“my Wife” Ft. Nanami Kento

PEACHES AND CREAM ( 17﹢) — RAIDEN

based on this ask ♡

cw caught masturbating. hand job. oral sex. food play. hair pulling. friends to lovers. + 2k words.

the straw basket you held was snug in your grasp, filled with assortments of glossy apples, fuzzy peaches, and ripe lychees. it was all of raiden’s favorite fruits — something you learned from tomas’s daily commutes to your family’s fruit farm.

a bad fever. you distinctly traced back to kung lao’s words, a bitter look animating his face every time he spared details about raiden’s current sickening state. a layer of cold sweat covering his skin, unusually complaining about muscle aches, and his appetite only consisting of a glass of water and some good sleep.

that was bad. raiden has never gotten sick in all the years you’ve known him. he wore his skin like armor — resilient and adaptable to any weather. but with the current heat waves passing through the condensed village, it only made sense for the hardworking farm boy to be too stubborn to miss a day in the cabbage fields.

nevertheless, you admired raiden for his work ethic, but most importantly his compassion and kindness. he shined so bright when there was a smile on his face. hearing his gentle voice made your eyes flutter shut and soothed throughout the whole day. your crush on the farm boy couldn’t be anymore obvious, but it seems your subtle flirting and wandering eyes went unnoticed for years.

you gently pad through the zen garden, minimal with white rocks and gravel that held the warmth of summer — your scandals were neatly placed by the entrance, footsteps much softer and less damaging to the wooden platform. raiden’s home, blared with midnight silence all while the vicious heat waves irritably hum in your ears, making you flush under your thin garments.

drop off the basket and make your way home. that was the plan.

but your nerves heightened at the source of warm light that bled through the sliding doors — shadows of objects inked all over the paper panel. it was raiden's room. he was awake?

slowly, you got closer, softly step towards the light with a nervous grip on the straw-woven handle. you froze in shock when you heard a strangled sound coming from the other side of the panel. one step. the sound was suppressed, lodged deep in his throat. closer. a rhythmic wetness, in sync with your racing heart. in front of the door. with a hoarse voice, your name desperately fell off his lips as a gushing sound followed after.

with a shaking hand, you curiously slid open the thin panel.

it’s raiden, he just jerked off on his bed while he moaned your name.

before slipping his strained hand past the waistband of his soiled underwear, he restlessly opens his eyes and sees you standing there.

did he come so hard that he was hallucinating?

it took an awkward second to realize you were in fact, real. immediately, raiden frantically covered his lower half with the bunched up covers beside him — his usual kind eyes filled with the fusion of embarrassment and guilt. if it weren’t across his room right now, raiden would’ve used his straw hat to avoid your unreadable eyes — preferably forever.

“i – uh – i can explain,” raiden finally sputtered with desperation. he was stressed, darting his wavering gaze over to the fallen fruit basket to your terrifyingly neutral expression.

he looked away, gazing down at his fidgeting, haphazardly wiped hands.

“i’m truly… truly sorry about this. you must have been uncomfortable hearing all that – if you wish to never see me, i’ll make sure to —“

“are you still sick, raiden?”

your tone was even as you entered the humid room and slid the panel door shut. he flinched at the sound of your footstep, even more so with your lack of response to his apology.

“i – i’ve recovered well…” his words seemed to fall into silence as he looked up and watched you slowly bend down and take a peach from the floor, peeling off the fuzz with delicate fingers.

“has any of madam bo’s remedies worked well for you?”

one side of the peach was peeled off, a bead of sweet juice running down the plush fruit. it gleamed under the warm lantern light and made raiden swallow in anticipation.

“yes… they have made great improvements to combat my sickness, although… i’m still suffering from a headache.”

thinking about his lengthy absence, away from his responsibilities in fengjian, away from the sense of community, away from you, led him to a troubling spiral that left his head pounding with an intense ache. touching himself seemed like the only solution at the time, especially when his worries about you transformed into a lustful yearning.

you nodded in acknowledgement, the peach extract now ran down your arm — tacky on your dewy skin. to his surprise, you took a generous bite from the fruit, the delicate floral flavor coating your mouth. a gush of juice ran down from the corner of your lustrous lips, prompting you to take a finger and catch the leftover juice, only to apply it over your lips like a sweet balm.

raiden concentrates on your alluring movements with wide eyes, thankful for his previous panicked behavior to hide his shameful actions, only for it now to hide another painfully confined boner.

pressing your sticky lips together, you tread towards the small bed to take a seat on the edge, far from the farm boy’s reach. but with you much closer than before, raiden’s rapid breathing was apparent. he’s nervous, yet there’s a sense of urgency coursing through his stiff body. he could crawl towards you if you wanted him to, he could even set aside every ounce of his pride to beg for your touch. but then your question made his flush pink while the sudden surge of blood pumping through his veins made his cock twitch.

“mind if i try one of my remedies?”

your voice is so sweet and intoxicating, replacing all his senses with sexual desire.

raiden nodded frantically.

“o – of course, please do.” then you smiled for the first time of the night.

you crawled towards him with need, immediately latching your mouth onto his. raiden sighs in relief, sloppily kissing you back in desperation, the taste of peach on the tip of his tongue. eagerly, he lapped his pink muscle over your sweet lips. his favorite fruit coating your lips, tasting it with his own mouth — he must be dreaming. you whimpered at his gentle licking, eyes fluttering shut to memorize each caress of his tongue.

to close any space between the two of you, raiden pulls away the covers and guides your flushed body to straddle him. your weight sealed tight against raiden, his hardened cock brushed along your own clothes wetness — a choked groan escaping his lips all while you swallow them into a searing sugary kiss.

in need of some air, the both of you were panting heavily as you pulled away, a shared dazed expression on each other’s faces. you were the first to laugh, lips swollen and glossy from raiden’s eager tongue. he joined in the break of sexual tension with a small chuckle, the essence of peach was still sweet on his palate. you smile warmly as you gently brushed threads of long black hair away from his flushed face — cradling his warm cheeks into your hands.

“is it fine if i continue?” you whispered against his lips, leaving a plethora of sweet pecks in between each word.

