while.”

He put his phone back in his pocket and picked up his bag again. He made his way down the hall with determination, stopping in his tracks when he felt his phone buzz again. “Just been working lots.”

He sighed. Trying to talk to her was proving more difficult now than it ever had been.

He didn’t want to be the one to ask. He wanted her to want to see him - he needed that control back. Though there wasn’t much he could accomplish with that over text. He just needed to see her, just once. He felt he could win her back. He racked his brain on what to do. It was obvious she wasn’t going to be the one to ask.

So, he admitted defeat: “do you wanna come over tonight?” he typed. He had asked that question before, but it felt so… needy this time. He knew how it could come off, but he didn’t care, his need to see her was too great to worry about anything else right now. He was going through withdrawals, and she was his fix.

He didn’t expect her next reply.

“I’m going out with some friends later.”

He didn’t like the sound of that. He furrowed his brow as his fingers worked quickly tapping at his phone screen, still standing in the middle of the empty apartment complex corridor.

“What about after?” he replied, rather shamefully. Time seemed to stop as he watched the three dots appear letting him know she was crafting a reply of her own.

“Maybe another time.”

He wanted to crush his phone. “I’m gonna fucking kill her,” Now, he was fed up. His attempt didn’t work, and he was more upset now for texting her so desperately. He scooped his bag off the floor and rushed back down the corridor to his apartment. The job would unfortunately have to wait, he needed a plan for her.

He forced his door open, kicking off his shoes and leaving his bag by the door. He sat back down in his chair, turning on the TV just to have something to fill the silence. He stared blankly at it, not paying attention as his mind was running rampant with thoughts of why she had pushed him away so suddenly.

He thought fondly of her, the memories they had together. How good they would make each other feel, but also how they would make each other laugh and just being in each others company. His favourite thing was how she felt against his chest while his arms were wrapped around her. He wasn’t one for cuddling, but it felt right with her. He imagined tracing his hand up her body as she lied down on her side - starting on her thigh, up and over her hips, down through the curve of her waist, his hand trailing further up until he reached the nape of her neck, then tangling his fingers in her soft hair.

He then thought of her touch on his skin, tracing his muscular figure and taking her time lightly dragging her fingers across the prominent veins on his forearms and hands. She always expressed how much she loved them. He’d always called her stupid for liking something as strange as that. There were plenty of things he liked about himself: his height, his strength, and a few other things, but his veins didn’t seem like something that should be paid any mind to. But he secretly adored that she admired something about him, even if he did think it was odd.

He’d give anything to hear her say it right now.

He missed her.

Maybe it was work. Maybe she was genuinely busy. Life happens…

Or maybe she was seeing someone else…

Toji’s mind then betrayed him. He imagined her form - naked. The body he had seen so many times before and had gotten to know so well. Every soft curve, every sweet spot. He imagined her in a position he favoured, but the person she was sharing pleasure with was not him. Envy soon coursed through his veins like a toxic river; if you cut him open, he would bleed a brilliant viridian, feeling hatred towards a man who never existed.

He tried to shake these jealous feelings, but the thought of her with another man made his jaw clench and his fists ball until his knuckles were white like the snow capped mountains he would toss this imaginary man from. After tossing him, he’d command an avalanche to make sure he vanished without a trace… Perhaps that would keep him away.

His expression said it all. Blank eyes concealed a simmering rage, leaving an impression that could easily mislead those unaware. To the uninitiated observer, it might seem as though he had a personal vendetta against the TV before him.

He wasn’t going to let her slip away that easily. Not after all the time they spent together. Not after everything. She owed him for making him feel like this - for making him fall in love with her.

He knew the places she frequented, and he would show up at all of them if he had to.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow on the city. Toji looked out from his window, scanning over the streets of Tokyo with his objective in mind.

He went to his room and got ready. He glanced at himself in the mirror, taking a moment to ensure he looked his best. He seldom obsessed over his appearance, yet tonight, he made and exception. The aftershave she had complimented him on lingered subtly, and he wore the long black sleeve crewneck that accentuated his toned physique, another detail she had previously praised.

