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Hello~! I have a LADS request that's inspired by some manga stories from Youtube. Basically MC had a previous relationship with a mob bf that ended because he cheated on her. While waiting to meet up with the LADS men, said ex coincidentally shows up with the girl he cheated on MC with and they start mocking her for her "single" status, her work, etc. How do each of the LADS men react to her struggling to keep it together in front of this jerk? (Could you have MC & LADS men be in an established relationship and they are somewhat aware of this mob ex) Thank you for your time~!
Author’s Note: I know these kinds of manga, anime, and dramas are cliché, but I eat them up every single time. They're my guilty pleasure. 😅 Thanks so much for the request - I had so much fun writing these! 🤩
Synopsis : Your ex cheated. He mocked you. He thought he'd won. Unfortunately for him, you moved on - and upgraded.
A collection of Love and Deepspace drabbles featuring the men who chose you, protected you, and made sure the person who hurt you understood exactly what they lost.
Pairing: all LIs separately, including Valko x reader
Trigger/content warnings: established relationship, fluff, protective LIs, mocking/bullying/belittling (not by the LIs, don’t panic), hurt/confort (kind of)
Note: I used the same name for both the ex-boyfriend (Lorenzo) and his mistress (Narcissa), but consider each drabble not interconnected (aka separate branches)
WHERE YOU ARE CHERISHED
XAVIER (word count: 637)
You stand behind the counter at Philo, the flower shop, putting away the supplies from the day’s bouquet orders.
In the back, Jeremiah is in the greenhouse, tending to the flowers.
It is nearly closing time, and your boyfriend, Xavier, should be arriving any minute to pick you up.
You turn at the sound of the bell above the entrance.
The smile on your face disappears the moment you see who has walked in.
Your ex-boyfriend Lorenzo with Narcissa, the woman he cheated on you with, hanging possessively from his arm.
“Oh, how cute,” Narcissa says, fixing you with a smug smile. “You’re still working here.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” you reply, doing your best to sound unaffected. “I love my job.”
“I suppose you have to say that,” she sighs dramatically. “It’s not like being a florist is an impressive career.”
“At least I have a career,” you answer with an innocent smile. “Being unemployed in this day and age isn’t exactly a good look.”
Narcissa falls silent, a scowl twisting her features.
Lorenzo is connected to the mob - a fact you had been mortified to discover. The connection comes with wealth, and unlike you, Narcissa has no objections to enjoying every cent of it.
“I see your so-called career is still limited to things that wilt in a week,” Lorenzo finally speaks.
He takes a few steps forward, glancing around the shop with obvious disinterest.
“Cute little place,” he adds. “Smells like a funeral home.”
He wrinkles his nose.
“You actually enjoy playing in the dirt and selling weeds to people?”
Narcissa laughs softly behind him.
You glare at him.
Mocking you is one thing, but you will not let them insult Philo. This shop is Jeremiah’s pride and joy.
Before you can fire back, a familiar voice cuts through the tension.
Xavier steps out from the back entrance. He must have teleported into the greenhouse, probably giving Jeremiah a heart attack as usual.
“I’m sorry,” he says calmly, “but the shop is closed. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“Says who?” Lorenzo asks, looking him up and down. “Are you the owner?”
Xavier walks over to you and threads his fingers through yours.
He shakes his head. “No.”
Narcissa smirks. “Found yourself a new boyfriend? How adorable.”
To be fair, Xavier does have a harmless, cute appearance.
However, for their sake, it’s fortunate they aren’t wanderers.
“Then who are you to tell us to leave?” Lorenzo crosses his arms. “We’re paying customers.”
“But you haven’t placed an order or purchased anything,” Xavier replies in a soft, deadpan tone. “So technically, that statement is false.”
You can’t hold back a snicker at his response. The fact that Xavier delivers the remark in such a calm, gentle voice only makes it funnier.
“As the owner,” Jeremiah says, emerging from the back while pulling off his gardening gloves, “I also have to ask you to leave.”
Lorenzo and Narcissa look at the three of you, and with an irritated click of his tongue, Lorenzo opens the door, clearly deciding their little visit isn’t worth extending. He lets Narcissa step out first, then pauses in the doorway and looks back over his shoulder.
“Just remember,” he says, “I could buy this entire block and turn it into a parking lot by Friday.”
With those parting words, he slams the door behind him so hard that it rattles on its hinges.
You turn to Jeremiah with a weary expression.
“He wasn’t lying, you know.”
“You don’t have to worry, Starlight,” Xavier says, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “We’ve dealt with worse people than him.”
“Xavier’s right,” Jeremiah adds with a smile. “And besides, I’ve dug up enough dirt on that man to bury him in paperwork if he ever dares show his face around here again.”
Glancing down at your phone, you quicken your pace as you hurry down the street.
Unfortunately, an indecisive customer had held you back at work, and now you were running fifteen minutes behind for your date with Zayne.
He had already texted to say he was waiting at the bakery.
When you messaged him to apologize for being late, he replied with a simple No worries. You knew Zayne was not the kind of man who would get angry over something like this, but you had a personal vendetta against tardiness. You hated being late.
