#x f! reader

“You keep doing that on purpose, don’t you?” “Doing what?” Isaac pulled you into his lap roughly, parting your thighs across his lap, holding you up against his chest with his powers alone. “It seems to me that you have forgotten your place, hm?” The hand on your thigh squeezed roughly, his clipped nails digging into your skin as you shook your head fervently,  “N-no! I haven’t.”  He tutted, once again striking the meat of your thigh when your legs closed instinctually around his hand, desperate for him to touch you properly. “Really?” his voice purred in your ear, low and husky. “Distracting me? Taunting me? Have you forgotten who you are dealing with?”

* he is a messy eater - he does it for his own pleasure as much as yours - completely burrying his head between your thighs.

* he needs to see you fall apart, and he’s so annoyingly good at it.

“Say you’re mine,” he whispered against your flesh, right before he dragged his tongue slowly up your thigh, savouring the salt of your sweat, it caring that the slick that now coated his cheeks smeared across your skin. "I-I'm yours, Isaac. F-fuck—" “Say it again.” "All y-yours—"

* he loves to take his time. tongue dragging, teasing, like he’s savoring every reaction. He’s methodical. but when you’re close? he's ruthless. tongue and fingers in sync, an invisible force pressing against your throat just enough to make your head fuzzy. practically growling into you as he slowly loses his mind.

* he hates to be rushed. he takes his time like he’s savoring a work of art.

“I-I’m gonna, fuck– please, Isaac.”  He tutted as his fingers stilled, resting heavy against your fluttering walls as his lips rolled from your clit with a pop. You could have screamed, the water building on your lower lashes finally falling as you sobbed, making a futile attempt to buck your hips and rut against his palm. “Tell me when it fades,” he ordered, leaving his fingers deadly still as he cupped your sex, gripping you but refusing to move a muscle. “Remember, I know when you lie.”  Pulling in a shuddering breath you tried your best to calm yourself, sniffling a little and closing your eyes as you tried to bring yourself back from the edge, willing your cunt to stop squeezing around his digits.  “Okay,” you huffed quietly, pulling your lips back between your teeth again. “Good girl.” He brought his lips to your thigh again, pressing fleeting kisses to your skin as a small reward.

* there’s a small notebook hidden under his mattress filled with dark thoughts, drawings of you in various stages of undress, and very detailed descriptions of the things he’s done to you… and the things he still wants to do.

* if he could, he’d keep you hidden away just for him. the idea of someone else seeing you come undone makes him sick with rage.

* he gets off on the idea that he’s ruined you for anyone else. that no one will ever be able to satisfy you like he can.

* he marks you up on purpose – thighs, hips, throat – anywhere only he can. If you complain, he gets this calm but chilling look.

Isaac's mouth was hot against your throat, all lips and teeth and drool, nipping and sucking at the skin desperately as his fingers burried themselves in your cunt. The sound was obscene. Your slick was practically dripping down onto the desk below you, positively squelching as he rutted his curled fingers up against your front wall, the pressure growing so quickly that you thought you might pass out.  "Isaac, stop–" you tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck weakly, only for an invisble hand to tug it away, pinning it to the desk beside you, "–I can't cover those up." He tutted as his fingers stilled, resting heavy against your fluttering walls. “If they know you’re mine, they’ll leave you alone.”

* he’ll do it even when you say no. not in a forceful way, but in a “you’re tired” or “not in the mood” kind of way. he knows your body better than you, or so he believes. He insists he can make you feel good, and he always proves it.

* post coming back to life, he only gets worse. he craves it on a carnal level. everything about it is heightened, the taste of you so much more intense that it becomes like a drug, giving him as much life as the brains did.

His fingers dug into your cheeks roughly, forcing your eyes to meet his. His tongue flicked over his lip quickly, relishing the way you practically trembled under his touch. “Now, now, dove. Don’t you want me to get stronger? Hmm?” You have your best attempt at a nod in his grasp, the pads of his fingers digging into your cheekbone. The grin that tugged at his lips was sickly sweet as he held you firmly in place, breath fanning your cheek as he leaned in, blackened tongue dragging up your cheek slowly before his voice dropped to a register only you could hear. “Atta girl, so good for me, even now…”

aizawa sighs, tired as always. his long hair falling into his face. "patrol luckily ended early."

you nod and give him a small hum. your eyes still not meeting his. "well, thats good for you. food is ready and on the counter whenever you are."

he catches your subtle annoyed tone. "what's that supposed to mean exactly?"

you shrug, "nothing. i just didnt think you remembered what early even was..."

he runs a hand over his face, frustration and guilt blending together. “i told you, y/n. it’s been busy lately. you know..with all the threats and attacks happening in the city.”

