This will inevitably get longer the more fandoms and characters I write for, and I will absolutely be keeping it updated. Also, if links don't work, please lemme know and I'll fix em :)
Request Rules
Dialogue Prompts
Tag List Form
Marvel
Loki Masterlist
Also includes Mobius M. Mobius and Wowki/Lokius fics
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Markiplier Egos
Markiplier Egos Masterlist
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Baldur’s Gate 3
First Baldur’s Gate 3 Masterlist
Second Baldur’s Gate 3 Masterlist
I Come With Knives Masterlist
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Love and Deepspace
First Love and Deepspace Masterlist
Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist
Third Love and Deepspace Masterlist
Fourth Love and Deepspace Masterlist
Fifth Love and Deepspace Masterlist
Sixth Love and Deepspace Masterlist
The Raven Masterlist
I Used To See The Future Masterlist
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My Hero Academia
Shouta Aizawa/Eraserhead
Stressing About Finals - Dadzawa x gn!reader (familial)
Warnings: brief mention of family abandonment
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Hizashi Yamada/Present Mic
Feeling Shitty - Dad Mic x gn!reader (familial)
Warnings: feeling like shit, depression i guess, hurt/comfort, slight fem reader vibes kinda?? But it can be read as neutral. Oh also swearing just a little
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Yagi Toshinori/All Might
Number One Dad - Dad Might x gn!reader (familial)
Warnings: none
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Erasermic
Erasermic Drabble - Shouta Aizawa x Hizashi Yamada
Warnings: none
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The Witcher
AO3 Only (Links for here broke) - Geralt x gn!reader (platonic/familial), Jaskier x gn!reader
General warnings (Please read the warnings on each chapter): swearing, blood, fighting
Definitive Evidence - Simon Blackquill x gn!Reader
Warnings: mild hurt/comfort, fluff, established relationship, defense attorney reader, injury, blood, stabbing, unconsciousness, blood loss, hospitals, holding hands, small displays of affection, forehead kisses, Simon is secretly a big softie, cuddling
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He's Alive - Simon Blackquill x gn!Reader, hurt/comfort
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Cake Thief - Simon Blackquill x gn!Reader, fluff + silly
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Legend of Zelda
Ganondorf
My King - Ganondorf x gn!Hylian!reader/no-name OC
Warnings: making out, allusions to sex, possessiveness, size-difference
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Forever and Always - Ganondorf x gn!Hylian!reader/no-name OC
Warnings: needles, injections, mention of fear of heights, anxiety, references to Harvey's ten heart event, slight hurt/comfort, semi-implied transphobia (not addressed)
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I Was Hoping You'd Find Me Here - Harvey x gn!Farmer
SMUT Warnings: smut, fluff, no penetration, no genitals mentioned for reader, grinding, cumming in pants, pet names, pleasure dom Elliott, explicit consent, kissing, biting, nipple play, praise, embarrassment, anxiety, virginity, loss of virginity (open to interpretation), cuddling, clothed sex, Elliott is a bit of a dork
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Take A Break - Elliott x gn!Farmer
Warnings: fluff, mild hurt/comfort, established relationship, cuddling, overworking, exhaustion, self-worth issues, married life
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My New Muse - Elliott x fem!Reader
Warnings: Regency AU, pre-relationship, first meetings, ballroom dancing, masquerade, class differences, reading, books, no use of Y/N, fluff, happy ending
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The Arcana
Asra Alnazar
Rice Pudding - Asra x gn!Reader/Apprentice
Warnings: food, vague spoilers (as in, if you know you know), Asra being mischievous
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Julian Devorak
Death Bed - Julian x gn!Reader/Apprentice
Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, crying, mental breakdown, coming to terms with dying, death, spoilers for Julian's route
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Howl's Moving Castle
Howl Pendragon
Daisies - Howl x gn!Reader
Warnings: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, happy ending, hanahaki disease, requited unrequited love, language of flowers, kissing, love confessions, potentially ooc, references to novel, movie setting
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Big Hero Six
Tadashi Hamada
Sleep Tight - Tadashi x gn!Reader (romantic or platonic)
ohhh... period comfort fics... winces in commiseration
how about taking a really hot, really long shower with sylus? being soothed by the heat and water while sylus pampers you. washes your hair, massages your back, the whole shebang. just really taking his time to make you feel good while you just get to sit and be warm
- @sunnytalks 🌻
@sunnytalks Mmmmm that would be very nice. I'm washing my bedsheets rn and I'm gonna take a shower before bed so I'm just imagining how niiiice all of that would be after being pampered by my favorite dragon
Warnings: showering together, casual nudity, some body worship, kissing, suggestive at the end
Sixth LADs Masterlist
You sigh, more like groan, with relief as you step under the spray of water. It's heated to perfection. Steam curls around you, caressing your body with latent warmth as it rises to the ceiling.
Sylus follows you into the shower with a smirk. This was his idea, after all. He knows how disgusting your period can make you feel, and he loves taking care of you by lavishing you in attention and affection and pleasantly expensive things. So, really, it's a win-win on his part. And with his shower, so many times bigger than the one at your apartment, you both fit easily under the rain showerhead. Selfishly, he takes a moment to simply admire you: the drops of water cascading down your shoulders and chest and body, the contentment on your face, the trust to allow him to see you like this while you're at your most vulnerable.
He steps closer, brushing strands of damp hair from your face. "Better?"
You hum in delight. Automatically, your hands reach out, finding his waist and holding on. He's just as warm as the water, your own personal furnace. "Yeah..." you sigh.
"Good." He ducks his head down to press a soft kiss to your shoulder. "We can stay in here for as long as you want. We won't run out of hot water for a very, very long while."
"You spoil me."
"Of course," he chuckles. "But I would hardly consider that spoiling you. I take long showers, too, you know?"
You huff, disrupting the steam in the air. "I know. The one time I let you use my shower and you used up all the hot water, all my shampoo and bodywash, and complained about it being too small."
"And see? Isn't this much better than that closet you call a shower?"
You pinch his side. He doesn't react at all, but you feel him grin against your skin. "Stupid rich boyfriend."
You let yourself soak in the heat for a while. The water feels so nice, raining down on you with the perfect pressure, stealing all your aches and pains away. Sylus wraps his arms around your waist, caressing your back, all the while humming a song beside your ear and rocking you slowly side to side. Your thoughts condense themself to this moment. No stressing about the world beyond: just you and Sylus here together.
Eventually, Sylus straightens up and walks behind you. His hands are careful and skilled as he runs his fingers through your hair to ensure it's completely soaked through. He follows the process of care you're used to, scrubbing shampoo into your scalp with gentle scratches that leave you humming and brainless. He ensures conditioner is spread from the roots to the tips of your hair, leaving it in for as long as you require. Every little thing you usually do, he does, stealing away more of your worries. You don't have to be concerned about him "doing it wrong" when he knows precisely how you like it.
Once your hair has been thoroughly rinsed of product, he moves on to washing you. He pours some bodywash on a loofah and scrubs in soothing circles along your shoulders, back, clavicle, chest, stomach. He breathes you in deep. The sweet smell of you flooding his senses.
When your legs begin to get tired, he pulls a shower seat to you, giving you his arm to hold as you sit down. He kneels by your feet and continues washing, undisturbed by the change. He scrubs your thighs, your knees (playfully tickling behind them just to hear your giggles), your calves. He washes your feet with care and reverence, lingering only as long as you'll allow him.
Everything is perfect. Your cramps are gone, your headache is far away, your agonies are tamed for the time being.
You reach out to push his wet hair from his face. He meets your eyes with a smile. Even he looks content; half-lidded and satisfied knowing you're well taken care of. You curl your fingers under his chin and draw him toward you. He follows easily, yours to command. This big, scary monster of the N109 Zone.
You kiss him slow. Savoring. Soaking in his love and the taste of him, the feel of him, like this. He follows your pace. Hums his own enjoyment into the kiss as he runs a hand up your thigh to your hip. The other, trails behind your knee, coaxing your legs open to fit him better, welcoming him between them. He feels the stutter in your breath. Hears the skip of your heartbeat under the spray of the water.
He won't do anything you're not willing to. Regardless, he has such an effect over you. So much effortless power.
finally someone who writes for blackquill!!! Him caring for the reader in his characteristic blunt but loving and effective way. making you soba, getting taka to make a supply run for, like, snacks and pain meds and stuff, even agreeing to watch the silly legal drama tv shows with you that you love but that always give him a headache because of the legal inaccuracy
Omg that's so cute ahhhh!!! It's been a hot minute since I've written for him, so I apologize if it's a bit ooc
Okay adding this after writing it, this got SO far away from me but I just could not STOP. He's so cute and ahh and I love him and AHHH 😭
Warnings: period fic, gender neutral (AFAB) reader, blood mention, murder mention, banter, teasing, Athena mention cuz that's my girl right there
Masterlist
You groan, curling in on yourself. You should be out of bed by now, but it hurts too much to even slink out to the living room couch. It would be nice if you could. You listened to Simon quietly slip out of bed at the crack of dawn, following the schedule he's followed for years behind bars in the newfound security of your home. You know he has today "off", which just means he's working from home. Using your desk as his own to look into any new cases, study up on new psychological discoveries, indulge in ancient texts from the time long past he adores so much. It would be nice just to be near him right now.
Unfortunately, with another twist of your insides, that thought is crushed. It's much safer to just lay here, in bed, willing the pain to simply disappear.
The sun is well and truly up when you hear footsteps leading to your door. The quiet click of the knob as it opens. He says your name quietly, still unused to the pet names you seem to enjoy unleashing upon him each day. "Do you intend to get out of bed soon?" It's said with the abrasive teasing he's used to, but you know there's real concern beneath.
You crack open your eyes just to see him. It's still so... surreal. Having him here. Having him home. Petering around your house in more casual clothes than anyone's ever seen him in before. His hair looking healthier than it ever has since he let it grow out so long. The sight of him truly does soothe your soul, just a little bit.
"Maybe," you answer. "My cramps are really bad right n-owww." You hiss as you curl in tighter, squeezing at your abdomen, willing the growing pressure to ease off once again. It builds and builds and builds until you whimper. And, mercifully, albeit slowly, melts away again.
Simon glares, not at you but your stomach. "I forgot that you..." He sighs. Then, determined, he steps forward and sits on the edge of your side of the bed. "Tell me what I can do to help you."
You huff. "I'm not gonna order you around." Still, your hand reaches for his and he lets you drag it toward yourself, pushing down the blankets so you can lay it over your lower abdomen with a relieved sigh. His hands are so large and warm. It feels so nice. "You don't have to worry about me, Simon."
He scoffs. "I'd never hear the end of it from Cykes-dono if I let your suffering persist. Nor does it bode well for any honor I claim to hold." With a smirk and a gleam in his eye, he continues, "And you can't pretend to despise being taken care of, either. I can read you like an open book."
You stick your tongue out at him. He tsks and presses down on your midsection. Not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you of how diligently he's already keeping your cramps at bay. "Fiiine... Can you make me something to eat?"
"Was that so difficult?"
"Yes."
"You'll need pain medication, too. I can't sit around all day with my hand over your stomach." He acts like the idea is so painfully egregious to him. And yet, as he whistles for Taka, his fingers start massaging as tenderly as he can manage into your abdomen. You smile to yourself as you trace appreciative shapes into the back of his hand.
"Painkillers," is all he says to the bird before he takes off from his shoulder and into the bathroom. You're always amazed how intelligent Taka is. He proudly carries a bottle in his talons, nibbling at Simon's ear for praise when he checks the bottle and finds it's exactly what he asked for.
"You better give him a little pat," you warn.
Simon tsks, glaring at you playfully. "With what hands, pray tell?"
Snickering, you carefully sit up, sit yourself back against your pillows, and pat your shoulder. Taka eagerly flies over and accepts the chin scratches you give him. "You're such a good bird~"
"He knows it." He removes his hand from your body to open the cap and pour out a couple pills into his palm. It's strange having free access to medications like this. No one to carefully ration them out, or withhold them even at their most necessary... He drops them into your hand and rises. "I'll be back with water."
"And my food?" you call after him playfully.
He tsks again. "You enjoy having me at your beck and call too much."
-
"Ugh, shit." You scowl at the drawer in the bathroom and how... lacking it is. Honestly, with all the excitement of Simon's return to the court and everything with the Phantom and Simon's execution date, it slipped your mind to be prepared for your next period. As such, you have, let's see, one-two-three product remaining. Which is not gonna work out.
Two now, since you have to do something about the blood already pouring out of you.
Simon is pouring a fresh batch of soba into two bowls. It's terribly domestic. His intense eyes focused on the task at hand, setting the bowls at the table with two sets of chopsticks and spoons for the broth. You know he takes his soba quite seriously.
Glancing over, wondering why you're simply standing there staring at him, he shoots you a knowing look. Still, he elects not to comment on it as he pulls your chair back from the table. "Here. Now you won't starve and I won't go back to the clink for murder."
You roll your eyes at his humor and sit down. "It takes more than one day for someone to starve."
"Not according to Cykes-dono."
He sits down across from you, delighting in his own delicious soba. The peace of it all is nearly enough to forget about your period entirely... Nearly.
You sigh. "Gotta go to the store after this. I'm basically out of product."
He scoffs at the idea. "Taka will go."
"There's no way in hell you're sending Taka shopping for me."
"You doubt his capabilities."
"I question your sanity."
He laughs. "You're not the first. He can do it. Can't you, Taka?"
His beloved hawk screeches from his perch, ruffling his feathers from his interrupted preening session. You doubt he actually has any idea what's being asked of him. For as intelligent as he is, he is only a bird. And, honestly, how often has he gone on a grocery run?
"Make a list of what you require and enough money to cover the costs. Taka will do the rest."
You shoot him a look over the table. One he smirks into his bowl to receive. "And when the clerk takes all the money and doesn't give back my change? Or if they don't let Taka in at all because he's a bird?"
"Taka will know," he says simply. He loves the way his clipped response ruffles your own feathers. He can't stop smirking as he finishes his bowl and sits back in his chair. His legs are stretched out, crossing into your space without care or concern, brushing against yours. "I suggest you have more faith in my companion."