With your attention fixed on your phone, you collide with someone.
“I’m so sorry,” you blurt out immediately. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“Still as clumsy as ever.”
The familiar voice sends a shiver down your spine.
Slowly, you lift your head.
Standing in front of you is Lorenzo, your mobster ex-boyfriend. Beside him stands Narcissa, the woman he cheated on you with, her hand entwined with his.
“Long time no see,” Narcissa drawls, smiling like a cat that has caught the cream. “What’s the rush?”
“I’m late for a meeting,” you answer automatically, gesturing toward the bakery across the street.
You immediately curse yourself.
Why did you answer her? It’s not as if she actually cared, and you certainly had no desire to talk to either of them. Damn your reflexive politeness.
Narcissa follows your gaze.
“A bakery?” Are you sure you need sweets?”
Her eyes turn back to you linger on your figure.
“You’re looking a little… chubby.”
She pokes your stomach.
Lorenzo chuckles beside her.
“It’s unlike you to be late,” he says. “You were always so punctual.”
“I got held up by a customer at work,” you reply.
“Ew,” Narcissa says, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “I could never buy something out of fashion, let alone secondhand.”
She swings her designer handbag casually, as if it proves her point.
You tilt your head at her in mild confusion.
Yes, you work at a secondhand clothing store, but it specializes in vintage pieces - items that can be just as valuable as something brand new.
“My love, who are your friends?”
Zayne’s voice cuts through the conversation as he approaches from the side.
He had been sitting by the bakery window and noticed you through the glass. One look at your tense posture had been enough for him to realize you were uncomfortable.
“Zayne?” you blink up at him, startled that you had not noticed him approaching. “I’m sorry for keeping you waiting. I was just about to excuse myself.”
Narcissa releases Lorenzo’s arm and steps forward, her expression transforming into a dazzling smile.
“Do I know you?” she asks sweetly. “You look oddly familiar.”
She bats her eyelashes and tosses her hair over one shoulder.
Your stomach sinks at the obvious attempt to flirt with Zayne.
Shameless. She is flirting with another man while standing right beside Lorenzo.
“I’m Dr. Zayne Li,” Zayne says politely. “I’m the chief cardiac surgeon and a medical researcher at Asko Hospital. It’s possible you’ve seen me on television or in an article.”
“How does a respected surgeon know someone like her?” she asks, shooting you a pointed look.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you in person, Dr. Li,” Lorenzo finally says, extending his hand. “I’m Lorenzo. I’ve made several substantial donations to Asko Hospital.”
Zayne begrudgingly shakes it.
“I’m Lorenzo. I’m known to make quite substantial donations to Asko Hospital,” he says, clearly taking pride in the statement.
“If I’m ever in need of medical assistance, I know I’ll be in capable hands.”
“I hope you and your partner live healthy lives and never require a trip to Asko Hospital,” Zayne replies calmly.
His expression remains composed, but his stare turns ice cold.
“My hands can save a life just as easily as they can take one.”
Both Lorenzo and Narcissa visibly pale as the meaning sinks in.
“Now, if you’ll excuse us,” Zayne says, slipping his hand into yours, “my fiancée and I have a date to get to.”
Only then do Lorenzo and Narcissa notice the engagement ring on your finger.
Without another glance or word, Zayne guides you toward the bakery.
“Zayne,” you say quietly, “can we get the pastries to go? I’d rather go home.”
“If that’s what you want,” he replies, opening the bakery door for you. “If you’re feeling upset, we can leave.”
“It’s not that,” you say, shaking your head.
“I’m simply in the mood for a different kind of treat.”
You wink and slip inside the bakery.
Zayne follows, the tips of his ears turning a distinct shade of pink.
You stand in front of a painting at Flux Arts, openly admiring the artwork while casually sipping from a tall glass of champagne.
Earlier, you had been happily chatting with Thomas, but he had been called away to handle other guests.
“I thought these exhibitions were reserved for VIP clients?”
A familiar voice sounds from behind you.
You sigh quietly and turn around to find Narcissa standing there, with none other than your cheating ex-boyfriend, Lorenzo, holding her by the waist.
“Breaking and entering is considered a crime,” Lorenzo adds.
“As if you have any right to lecture anyone about laws,” you mutter into your glass.
To clarify your statement, Lorenzo is a mobster.
“Do you even know anything about art?” Lorenzo asks, clearly unimpressed by your earlier comment.
“Coming from a man who can’t even draw a stick figure,” you mutter under your breath.
“Considering I own and run an art supply store, I’d like to believe I know a thing or two,” you say.
“Well, these paintings are far beyond your pay grade,” Narcissa mocks. “The most you can do is stand here and admire them.”
She smiles smugly.
“Unlike me. I only have to say the word, and the painting is mine. Isn’t that right, honey?”
She looks up at Lorenzo with an overly sweet smile.
“Anything for my darling,” he replies, smiling down at her.
You visibly fight the urge to gag.
“Entertaining guests, Cutie?”
Rafayel’s voice appears beside you as he casually wraps an arm around your waist.