“i could never deny you.” he confesses with no sputter or hesitation to his words — genuine and sweet.

by the elder gods, you wanted to make him feel so good.

you smiled wickedly as you leaned back and adjusted yourself, grinding agonizingly slow and hard against his hot erection. raiden hisses, rough hands suddenly firm around your waist for leverage. the dimly lit room felt more humid than before, filled with desperate pants and heady sweat. summer’s heat waves didn’t help the fact that the both of you were burning with desire.

you began to undress from your silky robe, the patterned fabric pooled by the side of the bed. raiden fondly stares at your bare body, starstruck by your natural beauty. before he could remove his own damp clothing, your nimble fingers began to undo the buttons of his shirt — exposing his heaving chest. for as long you’ve ever known raiden, a shirt clung onto his frame. never once showing an ounce of skin further than his collarbones. but this was something new. a well-toned stomach from his training with madam bo did him wonders. but with his even, golden tan shows that he does in fact train without a shirt — maybe after all this, you can accompany madam bo’s vigorous training.

but for now, your hands and lips ache to touch raiden everywhere. eagerly, you began to leave a trail of wet kisses and love marks all over his exposed body. raiden begins to groan with every scrap of your teeth, hands clinging desperately on his bedsheets. you smile at his impressive self-restraint, pulling away occasionally to fully memorize the details of his body. to the soft moles that scatter along his dewy marked skin, the deep contours that drew his frame, and finally the trail of coarse hair running his navel. he was perfect — so perfect.

raiden notices your intense gaze over his exposed form and shyly averts his eyes away, the grip on the cloth bed sheets giving him some stability.

you placed a sweet kiss over his navel, trailing down further as your cheeks began to graze his pubic hair, erection bumping against your chin.

“nervous?”

raiden shifts at your question and cutely nods.

“i am, but … i want to continue.” he has been waiting for this after all.

you nod at his words, hooking your fingers under the elastic waistband as you carefully drag down his pants. raiden lifts his weight a bit to give you easier access — a comedic look on his face when his cock accidentally slaps your cheek when his waistband reaches down to his thighs.

“oh. i - i’m sorry.” he faintly chuckled in embarrassment, shrugging off the shirt to let it join the rest of the clothing on the floor.

you shook your head when you disgraced his pants, sitting up briefly to reach towards the nightstand.

“your excitement shouldn’t bring you shame.”

the half-bitten peach felt soft and sticky in your grasp, still supple with sweet sap.

“it just needs to be taken care of.”

raiden’s eyes perk up at the softened peach and immediately shift towards his cock. are you going to –

a sudden coldness kisses his swollen, oozing tip, dripping down on his shaft. raiden immediately moans at the foreign feeling, the delicate scent of honeyed sweetness seeping on his skin. your hands squeeze the peach a little harder, getting every ounce of sticky sap onto his twitching cock. running the fruit dry, you discarded it on the nightstand and began to run your hands down his length at an agonizingly slow pace.

your name falls prettily out of his lips with every careful pump — hips moving desperately to meet your hand. with his cock much more sensitive from the new sensation of a sticky essence and his previous orgasm, he was sure that he wouldn’t last much longer. sensing raiden’s peak, you pulled away — his hips sputter for a moment until they fell back onto the bed. raiden tried to compose himself, his shallow breaths brushing against your flushed face, progressively becoming more stable.

“don’t cum just yet, i haven’t even gotten to taste you.” you jested, shifting on your knees so that you’re at head level with his cock.

“your skill makes it hard for me not to.” raiden breathes out, a small smile on his face.

you playfully roll your eyes, brushing your hand over his fingertips — urging to guide his touch. curiously, raiden follows your gentle hold onto his long fingers until you thread them through your scalp. as he was a fast learner in combat, so was he in the bedroom. with a firm grip, raiden tugs onto the back of your head. you smiled at his new sense of confidence, the hesitation in his touch much more rough with assertiveness.

without a word, he slowly guided your mouth down onto his cock — the warm air replaced with a scorching wetness.

“shit.” raiden curses, a rarity in his usual vocabulary. his dark brows pinched together, strands of hair falling from his bun. “you are amazing.”

the small praise made your mouth water, dissolving the juice clung onto his length. raiden allows a few seconds for you to relax your mouth and begins to bob your head along his cock — careful to not let you gag just yet. the sweet taste of ripe peach and bitter precum laid deliciously over your tongue, twirling over his tip with every tug at your scalp. whimpers of your name escaped raiden’s lip as the sleek sounds of your filled mouth were in sync with one another. with your mouth adjusting to the forgiving pace, you began to suckle and moan around his cock — sending extra sensations for raiden to feel. he bites back a groan, overwhelmed by the feeling of your mouth and the perfect view of his hand gripping your messy hair and glossy eyes eagerly looking up at him.

even like this, he honestly found you to be breathtaking.

“you are so beautiful. oh. it just feels so good –“

raiden tilts his head up, his cock beginning to twitch in your mouth. the heady taste of cum and peach puts you into a mind numbing trance, intently suckling and licking down his length. suddenly, you gagged at the sudden graze of his tip, noticing how much further it is down your throat. your senses suddenly flood back into you, his low whines and groans much more clear.

“i – i’m close — so close.” raiden warns, his restraint begins to slowly chipping away as his grip begins to leave your scalp tender, his pace backing more grueling with each hard thrust of his hips, making you choke and tear up.

you grip tightly into his thighs, steadily breathing through your nose as his cock continuously plunges down throat. the coil in your gut burns with greed, ready to take his load. the fast building tension came so quick, you knew instantly that he was there. and with one final thrust, raiden calls out your name, hot cum spurting down your bruised throat — coating your mouth with a salty, peachy taste. his body jerks in overwhelming ecstasy, sweat collecting around his brow bone dripping down his neck. his cock softens in your mouth, making your breathing less restricting. the death grip on your scalp exchanged to a comforting massage, gently guiding your mouth to detach from his cock with a lewd pop.

your eyes met, his much more apologetic and filled with worry. as yours was filled with a satisfied haze.

“are you feeling okay?” raiden whispered in concern, making the effort to pat down the messy strands of your hair. “i was too rough on you, i’m sorry about that.”

you shook your head, laying your head over his stomach. raiden sighs in relief, although his brows still knit with concern.

“i’m fine. what about you? is your headache finally gone?”

raiden tilts his head in confusion, until he realizes what you mean. he lightly chuckles, continuing to caress your head adoringly.

“it is actually,” he genuinely admits, eyeing the crushed peach on the nightstand in amusement. “your remedy does work after all.”

you grinned at his teasing, slowly lifting up your whole body to grab one of the few sizable fragments of the fruit — pressing its sweet yellow flesh against your cum coated lips.

“if you ever feel sick again, i can try out other remedies.” you suggested, raising the sweet remnant towards his mouth.

his eyes light up before he gently grabs your wrist as he takes a bite, holding your unwavering gaze. he catches you off guard with a sudden short tug — locking into a tender kiss. raiden gently drags his tongue along the molars of your mouth and over your quivering lips. the taste of himself and the delicate floral sweetness surprisingly compliment each other.

he slowly pulled away, a trail of saliva between your lips gleamed under the warm light.

“then i hope my fever could last a little longer.”