He descended into the depths of the city, making his way to the crowded train station. He pushed past a sea of bodies, wasting no time boarding the next train that was heading to Shibuya. The doors sealed shut and the train sped off.

Emerging into the lively Shibuya streets, he walked with a measured pace, hands shoved in his pockets, and a cool expression on his face. It was a delicate balance—a façade of nonchalance masking the urgency beneath. He wanted to avoid appearing too hasty, hoping that by some twist of fate, he might casually run into her.

He tried various different places, methodically ticking off her favourite and other spots he knew she may frequent like her favourite boba, and fast-food places. His search, however, turned up nothing.

He walked by the place they originally met hoping maybe she’d be there, though he wished that wasn’t the case; he wouldn’t want that ruined by happening upon her with a date there. He took a glance inside and was almost relieved he didn’t see her there.

He tried a few other places, and she was still nowhere to be found. He tried one more place, a restaurant she had mentioned enjoying a few times to him in passing. He originally had walked by it, but his nagging intuition compelled him to check again. To his disbelief, as he peered through the window, there she was, seated near the back, enjoying dinner with... another man?

His eyes widened in stark realization. There she was, immersed in conversation, smiling and giggling, sharing sips of her drink with the animated guy who held her attention. It was a scene that struck Toji like a swift punch to the gut.

The cool guy act dissipated instantly as he wasted no time pushing the door open. His lip curled, and brow furrowed, he bypassed the hostess who tried to stop him but wisely gave up. He bumped into a few patrons, a silent warning in his wake, who didn’t dare argue with him as he strode past. His presence was commanding, but he failed to get their attention as he approached.

They were in the middle of dinner, their meals half eaten, and their fruity looking cocktails half drank. She looked happy, but not any happier than she did when she was with Toji, which to Toji was a good sign.

“what’s going on here?” Toji interjected, again wasting no time. akin to a rapier, making it clear he was in a far-from-favorable mood. She looked up at him, eyes widening, not expecting to see her part time lover beside her table.

“T-Toji?” She stammered, caught off guard by his unanticipated presence.

Toji couldn’t help but smirk at her reaction. “Hey,” He greeted. He was so pleased to have found her; satisfaction coursed through his being.

Her date, slightly irritated at the intrusion, directed a question at her, “Do you know this guy, (y/n)?” She was still gazing up at Toji.

Toji took a quick look at the guy, confused at how he managed to grab her attention. Sizing him up, Toji concluded that he could easily snap this guy in half if push came to shove. While Toji couldn't gauge his height, the man appeared fairly thin. It didn't matter much to Toji; in his mind, no one stood as an equal opponent, regardless of size. For her, he'd take on anyone. He turned his gaze back towards her.

“Oh…” she said, at a loss for words, still stunned to see him. “Yes, ummm.” she wiped her mouth with her serviette. “Hatori… this is Toji. Toji - Hatori.” she introduced them awkwardly. Hatori looked at Toji expectantly but received nothing in return.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Toji stated, irritation evident in his tone, pointedly ignoring the man she was sitting with.

(Y/n) was about to reply when Hatori replied for her. “We’re on a second date.”

��I wasn’t talking to you.” Toji spat coldly while maintaining his hard gaze on her. She looked down and away from him, hoping he’d somehow just disappear.

“Excuse me,” Hatori interjected. “We’re kind of in the middle of something here.” Toji continued to ignore him.

“Let’s go.” Toji said sternly to (y/n). She didn't look at him, though he repeated, now growing impatient, "C'mon, let's go."

“What the fuck?” Hatori threw his serviette down. Hatori made an attempt to stand up to Toji. Not a great one, but it was still an attempt. “Look, I don’t know who the hell you are or why the hell you’re here, but you better leave us alone.”

Toji finally looked over to him. He placed his hand on the table, fingers splayed, and leaned down, so they were eye to eye. Hatori swallowed thickly, bracing himself for whatever Toji might do. “You better not be threatening me.” Toji said lowly. “Because I think between the two of us it’s pretty obvious who would win.” Toji’s eyes narrowed a bit. “I’ll break your legs.”

Hatori didn’t want to back down, but faced with Toji, who was nearly three times his size, he wisely decided to remain in the booth.