“You must be the artist, Rafayel,” Lorenzo says, raising his champagne glass in greeting. “Perfect timing. I’d like to discuss the possibility of purchasing some of your artwork.”
Rafayel hums thoughtfully, pretending to consider the offer.
“What do you say to that, Cutie?” he asks, giving you a playful smile.
You return it.
“I find these individuals unworthy of your masterpieces.”
“With all due respect, Mr. Rafayel,” Lorenzo says, gesturing toward you with his glass, “I don’t think this woman - your assistant, no doubt - has any say in the matter.”
“My bride,” Rafayel corrects smoothly. “My bride has every say in this matter.”
His smile remains pleasant, but his eyes sharpen.
“Not to mention, the paintings reject you as their owner. Their colors clash with your soul.”
Spotting Thomas approaching, Rafayel waves him over.
“Thomas, please show these guests to the exit.”
With a dismissive wave, he guides you away from Lorenzo and Narcissa.
You force the two of you to stop, then glance back over your shoulder.
“Who needs money for the painting when I have the actual painter?”
You grin smugly.
“Your taste in the past was truly tragic. Your ex is nothing more than a monochrome blur compared to this vivid masterpiece.”
He gestures dramatically to himself.
You roll your eyes playfully and nudge his shoulder.
“True, but let’s not forget that your private collection was missing its ultimate masterpiece before I came along.”
You sit at a table in a restaurant overlooking the vibrant nightlife of Linkon City, surrounded by warm ambient lighting and the soft melody of the live band playing in the background.
You swirl the red wine in your glass, waiting for your partner, Sylus, to arrive.
Unfortunately, he had been held up in the N109 Zone, dealing with a matter concerning Onychinus.
Since you were already on your way to the restaurant - courtesy of Luke and Kieran, who had driven you there - you decided to simply wait for him rather than change your plans.
“Well, well, well. Who do we have here?”
A grating voice sounds from beside you.
You slowly turn in your chair, crossing one leg over the other as you look toward the source.
The woman standing there is none other than Narcissa - the dreadful parasite your ex-boyfriend decided was better than you and cheated on you with.
Beside her stands Lorenzo, dressed in a dark tailored suit. Statement jewelry adorns his hands and wrist, and a heavy overcoat hangs over his shoulders despite the middle of summer.
A year ago, you might have found the sight unbearably attractive.
Now?
You only find it pathetic, like he is trying far too hard to maintain his image as a mobster.
“What are you doing in a luxury establishment like this?” Lorenzo asks, his annoyance clear at seeing you. “As if you could afford to eat somewhere like this.”
You wait patiently outside Farspace Fleet headquarters.
Despite being located in the highest district of Skyhaven, surrounded by elite security measures and under strict military control, you have no trouble entering.
All thanks to the authority granted to you through your boyfriend, Farspace Colonel Caleb.
After spending two weeks away on a mission deep within the Deepspace tunnels, he finally returned today.
You weren’t patient enough to wait for him at home, so you decided to come meet him instead.
Caleb’s adjutant, Liam, greeted you upon arrival. He informed you that the colonel would be with you shortly before leaving to attend to whatever duties required his attention.
From across the way, you spot someone you haven’t seen in a long time.
Someone you never expected to see here.
Lorenzo.
Your ex-boyfriend.
As a mobster, you knew his criminal organization operated through various front corporations. But you never imagined he had connections within the Farspace Fleet.
Unfortunately, he notices you as well.
With the same arrogant confidence you remember, he approaches.
“I thought the Hunters Association and Farspace Fleet had a strained relationship,” he remarks as he stops directly in front of you.
You know he won’t attempt anything here. Not surrounded by Farspace military personnel.
Yet, despite that, he still makes you uneasy.
When you first met Lorenzo, you thought he was everything you wanted.
Handsome. Charming. A gentleman.
He had taken a particular interest in your position at the Hunters Association, specifically your work in the Armory Department - the department responsible for maintaining and servicing weapons used by Deepspace Hunters.
At the time, you thought he admired your skills and knowledge.
You were wrong.
He had been using your expertise for illegal purposes.
When you discovered the truth, you confronted him and demanded to walk away.
But Lorenzo threatened you.
If you left, he would expose your involvement and tell the Hunters Association about the assistance you had unknowingly provided him.
The discovery that he had also been cheating on you with one of his informants, Narcissa, was the cherry on top.
It wasn’t until you met Caleb that Lorenzo finally disappeared from your life.
To this day, you still have no idea what Caleb did or said to make him back off.
Though you have no doubt his position as colonel had something to do with it.
“I’ll admit, I’m impressed,” Lorenzo says, sounding almost sincere. “I didn’t think you had it in you to seek assistance from the Farspace Colonel.”
Suddenly, Lorenzo drops to his knees, his head forced downward.
You would recognize Caleb’s Evol anywhere.
“I thought the first and last time I saw you, I warned you to stay away.”
Caleb’s voice comes from behind him.
Low.
Deep.
Dangerous.
His eyes are dark as he stares down at Lorenzo.