© aweina : please do not copy, repost, or modify any of my content.

beneath the skin | sylus

— summary: “who was that?” he simply asks, trying to mask the tinge of bitterness in his tone. “talk to me,” he coaxes after you hesitate, gently pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “a ghost,” you say on a shaky whisper, as if admitting it aloud is taboo, like you’ll accidentally conjure him back into existence. — cw: reader is not mc, femme reader, assassin reader, jealousy, stream of consciousness, rekindled feelings, self-indulgent af, not proofread, i’m delusional and wanted to write something about someone trying to steal you away from sylus — wc: ~3k — now playing: bad dream - lexie liu

You’re used to the attention; it’s your job to garner it. So, the occasional stare doesn’t perturb you much. Usually. 

But this one—it feels different. Like the uncomfortable pressure of a needle painstakingly driven beneath your nail, and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. 

You try to dance it off. Swivel your hips, smile pretty, a bewitching laugh in your throat as you gyrate atop the bar counter at Lux. But even as you turn to face the crowd gathered at your feet, their hands tossed skyward, bodies sweaty beneath the red sweep of lights and heavy mist, it lingers. Strips you down to bone, leaving you raw and exposed. Vulnerable. Confused. 

You pivot to address your admirer. To get a good look at who or what makes your skin crawl. But what greets you robs the air from your lungs, and you err in your steps, nearly stumbling off the counter if not for the dancer beside you, steadying you with her fingers wrapped around your wrist.

You feel like you’ve seen a ghost. An echo from a past you worked your damndest to suppress. The warmth and color drain from your face. You’re ramrod stiff, mouth spilling open, eyes blooming wide. Your heart careens against your ribcage, seemingly stopping before restarting to thrum double time. 

He reminds you of a forest, eyes the color of wood watching you with unwavering intensity, undisturbed by the bodies swaying and brushing up against him. A sturdy oakwood tree untouched by deforestation and time. It’s perverse in a way, how he studies you, how his gaze softens the slightest bit. How he knows you even with the stretch of years keeping you apart like he’s peeling back the layers of your facade like an onion. 

His hair is feathery. Dark like coffee beans, brushing over sloped shoulders. It’s longer than you remember. Longer than the last time you’d seen him before he died. 

Dead. He’s dead. Been dead for years. 

But as if to drive your delusions home, that telltale beauty mark catches in the strobing light, perched atop full, red lips stretched taut—lips you still remember the texture of, the way they moved against yours, pouring unbidden feelings into the chasm of your chest. 

You forget what it means to breathe. Forget how to exist, the cacophony of the nightclub fading into obscurity around you. Muddled, and you’re stock-still, stricken by something untraceable. Grief? Fear? Rage? Maybe a combination. Whatever the feeling, it causes a prickling sensation to fill your head, and your heart plummets to your feet.

“—alright?”

It’s a faint call. A disordered sound, like your ears are trying to readjust after resurfacing from a pool. It breaks you from the spell he cast over you, alongside the firm press of fingers into your wrist, the tug, and you swivel your head to take in the wary look of your co-worker. 

“H-Huh?” you say when your voice returns. Swallow past the barbs in your throat, lick your lips. Blink rapidly, disoriented, as if snatched from a trance.

“I asked if you were alright?” 

Your lips crook with a shadow of a smile. You pat her hand on your wrist, tamping down the anxiety that swells like a tumultuous wave in your chest. 

“Fine,” you murmur to assuage her worries. She doesn’t look convinced but doesn’t press, letting you go after ensuring you won’t fall. 

You look back, expecting to see those eyes drilling into your soul. Expecting that heavy feeling in your stomach, expecting your breath to abandon you once more and the world to spin beneath your feet. But you’re remiss to see he’s gone, swallowed up by the crowd as if he was never there in the first place. 

With all the stress looming over your shoulders —the missions, the changes to your dynamic with your boss, the newest addition to your family—you’re sure you’re imagining things. Your mind’s playing tricks on you, trying to cope with the weight of your job. With the repressed trauma. The unreturned feelings. Seeking an out. A little reprieve. 

How the hell could a dead man come back to life? And why would he be here, of all places, haunting you like a specter with unresolved business? 

You really should stop drinking before you perform. 

—

It’s a typical Saturday night at Lux. 

Nothing seems amiss; no fights to break up, no opposition to snuff out. 

Sylus is safely tucked in his second-floor office, watching bodies sway behind the one-way, ceiling-to-floor window. 

It’s soundless inside—soundproof walls—save for his steady breathing and the typically erratic thud of his heartbeat. His hands are stuffed in his pockets, and he stands in a casual slouch, gaze uninterested. He almost wishes something would pop off. A breakup in the monotony, a reason to get his hands dirty. An excuse to flex his fingers, to ruffle the expensive pleat of his shirt. 

He catches sight of you in his periphery. The knock of your hips, how you drag your hands down the devastating curvature of your body. A smirk pulls at his lips. If nothing else, he can count on you to keep him entertained. His gorgeous distraction. His glittering, murderous doll poised to strike at the snap of his fingers.

He leans closer to the crisp glass, static prickling his face, and he’s entranced by that sultry smile. How you shine like a constellation, brighter than Lux’s other dancers, capturing the intrigue and envy of all those subjected to your performance. He falls prey to it, too. Then again, he’s always been a victim. Always been under your spell, even without the influence of your Evol. 

He doesn’t know when it started. The steady creep of feelings, the burning need to protect you. But it’s there, a pleasant, heavy pressure in his chest. A feeling he thought himself long dead to. 

He’s about to leave his office to draw you down from the counter, but—

His amusement peters when you turn and stiffen. When your hands fall listlessly at your sides, and even from this vantage point, he makes out your mouth falling open. He’s closer now, his nose nearly pressing into the glass. He squints, trying to glean what’s caught your attention. The muscles in his jaw flex and strain when he catches sight of a figure clad in white adjacent to you, stiff as stone.

Alarm bells sound in his head. He doesn’t like the way this man watches you. How his gaze lingers too long, and he can feel the tense set of your shoulders as if he’s filling your skin. Irritation thins his lips. He conquers the space between the window and the office’s door in three brisk strides, the swell of music from downstairs flooding inside.

He takes the staircase leading to the first floor two-by-two, urgency powering him forward. But by the time he reaches the floor—by the time he wends through the crowd, pushing towards you, searching above the bodies pressing against him for that haunting streak of white—the figure is gone. Vanished like a breath out as if he’d never been there. 

Sylus’ gaze snaps to you. He’s still a ways off; you hadn’t noticed him. He watches the dancer beside you try to calm you down. Watches as you anxiously sweep an errant lock of hair behind your ear—as you peer over your shoulder in search of something. How your expression dampens when you find nothing, and your shoulders slump.

Something’s got you spooked. 

Sylus stands in the midst of the dance floor for a bit longer, studying you as if you’ll disappear, too, if he looks away for too long. 