"Fine," you huff, finishing off your bowl. He watches you get up and fetch the notepad that sits magnetized on the fridge door. "But when he comes back without anything I need, you're going out, not me!"
He snickers, watching you stomp off to the bathroom. Taka flies over, landing on the table with the click of talons on wood. Simon proudly scratches under his beak. "You're going to prove them wrong, aren't you, dear friend?"
"Kree!"
-
You huff as you fall back into the couch. Well, fall back into Simon's chest where he sits on the couch. He hmphs at the impact, but otherwise doesn't react as you settle in against him. "I can't believe he did it. I can't believe Taka actually managed to get what I needed!"
You just know Simon's wearing that cocky smirk on his face, too. You grumble as you yank his arm from the back of the couch and wrap it around you, pressing his hand back over your stomach. Your cramps aren't as bad now, after taking the pain meds, but you can't deny how pleasant having his warmth there is.
"Don't say 'I told you so'."
"I was just thinking how beneath me that would be," he teases. His focus is on the tv, where he clicks through an assortment of samurai films.
You snatch the remote from his hand. "Nuh-uh, I'm suffering, we get to watch what I want to."
He snickers. "And just this morning you were this whimpering, pathetic little thing."
You don't say anything. You don't need to. The moment you navigate to your favorite trashy law show, he grunts his disapproval and you've won the argument. "I'm sorry, what was that?"
"You..." He sighs. "I'll enact my vengeance upon you tenfold, one day soon. Don't let your guard down just yet... darling."
How can you possibly be worried about his threat when the pet name sends a delightful shiver up your spine? You feel giddy, leaning back to look at his face. His glare softens as he turns his focus away from the show and to your smile. "Say it again."
He tsks, but he smirks. "Why should I?"
"Because I'm suffering," you whine, playing it up as you press his hand tighter against you, but your big, stupid grin ruins the illusion entirely. "And you told me to tell you what would help me. So you know what would help? Hearing my giant, beautiful, gorgeous boyfriend call me his darling again."
He stares you down. You stare right back. After a minute, he relents. He ducks his head down, lowering himself to brush his lips against the shell of your ear. "Darling..." he whispers, low and deep.
Your face burns, your body warms. You giggle as you hide your face against his chest and neck, trying not to kick your feet like a lovesick teenager who just got a love letter from their crush.
Simon smiles to himself, quietly admiring how easily such a little trick affects you, and just how much he enjoys being the one to take care of you. After all, he has quite a few years to catch up on...
Since period is hitting me real hard today, I'm open to period prompts for Sylus, Valko, Casper, 5012 (I've only seen him in the dlc but I wanna try writing him), Elliott and ehhh let's throw Simon Blackquill in there too for funsies. And they can of course be requests for transmasc reader inserts <333
…𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜: In which your period cramps are giving you hell, but it’s okay, because a certain Grim Reaper is there to join you.
…𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: Fluff; kind of hurt/comfort; silliness.
…𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: Period cramps, swearing.
…𝙻𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑: 6,690 words.
…𝙰𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: AFAB!reader (not necessarily female); takes place on day eight of the DLC; spoilers for some in-game dialogue near the beginning of the fic.
Reblogs and comments are appreciated.
… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …
𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚃𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚑.
You wake up to find yourself alive, morning sunlight streaming through the gaps in your shutters in a row of horizontal golden bars on the carpet. The thought crosses your mind that you should be dead by now—probably would be, had you not extended your bargain with Casper the night before.
Oh, Casper! Of course. You wonder whether he’s feeling any better now. As adorable as he is with a flushed nose and wrapped up in his pyjamas, you’d rather have him healthy than sick. You rise out of bed, yawning, and that’s when you feel it.
The waterfall.
“Oh, fuck,” you mutter. First a cold, and now this—you can’t catch a break, can you? With a frustrated sigh, you swiftly waddle over to the bathroom to inspect the damage. Thankfully, it’s not too bad, but that’s not your only problem. Your cramps tend to be the worst during the first few days, and lucky you, you just ran out of painkillers. You can already feel the accursed sensation beginning to build in your abdomen. It’s only an uncomfortable tingle at the moment, but you know well that this is but an omen of what is to come.
Whatever. You’ll survive. Hey, maybe it’s the universe’s way of making you appreciate being alive?
…Yeah, right. If that’s the case, maybe you would rather have had Casper take your soul last night. This sucks.
Well, not like you can do much about it. Worse things happen at sea, as they say. It’s about time you started getting ready; you’ve spent long enough in the bathroom. You slap on a pad, rush through your morning routine, and settle into the day-opening ritual which has now become habit: which is to say, texting Casper to fill the lonely void in your heart. You open the texting app and type,
Seeing as I’ve lived through the night, I’d say the cold didn’t snuff you out.
My big strong boy <3
Are you feeling any better?
Ah, damn…
I missed my chance to send you a ‘get well soon’ card and chocolates.
Next time, for sure.
A few moments later, his reply pops up on the screen. He’s changed his profile picture again: another selfie, this time with a red flower tucked in his hair. A little smile spreads across your face. He took your suggestion, then.
hello to you as well.
i’m ever so sorry to disappoint, but i have no intention on ever experiencing that again.
but, chocolates, hmm. curious.
that need not be limited to a time when i am sick.
Oh? That’s new. You add ‘Casper likes chocolate’ to your mental list of things you know about him, which is growing by the day.
A sweet tooth? Unexpected.
even i can admit that mortals have brought some excellent things into existence.
chocolate being one of them.
it is relatively high up the list.
much like the computer i use now, or cup noodles.
fantastic inventions.
The talk of chocolate flips some sort of switch in your brain, and you feel suddenly like a starved animal. God, you could commit some atrocities for a chocolate bar right now.
You know what, that’s fair.
I’m having a chocolate craving right now myself.
you also have a sweet tooth?
Not usually, no.
But it’s that time of the month again, so…
???
what time of the month?
the twentieth?
You smile to yourself.
Never mind.
okay…
so, as for your question…
did you spend your entire night worrying about me?
do i consume that much of your thoughts?
Sounds like you were thinking about me, buddy.
You’re sitting there, imagining me imagining you.
Do you like me that much?
…….…
i do not know what you are talking about.
You liiiike me.
Your conversation continues along a similar vein, with you teasing him mercilessly and him trying (and failing) not to fluster before returning to the topic of his recovery. He says he’s feeling better. That makes one of us, at least, you think drily. The pain is building steadily, and you’re having to shift in your chair to keep comfortable. Not that it’s working.
anyways. sunshine, what do you know about birthdays?
You blink. That’s certainly a change of topic.
Birthdays?
That is ‘the day of one’s birth’, Casper.
ah!
i forgot i was talking to the monarch of sarcasm.
I think we can both have that title.
if it is you, i suppose i do not mind sharing….
but, birthdays…
what kind of things do people do on the days of their birth?
live sacrifices?
feasts?
The first proper wave of pain hits you. You clench your teeth, the lower half of your body seizing up against the unfair assault. You type,
Fuck.
A few seconds of silence on Casper’s end. Then,
people WHAT??
Briefly, you’re puzzled by his reaction. Then you read back over your conversation and realise how he must have understood your text. You can’t help but cackle.
Oh. My bad.
I didn’t mean it like that, lmao.
I mean, some people do, of course. But not everyone.
Anyway ignore me lol
Why the question?
Do you have any plans to conduct human sacrifices?
Or… to do something else, perhaps…?
…
ahem. to answer your first question.
i was walking amongst the halls of my workplace last night…
While you were sick???
there is not enough time to worry about that.
i had to find out more. about our strange… connection.
the link beyond the one i created between us.
it was late. i happened to overhear some superiors talking quietly…
for context, i am of the 13th station, grim reaper number 8394.
…they said that…
those numbered 8100-8400 of the 13th station were created on this day, many decades ago.
Your mouth falls open.
You’re telling me…
TODAY IS YOUR BIRTHDAY??????
Cue a discussion about Casper’s preferred birthday activities, the fleeting nature of love, and a debate about whether or not imps would appreciate having a tail pinned into their backside. Just as you finish gaslighting him, a familiar notification flashes across your screen, taking you by surprise.
[Incoming call. Accept?]
Your mouse hovers over the two options, Yes and Yes. After some careful deliberation, you select the bottom option. You can’t help but think of that meme about the illusion of free choice—except here there isn’t even the illusion. It’s not as if you mind it, though.
Casper’s red-lit room fills your screen, along with the man himself, who is lounging as usual in his chair with his cheek resting on his hand. He’s back in his normal attire, with the hair clips and Azrael absent (to your dismay). Nevertheless, the sight of him makes you feel fuzzy inside, and for a moment you aren’t thinking about the cramps.
“Wow, way to call out of the blue!” you remark.
“I grow sick of typing, and I longed to see your face,” Casper replies, his tongue poking out from between his lips.
“Oh.” You feel your face warm. “That is… awfully honest of you, Grimmy.”
“I am always honest,” he says with an air of self-satisfied pride.
“No, you’re always truthful. Definitely not always honest,” you correct. “They're different things.”
He smiles. “You know me so well, Sunshine.”
You readjust your position in your own chair again to alleviate the discomfort. “Somehow. It really does feel like we’ve known each other forever.”
“Strangely, I feel the same way,” he remarks, raising his eyebrows. “Perhaps an aftereffect of our souls being linked.”
The conversation about birthdays is still lingering in your mind, and your thoughts wander to the flier you saw yesterday for that festival. “Hey, Casper?” you say. “Have you ever seen fireworks?”
“Fireworks?” Casper frowns. “I cannot say I have. They're usually used in celebrations. Not a lot of overlap with my line of work. Why?”
“I was just thinking that it’d be perfect for your birthday. It’s fleeting, it’s beautiful, it’s… human.”
“Huh… Then I would like to see these fireworks, sometime.”
You begin to reply, but before you can say anything, your abdomen gives another spasm and you fold over, pressing your forehead into your palm with a muttered, “Ugh, shit.”
Casper frowns, leaning forward in his chair. “Sunshine? What’s the matter?”
“I’m dying,” you croak out. It doesn’t feel like a lie.
“You—what?” Panic sounds in his voice. His eyes scan over you for a few seconds before his eyebrows pinch together sharply. “Wait. Surely that cannot be the case. Our souls are linked, so if you were truly dying, I would be dying as well, yet I am not.” He pauses. “But still, something is evidently causing you pain. What is it?”
Despite the discomfort, you manage to crack a smirk. Depending on how Casper replies to your next question, this might be so fun—and considering he didn’t know what you meant by ‘that time of the month’, your money is on the ‘fun’ option. “Say, Casper,” you begin, crooning out his name, “do you know what a period is?”
Casper gives you a dead stare through the screen. He looks both supremely unimpressed and supremely perplexed. “A period?” He scoffs. “What a daft question. Of course I know what that is. A period is a designated amount of time, such as a particular period in history. Although, I fail to see what this has to do with your current pain.”
You were hoping he would say something like this. A laugh slips forth from you at his confusion. “Oh, Grim, you really are too funny sometimes, you know.”
In response, he pouts and crosses his arms, as if trying to protect his integrity from your merciless teases. “What? You think my definition was unsatisfactory?”
“Well, not necessarily, but it’s not quite what I was getting at.”
“What are you getting at, then?”
“Do you know how babies are made?”
“Ba—!” He flushes, bright red. You snap a hasty screenshot before his expression can fade. Priceless. “Of course I know how mortal infants are… conceived. But why should that affect—” Just as quickly as the colour came to his face, it drains out completely, leaving his skin white as a sheet. (Admittedly, this is not much paler than usual.) “You do not mean to say that you are…” Casper can’t seem to stomach the words. At last he manages to squeeze out in a hoarse whisper, “...with child?”
You double over again—this time not from pain, but from laughter. Oh, my god, this is too good. You laugh so hard, in fact, that it makes the cramps worse, and you have to force yourself back into a state of composure lest your abdomen literally falls off onto the floor. Wiping a tear of mirth from the corner of your eye, you reply, “No. I am most definitely not with child.” This seems to relieve him somewhat. “But it is related.”
Casper pinches his brow and sighs. “Just explain what is going on, mortal.”
“Alright, alright.” You sigh out, long and slow, letting your face settle into a comfortable deadpan.
It’s time to educate the Grim Reaper on some biology.
“Well, basically, every month, most people with a uterus go through this cycle,” you explain. “It’s called the menstrual cycle, despite the majority of those who experience it not being men, but that’s what you get when the history of science has been dictated by old guys for the last few millenia. Anyway, you see, your uterus doesn’t have the intelligence to know when you’re actually planning to have a baby, if you plan on having one at all, so every month it spends time and effort building up a lovely little blood-nest for the egg to grow in once it’s released and fertilised. However, if you haven’t, let’s say, undergone the necessary procedures for fertilising an egg, your body gets the memo a little bit too late. So by the time you’ve made it clear that no, I am not birthing a creature this time around, it’s already prepared everything. Once your uterus realises its work was in vain, it all goes to waste and gets thrown out via the, ah, what would otherwise be the child’s exit.”
Casper looks mortified. Any cringe you may have suffered by phrasing your explanation in such a way is absolutely worth it. “And this occurs every month?” he asks, almost in a state of disbelief.
“Every month,” you confirm, very solemn.
“That sounds terrible.”
You grin maliciously. “Oh, and that’s not even the best bit. Because leaking out your insides each month obviously isn’t enough, Mother Nature, in all her kindness and generosity, sometimes gives you cramps while it happens as well. Which is how we arrive at my present situation.”
He considers this new information for a few seconds, no doubt to work through the trauma you have just given him, before he narrows his eyes. “...Surely there was a more straightforward way of getting to your point,” he says.
“Well, yeah.” You shrug. “But it’s very important that you know how periods work. There are too many men out there who are ignorant about this kind of thing.”
“I suppose that is true,” he concedes. “And I cannot be comparable to those other men.”
“Obviously not,” you agree.
“Are there any ways to stop it?”
“Well, that depends on what you mean,” you reply. “For stopping your periods altogether, not really. You can take contraceptive hormone tablets which prevent you from building up your endometrium, but once the bleeding has actually started, it’s too late for that. Painkillers are also an option, but…”
“But?” he prompts.