“Did you come here to make me regret my decision to spare your life?”
Lorenzo groans as Caleb’s Evol presses him further into the concrete.
Then, just as quickly as it began, Caleb releases him.
Turning toward Liam, Caleb gives a simple command.
“Take out the trash and ensure he never steps foot here again.”
“Understood.”
Liam grabs Lorenzo and forces him to his feet before dragging him away.
The moment they are gone, Caleb’s entire posture changes.
The cold authority of the colonel disappears, replaced by his familiar boyish grin.
“Hey, Babe. Miss me?”
His voice turns light and playful.
As if what just happened was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
You jump into his arms, knocking his visor cap to the ground in the process.
Caleb catches you effortlessly, wrapping his arms securely around your waist.
You kiss him until you’re both breathless.
“We’re going straight home,” you say in one breath. “You will only speak to me in your colonel voice, and the uniform stays on.”
Caleb blinks before a slow smile spreads across his face.
You fidget in an armchair located in the lobby of EonCore Tech.
You’re waiting for the chairman - your boyfriend, Valko - to finish his work.
The two of you have plans to spend the weekend at his cabin.
Since Valko is a wolf hybrid, he absolutely loves nature and feels most at home surrounded by the wilderness of the forest.
You shift your gaze to the side when you hear the rustling of paper.
Several feet away, a woman sits flipping through a magazine she picked up from the coffee table.
She looks familiar, but it isn’t until she lifts her head that recognition settles in.
Narcissa.
Of all the people you could have run into…
It had to be her.
The sly fox who your ex-boyfriend, Lorenzo, cheated on you with.
Uncrossing her legs, she places the magazine down and gives you her signature smile.
“Fancy seeing you here,” she says.
“Here to apply for a job?”
You remain silent.
“Word of advice,” she continues. “I’d save myself the embarrassment and cancel the interview. As if a small 9-to-5 office worker like yourself has anything to offer a company like this.”
You refuse to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.
Unfortunately, your silence does nothing to discourage her.
“Lorenzo, my fiancé…”
She lifts her hand, proudly displaying the enormous diamond ring on her finger.
“…is currently upstairs speaking with the chairman about a possible partnership.”
Your stomach sinks and you can only hope that whatever deal or proposal Lorenzo is trying to make, Valko will dismiss it immediately.
Speak of the devil.
The doors to the elevator open, and Lorenzo storms into the lobby.
He looks furious, practically stomping his way forward like a child throwing a tantrum.
Narcissa stops talking and jumps to her feet, a bright smile appearing on her face.
“Babe, how did it go?” she asks, completely oblivious to his mood.
“Rejected,” Lorenzo snaps.
“The chairman cut me off before I even had a chance to finish.”
His angry gaze shifts toward you, who is quietly attempting to slip away unnoticed.
“You.”
“What are you doing here?”
His frustration turns toward you.
“If you’re here for a job, you could have at least dressed the part,” he scoffs.
“Your figure is the only thing you have going for you.”
“Sunshine, sorry to make you wait.”
Strong arms wrap around your waist from behind, and Valko affectionately nuzzles against your neck.
Lorenzo stares at the display of affection in confusion before realization slowly dawns on him. His entire expression changes.
The arrogance disappears, replaced by politeness and professionalism.
“Mr. Ao,” he says carefully. “Is this woman your partner, perhaps?”
“What a coincidence. She and I go way back. We’re old friends.”
Lucky for you, even without words, Valko can sense your emotions through the mating bond.
His sharp wolf-like instincts also makes it impossible for him to miss an obvious lie.
“I knew who you were the moment you walked into my office,” Valko says calmly.
Naturally, Valko already knows about your history with Lorenzo and Narcissa.
He was the one who helped free you from that man’s control.
“You are banned from ever stepping foot inside EonCore Tech again.”
His voice lowers into a warning growl.
He takes your hand and leads you toward the exit. Before leaving, you glance back.
“Word of advice, Narcissa,” you say.
“Once a cheater, always a cheater.”
“He cheated on me. There’s nothing stopping him from doing the same to you.”
Lorenzo gives you a dark glare.
Narcissa, however, only stares at you uneasily.
Because somewhere deep down, she knows your words might be true.
Author’s Note: Please know that unless I send an answer declining your request, it will get written eventually. Thank you all so much for your support, your patience, and for trusting me with your ideas. ❤️
Tag list : @cordidy @thehyperfixationgirly @pjselee
(If you'd like to be tagged in future fanfics, just leave a comment on any of my works, and I'll add you to the tag list! 🙂)
If you enjoyed this story, feel free to check out my other Love and Deepspace fanfiction.
They should invent a kind of burnout, where after you reach your limit of existential exhaustion for the third time, your health bar doubles and you transform into a bigger, stronger iteration of yourself. Like you're a nintendo boss in the final boss battle.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
I thought of putting dialog at first 🤔 but them though that is more fun not to, so people could imagine what could be happening in each one hehe ...So tell me in the comments if you have some guesses 🤭
Thank you so much for all your support of the previous one!!