He doesn’t like this feeling—this unease curdling in his gut. 

Who and what was that? And why does he feel like it’s not the last of it?

—

It was supposed to be a typical exchange—a simple negotiation for a plot of land on the outskirts of the city. 

You weren’t entirely sure what Sylus intended to do with it, but you usually kept your questions to yourself. He’d fill you in on the intricacies of his plan as he saw fit. 

For now, you stand in good form behind him, hands clasped together in front of you. His secret weapon in case things get dicey. His right hand in case you’re needed.  

He sits in a red leather, pin-cushioned armchair, languidly sipping on his bourbon, his hair standing out beneath the lazy drag of the low light. You’d normally admire him from your vantage point—the line of his shoulders, that wispy sweep of hair, the virility he exudes without trying. But tonight, you’re tight-lipped and contemplative. Straight-backed as you wait for his guests, mind slinking back into the happenings of three nights ago.

You finally began to settle. Excused the specter you saw as a trick of the light, as a product of exhaustion and shitty eating. There was no way he could still be alive—the shadow from your past. And even if he were, he wouldn’t have waited so long to resurface. 

Would he?

“I can practically hear the gears turning in your head, sweetie,” drawls Sylus above the languid croon of the music inhabiting the office. 

He breaks through the noise of your mind, and you blink as if being drawn from a daze.

There’s a teasing fringe to his voice. You don’t have to fully see him to know he’s smirking, that devastating, charming pull to his lips. He turns his head slightly over his shoulder, peering at you. “What’s on your mind?”

You clear your throat, shifting your weight between your feet. He’s caught you drifting off again. He’s good at that, reading your silence, feeling the tension stretching between your shoulders.

“Nothing.”

“You sure?” he says after some time in deliberating silence. 

You know he means to press. He wants to, but he doesn’t—a part of him you admire. He never pushes you past what you’re willing to give. Never pries into your past, never drills into your skull, trying to discern what makes you tick. He very well could, the power of his right eye glowing a sinister shade of red when he cracks into the minds of his enemies. But he’s never used his power on you, at least from what you’ve gleaned, and you respect him even more for being ever patient with you.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lie through your teeth. Lips quirk, though the smile doesn’t reach your eyes. 

His mouth hovers around words as if he means to protest. He knows you better than you think. But he doesn’t get the chance to pry when the door to his office swings open, drawing your shared attention to it. 

You watch as a stout man strides in behind Kieran, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He looks unassuming. You roll your shoulders back, the tension once coiled in your limbs slowly unfurling. You don’t know what you were expecting. What you were hoping for, and you’re about to relax before another figure strolls in behind the gentleman. Unmistakable, tall, shouldered. 

Your breath catches.

The man’s eyes flick to you, briefly drinking you in. You don’t miss the glimmer of softness, the belying of emotions behind a rigid exterior. You watch him sit in the armchair adjacent to Sylus beside the older gent with glasses, and you can’t fucking breathe.

Yunho. 

His name echoes like an old hymnal—a forgotten praise—in your mind. Something tucked away in the furthest hulls of your subconscious, dredging up memories you’d long since compartmentalized.

Under different circumstances, you might’ve fainted. Instead, you tamp down the swell of fear in your chest. The lump of emotion blocking your throat. The heaviness of your tongue. He’s here—he’s real. He’s not dead, presented as flesh and bone before your very eyes, and you weren’t losing your shit that night at Lux when you saw him.

Your body hums with pressure, with static. You feel dizzy as if your legs could give way at any moment. You feel sick. Yet you maintain your poise, your decorum. You avert your eyes to the floor when Yunho’s gaze flits to you every so often as if he’s trying to convey something. Trying to make up for years of leaving you in the dark, for leaving you to fend for yourself, to pick up the jagged shards of your heart alone when you thought he was mere bone and dirt.

The meeting drags on with an unbearable tenseness. You feel like you’re out of your body throughout. You don’t follow what all three men are on about, too busy battling the static brewing between your eyes and your knees threatening to buckle beneath the weight of Yunho’s gaze when he thinks no one’s the wiser.

—

He’s grateful when the negotiations conclude, Sylus is. He hates these things—the pleasantries that go into them, the small talk before he can take what he needs.

He shakes the stout man’s hand with a rehearsed pull to his lips, sealing the deal. The land will be signed over to him without incident. Good. He’s been itching to open a new club just for you. Knows you’ve been dying to have something of your own, a place with your name in scrolling Marquee outside.

He reaches over the glass-top coffee table to shake the hand of the younger man who had accompanied the landowner, and it’s like he’s been electrified when their palms meet. It’s a familiar, uncomfortable surge of static pushing up his arm, curling in his chest. 

Sylus stiffens, eyes shooting up. He locks on to irises that remind him of blackened tar pits. Soulless. Yet behind the aloofness lies a heated intensity that would burn through flesh if Sylus were anyone but himself. He’s thrown back to the memory of three nights ago at Lux when he’d caught the same feeling after chasing away whatever spooked you.

Sylus squeezes his hand a little more firmly than necessary, a slight divot forming between his brows. The gentleman’s stare is equally unrelenting, and it’s like he knows something. He doesn’t miss how his gaze flicks over Sylus’ shoulder to briefly take you in before he releases his hand, and both men depart, leaving you and Sylus buried in heavy stillness. 

He’d been doing that quite a bit, that man. Sneaking little glances at you, sometimes lingering while Sylus was deep in conversation. He didn’t like it one bit, the way his gaze felt like it was stripping through your clothes. But he said nothing—you were a far cry from unsightly. It was only natural that other men couldn’t keep their eyes off you, couldn’t contain their intrigue. But this felt…different. 

He rolls the stiffness from his jaw as he stands up straight, hands stuffed in his pockets, still staring at the afterimage of his two guests long after they departed.

The strain in your body was palpable, too. He felt it rolling off you in waves, crashing into his back. Didn’t miss how you shifted your weight between your feet, the rustle of fabric behind him, an occasional tight breath slipping through your lips as unease fell onto your person. 

It’s unlike you to be so out of sorts. So on edge. So he breaks the quiet lull between you by clearing his throat and swiftly turning to face you, a question perched on his tongue. He nears you with measured strides. Paces towards you almost like a predator cornering prey, and the way you glance down to avoid the smolder of his gaze makes something pull in his chest.

“Who was that?” he simply asks, trying to mask the tinge of bitterness in his tone. His expression slackens when you look away, your jaw moving, and you’re squeezing your fingers at your back, so much the tips turn white.

You push out a weighted sigh, your voice shaky and sticky, as if you might cry. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, but you fall silent, unease etching into your features.