You raise your chin and proclaim with dignity, “Painkillers are for the weak.” (Yes, you do recognise that this is a counterproductive and baseless view to hold. No, that will not stop you from milking it for humour.)
Casper raises an eyebrow. “‘For the weak’?” he repeats, sounding sceptical.
“...And I’ve also run out,” you admit. “Anyway, then there are other things you can use for comfort, like hot water bottles, but…” You sigh, dropping your joking for a moment, and rub your eyes. You can feel a migraine starting to set in. “Honestly, I just can’t be bothered to get mine right now. Too much pain and too much effort.”
A look of hard determination settles onto Casper’s face. “I understand. Stay where you are, Sunshine, and do not go anywhere.”
And before you can say anything more, the call disconnects.
“As if I would be going anywhere right now anyway…” you mutter to the dark screen, though the grumbling contains no real bite. You have an inkling of what he’s planning to do—actually, no, who are you kidding. You know with ninety-nine percent certainty he’s on his way over to you right now, probably with a shopping trolley’s worth of ibuprofen in tow. It’s sweet of him. You don’t know how you can even begin to thank him.
You push the window open for Casper in advance, then lean back in your chair and scrunch your eyes shut, trying to tune out the cramps—but goddammit, it really hurts. It’s like needles are driving constantly into your midsection before your guts are wrung out like a wet towel. You shift position a few times in the hope of settling in a more comfortable position, to no avail. There’s no helping it when the problem is inside you.
A couple odd minutes go by in which nothing much happens, and you start wondering whether you jumped to your conclusion about Casper too soon. He’s already troubled himself once to come over and look after you, and that was only a couple of days ago. Twice might be pushing it.
Nope. Right on cue, you hear a knock on your window, and the Grim Reaper slides into your room. You have to swerve sideways so that he doesn’t barrel into you as he sails over your desk onto the floor. Somebody was in a hurry, then.
“Welcome, welcome,” you say as he picks himself back up and brushes off his shoulders. “As ever, feel free to remember that my door does in fact exist.”
He breezes right past you without acknowledging your quip. “Sit,” he says flatly.
“I am literally sitting right now.”
He rolls his eyes. “On your bed, mortal. It is more comfortable than your chair.”
“And you would know that how?”
You find yourself on the receiving end of a thoroughly unimpressed look. With a sigh, you throw your hands above your head in surrender and do as you are told, trudging across the room with the grave sufferance of a war veteran and settling yourself between the cushions on your bed. It is, admittedly, more comfortable than your chair.
“I have researched how to manage these cramps of yours,” Casper explains. “Painkillers do indeed seem to be the main suggested solution. I forgot to ask which are your preferred type, so I decided it was best to cover all bases.”
He passes a stream of little packaged boxes into your hands as he talks—ibuprofen, paracetamol, naproxen, tablets, capsules… even the orange-flavoured bottles of liquid your parents would give you as a kid. You end up with a little mountain on your lap of more painkillers than you would ever need.
“This is… a lot,” you say, picking your words with care, “but thank you for getting them.” He tried, which is what matters. You place the boxes aside except for one—a pack of ibuprofen tablets similar to the ones you usually use—and, along with a swig of water from the glass next to your bed, toss it down your throat. A thought occurs to you then, concerning Casper’s lack of human money and readiness to run away with an old lady’s flowers. You turn to look at him. “By the way, please tell me you paid for all these.”
Casper is silent. You face-palm.
“Oh, my god. One of these days you’re actually going to get caught.”
“Do not worry. I was very discrete.” He sounds pleased with himself. It is an improvement from last time, in a way.
“That’s not really what I’m worried about. Just…” You rub your temples. “Look, I’m very grateful for the painkillers, but please try not to steal anything else for me in the future, okay? Twice is more than enough.”
“So how shall I get things for you?” he questions.
“Well, I can lend you some cash in advance if you need to buy something,” you suggest.
“I have no need for mortal currency.”
“…You do realise that is precisely why we’re having this conversation?”
“Then let me rephrase,” he says with a huff. “If not for you and your strange needs, I would have no need for mortal currency.”
“I never said you had to get me painkillers,” you point out. “I’m very grateful for it, but that choice was ultimately on you.”
A look of helpless dismay crosses his face. “I cannot stand by and watch as you suffer.”
The moment he says this, the pain intensifies. You clench your eyes shut and mutter a curse beneath your breath. Sickness twists in your gut. In less than a blink Casper’s hand is on your shoulder and he’s peering across at you with concern swimming in the red pools of his eyes.
“I’m fine,” you protest, but your voice is strained.
“I don’t think I need to point out how obviously that is a lie.” His expression softens by a touch as you recover yourself a little, but his hand still lingers on your shoulder. This is when a pink, rotund entity nestled beneath Casper’s other arm catches your attention.
“You brought Azrael?”
“...I thought he may be of assistance to you,” he admits. A faint dusting of red settles over his cheeks. “Azrael also… ahem, does not enjoy seeing you suffer.”
“Aw. Tell him I say thanks.”
Casper nods, very seriously, and hands the axolotl plush over to you. You pull it—him—into your chest and bury your face in the soft fur. It smells like Casper, you can’t help but notice. Ever so slightly floral, with a hint of incense and myrrh. It’s… nice.
“Where is your hot water bottle?” His voice rouses your drifting mind and pulls you back into the present moment. “I will bring it to you.”
“It should be in one of the drawers in the hallway.” You nod your chin in the general direction. As he begins to walk over, you are struck with an epiphany. “Wait,” you blurt. “I have a better idea.” You pat the space directly beside you on the bed and put on a dazzling smile. “You could be my hot water bottle.”
Casper’s eyebrows pull together in an expression of pure affrontedness. “Me, your hot water bottle? What a ludicrous suggestion. I am a gri—”
“—grim reaper, not a hot water bottle, I know, I know, yada yada.” You fix him with the most pitiful, puppy-eyed look you can muster, pushing your lips into a pout. “Make an exception just this once? For me? Poor, little me?”
For a moment, Casper looks torn. Then his shoulders slump in surrender, and you hear him muttering something under his breath about ‘troublesome humans’ as he sidles up to you—not next to you, but behind you, so that his legs are on either side of your hips and your back is pulled flush against his torso. His arms snake around your waist to tug you a fraction closer, and he rests his hands—ungloved, you notice—on your front, roughly above the area of pain. Like last time, your skin buzzes at the contact, almost magnetic, as if it wants to be closer, closer, until there is nothing separating your souls from twining together for eternity.
…Thoughts of eternal soul-twining aside, you realise your mistake too late: you forgot how fricking cold Casper’s hands are. It makes no sense. The rest of him is warm, and very comforting, actually, but his hands may as well have just been pulled from an ice bucket. You shudder despite yourself when he lays them on top of you.
He begins, “Is something—”
“It’s nothing,” you hasten to reply. “It’s just… your hands are a bit colder than I expected.”
“Oh.” Casper rubs his hands together before placing them back on your abdomen. “Is that any better?”
No, it’s not better at all, but you don’t have the heart to tell him that. You really don’t want him to move away from you right now, either. You reason that maybe physically things haven’t changed, but emotionally speaking, seeing the lengths he’s going to for your sake… “Yes, much better. Thanks, Grim.”
“Don’t call me that,” he mutters, at which you can’t help but chuckle.
“Alright, then, Steve.”
You feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back as he heaves a sigh. That’s one victory for you.
You close your eyes and lean back into his embrace. The position is comfortable, but you can’t relax as much as you would like to: the subzero temperatures of his hands are too great to ignore. You try to shift as little as possible, not wanting him to realise that anything is wrong, but you can’t stop yourself. In fact, you’re pretty sure this is actually making the pain worse.
After a few minutes, you hear Casper sigh again. “Clearly, Sunshine, you are not comfortable. My hands are still too cold, aren’t they?”
“No,” you lie slowly.
“I can feel you shivering.”
“Okay, maybe a little,” you concede. “It’s possible I’m still a bit sick, too.”
“You should have told me earlier.”
“I wasn’t lying when I said it felt better. Just… that wasn’t necessarily physically.”
He clicks his tongue. “You and your mortal word games. Wait here. I will get you an actual hot water bottle.” He lifts his arms from around you and you are struck at once by how much you don’t want him to go.
“Wait,” you’ve said, before you know what you’re doing.
He hesitates. “Yes?
…But you also really want that hot water bottle. What a palaver. With deep regret, you suppose it is probably best to sacrifice his presence for a few moments and acquire the bottle, and resume cuddling afterwards. That doesn’t mean you are too keen on it, though. “Nothing,” you say, shaking your head. “Just… don’t be too long, okay?”
A stupidly smug smirk crosses his stupidly beautiful face. “Afraid you will miss me so quickly, are you, Sunshine?”
You sigh. “Something like that, I suppose. Don’t let it get to your head.”
Too late. Judging by his facial expression, it has most certainly got to his head, right down to the very atomic structure of his neurones. He’s such a poophead sometimes.
Casper leans over and presses a brief, tender kiss to your brow. “I will be swift,” he vows, a red flush settling over his cheeks as he turns his face away. With butterflies in your ribcage, you watch him go.
The few minutes that he’s away seem to drag on forever. You cuddle Azrael as you wait, rocking back and forth on your mattress. This whole situation is still surreal to you, even after a week. The Grim Reaper—the literal Grim Reaper—is in your house for a second time, coddling you for a second time. If you had a nickel for every time you were coddled by the Grim Reaper, you would have two nickels, which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice. And awesome as hell. This definitely wins you bragging rights over, like, every other human out there.
After what feels like hours but was probably no longer than a couple minutes, Casper returns with your fuzzy green triceratops hot water bottle in hand.
“A dinosaur?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at you.
“Well, yeah,” you grumble, “I was obsessed with dinosaurs as a kid. Everyone goes through that phase. And you’re hardly one to talk, Mr Pink Axolotl.” You pat Azrael’s head. “Which is not to insult Azrael, of course. He is immaculate and beautiful.”
“I agree wholeheartedly. But what does that mean you are implying about me…?”
You shrug. “No comment.” Casper shakes his head, sighing, and hands the hot water bottle to you. “Thanks,” you say, pressing it against your midsection. The warmth radiates right through you and you can’t help but sigh out in satisfaction. Casper stands beside the bed, looking a little awkward as it becomes overwhelmingly apparent that his previous efforts were useless. Noticing his hovering, you smile and wave him over. “I have my physical comfort, and now I need my emotional one. C’mere.” With a mischievous wriggle of your fingers, you add, “I’m not done tormenting you yet.”
“That much was obvious,” he responds, shifting back into place behind you on the bed.
“How so?”
“You are always tormenting me. There is no end to it.” The weariness in his voice is at odds with the way his arms come around your sides to cradle you close.
You frown. “Damn. If I’m that predictable already, I’m going to have to up my game.”
“Please, for both of our sakes, do not.” You can’t help but chuckle at how pained he sounds. “I shudder to think what that would look like.”
As you talk, Casper sets his hands lightly upon your waist. His hands are still cold, of course, but now that you have the hot water bottle to balance things out more, it’s not too bad. You assume he’s just going to hold you—which in itself would be more than enough to satisfy you—but after a moment, you feel his fingers begin to press circles into your skin. He must notice the way you suck in a breath, because he clears his throat and says, “I read multiple sources that said massages can help with cramps. Is this…?”
“Okay?” You relax into his touch, smiling to yourself, and say quietly, “Yeah. It’s perfect.”
Casper smirks. “Obviously. I am the one doing it, after all.”
Oh my god, you think, I am in love with a complete idiot.
“Oh. Wait,” he says. “I almost forgot that I brought this for you, too.” He pulls one arm away from you to reach into his pocket and draws out a little heart-shaped item wrapped in shiny metal foil. One whiff and you know what it is.
Your heart melts at the sight. “Casper… You’re spoiling me way too much here.”
“There is no need to be so dramatic about it,” he replies as he hands it to you. “It is just chocolate.”
“Even so. You really didn’t have to go to such lengths.” You lift it to your mouth and are about to unwrap it when a thought strikes you, making you hesitate. You lower the chocolate heart and turn to Casper. “Hey, you said you like chocolate, too. How about we share it?”
This suggestion appears to catch him off-guard. “Share it?”
“Yeah, share it. I’ll take one bite, you take another.”
“I…” He flushes again, deeper this time, his mouth open and closing soundlessly and his eyes darting from your hand to the floor.
You weren’t expecting quite as much buffering as this when you made the suggestion. “…You don’t want to?” you ask, a tad disappointed. “I mean, we don’t have to, of course. I just thought it might be fun.”
“N-no!” he hastens to reply. “No, I… ahem. I would like to, very much. It’s just that…” Casper stares at the chocolate in your hand, his expression torn. Warily, he asks, “Your ‘period’ is not… contagious, is it?”
You’re stunned into silence. Casper stares at you with evident concern. You collapse into another bout of laughter. “No,” you wheeze out. “No, it’s not. Or it shouldn’t be, at least. Who knows, given our soul connection. In any case, you won’t catch it from eating the chocolate.”
He still looks hesitant—no doubt his little joust with a cold yesterday was enough to traumatise him for life—but your reply is reassuring enough for him to assent. “Very well,” he says, still blushing from head to toe. “We can share it.”
“Great. Who’s feeding who?”
Maybe you were wrong about him blushing head-to-toe, because somehow, if possible, he becomes an even deeper shade of red. “F-feeding?” he all but chokes out.
“Well, yeah. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t enjoy that.”
“…I could not say so even if I wanted to. That would be a lie.” He looks physically pained as he speaks. He is way too cute.
“Exactly. So, once again, who feeds who?”
Silence.
“You want me to feed you, don’t you?” you say knowingly.
“Actually, I was going to…” He clears his throat, eyes darting away. “...Propose the opposite…”
You can’t help the smile which spreads across your face. “You’re so sweet. But I kind of want to feed you, too. Especially because it’s your birthday and all that.”
“We can feed each other?” he suggests.
You shrug. “Sounds good to me. Open up, Grimmy.”
This seems to shock him. “I’m going first?”