It is bad to say it myself but my favorite is the Time and Wind one hehe
When your daughter's psychiatrist suggests you get in touch with your abusive ex-husband in prison for her sake, you're not thrilled. Fortunately for you, he's dead. Unfortunately for you, someone else is alive and very keen on playing the part of a doting father. wc: 3.4k
PART I | PART 2.1 (you are here)
I would like to know the color of your eyes.
You wiped down the kitchen counter in a daze, the rag swiping over and over a spot that was already clean. The ten words repeated themselves in a loop, one you hadn't been able to escape since receiving them two weeks ago.
You weren't ashamed of chickening out. It didn't take anything to tell him what a drab and dull hue the color of your eyes were. Millions of people existed with the same set of eyes. It wasn't even a risk, a harmless question.
Loaded with so much intensity it took your breath away.
Every night before bed you would find yourself going over the letter, tempted to pick up a pen and write something back but the seemingly innocent question was so much more than it looked like. It felt like a caress to the cheek, whispers carrying over in the wind, the slight thrill that ran through your veins when doing something that was forbidden. It felt wicked and evil. Felt dangerous. Like your heart dropping when you tip off a cliff and go plunging into the roaring waves.
You were waiting for the waves to break skin.
His newest letter lay on top of the refrigerator, the only color in your washed-out, run-down apartment. You'd already gone through the contents of his letter to your daughter, the only letter in the envelope, resealing it to give to her when she got home. Why would he write to you when you'd given him no reason to?
You didn't want to invite him into your space any more than he already took up. The line that had been drawn in the sand had been washed away but you were picking up the stick again. You'd guard over that line yourself.
Determined, you sat down to write.
What crime are you guilty of?
Other than wanting to know you better?
Of course he would ignore your question. So, you decide to ignore his blatant flirting. He was hedging just like you were, both of you, peas of the same pod. You wouldn't show your cards till he surrendered and from what you'd gathered, he wasn't one to bow out so easily.
Almost as if he could guess that you were getting ready to shut him out again, you notice the tiny -> arrow at the bottom of the page before you flip it around to see he'd scribbled something at the back as well.
Was that question too difficult? I understand. Here's a simpler one. What's your favorite color? The little bunny likes pink or purple but I can't tell. Does her Mommy prefer the same?
It was simpler. After putting your daughter to bed, you sat on the kitchen counter, pen poised at the paper but not writing. You couldn't remember the last time you'd thought about such innocuous things. A favorite color, your favorite weather or even something as silly as your favorite candy. It had been too long since you'd wondered about these things. That innocence had long been snatched away.
Lightning flashed outside the window, catching your eye. A moment passed before the rumble of thunder followed. And like everytime it rained, you were thinking of that night.
If you closed your eyes, you could still picture the droplets on your skin coming in through the open window. The glass shard seeping deep into your foot, the living room turned upside down and the TV shattered in the middle of it from where he had thrown it at you. Between it all, you hadn't been able to tell if your forehead was also cut or if it was the rain. It was such an impractical thing to be focusing on, but you'd chosen self-preservation. And yet, you didn't dare raise your hand to touch and find out, hadn't dared remove them from around your belly as you did your best to shield your unborn child.
Lightning struck outside the window again. And even with your eyes open, you pictured it clearly. The image burned deep behind your eyelids for all of eternity.
Crimson. Unlike any you'd ever seen. Shining, gleaming, burning.
With a wry smile, you refocus back on the paper and start writing.
Bunny's preferences change like the season. Last month her favorite color was orange. This month is pink.
Mine's red.
Mine's red.
Three words. Eight letters. Shot to his chest straight as if she'd uttered them right to his face.
Red. Of course your favorite color had to be red. The universe had a twisted sense of humor.
Lying in bed, your letter covered his eyes as Sylus inhaled every last bit of your perfume lingering on it. For the two weeks you had gone silent on him again, he wondered if you were done entertaining his antics.
Then he wondered if you'd correctly deduced the deeper implications of his question. The intimacy around it was as subtle as him screaming it in your face. And still, it bothered him. Every word you wrote to him bothered him. He wanted to get to know you but knew that anything personal would have you running for the hills. You were cautious, too cautious.
So, why then, were you entertaining a criminal? Involving your daughter in something that clearly went against your principles?
When he sits up, he notices the tiny, identical arrow at the bottom of the page and flips it over to see what else you had to say.
Dodging questions doesn't make you look any more innocent.
With a smile threatening to break, Sylus realizes you're not going to make it easy on him. He much preferred it that way. The following day, with his pen hovering over the paper, he makes up his mind as he begins writing.
The red packaging was glaring back at you.
Imagine your horror when you opened the sweet old lady's mailbox and a red package the size of your head, barely fitting inside was staring back at you. There was no mistaking who it was from, who it was for, and you'd quickly tossed it into your bag before anyone saw.
You were so paranoid that he might have someone watching at the post office for who takes his letters that you'd resorted to using this poor woman's address and now, now the fear had you by the neck, sweating and shivering in broad daylight.
You'd torn open the packaging as soon as you got home, before you even put your bag down, plucking out the softest, sweetest looking bunny plushie with pink fur complete with a purple tiara.