He’s close now. So close, your perfume curls around him, the welcomed heat from your smaller frame permeating his skin. He wars with himself for a moment. Turns over his subsequent actions in his mind like an old vinyl before softly pinching your chin between his forefinger and thumb. He tilts your head back until you’re forced to look at him from beneath those ruinous lashes, and the wet gleam of your eyes is enough to make his stomach flip. Make the tendons in his neck pull.

“Talk to me,” he coaxes. Gentle like he’s persuading a lover to reveal the inner mechanisms of their mind to him. He knows you’re not okay. Wants to get to the bottom of your flightiness. Wants to help in any way he can. He’s not used to seeing you so stone-faced and avoidant. 

You relinquish a breath, lips quivering. You search his eyes, and he wants nothing more than to draw you into the circle of his arms. To cover you like a blanket on a winter's day, to absorb you. 

“A ghost,” you say on a shaky whisper. As if saying it is taboo, like it’ll conjure him back into existence. 

Sylus’ brows furrow. He prides himself on not delving into your past life. But, dammit it all, he’s never burned to know about what molded you into the person you are today more.

His gaze falls to your lips as they wobble. He wants to kiss them. Wants to take whatever anguish plagues you into his own body. Wants to kiss away whatever worries you have into oblivion. But he’s not sure how you would feel about that. If you’d push him away and completely shut him off from your heart. He’s made his intentions clear, his feelings for you—at least, he thinks he has. He’s been patient, waiting for you to come around. Waiting for you to want him as much as he yearns for you.

You draw him from the slurry of his thoughts when your fingers suddenly curve around his wrist. Soft, cautious, scorching through layers of flesh. A tired smile rounds your lips. You pull his hand away from your face, glancing down.

“I’m alright. It’s nothing to worry about. I—just need to get a little rest. Clear my head. Don’t worry about me.”

You brush past him without another word, and his fingers are poised at your back when you leave as if to stop you. When the door clicks shut with your departure, his fingers curl inward towards his palm into a loose fist before falling listlessly at his side. 

“A ghost, huh?” he murmurs to no one in particular, the words heavy and acrid on his tongue. He doesn’t notice the smoky threads of his Evol leaking off him, spurred by the ire slowly building in his chest.

──────〃✰ KINKTOBER DAY 1: 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐏 𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐑

title: poker face synopsis: luckily, mr. zero didn't knew you were a mugiwara. luckily, mr. zero fell for your bluffs. unfortunately, you never imagined it would be that hard to not fall for crocodile's charm. [3.1K] cw: mugiwara!fem!reader, strip poker, strip tease, public sex, cock crush, nipple stimulation, size difference, fingering (f!receiving), riding, biting, scratching, finger sucking, p in v, creampie, possessive behavior, mob boss meets a baddie, pussy so good he wonders about marriage.

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With a thick cigar between his teeth, Crocodile forced himself to smile. “Five of a kind”, he dropped his cards on the table. “Seems like the house won. Again.”

Crocodile’s presence in Rain Dinners works to reinforce his reputation as a hero in this wretched island. Unfortunately, it also means Crocodile is tormented by the most boring clientele.

To watch someone gambling everything they own out of delusional hope and losing it all because of sheer mischance is only interesting the first few hundreds of times. Now, all Crocodile feels is disdain.

He curses those vermin that stole the joy of victory.

Murmuring complaints, two bettors left the table. The croupier stretched his arm, reaching for the cards left far away from him. As the cards were shuffled, Crocodile took in the chance to observe the tables nearby. Searching for chaos to be dealt with, such a common occurrence in a casino, an unusual sight stole his attention.

A long, thick, light pelted fur coat. Crocodile inhaled the smoke, holding it in. Admiring you with that coat over your shoulders, no one would’ve imagined this is the middle of a desert. And still, you didn’t break a sweat.

One of the bettors decided it was the right moment to thank Crocodile for his protection over Alabasta. He did his best to sound modest, heroic. To embody the last hope of this dying island. The moment a white blur entered his peripheral vision, Crocodile simply ignored the man’s existence.

With a hand over the chair’s top rail, you stared directly at the croupier. “May I?”, you asked, voice sultry as the desert.

Crocodile took the cigar out of his mouth, releasing the smoke in the direction opposite from you. “Made just in time”, he moved his hand towards the croupier ready to start. “Do you know how to play, hon’?”

You took a sip from your glass, not bothering to answer him. Placing your coat over the chair’s rail, you reached inside its pocket and took the poker chip’s box. You left it open on the table, emerald dress moving on your body as you sat down and crossed your legs.

The box was filled to the brim.

Your lack of interest on him ignited something within Crocodile. Curiosity. Something far more interesting than gambling against weak bluffs. “New to poker?”, Crocodile smiled devilish. The sort of smile that make pretty women like you forget about decency.

If only you had looked at him.

“New to this island”, you answered, sounding as bored as Crocodile was before you got there. The way you danced around his question was enough for him to know you didn’t want the others to think of you as an easy target. Usually, Crocodile would simply profit on it. This time, with you staring straight into his eyes, he couldn’t care less about this game. “Is it worth?”

“It will be.”

A promise Crocodile intended to fulfill.

Feeling his gaze burning your skull, to not smile was never so difficult. If you were weaker, you would’ve laugh until your cheeks fell apart from your face. How funny. How alluring. Ah, Luffy really told you the truth.

Your life will be funnier around me, Luffy gave you the brightest smile you ever saw. Stroking your cheek, he cleaned the trace of tears. I will never let you get bored.

A Shichibukai stands before you, unable to see you as part of the threat he is so interest in dealing with. The man that sent thousands of bounty hunters after your crew, that forced Vivi to witness as unnecessary violence tore her nation in pieces, doesn’t even know that you’re part of the group he wants to exterminate.

Good. That means the plan of distracting Crocodile has a chance of working.

Each bettor made an initial contribution for the deal to start. At every round, you raised the amount of chips. It didn’t matter if others were dropping out of the deal or if Crocodile doubled the bet with no hesitance. You simply continued to bet more.

That was alluring. It told more about you than your pretty lips could. You’re not here to make money. You’re not here to waste it. You’re here for amusement. And that Crocodile can give you any time.

“Showdown”, the croupier called. “Please, bettors, show your hands.”

The woman sitting beside you sighed, showing two pairs. Two bettors had dropped out, choosing to wait until the next deal. You placed your cards on the table. 4, 3, K, 10, 10. One pair. “Does that mean anything?”

The first man to drop out chuckled. “Only that you lost.”

Lost in the way your smile spread across your face, the croupier had to remind Crocodile it was his time to show the cards. “Three of a kind”, he murmured. This time, he put no effort into acting as if he cared that he won. Crocodile just wanted to learn more about you. “Do you know the rules?”

“Does it really matter?”, your bright smile was enough to enlighten the whole place. As the croupier changed the card sets, you gave him your solely attention. “The best liar wins at the end.”