"yeah i get that..but it feels like you its always busy. you are always busy.." you sigh a little bit. stopping yourself, debating whether you should continue or not.

"it is like there is always trouble, a villain or someone who needs saving and cannot wait. but i feel like its not fair...." your eyes finally meet his. "like you never catch a break..are there no other heros?"

"y/n..its not about how many heros there are, its about experience. while the older heros are out, they are simultaneously training the upcoming ones so nobody overworks theirselves." he said, sighing and making his way closer to you.

you nod to what he is saying. showing that you are understanding what he is trying to say. but the ache in your heart doesnt fade. "i know..and i respect what you do for the city. its just-" you pause, deciding not to continue.

"its fine, im sorry for overreacting." as you got up, he caught your wrist.

"just what?" he asks, with a serious tone.

"i-it just..just feels like you are giving the best parts of yourself to everyone else, and i get what is left after your tired day to put your pieces back together for the next."

he slowly lets go of your wrist. "thats not true."

"isn't it?" you whisper. "you come home exhausted and half-asleep which is again, understandable. you barley talk due to waves of tiredness washing over you. i know you are doing important stuff out there and saving the world. b-but.. its doesnt mean that i dont miss you much, shouta. i miss feeling like i also mattered to you."

he exhales, quiet but heavy. “you do matter, y/n.”

you shake your head, staring down at your hands. “sometimes it doesn’t feel like it. no matter what you say."

"shouta..you are a pro-hero. strong, calm and respected. everyone looks at you and admire you for who you are. you do deserve all of it and more, you really do." you sigh, looking away, eyes beginning to tear up.

"b-but then there is me..i dont save anyone. i dont have people relying on me or any of that sort. i just try to live on and about my day and do my best to make your life as easy as possible. trying not to add any more burdens on your already tough life."

he moves closer, embracing you in a hug. "you are not a burden to me, never."

“then why do i feel like i have to fight for your attention most of the time?” your voice cracks, eyes glistening. “maybe you’d be better off with someone who understands your world. someone who actually gets what it’s like to be a hero.”

aizawa’s brow furrows, his tone steady but filled with something raw. “don’t ever say that.”

you blink, startled.

he kneels slightly, making sure you’re looking at him. “i don’t want another hero. i don’t need someone who understands my job. i need someone who reminds me there’s more to life than patrols and villains. you’re the reason i come home at all.”

his words hang heavy between you, quiet but real.

you swallow hard, nodding, then whispering, “then why does it still hurt?”

he lets out a small breath, sitting you both on the couch, close enough that your knees touch. “because i’ve been failing you,” he admits, voice low. “i thought working harder would protect the people i care about, including you, but in reality, all i’ve done is push you away.”

you look at him, really look at him. his tired eyes, his messy hair, the guilt sitting behind his calm expression.

“i just want to feel like i still have you,” you say softly.

he reaches out, fingers brushing yours, a faint tremor in his hand. “you do,” he murmurs. “you always have.”

he exhales again, long and heavy. "i know i’ve been distant, and i hate that. but it’s not because of you. it’s because i keep thinking i have to be everything for everyone. somehow i forget that i already have everything i need when i walk through that door.”

"y/n."

"yes?"

"im sorry that i made you forget how important you are to me."

your breath trembles a little, "then remind me."

quickly his lips crash onto yours, embracing your lips in a kiss. at first it was slow, taking his sweet time. then it grew needier over time, mainly from you, needing to feel him more.

"shouta. if you are exhauste-"

"no, gotta remind my wife exactly who she is." he states confidently, leading you both to your bedroom.

"you havent eaten yet though..the food will get cold." you explained, concerned for his sake.

"ill do that later, i gotta much more of an important task to do right now." he says, laying on the mattress.

taking his shirt off alongside his belt and trousers. leaving himself in his boxers.

leaning down, to capture your lips once again. you moaned into the kiss. "shouta-" you whispered as his kissed began trailing from your lips, down to your jaw and all the way to your chest.

he lifted your shirt off, and pulled down your sweatpants. taking one of your bare breasts in his hand and massaging the mound as you moaned with every move.

"fuck..shouta. please..need you."