“Well, unless you have any reservations…?”
For the briefest of moments, he seems to hesitate, before he draws up his shoulders and steels himself. Against what, you don’t know. “No. Nevermind. I will do it. Bring it on, mortal.”
The look of determination in his eyes is too funny, and you chuckle as you unwrap the chocolate heart and raise it to Casper’s mouth. His resolve crumbles the moment your little finger brushes by accident against his lower lip. His gaze darts wildly around the room, and you can feel the heat radiating from his skin as he takes a tentative bite. With some degree of effort, he swallows, raising his fist in front of his mouth as if that were enough to hide the vibrant colour of his skin.
“Not so bad, is it?” you tease.
“It was terrible,” he replies quietly.
“Oh. Really?”
“Yes,” he insists. “Having you so close… I cannot function properly. You do things to me that are… ugh, I cannot even think, much less speak like this.”
Ah, so that’s what he meant. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” you grin. “Alright, my turn.”
You pass the remaining half of the chocolate to him. He pinches it carefully between his thumb and index finger, like he is handling some priceless artefact. You wait with a patient smile as he brings it to your lips and pushes it gently between them. The rich, sweet flavour floods your taste buds, but all you can think of is his proximity and the coolness of his fingertips brushing against your lips as you take what’s left of the chocolate into your mouth. Your throat at once grows dry and you struggle to get the bite down.
So, you fell for exactly the same things that he did. How embarrassing.
A victorious smirk flashes across Casper’s face. “Heh. And you act as though you are less prone to flustering than I.”
“Well, I am, most of the time,” you protest. “It’s just that… well, it’s kind of like we’re kissing.” At the mention of k-word, his cheeks flare red. A realisation dawns upon you. “Wait. That’s why you wanted to go first, isn’t it?”
“...Shut up.”
“Hahaha. Okay, as you wish.”
You sit in silence for a while, content to bask in each other’s wordless presence. Thanks to Casper’s various efforts, your cramps are becoming somewhat manageable, and the warmth of his body against your back and feeling of his arms around you brings you a sense of comfort you cannot put into words. It feels like home—like belonging. Like a safe, secret hiding hole from the world where you could bury yourself if you wished. For a moment you wonder whether you’ve ever been happier.
Casper’s hair tickles your shoulder as he leans forward and nestles his face in the crook of your neck, close enough that you can feel his lips just barely brushing your skin. Your heart gives a dangerous stutter and heat, not from the water bottle, rushes through you. You expect him to tease you over your reaction—there’s no way he hasn’t noticed your pulse skyrocket—but Casper does not remark on it. Instead, it is a moment until he speaks.
“I wish,” he says, slowly, carefully, as if voicing a prayer, “that I could take away your pain. It is not fair. You do not deserve to suffer.”
The simplicity of the statement, spoken with such straightforward sincerity, gives you pause. Warm, tender fondness buds inside you for this reaper’s kind heart and, in some ways, his pitiable naivety. “Lots of people don’t deserve to suffer,” you reply in a small voice, “but it happens anyway. It’s just a part of life.”
“It should not be.”
“Maybe not.” You twine your fingers together in front of you and give his hands a light squeeze. “But it is.”
He squeezes back and presses his nose into the junction between your shoulder and your neck. Having him so close… you almost can’t believe it.
“Thank you for coming over, Casper,” you say after a pause, putting your heart into every word. “You really didn’t have to, but I appreciate it. So, so much—especially considering it’s your birthday and there are definitely better ways of spending it. The cramps still hurt like hell, of course, but having you around makes it more bearable somehow.”
His voice is quiet, words muffled slightly against your skin. “I would always come. For you.”
The fondness from before blossoms and opens up inside you; a flower unfurling its petals, a fuzzy warmth pooling in your stomach. Words well on the tip of your tongue, but you keep them there. There is no need for speech. Not with him. Somehow, you are certain Casper already knows everything you would say and more; because that’s how it is when two people understand each other.
You understand each other. The notion is consoling; it’s right, somehow. Despite it only being a week since you met—something you are still struggling to wrap your head around—it feels true as you think it. Life is so bizarre in the way that you can spend your whole life surrounded by people and never truly know them, and then one day somebody walks in out of the blue and sees right into the heart of you.
The silence stretches onwards, enveloping you both in its arms of unspoken reassurance. You could stay like this forever and be perfectly happy. Casper, too, appears to have no intention of moving: he seems content just holding you and pressing the occasional kiss to your nape. You’re struck with the sense that time has ground to a standstill, and that all that matters (or ever has or ever will) is the present moment and the gentle tug of your souls towards one another, railing against separation. It doesn’t feel like so far of a stretch to suppose that, right now, you and him are the only two souls in the world. Oh, and Azrael, of course. Everything else—the pain, the future, responsibilities, the human race—is a pretty illusion trying to distract you from this fact.
Your wandering mind falls back into place when your roaming eyes rest on the clock hanging above your door. It’s been—two hours?
You take it upon yourself to disturb the quiet. “I hate to be the one to say this, but you probably have to go at some point, don’t you?” Your own voice sounds foreign to you; intrusive, like it shouldn’t be there. “Surely you have reaper work to do.”
“Well, yes, I do,” Casper confesses, “but if you want me here, I can stay.”
“You know what my answer will be, Casper.”
“Do I?” Given the audible smirk in his voice, he absolutely does. He just wants to hear it from you, the smug bastard.
Still, you decide you’ve caused him enough trouble for a day or two, and so choose to humour him just this once. “I always want you here,” you reply honestly. “But I also don’t want you getting in trouble because of me.”
“It doesn’t count as trouble if it is for your sake.” He says it with such simple conviction. “Technically, considering my main assignment is still to collect your soul, I am in the process of completing it.”
You place a hand over your heart in mock offence. “Wow. That’s cold. Even colder than your hands, in fact. And here I thought you came because you cared about me, Cas.”
He scowls. “Of course I came here for you. You know that.”
“Yep, I do.” You smile. “I was teasing you.”
Casper clicks his tongue. “You are so incorrigible sometimes.”
“I think you’ll find that I’m incorrigible all of the time, actually,” you rectify, “but you love it, don’t you?”
“...I will not answer that.”
“I’m afraid you already have.”
“I literally have not.”
“In avoiding the question, you literally have.”
“That is quite literally not what ‘literally’ means, sunshine. Do you need me to pull out a dictionary, too?”
“If you’re offering to read it to me, I won’t say no,” you reply with a mischievous wink. “But anyway, I think you just don’t want to admit it.”
There’s a note of amusement in his response. “Admit what?”
“That you secretly love all of my personality traits with all of your soft, sappy heart.”
You can’t see Casper’s face, but you hear the fond smile leaking into his voice. “There is no secret in it, Sunshine. But yes, I do.”
With that, you soak up the last few precious moments of peace, before—
“Oh, shit.”
“...Casper? All good?”
“This sudden pain… w-what…”
“Ah. You know, I was starting to think that you might not get them, because no uterus and all that, but, uh… at least we’re not short on painkillers?”
“Sunshine… I truly think I am dying here. How can anything be worse than a cold? How?”
You shrug. “Sorry. Welcome to that time of the month, Cas.”
Because I am a menace do you think you could do this scenario where fem!reader is talking with the lads over the phone but she has bad signal so shes super amd at the bad signal and is like "im breaking up on you" and they think she said shes breaking up with them.
lads boys thinking reader is accidentally breaking up with them over phone call
pairing: fem!reader or fem!mc x xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus, caleb, valko (all separate)
warnings: none
a/n: this is too funny absolutely brilliant idea that i had so much fun imagining and writing out thank you anon! i hope you enjoy
xavier (word count: 625)
you called xavier while you were grocery shopping. the plan was simple. you were going to his apartment later for a baking date, and since you knew his pantry was probably lacking anything remotely useful, you decided to ask what ingredients he already had before buying everything yourself. although, if you were being honest, you suspected the answer was going to be very little.
xavier answered after a few rings. "hey. do you need something?"
you smiled at the familiar sound of his voice.
"do you have—any..."
you looked around the supermarket. the aisles were unusually crowded. boxes were stacked everywhere, carts were blocking the shelves, and employees were busy restocking. the perfect timing.
"what? can you say that last word again?"
you frowned and looked down at your phone. the call was still connected. xavier's name was still displayed on the screen. so why couldn't he hear you?
you brought the phone closer and spoke a little louder. "i said, do you—"
static suddenly ripped through the speaker. the loud crackling made you pull the phone away from your ear. seriously your service, again? you knew you should have upgraded your phone the last time you had the chance. somehow, every time you left home, your signal decided to disappear at the worst possible moment.
"do i what?"
xavier's voice came through again, quieter this time. "is everything okay?"
you tried to answer quickly before the connection disappeared again.
"no, i—i'm breaking up—" the static returned. "—with you."
the call suddenly dropped, and you stared at your phone in disbelief. the little service bar that had completely disappeared.
you immediately tried texting him - sorry, my phone lost service.
the message failed. you tried again. nothing, just the pesky exclamation mark showing it didn't go through.
you sighed, putting your phone away. you would see him soon anyway, and you could explain then.
you pushed your cart further down the aisle, reaching for a box of sugar. then everything changed. a flash of light surrounded you. the store disappeared for a moment. and a familiar voice cut through the beam.
"you are breaking up with me?"
slowly, you turned and standing in front of you was xavier. his eyes were wide, concern written all over his face.
"xavier?" you dropped the sugar box. "what are you—what?!"
you stepped closer, completely confused. "why would you think that?"
you immediately wrapped your arms around him. but for a moment, he hesitated, like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to hold you back.
"on the phone," he said quietly, "you said 'i'm breaking up with you.'"
his expression softened. "i thought you were crying. that's why your voice kept cutting out."
you couldn't stop the small smile that appeared. of course this was what he thought. it was ridiculous, and somehow, completely adorable.
"no, xavier." you pulled away and held up your phone. "my phone sucks! my service stopped working. see?"
you showed him the failed messages. the evidence was right there. for a second, he just stared, then a hint of redness crept across his ears.
"oh." he looked away, clearly embarrassed that he had jumped to that conclusion. but finally, his arms wrapped around you. relieved. "i see."
"you teleported to a grocery store because you thought i broke up with you."
"i was concerned." he muttered into your shirt.
you smiled, "you're lucky you're cute."
"please stop."
you felt him shaking his head but you couldn't stop smiling. after a moment, xavier pulled away and looked down at your cart.
"so..." he glanced at the ingredients. "are we still having baking night?"
"that was your first question after all this?"
he looked at you seriously then smiled.
"yes, xavie. we're still having baking night."
"good...i'll help."
zayne (word count: 666)
zayne knew he was going to be at the hospital late. you knew it too, which was exactly why you were currently sitting in the parking lot outside a small restaurant, a bag of his favorite food sitting carefully beside you. a surprise.
he had been working nonstop lately, taking extra shifts and barely remembering to eat anything that wasn't from the hospital cafeteria. you figured showing up with dinner was the least you could do.
your phone rang before you could start driving - zayne's caller id flashing.
you smiled immediately as you answered, "hi."
your keychains rattled slightly as you went to put the key in the ignition.
"you sound busy."
"i'm…not." you didn't want to let on that you were on your way to see him and hoped your voice wouldn't give you away.
"you hesitated."
he knew you too well. you tried to play it off, "and you spend too much time analyzing people."
"i'm a doctor it's in the job description."
you smiled to yourself as you pulled onto the road. "how's your shift?"
"long."
"that bad?"
"i've had better."
you frowned sympathetically, "did you eat?"
"i had coffee."
"that is not food."
"it had calories."
you drove through the tunnel, still talking. "so i was thinking maybe after your shift—"
the call crackled, you glanced at your phone.
"hello?" he asked
"i-was thinking-need-to-break-up " there was static. "your schedule" you tapped the screen. it was still connected. "zayne?"
then the call ended. the tunnel was always bad for service. you should have known you were going to lose him. no matter, you shrugged it off. you would see him soon anyway.
after a few more errands you arrived at the hospital. zayne had just finished with a patient when he returned to his office.
and there you were standing by his desk. setting out dinner.
you turned around with a smile, "surprise!"
for a moment, he looked like he had forgotten how to react. then his expression shifted. not confusion...something worse.
"you shouldn't be here."
your smile immediately faltered. "what do you mean?"
"i thought..." he looked away. "i thought you broke up with me."
the utensil in your hand slipped, and fell on the floor with a clatter. "WHAT?!"
zayne looked at you confused. "the call. when you said..." his voice lowered. "that you were breaking up with me."
there was a brief moment of silence then — "SO YOU WERE JUST GOING TO LET ME BREAK UP WITH YOU OVER A PHONE CALL?!"
the entire office went quiet. some of his coworkers outside the window stopped walking. zayne just stared at you.
"that's what you're upset about?"
"yes! you thought i broke up with you and your solution was just... acceptance?"
"it's not like i had much time to question it, i had patients to see."
"zayne." you said taking a step closer to him
he opened his mouth to speak then stopped, because now that he was hearing it out loud, it did sound absurd. not only would you never, but he should have never assumed.
you crossed your arms standing directly in front of him now.
he sighed, "i'm sorry, it's been a long day."
you raised an eyebrow. "that's your excuse?"
"it is the only explanation i have."
you tried to stay annoyed. you really did. but then he stepped closer, his expression softening as his hands reached for you.
your face relaxed. "i guess i should have called back when i got out of the tunnel."
"yes, you should have."
you rolled your eyes and before you could respond, he leaned down and kissed you. it was slow and gentle. the tension he had felt all day melting away. the kind of kiss that said he was still relieved you were here.
when he pulled away, he glanced at the dinner you brought, and his stomach rumbled before he could stop it.
"go eat before i change my mind and pack this up."
"yes ma'am"
rafayel (word count: 744)
you had just finished getting dinner with some friends and were about to head into a new nightclub. it was supposed to be a great night. no drama. no problems. just a fun night out.
before you went inside, you decided to call rafayel. mostly because you knew if you didn't, he would somehow convince himself you died in some horrible accident.
you waited near the entrance, watching the line slowly move forward. the second he answered, you smiled.