You hated your heart for flipping the way it did.
Does the little princess like her gift? I'm sorry for sending one impromptu without your permission.
Do you like yours?
You drop the letter immediately, digging through the box and coming up with a silk cloth. Too big to be a handkerchief, just barely passing the mark for a scarf. Silk, extravagant and pricier than you could ever afford. The little S stiched in the corner catches your eye, makes your heart race.
The color is an exact match of your favorite shade of red. Leaves you a little light-headed. And then the paranoia comes crashing back.
Akin to the previous letter, there's an arrow mark guiding you to flip the page.
I'm not innocent and I won't claim to be. I simply do not wish to lose a beloved pen pal and my access to her drawings.
I beat up a man within an inch of his life.
Your heart is beating so loudly that you cannot process anything over the rush in your ears. Cannot stop rereading the words. Cannot stop the tremble in your hands, the way they shake, the way your knees buckle. You hold on to the counter to give yourself some reprieve.
You'd been playing house with a criminal. How could you have given him the benefit of doubt for a single second?
Old habits die hard, you thought bitterly as you cleaned up the mess, tossing the wrapping paper and opening his letter to your daughter to inspect it. It was a pattern with you now. Ten guys could line up in front of you and you'd skip over all the 9 decent ones to choose the trashy jerk.
You're irrationally angry with yourself for entertaining him at all, for letting yourself get carried away like this. You're tossing the wrapping paper in the trash, mind half made up to do the same with the plushie but a hollow feeling taking shape in your stomach gives you pause.
The bunny is soft beneath your labor-roughened fingers, the calloused skin that was always peeling off. You wouldn't be able to afford buying a soft toy this expensive for your daughter without feeling like you'd burned a hole through your wallet. Even if you saved up for months, you would never put that money toward a plushie and you knew it. The one you'd recently bought for your daughter couldn't even begin to compare to this one.
You take your foot off the pedal of the trash can, sighing deeply. You were tired to the very bones of your body, so exhausted and worn out that you didn't remember a time before it. What it was to be carefree and relaxed. All your life, for as long as you could remember, had been spent running. First from your irresponsible, junkie parents who had tried selling you to be able to afford the drugs they preferred and then from your husband who'd trapped you in an abusive marriage before you could see the signs.
Placing the bunny on the counter, you pick up the letter again, ready to pocket it to trash it with the scarf later, when the tiny writing you didn't notice before catches your eye.
He deserved it.
The hollow feeling that had been expanding past your gut and into your chest bursts like a balloon, all the air in your lungs leaving you in a single exhale.
You don't know what it is about this criminal but his silent conviction and the quiet certainty with which he wrote those words gives you pause. He didn't overexplain his side, didn't try to play it off and brush it under the rug. He didn't shy away from answering your question (this time) but he didn't feel the need to defend himself.
With a sigh filled with long suffering, you come to a conclusion you're not enthusiastic about.
You believed him.
The little princess loves the plushie, thank you. I do hope this is the extent of your generosity though.
->
What did he do?
And you? Did you like your gift?
->
I think I'll spare you the gory details, darling. Trash needs cleaning and I feel necessary to see it through myself sometimes.
You stopped asking questions after that. You liked to think it was none of your business but frankly, you were scared to find out. Scared that his answer would inevitably lead to the end of this budding acquaintanceship.
It would seem Bunny wasn't the only one who was lonely.
Did you like your gift?
Your only guiding force in life was to give your daughter a good life and ever since she'd clutched your finger in the dingy hospital room where you'd given birth, you knew you'd do anything to make her happy. Happier than you could have ever imagined yourself to be.
To see those drawings with the black crayon marring all the other colors on the page had broken your heart. The fact that she didn't make a peep or a single complaint when you had to pull long shifts at work and couldn't pick her up from school wrecked your soul. You wanted to give her everything she'd ever want. That had made you risk something this dangerous just to please her. And you would do it every time.
But that scarf, that was the one thing that was yours. It was the first time you'd ever been gifted something, not too extravagant, barely constituting as a present but still, you wanted it just for yourself. For once. Something that inherently belonged only to you. That wasn't thrifted or bought second hand.
And so, it sat in the back of your closet, in an unmarked box like a secret. Like something of great value. Like it was your most prized possession. Like it was priceless.
It drew out a pathetic laugh from your throat. Your most prized possession was a handkerchief from a criminal serving a sentence of heaven knew how long? Truly pathetic.
No. And I would appreciate it you refrained from sending anything else going forward.
Now you weren't only pathetic, you were also a coward.
The following week, you receive a blank cheque in the mail.
I apologize for the gift; it was certainly in poor taste. There is no limit on the amount for the cheque. Treat yourself to something special on my behalf, please?
No innuendo. Just a request. Your gaze kept snagging on the last word like it was a gravitational pull. Why did you feel like this was a man that did not plead often, if ever?
The cheque feels weightless in your palm but also weighs you down like a truckload on your chest. Your eye immediately drops to check the name on the bottom right only to see initials.