"relax. ill give you exactly what you need."

he said, taking his boxers off. he was already semi-hard. he also helps you out of your panties and throws both clothing articles somewhere.

bringing one of his hands down again to massage your other breast while his fingers on the other hand work on touching your clit.

"daddy-please..need you already."

"alright, sweetheart. just be patient a little, okay?"

his fingers on your clit were speeding up, rubbing the circles a little faster. making you closer with each move. he then slowly slipped in a finger, preparing you for the stretch of his dick.

"fuck..im gon- please.." you whimpered for him, needy to cum on his fingers.

"yeah, let go for me. come on my fingers, sweetheart." he said encouraging you, slipping a second finger in.

you moaned loudly with your high, your back slightly arching off the bed and toes curling.

your breathing was unstable at first. but as soon as your breathing went back to normal. aizawa was on your neck again, sucking and biting on the sensitive flesh. as soon as he was done, he soothed the spot with his tongue and saliva, continuing to trail kisses down your neck, while holding your hand tightly.

"fuck, you ready for me?" aizawa said, lining himself at your hole.

"im ready, daddy...please i need you so baa-" the end of your sentence was cut off by a moan. caused by aizawa inching his dick inside of you. slowly.

"ahh..fuck, how are you so damn tight all the fucking time?" he hissed as he grabbed your hips and began moving slowly once he bottomed out.

"you feel so good, shouta. so big.."

he chuckled. "fuck, i missed this feeling, baby..." aizawa said as he began speeding up his thrusts. making your toes curl harder, your eyes squeeze shut and your hands finding their way to his hair and tugging harshly.

you are spread out beneath aizawa. at this point, you needed him impossibly deeper inside of you that you locked your legs around him. both of your hands still harshly tugging on his locks.

he is fighting to let go of his own sounds as well. gritting his teeth to swallow the moans, his hips were slapping desperately against yours. your back is arching into him and your eyes are squeezed shut so hard you are sure you are going to see weird shapes when you open them.

"fuck, baby. you feel so fucking good." he whispers into your ears. his hips still rocking against you. his hands glued to your hips.

once he started hitting a special spot inside of you, you moaned his name so loudly.

"fuck- shouta..you feel so- ahh, ahh, so fucking good..fuck-"

"yeah? always a good girl for me, screaming loud to make sure you let everyone know who is fucking you this good."

your sounds makes him groan. making him speed up his thrusts, as he was chasing his high.

"fuck me, baby.." he says softly, his eyes meeting yours. "you have been all lonely waiting for me like this. hmm? soaked just from thinking about me coming home to you, hmm? fucking you this good after patrol."

you nod helplessly, chasing your high. your lip formed an "o" as he circles your clit again with slow, firm pressure. a choked sound spilling from your throat, and he smirks, kissing you, swallowing your noises as his fingers tease lower.

it was his turn to clench his eyes now as you were squeezing extremely hard on him, signalling that you were about to come.

"fuck shouta.. gotta cum. please let me cum.."

"yeah, cmon, come for daddy then. be a good girl and do it" he encourages further as you let out a choked moan while you tug harshly at his scalp and bite down on his shoulder.

"fuck- good girl, baby. im bouta come now, will you let me come inside, sweetheart?"

"yes, please come inside me, i need you so badly.."

"shit..im gonna come, take it, baby." he hissed as he spills his hot seed inside of you.

you both take some time to catch your breath before he lays down next you, brining your naked body closer to his own.

after a couple minutes, both of your breathing went back to normal and room was quiet. the faint light from the hallway spills across the sheets. painting you both a soft orange-y brown-ish colour.

aizawas arm is wrapped tightly around you. your head resting against his chest.

neither of you say a word for some time. its not awkward silence. just silence.

his fingers trace lazy circles on your shoulder. “you always think too much after sex,” he murmurs.

you huff a tiny laugh, voice still hoarse. “can’t help it.”