“No surprise you haven’t won yet”, Crocodile smirked. He spread his legs, cigar between his fingers. His golden hook glistened, reminding you of the threat he represented simply by breathing. “It’s so easy to see right through you.”

But not to see how I stole all those chips from you, was what you thought. “Seems like a failure of mine”, was what you said out loud.

With a movement of his hand, a waiter approached. Crocodile whispered into his ear; eyes still fixated on you. Intoxicated on his presence, you forgot to look away. What a tempting man. From then on, your glass never remained empty.

Deal after deal, you continued to lose just as Crocodile continued to win. Deal after deal, you continued to answer just as Crocodile continued to ask.

Until there were only you two left at the casino. You let go of your glass and closed the poker chip’s box, raising from the chair. “Should have expected a pirate to be a good gambler.” You took your coat, walking away from the table. “Have a good night, Crocodile.”

“One last deal?” Crocodile was quick to offer. Desperately, you would add. “And then we call it.”

You raised the empty box. “I have nothing left to bet.”

And at that, Crocodile saw his last chance of amusing you. “Then let’s bet everything we have.”

Sat down again, chin supported by your palm, you frowned. The wine had started to affect you both. “And by that you mean…”

“Everything”, Crocodile spread his legs, resting his hook on his thick thigh. You told yourself he was begging for you to stare, but you weren’t that sure of it. “Every chip on this table. Everything on our bodies.”

As he closed his mouth, a part of Crocodile feared his proposition would offend you. It doesn’t happen often, but there is a chance he misread your signals.

“I’ve been eyeing your rings since I sat here”, you wondered out loud. “Just as you been eyeing my dress.”

But to be so straight to the point… Crocodile wasn’t quite expecting that. It was what he wanted, but to see how you two were connected made harder for him to breath.

Then you sighed.

“As tempting as it is,” and you were standing again. Crocodile hated to see that. He would hate even more to see you leaving. “It is also getting late. Like I said, I’m new to this island.”

“You have nothing to fear”, Crocodile bargained. “Not when I’m around.”

“But you won’t be around on my way back to the hotel.”

“Then stay here”, he offered. You arched an eyebrow. “I don’t intent on letting you walk away that easily. I’m a pirate. I’m used to taking what I want for myself.”

For an eternity, you both stared into each other’s eyes. A silent negotiation. His final offering, your final chance of doing the right thing and walking away from danger. You could see his very soul. How it burned just beneath the surface. Crocodile felt the same heat coming from you.

The croupier forced a cough, remind you of his presence. It took much of his strength for Crocodile to not kill him right then and there.

“Shuffle the cards and leave”, you ordered.

He obeyed. Quickly. You both took a look at your cards sets. A smile died within you. A smirk grew on Crocodile’s face. The moment the croupier closed the exit door, Crocodile showed his hand.

Crocodile looked even bigger than he already was, filled with the confidence of a winner. “Four of a kind.”

Dropping your hand on the table, you were the winner he believed to be. “Royal flush”, you smiled. “Pretty sure that’s the highest since we’re not using any wild cards.”

Shock was a good look on Crocodile. After analyzing your cards, his gaze returned to you. “You said you didn’t know how to play.”

“Oh”, you drank the last sip from your glass. “Did I?”

And at your answer, all he could do was laugh. Crocodile ran his hand through his black hair. “You hustle me”, he whispered. Crocodile wasn’t able to get rid of this genuine smile.

Your laugh was real too. It made Crocodile breath in your scent, get drunk on the sweet sound coming from you. Not a bluff, not an act. It was real, and it only made you more beautiful. “And now you have a debt to pay.”

His face darkened, reminding you of who he is. You hustled Crocodile. You hustled Crocodile. You never thought of yourself as a stupid woman, but here you are. For fucks sake. Luffy really is rubbing on you.

Crocodile bended over the table, his broad shoulders creating a shadow over you. His hand grabbed your chair’s arm, his hook moving your chin upwards. A strand of hair fell in front of his orange eyes, and looking into them you felt like a powerless prey about to be ravished.

Face lurking inches above yours, Crocodile smiled devilish. A smile that made you forget about decency, focusing only on the promise of more of him. More of the man that wants to kill you. “Enjoy the show”, Crocodile whispered.

His blue scarf was the first to be throw away, and neither of you cared about where it would land. His long fingers worked on the buttons of the rumpled black-striped vest, so slowly you almost took it off of Crocodile by yourself.

The peach shirt beneath showed a portion of his wide chest and instead of finally getting rid of it, Crocodile held the leather belt around his waist.

He had so much fun teasing you, admiring how you couldn’t look away. A man as handsome must feel entitled to the silent praise. He really thought he was the one in charge, didn’t he? And for long enough, Crocodile was.

You’re a lot of things, but you’re not patient.

Leaning against the chair, you raised your leg. The silver heel brushed against his pants, from down on his ankle until the insides of his thigh. And when your painted nails shined right in front of his crotch, you forced your feet against it.

“Stop playing around.” Cocking your head, eyes explored his still covered up body. “Don’t make me wait.”

Crocodile grabbed your ankles, calloused hand stroking softly your skin. It wasn’t a rough touch, but not less possessive because of it. You put more pressure, making him groan. “You are insane.”

“And why is that?”

“Anyone else would fear me”, Crocodile’s voice reminded you of velvet and sharp knives. It lingered on your ears. “And here you are. Demanding more.”

You sighed, fingers brushing against your lips. That voice… it was your last straw. Fighting his hold, you put your foot down on the ground. You grabbed his shirt, pushing him back until Crocodile sat down on his chair again.

He opened his mouth as you sat down on his lap, but you gave him no time to do anything. “You talk too much.”

Holding the chair’s top rail as leverage, you dive into him. Tooth biting his lower lip, tongue forcing a passage into his warm mouth. Your free hand found a spot on his large neck, bringing Crocodile closer to you. Instead of waiting, you took what you wanted for yourself.

Just like a pirate would.

She isn’t fragile, Crocodile thought. She won’t break.

Sinking into you, Crocodile forgot about self-control. He simply ravished you, just like you demanded of him. A wild animal and nothing more. Exploring your mouth as if it was his to control, hand grabbing your soft skin without a care about finesse or decorum. Crocodile pressed his hook against your chest, enjoying how it didn’t stop you from moving as you wanted to.

You got him out of that stupidly tight shirt, hands scratching his chest as your hips moved on top of his crotch. He forced you down, putting your whole weight upon himself, and ripped your emerald dress into pieces with his hook.

“You’ll pay for this one.”

It was a complain, but your fingers working to unbutton his pants made clear you couldn’t care less. His kisses travelled to your neck, tongue leaving a trail of drool on your shoulder, mouth closing against your nipples. Your fingers intertwined with his hair, encouraging Crocodile to continue.