S.Q
His name really was Skye then?
No matter how tempted you were, you refused to involve yourself with the likes of such men- people, again. You would not give him a chance to trace any of your actions back to you. The moment your daughter starts showing signs of her positive disposition returning, this penpal-ship was coming to an end.
But the sad, pitiful part of you was so tempted. If there really was no limit to the cheque, you take a moment and glance around your dingy apartment, wouldn't that be nothing short of a miracle for you?
With a twofold, the cheque is torn and the pieces flutter around the kitchen. A pathetic laugh escapes you when you realize your fingers are twitching with the urge to tape it all back together.
Last thing you needed was charity.
Even if it didn't feel like it.
Thank you for the cheque but I think it was too excessive. Let's refrain on sending any type of gifts altogether. Bunny included.
You find yourself thinking of him often at work as you wipe down tables and mindlessly carry orders around like muscle memory. If you let yourself indulge, you could go hours without realizing where you were, what you should've been doing.
He'd said his hair was lighter in color. Was it light brown or more of a sandy blond? If he had beaten a man within an inch of his life, he'd have to be built like a tank to achieve it, right? What color were his eyes? Did he have scars? Tattoos? Pointed nose or button? Did he wear his hair longer or was it cut short to the scalp? Did he wear specs? How old was he? What work did he do before committing the crime? Was he in the shady business long term?
You thought back to the cheque he'd sent to you. No limit, he'd said. Was this one of his tactics to lure unsuspecting women in? Was he in the business of trafficking?
That line of thought startles you to the point of dropping your tray, the clatter drawing attention of all the patrons in the restaurant. Your heart drops when you notice the broken dishes and know that it will be docked out of your pay. You don't even get a chance to think your actions through, immediately dropping to your knees and picking up the shards, numbed to the point that you don't feel anything when a few of the pieces break skin.
You're dragging your feet on your way home, well past midnight when you'd gotten to work nearly 16 hours ago, on your feet the entire time save for two half hour breaks in the middle. Sending your daughter to a good school and paying for a child therapist was going to run you into the ground.
Even as you fight the tears welling in your eyes, you know you wouldn't choose to go any other way.
You cross the mailbox, belatedly realizing it was a Tuesday as you go to check it. The crappy events of the day have only made you regret tearing up the blank cheque even more. So, what if some bored criminal 'billionaire' wanted to do some charity? He wouldn't blink if a few thousand went missing from his bank account, wouldn't even care.
When you get home, Bunny is already in bed. Your precious daughter was too mature for her age, and you hated it. Hated that you were stealing her innocent childhood from her just because her mother couldn't make the right decisions in life. For the longest time, you sit by her bedside and watch her sleep.
It's only when you're tucking her blanket tighter around her that you notice her clutching her new bunny and remember the letter in your purse.
The bulb above the kitchen table flickers once, twice, thrice and just as you're convinced that it needs replacing and your dwindling savings are going to take a hit again today, the light flicks on. Using your closed fists to massage your knotted shoulders, you pluck out the letter, bypassing the one for Bunny for the moment.
So, it would be okay if I drew pictures too?
Underneath the writing there was a stick figure drawing of three people, clearly a family. He'd drawn bunny ears for the shorter girl standing between the two adults, holding their hand. The 'mom' had cat ears, and the 'dad' had devil horns.
Before you can help it, you're laughing at how ridiculously endearing it was. He'd doodled what looks like a tiny crow next to his stick figure, a cat next to yours and a wand in Bunny's hand. It is the silliest, most goofy sketch you've ever seen, and you love it to bits.
Your smile drops immediately when you realize how easily the laugh had come to you; how light and carefree you'd felt just a second ago. The day from hell that you'd just experienced felt so far away, like it was from a different lifetime and that scares you. Enough to stand up again to dispel the spell even if your feet were killing you.
Unacceptable. You were falling back into old patterns, newer tricks with the same outcome, and you were done. The only person you're living for is your daughter and no one else has any place in the life you've built for the both of you.
But as you lay in bed that night, you're thinking of the tiny sketch again, a smile splitting your lips so wide as you recall how adorable it was.
With a silent apology to your daughter, you close your eyes. He may not have a permanent place in the life you'd built but just for a little while, you could pretend.
Right?
Pictures are okay but you need to sharpen your skills.
Pardon me for not being as talented as our daughter pretty princess. My talents lie elsewhere, I'm afraid.
You ignore his usage of our even as you fight a smile.
What do you do for a living? Apart from being the occasional garbage collector and a struggling artist?
Sylus laughs, immediately sitting down to write back.
Meditate, mostly. Solitary confinement can be lonely. Occasionally participate in the sparring matches here on Saturday to pass time.
You weren't a fool. Solitary confinement wasn't just given to just any other inmate. The crime had to be of a serious measure, or he'd have to be someone who was a danger to other criminals.
Maybe if you stopped beating up people, they'd let you in a public space instead of keeping you isolated.
Do you atleast win these matches?
Do you atleast win these matches?
Sylus has to rub the back of his palm over his mouth- once, twice before he gives up any attempt to hold his amusement down, smiling so wide it hurts his cheeks.