Toji stood up, pulled out his wallet, and carelessly throwed some money on the table. “Here. Dinners on me tonight.” Then, he grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the booth with such ease, as if she were just a doll. “I said let’s go.”

He dragged her through the restaurant, attracting attention from every direction. Murmurs and whispers filled the air, but she ignored them. She looked over her shoulder and gave Hatori one last look of sympathy before Toji pulled her out of the restaurant. She didn’t protest or resist, she knew it would be futile anyways. She just allowed herself to be dragged down the bustling streets of Shibuya.

They were both silent the whole way back, Toji never releasing his grip on her arm once.

He unlocked the door to his apartment and ushered her inside, following closely behind. She walked straight into the living room and planted herself firmly on the chair that Toji had occupied earlier.

It was only after Toji closed his door that he broke his streak of silence. He finally felt like he had regained control.

“Where the hell have you been?” he asked as the lock clicked into place.

She perked up at his words and scoffed. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I reported to you at the end of the day.” He walked into the living room and leaned on the entranceway arms crossed as he soaked her in.

It was then when he finally noticed her outfit. He was too focused on getting her away from that guy and back to his place to get a good look at it earlier. It was pretty, it looked great on her. A nice pair of pants and a corset top with a small shrug on top to cover her arms, although it didn’t much to keep the cold at bay.

“Did you want to impress him with those clothes?” he smirked half-heartedly, a little pissed off that she dressed up for another guy.

“I wore this because I thought it was cute. And what do you care anyways?” she crossed her arms. “Why did you do that, ruin my dinner? And how did you even know where to find me.”

“I don’t care.” he lied. Disregarding the question of why, he continued. “And we have an arrangement. I wanted to make use of it tonight.”

“I’m done, Toji.”

He was taken aback by her words but didn’t falter. He remained where he was, leaning on the door frame. He was silent, sending her a challenging gaze. She sighed exasperated sigh when he didn’t reply.

“I don’t want to be just a quick fuck, for you or anyone else. I want something serious now.” She expressed.

“Why the change of heart?” He smirked, though he was still puzzled at everything.

She was unamused. Not wanting to explain herself further, she crossed her arms and huffed.

Toji was trying to think of what to say. He didn’t know whether to come right out and say it – tell her exactly how he’s been feeling since she left so abruptly that evening. But he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to tell her. He just wanted things to fall into place. He wished she could just read his mind; it would make everything so much easier.

Her phone started to ring. They both knew exactly who it was.

“Pick it up.” Toji commanded, nodding a head towards her purse. His lips a flat line and his eyes carefully watched her.

“No,” she snapped, defiance burning like a fire in her eyes.

The fire was put out almost as quickly as it started. Before she knew it, he was dashing over to her. He snatched her purse while her guard was down. She tried to stop him, but he was too strong. He gently forced her back down onto the chair and snatched the purse, giving her a triumphant smile while she scowled at him. He pulled her phone out and flung the purse carelessly on the couch before answering the call.

She sat on the chair, arms crossed, spectating helplessly. He maintained his devilish smirk, lifting the phone to his ear. Any effort to get the phone back would be met with defeat so she simply didn’t bother.

“(y/n)? are you alright?” Hatori’s frantic voice spilled through the phone. Toji moved the phone away from his ear so she could listen as well. Hatori began rambling about how rude Toji was and a few other things, still not realizing who was on the other line. Toji had a self-satisfied grin plastered on his face, the scar on his lip being tugged along with it. His smug grin stretched even further when he noticed a look of embarrassment creeping up on her own. She turned away to hide it as they both listened to the frantic man on the other end of the line.

Toji waited patiently for the rambling to cease. When Hatori finally stopped, Toji he spoke in a low and controlled voice that cut through the air. “Don’t call her, don’t text her, she doesn’t want you, just leave her the fuck alone.” His eyes never left her as he spoke, intensifying the weight of his words.

Her ears perked up at his words. Something about his overprotectiveness piqued her attention. She turned her head slightly and met his eyes once more, the dark blue in them resembling a turbulent storm.

“Y-yeah? Is that a threat?” Hatori’s shaky voice responded. “I’m not afraid of you.”