“I will get you anything you want”, he said, voice muffled. He couldn’t get away from your body to speak. “You burn hotter than the fuckin desert.”

No shame, no hesitation. Freed from his pants, you licked your palm before grabbing his cock. You pumped him with zero delicacy, thumb pressing against the dark, sensitive head. Just like everything in Crocodile, it was big enough to make you wonder.

As if he could read you mind, Crocodile slid his hand into your panties. Long fingers explored your lips, precise with every movement. Thumb pressing against your clit, two fingers against your wet slit. His hook brushed against your thigh, arm locking around you to press you down on his fingers.

Your loud moan embarrassed your very soul, but all Crocodile did was laugh. His teeth closed around your neck, biting hard enough to make you whimper. That’ll mark you for sure. “Ride me, hon’.”

With your nails deep into his back, you stretched yourself on Crocodile’s fingers. You bit his earlobe, brushing your face against his as you speed up your movements. In your hand, his cock throbbed. Crocodile was leaking, burning in the same way you do.

“Take what you want”, you whispered against his ear. “Fuck me already.”

It happened so quickly, you barely understood how he moved. A second before you were on his lap, two fingers deep into your hungry cunt, lips around his ear. Then you were sat on the table, poker chips falling on the floor, Crocodile standing between your legs.

A fucking monster.

Crocodile took his drenched fingers from you, and wasted no time before sucking them clean. He grabbed your thighs, exposing yourself from him. “She’s delicious”, Crocodile stared at your pussy. His fingers pulled your lips apart. “Will get me addicted to her.”

Using your legs, you got him even closer to you. Crocodile grabbed your hair, pulling you into a messy kiss. Fighting against your tongue, he fit the head of his cock into you. You moaned into his mouth.

Moving your heels against his thighs, you forced him inside of you. A stupid decision. Your head collapsed against his shoulder, the entirety of his length touching all the right places. So good, so right, so… much.

Crocodile wasn’t in that much of a better situation. Eyes closes tightly, lips hanging open as a deep cry escaped. So wet, so warm. Moving slowly, Crocodile chortled. He had no control over his mind anymore.

“Don’t you dare stopping”, you manage to say. “Just… fu-fuck, just like that.”

Deep thrusts as his fingers worked on your clit: Crocodile wouldn’t dream of doing anything other than you wanted. He could feel your drool gathering on his shoulder. How your fingers were deep into his forearms, or how the hold of your legs around his waist weakened.

All Crocodile wanted was to make you as addicted to him as he already was to you. To get you to scream his name, begging for more and more. He wanted you to take from him. To get what you wanted. And Crocodile wanted everything you could give him.

Feeling waves of pleasure washing over you, mind empty as a white canvas, you tilted your head back. Eyes half-open, you admired him. His raw lips, face covered in sweat. Marks of lipstick all over his chest, just as deep nail marks and surface scratched. You looked down, watching as he entered you.

“You are worth way more than eighty million.”

Crocodiled bended, tongue playing with your aching nipple. “After my head, hon’?”, he sucked on them. You stroked his hair, enjoying how primal Crocodile looked.

“Do I look insane?”, you moaned.

Crocodile looked into your eyes, face near yours. You placed your arms around his shoulders, but he held you in place. Crocodile simply looked at you. As if there was something new, something he never saw before.

“You do”, Crocodile whispered. It felt so intimate. For a moment, you weren’t being fucked in an empty casino. For a moment, you two were sharing a secret. “You’re perfect.”

You melted against him. Lost on your orgasm, you unlearned how to breath. The fact you couldn’t think didn’t stop Crocodile from kissing you. As you closed around him, Crocodile reached his limit. Tooth deep into your throat, he marked you again.

Tears formed behind your eyes, throat aching as you finally breathed again. You laid your head on his chest, feeling it rising with his unregulated breathes. A firm hand held your waist, his nose stopped in the union of your shoulder and neck. His biting hurt so good, just like your scratches on his skin.

When Crocodile opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was his hand holding onto the table. He looked at the fours rings you said caught your attention. And he saw how there was only one finger lacking a ring.

Insane, Crocodile thought. She’s making me insane.

As his hips moved away, a cry left your throat as he emptied your pussy, your legs finally stopped working. Crocodile took his cigar from the ashtray, smoking it for a few seconds. When he released the smoke, you grabbed his chin and made him face you. Inhaling it, you closed your eyes.

Not a second after you let it go, his hand and hook slid beneath your thighs. Effortlessly, Crocodile took you from the table. Your shaken legs closed around his waist as he carried you. “What you doing?”

Crocodile finally looked into your eyes again. He smiled, and it was genuinely. “Taking what I want for myself.”

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That's your stinky child too now, Dragon~

You can read the first part of this comic here.

As always, apologies for style inconsistencies I just never draw anyone looking the same *lol*

(I'm also not sure how I want to draw Crocodile >w< So I'm just saying that he's not sure yet either what to do. Does he need to be someone else to put as much distance between the pirate and the parent? But Dragon isn't doing that, so does he? Etc etc.)

Explanation of  NCT U’s “The 7th Sense”

After reading how deep the lyrics are and listening to the creepy instrumental that includes bombs, gunshots, doors opening, knocking, yawning, voices and other creepy noises, I searched the internet to find some information on it. 

Someone took the time to analyze, interpret and explain the meaning of NCT U’s debut song “The 7th Sense” and boy, it’s much deeper than I thought it was. 

There’s so many hidden messages and references and I’m baffled how the writer of the original post even noticed and how SM thought about all this in the first place.  Unfortunately, the original article is in Portuguese, but I took the time and help of Google to translate it for you guys and since the article is quite lengthy, I cut it down to the important parts and it’s still as long as Rapunzel’s hair, but shorter than the original.

If you speak Portuguese, though, you can also read the original article. (If you find any mistakes, please leave me an ask.)

I already posted it but I cropped half of it out because it’s just too damn long.

So, if you’re interested and ready for all this mindfuck, keep reading!

Keep reading

shining

A final version of this piece! With Perona now.

Exclusive Favors

Pairing: Sylus x MC / fem!reader Rating: PG-13 Tags: who did this to you, hurt, comfort, hurt/comfort, injury, implied violence, brief violence mentions, angst, canon sylus behavior, blood mentions, kissing if you squint Summary: You barely survived a night on your own in the N109 Zone without the watchful gaze of certain Onychinus leader, but at what cost? Word Count: 1.5k

The dull sound of your door closing was like the snap of a final curtain call falling into place and you slumped against it, relieved to be safely in your own apartment. You had survived a night in the N109 Zone on your own, but it had been a near miss. One you wouldn’t be repeating, especially since the intel you wanted had been a bust, anyway. 