“what’s on your mind this time, hm?” he asks, his tone softer now, less tired than before.

you hesitate, then whisper, “i just don’t ever want to feel like i’m asking for too much.”

he exhales slowly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “you’re not. i’ve just been too far in my own head to see how much i was neglecting you, you matter to me the most, i want you to be aware of that. always.”

you nod, eyes fixed on the way your fingers play with the fabric of the blanket. “i don’t need constant attention. i just… need you. here. even if it’s quiet.”

he hums low in his throat, pulling you a little closer. “then that’s what i’ll give you. not promises i can’t keep just my best efforts"

you smile faintly, closing your eyes.

aizawa tilts his head to look at you, exhaustion softening into something tender. “you know, for someone who says she’s not a hero, you’ve saved me more than anyone else ever could. from loneliness, depression, demotivation, and much more.”

you glance up at him, eyes stinging a bit again. “you always say things like that right when i’m trying not to cry.”

he chuckles quietly, his thumb brushing along your cheek. “then don’t hold it in.”

you finally let the tears fall, quiet ones that don’t need explanation. he doesn’t say anything at all. he just holds you through it.

when you finally calm down, he whispers against your hair, “i love you."

you nod against his chest, your voice small but certain. “i love you too, shouta. even when you forget to come home early.”

he smiles a little at that, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “i’ll work on that.”

“good,” you whisper, already drifting off in his arms.

for the first time in weeks, the quiet of your apartment feels peaceful again.

ᴋɪᴍɪ ᴀɴᴛᴏɴᴇʟʟɪ

ᴄᴀʀʟᴏꜱ ꜱᴀɪɴᴢ

ᴄʜᴀʀʟᴇꜱ ʟᴇᴄʟᴇʀᴄ

ʟᴇᴡɪꜱ ʜᴀᴍɪʟᴛᴏɴ

ᴏꜱᴄᴀʀ ᴘɪᴀꜱᴛʀɪ

ɢᴇᴏʀɢᴇ ʀᴜꜱꜱᴇʟʟ

ᴏʟɪᴠᴇʀ ʙᴇᴀʀᴍᴀɴ

ʟᴀɴᴅᴏ ɴᴏʀʀɪꜱ

ᴍᴀx ᴠᴇʀꜱᴛᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ

ꜰʀᴀɴᴄᴏ ᴄᴏʟᴀᴘɪɴᴛᴏ

Morning birds flitted across the sky, chirping as they hopped from branch to branch. The tree’s leaves rustled softly in the breeze, whispering like secrets passed between friends. On the ground below, cars rolled past buildings, and people moved briskly along the sidewalks, caught up in the rhythm of their daily routines.

The 'Bread & Butter Café' stood calmly at the heart of it all, a small crowd gathered outside. Locals chatted quietly, some with partners, as they waited in line. The café’s entrance, framed by beautifully carved wooden doors and large, spotless prism-like windows, offered a warm invitation.

Sunlight bounced off the display glass, while the awning above provided a gentle shade. Tree shadows danced lightly across the windows, adding a touch of nature’s artistry.

“Good Lord, I’m tired,” William groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked drained, his backpack slung low as he stood beside his friend, Mark. “Who thought partying at midnight was a good idea? Definitely not me.”

Mark smirked. “What did you expect? Three shots of tequila and a whiskey chaser weren’t exactly a sleep aid.”

Will shot him a glare, then dramatically planted both hands on his hips, mimicking a scolding parent. “For your information, I only tried that whiskey because my dad never lets me.”

Straightening up, he tapped three fingers to his chest and gave a cocky little grin. “Besides, I look old enough. He’ll never know.”

Mark laughed, shaking his head. “Sure, Will. Whatever you say.”

Just then, a family of four approached the café doors. The father, clean-shaven and neatly dressed in a burgundy sweater and pressed navy pants, looked every bit the picture of calm. His polished shoes shined, and a leather satchel hung from his shoulder. His hair caught the light, revealing two faint streaks of white on one side.

His eyes scanned the waiting crowd—some visibly impatient, others chatting casually in groups.

Beside him stood his wife, her highlighted hair gleaming in the sun, her eyes smiling as she watched their daughter unlock the doors. She wore a white sleeveless top under a soft, cozy cardigan and black pants paired with crisp white sneakers. In her arms, their baby girl slept peacefully, wrapped snug in a swaddling cloth. The mother gently rocked her, whispering soothing words.

Their daughter—clearly familiar with the morning rush—opened the café doors with a practiced hand and flipped the sign to "OPEN." A ripple of excitement passed through the waiting line as people began filing in.

“Thanks for your patience, folks!” the father called out cheerfully, placing his satchel on a table near the register. “Had a bit of a morning adventure. You know how that goes.” His warm presence drew chuckles from the crowd.

“Now then... shall we begin?”...

...

The café buzzed with energy as customers flowed in and out, the day unfolding in its usual rhythm. Mark and Will edged closer to the counter, waiting for their turn. Mark’s eyes wandered around the shop, taking it all in as he stood quietly in line.