"hey. how's girls night?" his voice immediately turned teasing. "miss me already?"
the music from the club was already blasting through the speakers outside, the bass vibrating through the sidewalk. It was way too loud.
"good, miss you—what? having fun."
"that's good...i think."
you smiled, smushing your phone up closer to your ear trying to hear him better.
"if you need a ride home, just let me know."
you looked toward the front of the line. you were almost inside.
"i'm sorry—"
the music drowned you out. you stepped away from the crowd, pressing your phone closer to your ear.
"i am breaking up—"
there was static and rafayel's voice barely cut through. "what?"
you frowned, "i said i'm breaking up—" the connection broke again. you tried moving toward the side of the building where it was quieter. "—with you."
the call dropped. you stared at your phone. "oh, come on."
you barely had time to register that you had lost signal before your phone started going off.
once. twice. then nonstop. notifications flooded your screen - your social media. yur personal email. your work email. somehow, rafayel had found every possible method of communication and was using all of them.
you opened the first message - we can work this out, i promise.
then the next - please don't leave me. i love you so much.
you continued scrolling. there were at least twenty more. you weren't even sure when he had managed to type all of them.
i don't understand what happened but i am willing to take the blame.
are you ignoring me?
that is fair. i deserve it.
but please know i am suffering.
you covered your face with your hand. you immediately tried calling him back but it steadily beeped. you checked your signal bar. no bars.
you looked at the nightclub entrance. your friends were waiting. the night was supposed to be fun. but now you had a very dramatic boyfriend somewhere thinking his entire relationship had ended because of a bad phone connection.
you sighed, "sorry guys."
your friends looked at you. "what happened?"
you held up your phone, "rafayel."
they immediately understood. "again?"
you nodded, apologizing as you left the line, already knowing where you were going. by the time you reached his place, you weren't even surprised that the door opened before you knocked. rafayel stood there. his hair was messy, and his expression was devastated.
you stared at him, "rafayel."
he looked at you for all of 0.5 seconds then immediately pulled you into a hug.
"i thought you were gone."
"raf-"
"i was prepared to give you space." he interrupted
you couldn't help laughing. he pulled back, looking offended.
"this isn't funny. you broke up with me over a phone call."
"but the thing is i actually didn't."
"you said you were breaking up with me."
"i said the call was breaking up!"
rafayel froze, "what?"
"the signal dropped." you held up your phone. "the nightclub was loud, my service was terrible, and you heard half a sentence."
his expression slowly changed devastation turning into hope, "you mean..."
"i mean i was not breaking up with you."
there was a pause, then his shoulders dropped. the dramatic despair faded into embarrassment.
"oh...so i see now that i panicked."
"you contacted my work email."
"i was desperate!" he looked away. "i thought i was losing my muse."
you softened immediately, because underneath all the drama, that was the real reason. he loved deeply. sometimes too deeply.
you reached up and fixed his hair, "you are dramatic. "
"and..."
"and i love you."
his expression brightened immediately as he pulled you into the house and closed the door.
"good. does this mean girls night is over? i just want to know if i should order dinner."
you laughed, "you're unbelievable."
"but?"
you sighed, "but yes. order dinner."
he kissed your forehead. "next time, please don't break up with me."
"next time, please let me finish a sentence."
sylus (word count: 551)
you should have known answering a call during a mission was a bad idea - but it was sylus. and despite everything you claimed about being professional, you always answered when it was him.
your phone buzzed as you moved through the abandoned district, scanning the area for Wanderer activity. you accepted the call.
"you're calling me during work hours?" you teased.
a low chuckle came through the speaker. "and you're answering during a mission. seems we're both making questionable decisions."
you rolled your eyes. "you missed me."
"obviously."
you opened your mouth prepared to continue teasing him. then something moved behind you.
"sylus, hold on."
a wanderer lunged. you dodged, your phone bouncing against your shoulder as you fought back.
"are you seriously fighting while we're on the phone?"
"kind of busy!"
"i can tell." there was amusement in his voice.
you fired back at the wanderer, moving quickly across the street.
"stay there!"
"i am not the one you need to tell that to."
the wanderer attacked again, and you grunted, pushing it back.
"sylus, i'm breaking—" static swallowed your voice.
his expression changed. "what?"
you were still talking but all he heard was fragments.
"i'm breaking..." the signal crackled. "...with you."
he heard a crash then silence. for several seconds, sylus stared at his phone.
by the time your shift ended, you were already exhausted. you noticed the missed calls immediately. and the moment you called him back, he answered.
"i am so sorry." you begin trying to explain
"where are you?"
"uh...leaving headquarters?"
"good, when you get outside look to your right."
"why?"
you stepped outside and there he was. leaning against his car like he hadn't just appeared at your workplace without warning.
"sylus?"
"i already ordered you a new phone. your current one is clearly unreliable."
before you could respond his voice cut through again
"now get over here."
you ended the call and crossed over to him.
"are you mad at me?"
"no...i'm irritated."
"because my phone broke?"
he looked over your head off into the distance. "you said you were breaking up with me."
you immediately covered your face. "i was fighting a wanderer."
"yes, i gathered that."
"i said i was breaking—" you pointed at your phone. "—up because the call was breaking up. the wanderer must have been interfering with my signal. "
sylus stared at you for a long moment, then he sighed. "that is incredibly inconvenient."
for the first time throughout this entire situation, you laughed.
"you thought i would randomly break up with you?"
"no." he answered so quickly it caught you off guard. "because that would be stupid, kitten."
"and yet..." you lifted your phone between the two of you, holding it up right in front of his face.
he looked at the cracked screen for a second before plucking it neatly from your hand.
"it looks like i eliminated the greatest threat."
he turned the phone over once, inspecting it with all the seriousness of someone evaluating an enemy combatant.
"you are such an old man."
you stepped into his space and looped your arms around his neck. shaking your head, you leaned up and kissed him.
when you pulled away, he was already slipping the phone into his pocket.
"the new one arrives tomorrow."
caleb (word count: 632)
caleb answered your call while walking toward the transport bay, his tablet tucked under one arm.
"where are you?" he asked.
you smiled at the immediate question. "hello to you too."
"hello." his tone softened slightly. "now answer the question."
you glanced around your surroundings. "i'm outside."
"outside where?"
"work."
"you're just leaving?"
"yeah. i had to stay late."
"you said that two hours ago." he complained
"and yet here i am."
he huffed quietly, but you could hear the amusement in it. "unbelievable."
"you're one to talk!"
caleb smiled to himself as he listened to you talk. this was the part of missions he hated most—the quiet moments before leaving, when he had to memorize the sound of normal things. you complaining about work and the two of you arguing over nothing.
"anyway," you continued, "i was just calling because i wanted to—"
your voice suddenly felt very far away. caleb pulled the phone away slightly, checking the screen. your id was still glowing right back at him.
"hello?"
"i'm here." your voice came back, but faintly.
stupid reception. of course being so close to the deepspace tunnel. the signal always got weird around this area.
"where did you go?" he asked.
static swallowed half your words.
"i'm breaking" the connection broke then returned for half a second. enough for him to hear the next words clear as day. "up with you"
before he could ask what you meant the call dropped. for a moment, his brain refused to process it. then it did, and the colonel who had faced down impossible missions, hostile enemies, and things most people would never survive—stood completely still in the middle of the transport bay.
caleb never made it onto the airship. he told himself it was because the mission could wait. clarification was more important.
the moment command cleared him, he was already moving. by the time he reached home, he was still in uniform. he didn't even take the time to change. the second the door opened, he was already inside. you barely had time to look up from the couch.
"caleb? why are you—"
you didn't get to finish because he was already crossing the room. and then he was holding you. not a casual hug. not the kind where he pulled you close and teased you about worrying too much. this was desperate. like he needed to feel you breathing before he could believe he was home.
you froze, your arms hovering awkwardly before slowly wrapping around him.
"caleb?"
his grip tightened. "we can't break up." his voice came out rough. "not now...not ever."
you pulled back just enough to look at him. "caleb, what are you talking about?"
his eyes were red. actually red. and that was when the confusion turned into concern.
"you said it...on the phone" he whispered.
faint amusement played on your lips, "oh...oh my god."
but caleb still looked at you serious.
"my love we were losing signal," you said slowly. "i was literally telling you the call was breaking up."
the realization hit him all at once. at the same time you stared at his uniform.
"wait." your eyes narrowed. "did you leave the mission?"
"i thought you were leaving me."
the quiet confession made your heart ache.
you reached up and touched his face. "what did you tell them?"
"that there was a family emergency."
"caleb you cannot be serious?!"
"well it wasnt exactly a lie!"
you laughed softly, shaking your head. "you really scared yourself."
"i know." he said so quiet you almost didn't hear him.
"you cried, didn't you?"
his silence answered for him.
your expression softened turning teasing, "the big bad colonel cried?"
"don't start."
his forehead rested against yours, and for the first time since that awful phone call, he laughed.
"lets hope i don't get fired"
valko (word count: 674)
valko had dealt with system failures before. servers crashing. technology malfunctioning at the worst possible moment. he had built an entire company around solving those problems. so when his phone failed him, he took it personally.
the call had started normally. you were on your way home, talking about your day while valko finished up some work.
"you're still in the office?" you asked.
"yes."
"you know, most people leave work eventually."
"most people are not running a company."
"no i am pretty sure even those people go back to their normal lives."
he was still smiling when the call started breaking up. at first, he assumed it was a minor connection issue.
then your voice distorted. "valko, i'm—"
his brows furrowed, turning the speaker off and bringing the phone closer to him.
"i'm breaking up—" the words jumbled together slightly. then the line dropped but right before it did he could have sworn you had said "with you"
valko stared at the screen. for several seconds, he didn't move. then he looked around his office. the same office where his employees had spent years developing cutting-edge technology. and somehow...his own phone had just delivered the worst possible message.
within the next hour, his executive team walked into a meeting expecting quarterly reports. instead, they found valko sitting at the head of the table with his phone placed in front of him.
one employee hesitated before asking. "is there an issue?"
"there is."
everyone became serious. "security breach?" someone said
"no."
"system failure?"
"no...my phone."
the room went silent. "your phone?" his assistant asked
valko nodded. "it malfunctioned."
someone looked confused. "we can replace it."
"that is not the point." valko continued. "it caused unnecessary emotional distress."
one employee slowly realized what happened. "sir."
"no." valko's expression remained completely serious. "i am exploring legal options."
"against who?"
"the manufacturer," valko said evenly. "the network provider. possibly both."
he clasped his hands behind his back and continued pacing.
"i am considering emotional damages."
"valko."
your voice cut cleanly through the room. every head turned toward the office door. one of his assistants had called you the moment valko started pacing around his office, throwing papers across his desk and, according to the assistant's very panicked words, "absolutely raging."
you'd changed directions immediately and came straight to his company. now, standing in the doorway, you looked between the nervous employees and your boyfriend.
"what's going on?" you asked carefully. "your assistant called and said it was an emergency."
the moment valko saw you, every ounce of composure disappeared. he crossed the room in seconds and wrapped his arms around you without a second thought, completely ignoring the audience.
"valko?"
he held you tighter. "explain the phone call."
you frowned, "what phone call?"
"the breakup."
then your eyes widened. "break—" you slapped a hand over your forehead. "oh! i was saying the call was breaking up!"
the office went completely still. valko slowly turned his head toward his employees. then, with all the dignity he could still salvage, he cleared his throat.
"everyone out."
no one argued. laptops, notebooks, coffee mugs—everything was abandoned as the room emptied in record time. when the door clicked shut, only then did valko finally look back at you.
he glanced down, suddenly finding the floor very interesting. "i see..."
you stared at him for exactly three seconds before bursting into laughter.
"you thought i broke up with you? and you were going to sue your own industry as a result?"
he sighed, sat down in his chair, and effortlessly pulled you into his lap.
"you are never letting this go, are you?"
"oh, absolutely not."
a reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. you brushed a thumb across his cheek, still smiling.
"you owe me an apology."
he considered that then shook his head. "no. you owe me."
"for what?"
he looked at you with complete seriousness. "emotional damages."
you groaned, laughing as you buried your face against his shoulder.
The balcony on the second floor is cold. The cigarette you pocketed from someone's pack downstairs is sticky on your tongue as you huff. It doesn't taste good — not that you were expecting it to, but it doesn't have the same addictive properties you had— why did you expect it to be addictive in the first place anyway? You don't remember any of that from when you were human.
"0213."
You turn to face your trainer, removing the smoke from your mouth and looking at him.
"Am I getting reprimanded? Or chased out?"
5012 looks at you, and stares. You stare back, and you watch as he rests a hand on the railing next to you, and then his free hand moves.
At first, you think he's going to brush the hair from your face, but it stops by the cigarette between your lips, and he takes it. You let him, lips relaxing around the smoke as his fingers brush yours to take it off your hand.
He presses the cigarette to his own lips, inhaling as he closes his eyes.
"Neither."
"Rare." You huff. "I'd like that back, though. It's the only one I have."
5012 removes the cigarette from his mouth, pressing the end between your lips as the back of his fingers brush your lips.
It feels weirdly intimate.
"Thank you."
He hums, staring as he reaches into his pocket.
"You stole from my pack."
"Want something back in exchange?" You tap your chin, flicking your wrist to let the ash fall a little. "A day of no yammering? I can leave too. Anything for the taking."
"Anything?"
"Anything."
"Mm."
5012 takes the cigarette from your lips, and you watch as he leans down slowly, lips pressing to yours as you taste the haze on. his lips, tilting your head gently to give him easier access.
When he pulls from you, you catch your breath, staring to the side as he takes out a cigarette of his own, returning yours to your lips as you bite the brown between your lips.
He places his unlit one between his lips, and he leans over slightly to press the white of his cigarette to the lit part of yours.
The white turns orange first, and then the fire spreads to his own cigarette, and he pulls from you, staring back into the city as you're left to collect yourself.
"Your papers are all messed up." You grin, stretching your neck back as you dodge a kiss from 5012.
He hums, palms pressing to the bone of your thigh instead, holding it in place as he uses his own legs to nudge you to spread further apart. You try to be good for him, but you also find that riling him up for a reaction is nothing if not funny. It's called playing your cards right, you insist. He calls it being a brat. You huff when he calls you that. You behave when you know it does you good. Besides, he's acting like he doesn't enjoy when you act like a brat.