You touched your side, your breathing uneven, and you wince. You definitely have a cracked rib. You try to take a deep breath and pain radiates from your chest into your stomach, making you a little nauseous. Okay, maybe two.

You were trying to psych yourself up to move and trudge into your apartment to give yourself much needed medical attention when the reverberating shock of someone's forceful knock bounced you against your door-frame. You consider not answering the insistent caller on the other side, but a muffled, familiar baritone floats through the door.

"Open the door, sweetie."

A sigh left your lips at the demand and you tried to stifle the pathetic, painful whimper that your exasperation cost you. Of all the people on the other side of that door, Sylus was the most unexpected. Or maybe not, considering he boasted that he knew everything that went on in his territory. Maybe that’s why he was here and if it was, he wouldn’t leave until his curiosity was satisfied.

The door cracks open and you stare up at him through the hole you made, reluctant to allow him entrance and to partially block his view of the damage those thugs had caused when they mugged you in the alleyway earlier tonight. However, Sylus’s easy smile is nowhere to be found and the frown lines on his forehead are the deepest you've ever seen them. His large hand wraps around the door-frame so you can’t close it again and he pushes gently against it, but you don’t budge. 

"Who did this to you?" His tone is dangerously low.

You ignore his question, instead poking your head out to look down the deserted hallway of your apartment building. "Why are you here? It's dangerous." It was risky for Sylus to wander around Linkon City normally, even if he claimed many people didn't know what he actually looked like. However, the Hunter’s Association did and your building was crawling with employees at all hours of the day and night.

"You didn't answer your phone, so I got worried."

Oh right, you had forgotten they had taken that too. You sighed again, the pain of having to replace everything beginning to give you a headache. That key charm Zayne had given you for your birthday was perhaps the worst thing to have lost, maybe more than the phone itself.

"Let me in, kitten." Sylus’s voice is gently cajoling and you concede because you're too tired to argue with him tonight. So you open the door and  try to act normal, but your voice is far too lighthearted for how heavy your legs feel as you trudge into the apartment. 

“You know, if you keep frowning like that you’ll get wrinkles and people really will think you’re an old man.” 

He follows you in with a small chuckle, his eyes bouncing around the room as if the perpetrators could be hiding in the shadows. When you grabbed the first aid kit and sat down to tend to your injuries, Sylus was suddenly there, kneeling in front of you. His hands push yours out of the way and he silently takes over the job of nurse, and you think about fighting him as you watch him roll up his shirtsleeves but realize you were just too exhausted to care. 

“What happened?” He asks eventually and you realize you will have to tell him something. Lying won’t work, he’ll find out if he didn’t already know. 

“What often happens when you end up in the wrong place at the wrong time in the N109 Zone, Sylus.” You offer with a single shrug, doing your best to sit still while he cleans the wound on your arm. “You know that better than me.” 

“Were you wearing–” he was referring to the brooch that signified your status as protected. 

“They took that too.” His hands stilled on the bandage he was applying on your forearm. “Did they, now?” he murmured silkily and you saw a muscle in his jaw tick, though his expression was partially obscured by his unruly hair. “After all that trouble I went through, too.” You tried to make a joke to ease the tension which earned you a soft amused twitch of Sylus’s lips. He was too angry to truly smile and you could feel it radiating off of him in waves. Despite that, his hands were painstakingly gentle as he touched what was clearly a blossoming bruise around your wrist. Sylus’s tender touch lingers on your injuries and he checks each one with a thoroughness that feels as if he’s memorizing exactly where you were hurt. 

He orders some of your favorite food, helps you get cleaned up, and tucks you into your bed. He points to the notepad you kept by your bedside table that you sometimes scribble notes on when you took calls. “Make me a list of what they looked like, and then go to bed. I’ll take care of the rest.” Before you could protest, he left the room abruptly. You picked up the notepad and stared at the print of the cute little animals dancing around the top. You’d bought it on a whim after seeing how cute it looked in a stationary shop window near one of your mission sites. It seemed too obscene to write what would virtually be a hit list on such charming paper. 

Instead, you scribble all of the reasons you’re grateful for today. Right at the top was that you had survived all on your own in the N109 Zone and you were able to see the infamous Onychinus leader kneeling at your feet. The list grew as you included the tasty food you ate earlier, and the glimpse of a suspiciously familiar crow you saw on your way into work this morning. The page was halfway filled when the pain medication Sylus had convinced you to take started to kick in and you felt your eyelids drooping. 

Drowsily, you snuggle down underneath your covers and clutch the plushie Sylus and you had won at the arcade last weekend. When you hear the distant muffled click of your door opening, you try to rouse yourself but you felt so warm and your body felt so heavy that you couldn’t manage it. That doesn’t stop you from trying until a large hand gently smoothed back your mussed hair, and the sensation of soft knuckles trace the curve of your cheek. “It’s just me,” the familiar voice murmured and you tried to speak but he shushed you. “Sleep, kitten.” 

You swear you felt the ghost of his lips on yours before he was gone, but maybe it was just part of the hazy dream you had of crows, violence, and enchanting sanguine eyes. 

Sylus returns to the N109 Zone and finds himself staring at the “list,” a bemused smile on his face. He shakes his head and tucks the cutesy page into his pocket. You were far too adorable and it made what he was about to do that much more satisfying, sauntering into the abandoned warehouse where your phone had last pinged; deceptively calm. The screams and stench of death shuddered throughout the N109 Zone tonight, serving as a violent and bloody reminder to all that no one should dare to touch what was his lest they face the consequences. 

Sometime in the early hours of the morning, your fingers fumble for your buzzing phone and land on the familiar outline of the brooch, both in their normal places as if yesterday was just a bad dream. Through your sleepy daze, you realize your other hand is occupied–as is your bed. Turning, you’re surprised to find Sylus is fast asleep next to you, his hand intertwined tightly with yours. There’s deep circles under his eyes, but his normally furrowed brow is smoothed out in sleep. With a sleepy smile, you curl back up to let him rest a little while longer, tucking your joined hands against your chest, cuddling his arm.

You both doze off together, and you’ve never felt so safe.

✦.꒰ 𝔑𝔠𝔱 𝔩𝔬𝔠𝔨𝔰 ꒱.✦

✦.꒰ lꪱkᥱ ᥆ᥙ rᥱႦl᥆g ꪱ⨏ ყ᥆ᥙ ᥉ᥲꪚᥱ ┊dᥱ lꪱkᥱ ᥆ᥙ rᥱႦl᥆g ᥉ᥱ ᥉ᥲlꪚᥲr ꒱.✦

✦.꒰ d᥆ꪀ't rᥱp᥆᥉t wꪱth᥆ᥙt ᥴrᥱdꪱt ꧑ᥱ ꒱.✦

First love never dies 🥺