The café’s interior had a clean, minimalist vibe—white walls, modern chairs neatly arranged for guests looking to relax. Sunlight streamed through the windows, keeping the plants by the front window glowing with life. By the register, a glass display case showcased an array of golden-brown, freshly baked pastries, each more tempting than the last.

A gentle voice caught Mark’s attention.

“Sweetie, could you take this to Table 2, please?” the woman at the counter asked, handing a tray to her daughter. The girl stepped forward just in time, gripping the tray by its edges and pulling it close to her chest as she walked carefully across the floor.

As she passed Mark, she glanced in his direction and offered a soft, fleeting smile before continuing toward the couple seated by the window. With practiced ease, she delivered their drinks and desserts.

“One Venti mocha strawberry smoothie, one Venti chocolate chip swirl, and two raspberry truffle cakes. Enjoy!” she said cheerfully. The couple responded with warm thank-yous before diving into their treats.

Mark watched her return to the counter, her smartwatch beeping as she glanced down at the time. He looked at his own watch—and his eyes widened.

“Crap, Will! We’re gonna be late!” he whispered urgently. They stepped forward, quickly giving their orders to the cashier, who nodded and began entering them into the system.

Meanwhile, the girl untied her apron, slipping it off her neck and hanging it neatly on a nearby hook. She brushed a few crumbs from her shirt, grabbed her backpack, and got ready for school.

“Ready?” her dad called across the room as she grabbed her phone.

“Almost!” she replied, slinging her bag over one shoulder and heading toward him.

“You say goodbye to your mom?”

“Yep.”

“Your sister?”

“Done.”

“Alright, let’s go,” he said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder as they stepped outside.

At the entrance, the mother waved them off, the baby now wide awake and giggling as she rattled her toy, her tiny fingers grasping it in delight.

Outside, the car’s lights blinked as the locks clicked open. The girl pulled open the passenger-side door and climbed in, resting her backpack in her lap. Her zipper charms jingled softly as her father got in beside her, taking the driver’s seat.

He shifted the gear to ‘Drive,’ and the car eased smoothly into traffic. Father and daughter chatted for a bit, eventually settling into a quiet, peaceful rhythm.

Back at the curb, Mark stood watching them pull away. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling—something between curiosity and... something else. He couldn’t quite name it.

“Mark?” a distant voice called. He heard it, but didn’t react right away. “Mark?” It was clearer now. “Mark!”

“Huh?” Mark blinked and turned to see Will holding out his drink. “Oh—sorry.”

“You’ve been staring at that girl for, like, the whole time.”

“Have I?” Mark said, a bit surprised. “I didn’t even realize...”

Will raised a brow. “You feeling okay, man? You’re looking kinda red.”

Mark laughed awkwardly, waving off the comment. “Yeah. Just... never mind.” He took the drink from Will with a thankful nod. “Thanks.”

“No worries. Let’s get going before we’re late.”

Together, they headed out the door, pausing only to thank the barista before stepping back into the morning rush.

...

The sound of screeching brakes and hissing air filled the air as school buses lined up along the curb, one after another, releasing waves of students onto the pavement. Backpacks bounced. Sneakers slapped the sidewalk. The low drone of morning conversation and laughter buzzed through the air like static.

Inside the building, lockers clanged open and shut. The scent of fresh paper, cafeteria tater tots, and cologne lingered faintly in the halls. Mark moved through the crowd, his steps purposeful as he approached his locker. With a practiced twist, he spun the combination dial and pulled open the door.

He was mid-reach for his Algebra book when the hallway atmosphere subtly shifted—almost like the air paused to inhale. A ripple of murmurs moved along the walls as several heads turned. Mark noticed it too.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted someone walking toward them—a figure who stood out, not just for how unfamiliar she was, but for the quiet confidence in her stride. Hair glinting under the fluorescent lights, books hugged close to her chest, she walked with calm intention, like someone completely at ease with being noticed... and clearly used to it.

Mark’s eyes widened just slightly, a light flickering behind them as recognition clicked into place.

Will followed his gaze, eyebrows lifting with interest. “That her?” he mouthed. Mark gave a tiny, silent nod.

The girl finally reached them, a soft smile playing on her lips as she came to a gentle stop in front of them.

“Hi,” she said warmly, her voice calm and clear, like the first page of a good book. “You’re Mark, right? And you’re Will?”

Both boys nodded, momentarily frozen in place.