Toji chuckled, a dangerous edge to his laughter. “I would be if I were you. Lose her number because if I find out you’re still trying to contact her, you won’t have any fingers to dial with.”

He promptly hung up, tossing her phone on the couch.

“I can’t believe you went on a second date with that guy.” Toji said nonchalantly.

She stared at him not uttering a single word.

Toji, sensing the weight of the moment, cleared his throat, breaking the quiet. They shifted back to their conversation, but this time, Toji's tone took on a different edge, like the flip of a switch. “How many people have you been with since the last time you were here?” he interrogated, the intensity returning to his voice.

She scoffed incredulous that he would even ask such a question. “None! what did I just say? I’m not doing that anymore.” She retorted, frustration still very evident in her tone.

“So, you didn’t fuck him?”

“No, and if I did what do you care?” she turned her head away. “You can just find someone else for this ‘arrangement’. it doesn’t have to be me.”

Toji was silent for a moment as he looked down at her. From her beautiful hair to her feminine frame, he needed every inch of her. He made a rather hasty decision. “Yes, it does.” He walked forward looking down at her on his chair.

she snapped her head back, craning it to look up at him. “What- “

“You don’t really think I’m going to let you go that easily, do you?”

Despite herself, butterflies fluttered in her stomach. In an attempt to supress it, furrowed her brow. “Are you deaf? I said, I am not having casual sex anymore. Not with you, not with anyone else.”

“My hearing is just fine.” He chuckled, condescension and allure lacing his words. “I don’t think you’re understanding what I’m saying.” He leaned down, grasping the arm rests of the chair for support as he met her at eye level “We’re not done here, do you get it?” he spoke slowly, locking eyes with her.

She could smell his aftershave.

A warmth spread across her face. His demeanor had shifted, and she fought to suppress the blush that threatened to reveal her internal turmoil. She stared into his dark blue eyes, hoping he couldn’t read her mind.

“What do you want from me, Toji?” she asked, matching his tone. He had now gotten so close she could feel his breath on her face. If they were just a few inches closer…

He thought about kissing her right there, but he still couldn’t fully gage her emotions. His eyes kept flicking from her own to her soft, supple lips.

He missed those lips.

“I want to fuck- “

“Shut up.” She cut him off. “What do you really want? You don’t just walk around Shibuya looking for someone, hoping that you’ll run into them, just for sex.” She narrowed her eyes at him, catching him off guard.

Checkmate.

Toji was speechless, a mischievous smile plastered on his face. She caught him.

He swiped his tongue along the inside of his cheek as he thought of a reply. His eyes flickered around her face until he managed to utter: “If you already know then I don’t have to say it.”

“I want you to say it.”

“I want to fuck.”

“Alright.” she swiftly escaped the cage he made around her with his arms, grabbed her purse and phone from the couch and began to make her way to the door.

As she attempted her exit, his frustration reached it’s breaking point. He wasn’t going to let her leave again. “Fine,” he growled. She felt a strong hand wrap around her upper arm and pull her back, causing her to stumble and fall back into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, leaning down and resting his chin on her shoulder. He had her pressed right up against him, the muscles of his torso being a solid support against her back.

He spoke quietly in her ear. “I missed you.” A shiver ran down her spine as the warmth from his breath graced the delicate skin of her neck as he spoke. “I don’t want to see you with anyone else. It pisses me off. I want you all to myself.”

Toji couldn’t believe the words that he was uttering. He winced at his own words, wondering how she would react. If she even felt the same.

A playful smirk curved her lips. “I didn’t take you for the jealous type, Toji.” she said in a playful tone. The way his name fell off lips her sent a jolt through him.

“Shut up… I’m not jealous.” He retorted in a low and tentative voice, but the tightened his arms around her betrayed his statement. He couldn’t tell her the rage and envy he felt when he saw them laughing together at that restaurant. He’d die before admitting it. He tightened his arms yet again at the thought, pushing his head further into her neck. “And stop being so fucking… bratty.” He spoke against her skin.

She hummed softly. “What about our rules?”

“I don’t fucking care anymore.” he confessed, surprising even himself. The Toji she knew, the one who maintained distance and detachment, was unraveling before her.