"Be good."
"Like you were when you looked so good in that suit for me? Who knew you were hiding so much under that jacket of yours." You laugh, and 5012 puts his cigarette out in his ashtray on the side. The flame dies, and he looks at you, humming as he picks up the dead cigarette one last time.
"Open your mouth."
"What? Gonna—"
"Be good." He takes a final drag of the cigarette, hand grabbing your jaw to force your mouth open as he presses his lips to yours, taking the chance to slip into you as you moan into his mouth. You think your eyes nearly get stuck from how far back they roll. The smoke is tangy on your tongue as you inhale, an obnoxiously obscene moan escaping you when the smoke settles in your lungs.
The moan you let out isn't without effect, though, and 5012 moans back into your mouth when he bottoms out inside of you.
You're so so full.
He pulls his lips from yours, letting go of your jaw as he smirks down at you. "You're so good for me."
You clench around him at the praise, and his lips curl coyly against your neck before he sinks his teeth into the curve of your neck.
And, well. The bruises speak for themselves when 0204 asks why you're extra covered up in the video call in the morning.
ᓭི༏ᓯྀ ── Ink spun from my own fingertips—please don’t take, mirror, or rewrite it.
✑ 𝒻𝑒𝒶𝓉𝓊𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔: 8394, 5012, 0204 and 2471 (𝓌𝒸: 6.3k)
✑ 𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: oneshot/s · adwd x gn! reader · overworked · underfucked · emotional exhaustion · caretaking · hurt/comfort · touch starvation · praise kink · submissive · crying during sex · emotional release · breakdown · aftercare · fluff and angst · established relationship · soft smut.
✑ 𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉: from anon! originally asked for a 5012 oneshot but honestly? i figured everyone deserves a proper introduction. and maybe something a little spicier too.
✑ 𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Simple as the title. Overworked? Absolutely. Underfucked? Painfully so. it's the classic case of these poor Reapers overworking themselves. So somewhere between the exhaustion and the unspoken tension, something's gotta give.
𝚗𝚘. 𝟾𝟹𝟿𝟺 | 𝙲𝙰𝚂𝙿𝙴𝚁
Casper had been staring at the same line of code for nine hours.
His eyes were dry, his neck was stiff, and his long white hair had escaped its usual neatness to hang in tangled strands around his face.
Three empty cup noodle containers sat in a neat row beside his keyboard—his only meals in the past forty-eight hours. The screen glowed with lines of complex algorithms, a project he'd taken on voluntarily because no one else could do it, because he was the best, because if he didn't do it, who would?
His fingers moved across the keyboard in mechanical, precise movements. He'd stopped feeling hungry hours ago. Stopped feeling tired even longer before that. There was only the work, the endless, consuming work, the thing that gave him purpose and structure and a reason to keep existing.
He didn't hear you come in.
He didn't hear you set down the cup of tea beside his keyboard.
He didn't feel your hand on his shoulder until you spoke.
"Casper."
His fingers froze. He blinked, slow and confused, like he was surfacing from deep water. “Yes sunshine?”
"I said your name three times."
He turned his head to look at you. His red eyes were glassy, pupils dilated, dark circles carved deep beneath them. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week. He probably hadn't.
"I was... I was almost finished," he said, his voice rough. "Just one more—"
"You were almost finished five hours ago." You crouched beside his chair, bringing yourself to his eye level. "When was the last time you stood up? Actually stood up, not just shifted in your chair?"
His mouth opened then closed. Did he really lose track of time?
"That's what I thought."
You reached out and closed his laptop. He made a sound—something between a protest and a whimper—but he didn't open it again. His hands fell limp into his lap.
"You can't keep doing this to yourself," you said softly.
"I am fine. I am always fine."
"No, you're not." You reached up and tucked a strand of white hair behind his ear. "You're exhausted. You're running on empty. And you've been doing it for so long that you've forgotten you're allowed to stop."
He stared at you, his expression shifting from confusion to something more vulnerable. Something almost painful. "I don't... I don't know how to stop," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "If I stop, who will... who will handle all of this?"
"It can wait. You can't."
He let you pull him up from the chair. His legs were unsteady, his hand gripping yours like it was the only thing keeping him upright. You led him to his quarters, one slow step at a time, and he didn't argue. He didn't have the energy.
He sat while you knelt in front of him, looking up at his face. His eyes were glistening. There was something raw and exposed in his expression, like he was on the verge of something he couldn't name.
"I don't know what's happening to me," he said, his voice cracking. "I feel... I feel like I'm falling apart. Like I'm made of glass and I'm about to shatter."
"Then let me hold the pieces."
You reached up and cupped his face. He leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering closed. His skin was warm. He was shaking, fine tremors running through his body.
"I'm so tired," he whispered. "I'm so tired, and I don't know how to be anything else."
"You don't have to be anything else." You stroked his cheek with your thumb. "You just have to let someone take care of you. Just for a little while."
He opened his eyes. There was something fragile in them. Something that had been buried for so long.
"Take care of me please.” he echoed, like the words were foreign.
“Of course, always.”
He nodded, barely perceptible, and you pressed a kiss to his forehead.
"Good boy."
He's floored. Like completely, devastatingly floored. His long white hair is splayed across the pillow like a halo, his red eyes squeezed shut so tight they're probably seeing stars.
His hands—those clever, capable hands that can write code and solve equations and do things you can't even begin to understand—are clutching the bedsheets like they're the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.
"Oh, I can't—" He gasps, voice breaking. "I can't, I ca-nnn't—"
He throws his head back into the pillows, a sound tearing from his throat that's equal parts pleasure and pure, desperate overwhelm. He can't handle it. He literally cannot handle it. And he's not shy about letting you know.
You're on top of him, riding him slow and deep, and he's a wreck. The guy can't even open his eyes to watch you. No, seriously—his face is actually tweaking. Twisting through expressions you've never seen on him before. Confusion. Ecstasy. Just mindless surrender.
It's so warm. So fucking warm. The heat of you wrapped around him is almost too much, warming his dick so nicely that he can barely feel it anymore.
If he could just look down, he'd catch sight of your sweet hole spurting onto his white happy trail whilst you bounce on his cock like you own it—like you own him. You do, by the way. He just hasn't realized it yet.
Not that he'll look down. Not yet. No, he'll cum against his will, and he refuses to make a fool of himself. Haha. Like he isn't already.
Every time you drop your weight down on his barely restrained hips, his breath punches out of him. Every. Single. Time. Your silky hole clings to the base of his cock like it was made for him, and he's barely holding on.
First, the moaning. Pretty little sounds that spill from his lips like he can't help himself. High and needy and so fucking cute.
Then, when it gets too much—when the pleasure tips over into something overwhelming—the pathetic, uncontrollable growling starts. He makes these sounds that are almost pissed off, like he's angry at how good it feels. Like his body is betraying him.
"yeah, yeah, it– h'ohmygod—"
He's gritting his teeth now. For a hot second, you actually think he might burst into tears beneath you. His face is doing that thing—the scrunchy, reddening, I'm-about-to-lose-it thing.
He manages to hold it back. Barely. You feel proud, honestly. Especially with how he's breathing like he's been winded, chest heaving, every inhale a shuddering mess.
What a good little reaper.
Too bad this is only the first round out of the three you've planned. He's already hyperventilating. You're not going to tell him that, though. Gotta conserve that ego of his.
“Ahhnn gonna make me pass out—" he whines, his voice all breathy and wrecked. "fuck me more, ah— not ready to cum but its too good, its too fucking much... oh no—"
You lean down, pressing a kiss to his forehead, his nose, the corner of his flushed mouth. He groans, desperate, hands leaving the sheets to grab at your hips. His grip is almost bruising, but he doesn't push you faster. He just... holds on. Like you're the only thing keeping him from floating away.
“You're so beautiful like this," you murmur against his ear. "all mine. all fucking mine." He keens. An actual whimper, high and needy. His hips buck up into you, chasing something he can't name, and you feel him twitch inside you—so close, so fucking close.
“Please," he gasps. "please, I—I can't—"
“You can. you can, baby. let go. I’ve got you."
He doesn't need to hear anything else.
He cums with a cry that's more sob than moan, his whole body arching off the bed as he spills inside you. You feel him pulsing, hot and thick, and you keep moving, keep riding him through it, because he deserves the full experience.
When he finally comes down, he's a shaking, panting mess. His red eyes flutter open, glassy and unfocused, and he stares up at you like you've just rewritten the laws of the universe.
“That was—" He swallows, throat bobbing. “I did not—i was not expecting—"
You smile, slow and satisfied. "we're not done yet."
His eyes go wide. “What?"
“You heard me." You shift your hips, just a little. His cock, still half-hard, twitches inside you. "we've got two more rounds, Casper. think you can handle it?"
He opens his mouth. Closes it. His face flushes all the way to the tips of his ears. “…No," he admits, voice small. "but I want to try."
He lasts longer in the second round. Makes it through the third with only a few broken sobs and one moment where he actually does cry, just a little, when you kiss him through it.
Afterward, he lies in a boneless heap, head on your chest, your fingers in his hair. He's too exhausted to speak. Too overwhelmed to move. He just... is.
"You're incredible but annoyingly persistent," he whispers, finally. "you know that? Just absolutely incredible."
𝚗𝚘. 𝟻𝟶𝟷𝟸 | 𝙽/𝙰
5012's office was always immaculate.
Like everything in its place. Reports stacked with military precision. Pens aligned at perfect angles. The coffee cup sat centered on its coaster, untouched for hours. His uniform was pressed, his hair was styled, and his expression was carved from stone.
He had been like this for six days straight.
He didn't sleep. He didn't eat. He didn't stop.
There was too much to do. Trainees to manage. Reports to file. Disciplinary actions to process. The revolution had left the Underworld in chaos, and 5012 was one of the few Reapers who could be trusted to maintain order. He was the one who held the system together, the one who enforced the rules, the one who made sure everything ran with mechanical precision.
He didn't have time to rest. He didn't deserve to rest.
He sat at his desk, purple eyes fixed on the glowing screen, his fingers moving in efficient, practiced strokes. He'd stopped feeling hungry two days ago. Stopped feeling tired even longer before that. There was only the work, the endless consuming work, the thing that gave his existence meaning and structure and purpose.
He didn't hear you knock.
He didn't hear you call his name.
He didn't feel your presence in the room until you closed the door and the sound echoed through his sterile
workspace.
"5012."
His fingers froze. He blinked, slow and mechanical.
"What are you doing here?"
"Checking on you." You walked toward his desk. "The way I always do. The way you always ignore."
"I am busy."
"You're always busy." You stopped in front of his desk. "That's the problem."
He looked up at you, and for a moment, the mask flickered. There was something dark beneath his eyes. Something hollow. The purple irises were flat, unfocused, like he'd been staring at the screen for so long that he'd forgotten how to see anything else.
"I don't have time for this," he said flatly. "There are reports that need—"
"There are reports that can wait." You leaned over his desk, bracing your hands on the polished surface. "When was the last time you slept? Ate? Feel anything other than this?" You gestured vaguely at the office around you. "This endless, grinding, soul-sucking duty?"
His jaw tightened. "I am a Reaper. Feeling things is—"
"Not allowed. I know. But you can't live like this forever."
His eyes flashed with sudden anger. "I have lived like this for decades. I have been exactly what the system requires of me. I am not going to stop now because you think I am—"
"Because I'm worried about you?"
The anger was there for a moment, like something else took its place. Before he even shows that side, all he said, "I am fine."
"You're not." You rounded the desk and crouched beside his chair, forcing him to look at you. He didn't resist when you pulled him up from his chair. He followed you like a man in a daze, too exhausted to fight, too drained to maintain the walls he'd spent decades building.
"Are you going to lecture me?" he asked, his voice hollow. "Tell me I'm not taking care of myself?"
"No." You led him to the sofa in the corner of his office—the one that was always pristine, always untouched. "I'm going to take care of you."
He stood there, rigid and uncertain, as you guided him down onto the cushions. His suit was perfect, pressed, untouchable.
It was also a wall. And you were about to tear it down.
"Remove your jacket."
"I don't—"
"You need to feel, 5012. Not think. Not calculate. Not strategize." You knelt in front of him. "Feel."
He didn't move. Couldn't move. So you did it for him—unbuttoned his coat, slid it down his shoulders. He hissed in a breath through his teeth, and you saw it—the tremor in his shoulder, the tension in his neck, the violence he'd been doing to his own body all this time.
"Look at you," you murmured, running a hand down his chest. "You carry all of it on your shoulders. Everyone else's problems. Everyone else's failures. The weight of an entire system that doesn't give a damn about you."
He swallowed. "It is my duty to—"
"It's not your duty to destroy yourself."
You peeled the layers away slowly, deliberately. Removing the armor he'd built around himself until he was just a man, sitting there, vulnerable and exposed.
"You don't have to do anything." You pressed a kiss to his jaw. "You just have to let me take care of you. Can you do that?"
He hesitated for a long, terrible moment. Then he nodded.
So you'd decided to take care of him.
You'd lead him to the sofa. You'd undress him slowly. You'd remind him that he was allowed to be treated like a human, to be touched, to be held. You'd show him that he didn't have to carry everything alone.
You should have known better.
"Lie down," you said, guiding him toward the sofa.
He didn't move. You pushed gently at his shoulders, and he remained rooted to the spot, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"5012."
"I don't think so." His voice was flat. Cold. "You said you were going to take care of me. I seem to recall you mentioning something about not being able to do this alone."
"Yes, and—"
"Then you lay down.”
You blinked. "Excuse me?"
He move forward, and suddenly he was too close, his body crowding yours, his purple eyes burning with something you hadn't expected.
"You said you wanted to take care of me." His hand came up to cup your jaw, firm and unyielding. "Then take care of me. On my terms."
"I was going to—"
"I know what you were going to do." He tilted his head, studying you like you were a problem to be solved. "You were going to be gentle. Slow. Patient." His thumb brushed over your lower lip. "I'm not… Casper. I don't need to be coddled."