I cannot be blamed for the half-witted fools who challenge me in the ring. Besides, you need to get a few bones broken to build resilience (:
If I said no, will you tend to my wounds?
You're rolling your eyes when you first read the words, but you've smiled to yourself all day every time you've thought of them.
Sylus opens your letter impatiently.
I'm not your caretaker.
His brows furrow at the flippant tone. Confused, he peeks into the envelope to see if there was more. Between his daughter's letter and the envelope, there's something lodged in the middle and he plucks it out, only to bark out in laughter when he lays his eyes on it.
->
Bunny is.
Please thank Princess Bunny for her care and the hello kitty band-aid. Atleast someone cares for her old man. Her mother's charm is her cruelty.
All your life you'd felt like a pushover. Someone who was used to being walked all over. A doormat.
Your lips lifted. Felt nice to hear you had claws too.
How old are you?
Old enough to be the starring role in every fantasy you've had of me.
That letter gives you pause. Makes you look around like he'd caught you. Like he knew what you did lying in bed. You decide he needs humbling.
Sylus is brimming with tension when he plucks out the second letter in the envelope. It had been 3 weeks since you'd responded and he'd worried that he'd taken it too far, that you were done with him, spent sleepless nights wondering if you'd write back.
Full of ourselves, are we?
Feeling left out, darling? Want to feel ful(l of me)filled too?
You hate that he doubled down every time. There was really no humbling a man who considered himself above the average lot.
You kiss your mother with that mouth?
Your response is instantaneous this time and he can almost feel the way you must be seething, if the blot of ink against the letters is any indication.
No, just our daughter's mother.
There was truly no winning with him.
A/N: First things first, I know the chapter is a bit underwhelming as compared to all the promise of the premise but there's a reason I'm calling this part 2.1 cuz I am a staunch believer in buildup, and I want to do it justice.
Secondly, I am OVERWHELMED at the response the first part got. The kind words everyone wrote, trust me when I say I reread the comments hundreds of times and scrolled thru the reblogs like a fanatic. Truly thankful to everyone who stopped a second to say such sweet things, in my comments, in the reblogs and even my asks. I'm so grateful<3 Feel free to reach out if you notice any typos or errors!
I don't have a permanent taglist but if you'd like to be tagged for updates on this fic, comment below and I'll add you!
canon is what happens in the text. e.g. merlin tries to poison morgana
a headcanon is a fact that you have personally made up as an elaboration of canon. it is your invention. e.g. i think morgana and gwen had a teenage lesbian situationship before the events of canon. or, i think modern morgana would love evanesence.
an interpretation is how one reads the existing text. it is not an invented fact nor is it a headcanon, it is a reading. e.g. i think merlin tries to poison morgana out of misplaced self-hatred. or, i think that one line was delivered with suppressed malice and shows a nuanced relationship.
fanon is the general fandom’s accepted headcanons and interpretations that elaborate or recontextualize canon. e.g. merlin is a badass waif and morgana is a bitch.
these are all different words with different meanings.
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Snowcrowmc polycue truther and twins enjoyer combination got my brain BREWING with thoughts.
Luke and Kieran, as goofy and fun as they are, are also severely traumatised. They were test subjects that literally had to kill to escape the abuse at 16. Twins, in general, have uniquely close bonds just because they're going through all their formative milestones at the same time, but twins who've been through trauma together? And because they physically feel each others pain, they not only suffered mentally but physically at the exact same time in the exact same way. That's a whole other level of codependent attachment.
Sylus is the one constant and stable person they've ever had. The one person who had guaranteed them safety (as safe as the N109 zone can get). They're attached to him because he's basically their safe haven, a surrogate father of sorts. So the twins would react to him trojan horsing his way into Zayne and MCs relationship all:
'Oh, our dad brings home a badass hunter and a caring under the stoic mask doctor? Does this mean we have THREE parental figures now?'
It's not a streach to think the twins are probably riddled with nightmares from the abuse they faces. You know who else struggles with nightmares? Zayne. If Sylus can't figure out how to comfort them in the middle of the night, Zayne can. Because he gets it, he's been there before.
As capable and tough as MC is, they're also sweet and silly with people they love. They're the fun parent. The one that will help them sneak out at 3am to get McDonalds and distact Sylus so they can pull a prank. Three goofballs with two more serious pairs of eyes making sure they're not going too crazy.
Zayne's there to patch up the wounds, help understand the psychology of trauma, crack a smile and eye roll when he's bribed into keeping a prank secret with his favourite cake. MC is there to get into trouble with, but also to provide the stickers for the masks and hugs goodnight. And Sylus? He's always been there. In his own way. The proud shoulder pat after a job well done, the allowing a small mistake to slide for them when he'd absolutely not let it slide for anyone else, checking they're asleep on the way down the hall to his own room.
All three members of the polycue bring something different to the table that the twins need to heal. Stability, nurture, the ability to goof off and be the kids they never could be, quiet concern and care, and understanding.
tangentwithtanner
germansingergirl
andulkaphoto
amandla