He continued, “If the only way you’ll stay is if we drop the friends with benefits thing then we’ll drop it.” He chose his next words carefully, “I want to be with you.”

She spun around in his arms, looking up at him. “Do you even know what you’re saying right now?” She questioned in disbelief at the words he was saying. She placed her hands on his upper arms, feeling his tense muscles under her touch. “This… isn’t like you at all.” She furrowed her brow. “Are you… being honest with me?”

He didn’t want to talk anymore. He felt like he was making a fool of himself, seemingly digging himself into a bigger hole. “Can I… show you something?” He asked, his lips a straight line.

She looked at him, puzzled, but she obliged anyway. “Okay,” apprehension obvious in her tone.

“Follow me.” He said, walking through the corridors of his apartment as she followed close behind. He looked over his shoulder once to make sure she was following him. She didn’t know what he had planned, but they ended up in a room she was quite familiar with - his bedroom. It was dark and quiet, the only light coming from the glow of the city below them.

He skillfully snaked his arm around her waist, gripping it with his large hand. He pulled her closer to him, pressing her against his solid torso.

“Toji-“she was cut off by his lips crashing down on hers.

He kissed her slowly, with a different passion than what she was used to. He was more careful and calculated. The slower pace ignited a different fire in her, one that she was unfamiliar with when it came to him. Still hungry, and needy, she could tell he craved her. His hand moved up to the base of her neck, pulling her in further.

She folded too easily, finally kissing him back, melting into his touch. He cradled her cheek in his hand before sliding it down her body. His mouth was hot against hers, his tongue gracing her bottom lip, begging for entrance. Her hands moved from his biceps to his neck, one of them making it way to the nape, grasping his raven-colored hair, silently begging for more.

Her breath hitched in her throat as he suddenly lifted her from the ground and placed her on the bed, climbing on top of her. He wasted no time connecting his lips to hers once more. His kisses were still painfully slow, the anticipation almost being unbearable for her, but they were laced with desperation.

She tugged the hem of his shirt, inching it further and further upwards until her hands soon found themselves wandering beneath, tracing the carvings of his muscles. His skin was hot to the touch. As he felt her fingers lightly gracing his body, he inadvertently lowered his pelvis to her. They both let out a soft moan as they collided, and he gripped the sheets beside her head. She could feel him press against her as her hands continued to trail up, feeling every inch of his torso. He eventually lifted his shirt off and tossed it carelessly to the floor below.

He pressed his lips to hers once more before he parted their kiss momentarily. “I didn’t know I needed you like this. I didn’t know how much I would miss you,” he whispered as his lips hovered hers. Instead of connecting them again, he made his way over to her cheek, tracing his lips over her until he met with the sweet spot of her neck. He nipped gently and lightly at her skin as she spoke.

“I wanted it to be like this all along.” She confessed breathily. She tangled her fingers in his hair, tugging and gripping it as he continued to work her neck. “I wanted to be someone you actually cared about…”

He paused as the words escaped her mouth. He took his lips away from her neck, pulling away so he could look at her. She stared up at him, feeling protected like he was her shield - his arms on either side of her head. The light from the city casting the faintest warm glow on his face and body. She continued. “It’s why I always spent time with you after sex. I was hoping that eventually you’d change your mind.”

“I think it worked.” He smiled down at her, his voice low and husky. He lowered himself so his face was inches from hers again, “I’ll be honest, I think I fell for you a lot sooner than I realized.” He murmured, lips brushing against hers. “The last time you left it felt like I was missing something.” He kissed her gently. “Don’t leave like that again.” The words getting caught in the little air that stood between them. Her breath hitched in her throat as he connected their lips once again.

The sunlight filtered through the windows of the bedroom, gently coaxing him awake. Toji slowly stirred, eyes opening slightly when he realized he wasn’t alone in his bed.

Relief washed over him; she hadn’t left. She was sleeping peacefully beside him.

He pulled her close, feeling the warmth of her body spread through his chest as she sleepily nestled closer to him.

She was still there, and he had her all to himself.

#toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji x you #fushiguro toji #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic

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