"It's not coddling, it's—"
"It's what you want." His eyes were dark, intense. "But I'm not going to give it to you."
His mouth crashed against yours, and any thought you'd had about being in control evaporated instantly. He kissed like he did everything else, always with zero fucking mercy.
Somehow, you ended up on your back.
You didn't remember getting there. One moment you were standing, the next you were sprawled on the sofa, 5012's body caging you in, his hips pressed between your thighs.
Every time you tried to take control, he countered. Every time you pushed, he pushed back harder. His hands were everywhere—gripping your thighs, your hips, your wrists—and his body was a wall of unrelenting strength.
"You're so stubborn," you gasped, trying to buck him off.
"Look who's talking." He caught your wrists and pinned them above your head. "You asked for this. Don't whine now."
"I'm not whining—"
"Mm. That's exactly what you're doing."
He settled between your legs, the thick heat of him pressing against your entrance, and you couldn't help the way your breath hitched. His eyes locked onto yours, watching every expression on your face.
"You really thought you could be on top," he said, almost to himself. "You really thought I'd let you."
He pushed inside you in one slow, brutal thrust, and you forgot how to breathe. He was big—so big—and the stretch of him made your vision blur. His hand found your jaw, tilting your face up to look at him.
"Look at me," he commanded. "I want to see your face when I fuck you."
"Y-you're—"
"Rude? Demanding?" His hips rolled, and you choked on a moan. "Yeah. I know. Now stop talking."
He moved like he was made for this.
His body planted on the mattress on top of you, using his core strength to drive into you with brutal precision. His hands gripped your ass, kneading the flesh as he slammed you down to meet his punishing thrusts. His eyes never left yours—watching, cataloging, memorizing every broken sound that spilled from your lips.
"Look at you," he said, his voice rough. "You thought you could be in control. You thought you could fuck me on your own terms."
"F-fuck you—"
"That's the idea." His hips snapped forward, and you cried out. "But I'm the one doing the fucking, sweetheart. Not you."
He was relentless. Every thrust was deep and punishing, designed to break you down piece by piece. Your hands fisted in his shirt, your nails digging into his chest, but he didn't slow down. Didn't stop.
"Please," you gasped. "Please, I—"
"Please what? You wanted to take care of me. I'm letting you." His pace quickened, and you sobbed, overwhelmed. "What's the matter? Too much for you?"
"I can't—"
"Shh." He pressed his palm against your lower belly, and you screamed, the pressure driving you so close to the edge you could taste it. "Yes, you can. You're going to come for me. And then you're going to come again."
His eyes locked with yours, and you saw it there—complete, absolute control. He was in charge, and he loved it.
"You're not going to stop until I say you can," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "And you're going to fucking thank me for it."
It wasn’t long before you broke apart on his cock, sobbing his name, your body shuddering through the most intense release of your life. He didn't stop. He kept fucking you through it, drawing out every last tremor, making you feel every second of your unraveling.
"That's it," he murmured, his voice almost tender. "That's my good—"
You clenched around him, and he groaned, his hips stuttering for just a moment.
"Fuck. Don't—"
"I thought you were in control," you gasped, a broken smile on your face. He growled, snapping his hips forward again, and you screamed.
"Brat," he said, his voice ragged. "You're such a fucking brat."
But there was something else in his voice now—something that almost sounded like affection.
You came again, and then again, and then you lost count entirely. He made it hurt. Made it feel incredible. Made you forget every single good reason you'd had for keeping your distance.
When he finally came, it was with a raw, broken groan of your name, his body shuddering against yours.
And then he collapsed on top of you, face pressed into your neck, breathing ragged.
You lay there, tangled up and breathing hard, the only sound in the room the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing against your neck. He didn't move.
Couldn't move. For a long moment, he just stayed there, his body pressed against yours, his fingers still curled into your hip.
"I..." He swallowed, throat tight. "That was not... the plan."
"Funny," you said, voice hoarse. "That's exactly what I was about to say."
He huffed a laugh against your shoulder. "I was supposed to be the one who—"
"Took care of you? I know." You ran your fingers through his hair. "But I think you just needed to be reminded that you're allowed to let someone else carry the weight sometimes. Even if it means letting them try to take control."
He didn't say anything. But his arms tightened around you, and he pressed his face against your shoulder, and you felt the last of the tension leave his body.
It was the closest he could come to saying he loved you.
𝚗𝚘. 𝟶𝟸𝟶𝟺 | 𝙰𝚃𝙻𝙰𝚂
Atlas was always in the lounge.
It was his throne. His sanctuary even. The one place where he could pretend he wasn't a Reaper, wasn't a trainee, wasn't failing at the only thing he was supposed to do. He sprawled across the sofa like he owned it, his orange-streaked hair a riot of messy curls, his bright orange eyes half-lidded with practiced laziness.
He laughed at everything.
At jokes that weren't funny. At 5012's lectures. At the absurdity of his own existence. He laughed when trainees asked him questions he couldn't answer. Laughed when he failed his assessments. Laughed when the weight of everything pressed down on him so hard that he couldn't breathe.
If he didn't laugh, he'd shatter.
And everyone believed the act. Everyone except you.
You'd been watching him for weeks. The way his smile never quite reached his eyes. The way he stayed in the lounge until the early hours, avoiding his quarters—avoiding the silence, the solitude, the darkness.
The way he volunteered for extra assignments even though he complained about them constantly, because the alternative was being alone with his own thoughts.
He was running on fumes. Running from himself.
Running from the truth he didn't want to face.
You found him in the lounge at 3 AM. He was sprawled on the sofa, but he wasn't sleeping. His orange eyes were open, staring at the ceiling with an emptiness that made your chest ache.
There were three empty coffee cups on the table. A crumpled energy drink can. The faint smell of sugar and exhaustion hung in the air.
"Atlas."
He didn't move nor didn’t blink. "I'm not here."
"You're definitely here." You sat down on the edge of the sofa, looking down at him. "What are you doing awake at this hour?"
"Couldn't sleep." His voice was flat. Hollow. The usual playful edge was completely gone. "Nothing new."
"Atlas..."
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
His jaw tightened. His eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling, but something flickered in them—something raw and wounded. "Bro, I'm always fine. That's my whole thing."
"Your whole thing is a lie."
He flinched. It was barely perceptible, but you saw it.
"Come here." You reached out. "Sit up."
"I don't want to—"
"Atlas." Your voice was gentle but firm. "Sit up."
He didn't move for a long moment. Then, slowly, he pushed himself upright. His orange eyes were red-rimmed. His smile was completely gone, replaced by something fragile and hollow.
"There. Happy?"
"No. Not even close."
You reached up and cupped his face. He flinched at the contact, like he wasn't used to being touched gently.
"Tell me what you want," you said softly. "Tell me what you need."
"I need—" He swallowed hard. "I need to feel something real. Something that isn't this... this emptiness."
"Then let me give that to you."
With Atlas he very obedient when it comes to you.
You pulled him into his quarters, then undressed him slowly, gently. Each layer you removed felt like peeling back another mask. His jacket. His cargo pants. His high-necked top. He sat there, vulnerable and exposed, his dark skin littered with goosebumps.
"You're so beautiful," you murmured, running your hands down his chest.
He let out a shaky laugh. “Ha-ah, I'm literally shaking like a leaf."
"I know." You pressed a kiss to his collarbone then pushed him back onto the mattress, climbing over him. He watched you with wide, uncertain eyes—his usual bravado completely stripped away.
"Tell me what you want," you said again, straddling his hips.
"You." His voice cracked. "I want you. I want to feel something that isn't just... just this emptiness."
"Then you're going to have to do something for me."
His eyes flickered with confusion. "What?"
"You're going to let go. All of it. The jokes, the masks, the pretending." You leaned down, your lips brushing his ear. "You're going to be pathetic for me. Can you do that?"
He shivered. "Pathetic?"
"Pathetic." You kissed his jaw. "I want to see you fall apart. I want to hear you beg. I want to watch you come undone because you're so desperate for me that you can't pretend anymore."
"Fuck," he breathed. “You're gonna kill me."
"That's the point."
He sat there, vulnerable and exposed, his dark skin littered with goosebumps. His orange eyes watched you with a mixture of nervousness and want, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths.
"Look at you," you murmured, running a hand down his chest. "So pretty. So wound up. When was the last time someone actually touched you?"
He swallowed hard. "I... it's been a while."
You guided him back onto the bed, positioning yourself over him. His hands found your hips instinctively, gripping tight, his eyes never leaving yours.
"You're in control," you said softly. "But I'm going to ride you. And you're going to let me take what I want. Sound good?"
He nodded, breathless. "Yeah. Yeah, that sounds—that sounds good."
You sank down onto him slowly, watching his face contort as he slid inside you. His mouth fell open, his fingers digging into your hips.
He was unpredictable, you'd learned. Atlas would keep you on your toes, downright wary of him during sex. You'd never know when he was about to switch
positions, change pace, or bottom out without warning.
"F-Fuck, sorry babe—" He'd gasp, slamming into you one second, then softly thrusting the next.
He'd repeat from behind you, slamming into your sopping wet cunt one second and softly thrusting whilst caressing your hips the next. Unpredictable wasn't even the word. He just seemed to refuse letting you become accustomed to his cock, as if he was making sure you didn't get too attached to him.
But now, with you on top, facing him, he couldn't hide.
"You're so tight," he groaned, his hands gripping your hips. "Fuck, you're so good—"
"Eyes on me," you commanded.
He obeyed instantly, his orange eyes locking with yours.
"Good boy."
His hips bucked. He whimpered—actually whimpered—and his grip on your hips tightened. "Again," he breathed. "Say that again, p-please.”
"Good boy." You rolled your hips slowly, watching his face contort. "You like being a good boy for me, don't you?"
"Fuck, yes, I—I do, I—"
"You're so pathetic." You leaned down, your lips brushing his. "And I love it." He whimpered. His hips twitched up into you, desperate and needy.
"You like that?" you asked, riding him faster. "You like being told what to do? You like being good?"
“Shit, I—" He gasped as you clenched around him. "Fuck, I—yes, I like it, I like it—"
"Say it. Say what you are."
He was trembling now, his hands white-knuckled on your hips. His voice came out wrecked and desperate.
"I'm—I'm a good boy. I'm your good boy. Please, please—"
You leaned forward, kissing him hard as you rode him, swallowing his desperate sounds. He was so easy to unravel. So eager to please. All it took was someone taking control, and he became a trembling mess beneath you.
"That's right," you murmured against his lips. "You're so good for me. So fucking pretty like this."
He cried out as you picked up the pace, his hips bucking up to meet yours. He was unpredictable—sometimes slow and deep, sometimes fast and frantic—but you kept control, kept him on the edge.
"You want to cum?" you asked, breathless. "You want to be a good boy and cum for me?"
"Yes," he gasped. "Yes, yes, please, I need—"
"Then do it. Let go for me."
He shattered. His body arched, and he cried out your name, his release spilling hot and deep inside you. He was wrecked, trembling, his eyes wet with tears he couldn't hold back.
You stilled, watching him come down. His chest heaved, his hands still gripping your hips like you were his anchor.
"Holy shit," he breathed. “That was—that was—"
"I know." You leaned down and kissed his forehead. "You did so good. Such a good boy for me."
He laughed—a real laugh, shaky and breathless. "I love it when you say that."
𝚗𝚘. 𝟸𝟺𝟽𝟷 | 𝚁𝙾𝚆𝙰𝙽
Rowan was always smiling.
It was the first thing anyone noticed about him—that bright, infectious grin that seemed to light up the entire 10th Station. He smiled at trainees. Smiled at mortals. Smiled as he collected souls and guided them to the afterlife. Smiled as he polished his collection of human trinkets and shared their stories with anyone who would listen.
His smile was his gift.
It was also his curse.
Because Rowan smiled through everything. Through the exhaustion. Through the loneliness. Through the endless, grinding weight of being a Reaper who felt too much. He smiled when his heart was breaking. Smiled when the system reminded him that emotions were inefficiency. Smiled when he held a dying child and promised them the afterlife was beautiful, even as he wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all.
If he didn't smile, he'd fall apart.
And everyone believed the act. Everyone except you.
You'd been watching him for months. The way his smile never quite reached his eyes when he thought no one was looking. The way he stayed up late polishing his trinkets, talking to them like they were old friends. The way he offered comfort to everyone else while quietly crumbling inside.
He was running on empty. Giving so much of himself to everyone else that there was nothing left for him.
He was drowning.
And he was doing it with a smile on his face.
You found him in his quarters at 2 AM. He was sitting on the floor surrounded by his collection—the telescope, the snow globe, the cracked music box. His fingers were wrapped around a small brass compass, and he was staring at it with an expression of raw, aching grief.
"Rowan."
He didn't look up. His smile was fixed in place, but it was wrong. "Darling! What brings you here at this hour? You should be resting—"
"So should you."
He laughed—a hollow, brittle sound. "I'm fine. I'm always fine."
"You're not."
His hand tightened around the compass. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I?" You crossed the room and knelt in front of him. "The telescope," you said softly. "You tell everyone it's beautiful. That humans used it to find their way. But you never tell them why you really keep it."
He flinched. His smile flickered. “You caught me, I don't know what I'm doing," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I don't know who I am anymore. I smile because I don't know what else to do. I smile because if I stop, I'll—" He choked on the words. "I'll fall apart. And I can't fall apart. There's no one else to hold it together for them."
"Then let me hold it together for you."
He looked up at you, his blue eyes swimming with tears. His smile was gone now, replaced by something raw and vulnerable and so achingly human.
"Please," he whispered. "Please, I—I don't want to be alone. I don't want to feel like this anymore."
"Then let me in."
Rowan was always the one who gave.
He gave comfort. Gave warmth. Gave pieces of himself to every soul he guided, every trainee he mentored, every mortal whose fleeting happiness he admired. He loved so freely, so completely, that he'd forgotten what it felt like to receive.
But tonight, he was learning.
He was learning that he was allowed to want. Allowed to need. Allowed to be greedy for once. "Y-yeah," he gasped against your lips, his voice already breathless. "Feels amazing~"
His thrusts were passionate, deep, relentless. Each one drove the air from your lungs, his body pressing yours into the mattress with delicious weight. His mouth was everywhere—trailing kisses down your throat, across your collarbone, back up to claim your lips in long, languid kisses that stole your breath.
"I've got you," he murmured against your mouth. "I've got you. Let me do all the work. Let me take care of you."
He meant it, too. He kept your legs hitched around his waist, supporting your weight with a strength that surprised you. His blue eyes were half-lidded, dark with desire, but there was something else there too—something soft and reverent.
He was worshipping you.
"You feel so good," he breathed. "So perfect. I don't—I don't want to stop. I don't want this to end."
Around five or six minutes in, he switched.
It was subtle at first—a slight adjustment of his hips, a repositioning of his hands on your thighs. And then he had you angled in a way that made you gasp, your eyes going wide with surprise.
"Oh!" you cried out. "Rowan—"
He grinned, his usual flamboyant smile now edged with something possessive and proud. "Found it, didn't I?"
"H-how did you—"
"There's a lot you don't know about me, darling." He thrust deeper, and you moaned, your fingers scrabbling against his shoulders. "But I've been paying attention. I know exactly how to make you feel good."
He was panting now, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but he didn't slow down. Couldn't slow down. "Hnnngh," he groaned, his grip tightening on your hips. "Can you keep this position? Yeah? Too much? Too bad, huh..."
There was a teasing edge to his voice, but it was undercut by genuine desperation. He needed this—needed to make you feel good, needed to see you fall apart beneath him.
"You're—" You gasped as he hit that spot again. "You're impossible."
"Impossibly good, I think you mean." He laughed, giving a breathless, joyful sound. "I told you, darling. I'm the cutest Reaper in the lane. And I'm going to make you feel so, so good."
He was relentless. Each thrust was perfectly aimed, designed to drive you closer to the edge. His body covered yours, warm and solid, and his lips never stopped moving—whispering praise against your skin.
"Look at you," he breathed. "So beautiful. You have no idea what you do to me. How long I've wanted this. Wanted you."
His breathing was getting more ragged, his rhythm starting to break. He was close, you could feel it in the way his body tensed, the way his thrusts became more desperate.
"Come for me," he urged. "Let me feel you. Please, I need to—I need to feel you fall apart. I need to know I made you feel good."
His hand slipped between your bodies, his thumb finding you. You cried out, your body arching as the pleasure crashed over you.
"R-Rowan—!"
"Yes," he groaned, his hips pistoning faster. "Yes, that's it—that's it—let go—"
He was determined to make a scene of it.
"Fuck—oh—" His voice rose, loud and unabashed. "Ohhhh—ssssshhhhit—"
He didn't try to muffle it. Didn't hold back. He cried out like he wanted the whole underworld to know exactly what he'd done—exactly who he'd made fall apart beneath him.
"I did that," he gasped, his paace turning sloppy. "I made you—I made you feel that—"
His hips stuttered, and he groaned your name, spilling inside you in a long, shuddering release. He kept thrusting through it, smooth and slow, drawing out every last wave of pleasure.
You reached for his chest, trying to slow him down, but he just laughed breathlessly and caught your hand in his.
"Too much?" he asked, his voice soft now, tender. "Want me to stop?"
You shook your head, unable to form words.
"Good. Because I'm not done with you yet."
He pulled you into a kiss, deep and tender, before pulling out gently. He collapsed beside you, pulling you against his chest.
"That was—" He laughed, breathless. "That was incredible. You were incredible. I don't—I don't know what I did to deserve you."
"Rowan..."
"I mean it." He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "I love you. I know I say it too much. I know I feel too much. But I love you, and I want to keep loving you for as long as you'll let me."
♤ — 𝒶𝒹𝓌𝒹 𝒾𝓃𝓀𝓎𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉
iyayadonna, all rights reserved. — ⋆˚ ᓭི༏ᓯྀ ꩜ 。⋆ .ᐟ
𝒶/𝓃: sometimes I could never take my writing seriously this is just pure naughty thoughts T-T
content: Casper accidentally in erupts a moment between you and 5012. gender neutral reader, crack, fluff, slightly suggestive, Sunshine mentioned briefly (also gn).
word count: 1.3k
a/n: In honor of the demo for adwd2 coming out and the Kickstarter coming out tomorrow i wanted to write about everyone's fave owl! Hope yall enjoy!
You had spent the day being on your absolute best behavior. You had trained with Atlas instead of playing claw games with him all day, behaved in the field when going topside, and even filled out the proper paperwork and filed it. All of this was part of your master plan, of course.
You put on your most innocent smile as you walked into 5012’s office. He looked over the pile of paperwork on his desk towards you, eyes narrowing.
“No.” he deadpanned.
“I didnt even do anything!” you countered.
“I cannot humor any distractions at the moment, leave.”
“Me?? Distracting??” your tone indicated affront, which was a cover for what is really was, bullshit.
His eyebrow raised so high you wondered if it would float off his face.
“Im sure you have your own work to finish as well.”
“Already done. And since I finished early I figured I would help you.” You smiled in a way that was reminiscent of a door to door salesman in the 1950s with something to prove and a wife they didn't love.
He gave you a glare that would have sent most people running.
“I have actual work that needs to be done by tonight, I cannot humor your games today.”
“Oh dont be like that, I'll actually help! At least for a while, I promise!”
You paused for a moment, seeing his unnwavering glare.
“...and if you dont let me help, I'll get Atlas and we’ll play the trumpet really loud outside your door. And neither of us remember how trumpets work.”
5012 let out an audible sigh, which you took as a sign of his defeat.
You happily skipped over to his desk, pulling over an extra chair and grabbing about a third of the stack of papers to work on. Despite everything, you actually did want to help. Because you respected the importance of his work.
And because he was alot more fun to mess with when he didnt have work as an excuse to distract him.
After about an hour of both of you sitting shoulder to shoulder in comfortable silence, the pile of work had significantly diminished.
Glancing over, you saw 5012 looking significantly less stressed. Of course for him, significantly less stress meant one line between his brows disappearing. His expressions were virtually unreadable for quite a while, but you had managed to decode his many vaguely annoyed faces into their true meaning.
Now was your time to strike.
“I have a question about filling out this form.” you stated, standing up from your chair and leaning in, setting the paper down in his line of sight.
Of course he wasnt focused on the paper, he was focused on the way your hand trailed from his shoulder to his bicep, slowly folowing the vein lines down to his wrist. He was focused on the way your hair lightly brushed his cheek when you leaned in, and how painfully soft your eyes were when you peered at him.
It wasnt long before the paperwork was forgotten, as was the chair you had pulled beside him. Instead you were straddling his waist while he sat in his leather armchair, hands on your hips as you ran your fingers through his hair.
Your lips met his, warm and soft and you closed your eyes and leaned into his touch. You felt his hands grip your hips a little harder as-
BANG
The sound of a window slamming open immediately cut through the moment.
You instinctively jumped back, startled at the sound. You would have fallen off the chair if 5012 hadn’t caught you and pulled you back to safety. You let out an “oof” as your forehead bonked into his shoulder blade.
You saw the cause of the sound, a handsome young reaper with long white hair and red eyes was now standing in 5012’s office after climbing through the window.
A look of pure shock graced the reapers features as he stared directly at 5012, with the intensity of a cat staring at a can of food. 5012 looked like he wanted to bang his head into the wall until he forgot his own name. Or push the white haired man out of the window.
You gave the white haired man a friendly wave.
“No fucking way.” White haired man finally spoke, his shock breaking into a wide smile.
“Get the fuck out.” 5012 responded, you still wrapped up in his arms.
But you recognized that voice. This was the reaper 5012 had been talking to before. The revolutionary, 8394.
You jumped out of 5012’s arms and practically climbed over his desk to greet what may be 5012’s only friend. Even if he wouldn’t admit it.
“Hi, Nice to meet you 8394! 5012 told me about you and your epic love story!” You started, holding out your hand for the white haired man to shake.
The white man smirked in a way that reminded you of a white cat with many knives being pointed at it. Strange, must have been a memory from when you were alive.
“Please, call me Casper. And let me tell you, the pleasure is all mine. Although regrettably, 5012 hasn’t told me about you yet.”
"This is 2013. one of the reapers I'm...training."
you watched the defense come out of 5012's mouth, and the regret immediately follow. Being caught in a compromising position with someone Casper had basically forced 5012 to work with was not going to make this situation easier on him. It took everything you had not to laugh.
Casper gave 5012 a look reserved for a younger brother learning something that he would tease his older brother about for the foreseeable decade. And 5012 looked like he was about to become the Abel to 5012’s Cain.
“You have to tell me about 5012 in the revolution, I’ve been dying to know and he won't tell me anything.”
“Oh, I'll tell you everything. My sunshine and I have enough stories about him to fill a book.”
“Is that your mortal lover?” you questioned, excited. You absolutely needed to know about the forbidden romace that started a revolution
“indeed. My sunshine is the only other person who can compare to me in both looks and personality.” He preened.
You couldnt help but chuckle at his vanity. He was so different from 5012.
“Oh my gods, I have to tell them about this!” Casper exclaimed as he pulled out his phone and clicked on a name with a sunflower emoji next to it.
The phone was only able to ring once before 5012’s hand reached down and snatched the phone, ending the call.
“Alright that's enough. Get out.” 5012 crossed his arms and attemped to stare Casper down.
If anything, Casper just looked more amused as he met 5012s gaze, clearly used to his attitude. But in the end Casper was the first one to look away.
“Alright, I just needed to pick up that report from you, my sincerest apologies for interrupting…”
His silence said all it needed as he climbed back out the window, now floating above the twilight city.
“So double date when?” he smirked.
5012 strode over to the window and slammed it shut before Casper could get another word out, a tired sigh escaping his lips when Caspers laughter was finally silenced by the glass pane.
“He was fun.” You laughed.
5012 glared at you, a hint of betrayal in his eyes.
You laughed and moved to lean up against him, your hands once again finding their way to his silky hair.
“I just want to get to know your friends.”
“They're not-”
He began to protest, but one look at your face and he knew there was no winning this argument. Instead he just leaned into your embrace, his face finally calm once again.
5012 throws his head back on the wall, pants barely pulled off and shirt opened, trail of your saliva from kisses still glossy on his chest as he struggles to keep his gaze focused on you below him.
Below is the wrong word. You're on your knees, front door shut but unlocked, and your hands run up his waist, his dick down your throat as you tighten around him.
"you're— fuck. you're doing so good for me." He runs a hand through your hair, muscles in his jaw tensing as you hum appreciatively around him.
Your hand on his hip squeezes, and he moves his free hand to squeeze your hand, watching as you bob slowly along his length, tilting his head when you pull off of him back to catch a breath, resting his cock on your cheek as you pant.
"You're learning." He hums. "You took more of me than last time."
"You didn't get to—" You heave, pushing yourself off of him as you take him into your hand. "Finish."
"You took all of me down the throat this time. It's—"
He gasps as you do it again, nose pressed to his pelvis as you swallow around him, and he curses as his hips stutter and he cums down your throat, hands pressed to the back of your head as your eyes roll back, salt on your tongue as you pull off of him once he lets go of you.
The cum drips down your chin as you collect it with your fingers to clean off your chin, and he tugs you up to press an open mouthed kiss to your lips before licking the cum off of your fingers, staring you down. You flush head to toe from warmth, and he nips at the skin on your collar as you watch him drop to his knees.
Shyly holding up my fic like h-hi I heard you say you wanted something with this theme or vibe with this character a-and maybe I dunno I might have written something that can satisfy that but if you want to tie me to some train tracks and run me over with a steam locomotive I'd understand
🛰️ - sighhh.. sylus keeps popping into my head lately.. i also wanna clear my drafts so.. lots of posts today bc i can
• he arrives exactly on time. not a minute early, not a minute late. he’s wearing something expensive but understated because he wants your parents to notice him, not his money.
• he brings flowers for your mom without asking if she likes flowers. somehow… they’re her favorite.
• and if your dad enjoys whiskey? sylus somehow found a bottle that’s been discontinued for years. if he doesn’t drink, it’s a rare edition of his favorite author instead. he always does his homework.
• your parents expect someone intimidating. they aren’t prepared for how polite he is.
• “thank you for inviting me into your home, mr. and mrs. ____.”
• yes, ma’am. no, sir. he has impeccable manners.
• he notices you getting nervous halfway through dinner and rests his hand on your knee under the table. just one reassuring squeeze before continuing the conversation like nothing happened.
• your mom catches it.
• she smiles.
• sylus notices that too.
• your dad tries to test him. asks difficult questions. watches for hesitation. sylus answers every one calmly without ever making it feel like a competition.
• he doesn’t need to prove he’s the smartest person in the room. everyone already knows.
• if your parents ask how you met…
• you start panicking.
• sylus smoothly redirects the conversation before you can accidentally expose either of you.
• afterward he leans over and whispers, “you looked like you were about to confess to at least three felonies.”
• he spends more time talking about you than himself.
• “she works too hard.”
• “she forgets to eat when she’s focused.”
• “i’m sure you already know, but she’s incredibly stubborn.”
• it’s obvious he’s memorized every little thing about you.
• your parents realize something before you do:
• sylus watches you every time you speak.
• not because he’s making sure you don’t embarrass him… because he genuinely enjoys listening.
• when dinner is over, he quietly helps your mom clear the table before anyone can stop him.
• she protests.
• he simply says, “it’s the least i can do after your hospitality.”
• your dad eventually pulls him aside while you’re in another room.
• “you love my daughter?”
• sylus answers immediately.
• “…more than i’ve ever intended to love anyone.”
• your dad nods once.
• “don’t make me regret trusting you.”
• sylus meets his eyes.
• “i won’t.”
• on the drive home, you ask how he thinks it went.
• he glances at you, reaches over to lace your fingers together, and says,
• “your mother already likes me.”
• “…your father is deciding whether i’m worth the privilege of loving you.”
trips and falls and dozens of icons spill from my pockets, all revealing valko. i panic. "this isn't what it looks like," i say, frantically scooping up all the icons. "these aren't mine i swear" more icons fall.