Will, always the shameless one, raised his eyebrows in a playful wiggle, elbowing Mark with a teasing grin. Mark responded instantly with a sharp nudge to his side, making Will yelp under his breath and stifle a laugh.

“Sorry—yeah!” Mark said quickly, snapping out of it. He gave a slightly awkward chuckle and raised his hand for a handshake, his other hand instinctively going to the back of his neck as he rubbed it sheepishly. “I’m Mark,” he said, motioning to himself before gesturing toward his friend. “And this guy here is William. Will, for short.”

She laughed—soft and melodic, as if she found his nervousness endearing rather than awkward. “Yes, I can see that,” she said, tucking a long strand of hair behind her ear with gentle grace.

“I feel kinda bad for not meeting you both sooner,” she added, her eyes sincere. “I’ve just been... constantly busy. You know how that goes.”

She brought a hand to her mouth as she spoke, covering the corner of her lips with a quiet, teasing smile that made Mark’s heart stutter for a beat.

“Yeah,” he replied with a chuckle. “I totally get it.”

“It’s infuriating,” she added with a grin, giggling lightly. Her hair bounced with her laugh, effortlessly charming.

Their conversation drifted into light chatter—small talk about teachers, hall schedules, and how confusing it was that second period kept getting moved around. Her eyes—(E/C)—held a brightness to them, a kind of curiosity that seemed to pull answers from people before they even knew they wanted to speak.

Then, she reached out to formally shake his hand.

Her fingers brushed lightly over his as she gripped his palm—firmly, confidently. The sensation was brief, but it sent a surprising spark up Mark’s spine. Her touch was feather-light but grounding, like she was here—really here—and for some odd reason, he didn’t want to let go.

The handshake wasn’t dainty or shy. It had presence. Purpose. Something about it reminded Mark of the way his dad always said you could tell a lot about someone by their handshake.

This one said: I know who I am.

Mark blinked, smiling through the daze. “So... what classes are you guys in today?” she asked casually, but her tone carried that effortless rhythm that made you want to keep talking, keep listening.

And just like that, the hum of the hallway around them faded a little—less noise, less pressure—like this moment, right here, was something more than just a meet-and-greet.

...

As the day unfolded, Mark and (Y/N) crossed paths often—between classes, in the hallways, sometimes with a brief wave or a shared glance. But it was during lunch that they really connected. The cafeteria buzzed with clatter and chatter, but their corner of the table always felt quieter, more grounded.

Their conversations drifted away from school. Instead, they talked about music, movies they loved—or hated—childhood memories, dream vacations, the strange comfort of rainy days. It was easy, natural. The kind of talk that makes an hour pass in what feels like minutes.

By the time the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, the sun had already begun its slow descent. Backpacks zipped, lockers slammed, and waves of students flooded the halls.

Will gave Mark a lazy salute as he headed off. “Well, I’ll catch you later when we hang out, yeah?”

Mark nodded. “You know it.”

Before leaving, (Y/N) turned to Will and offered her hand with a friendly smile. “It was really nice meeting you. And hey, if you ever want help with Algebra II or Chemistry II, I’d be happy to help. My house is pretty chill for studying.”

Will raised a brow, then smiled, clearly impressed. “Seriously? That’d be awesome. How about next week? Thursday work?”

“Done and done.” She chuckled, folding her arms loosely over her chest in a satisfied pose.

“Perfect. See ya then. Bye, guys!” Will called out as he jogged off, disappearing into the crowd.

That left Mark and (Y/N) alone.

They stepped outside together, the late-afternoon air warm and golden as the sun dipped lower in the sky. The sidewalk buzzed with motion—people hurrying home, buses honking, crosswalk signals blinking. The two of them walked in step, close but not too close, their pace unhurried despite the rush around them.

Mark glanced sideways. “So… got any plans for tonight?”

She gave a short, amused breath. “Just studying,” she replied, hugging her books a little tighter to her chest.

Mark pulled a face, playful. “Sounds thrilling.”

“Oh, absolutely riveting,” she joked, grinning as she rolled her eyes. “Highlighters, late-night caffeine, and textbook drama—it’s a party.”

Mark laughed, the sound relaxed and genuine. For a second, the noise of the city faded behind the rhythm of their quiet steps and easy conversation.

And in that shared silence, something soft bloomed—not quite love, not yet—but something warm and promising, like a candle quietly being lit.

...

[CHAPTER 02 - "THE WEB"]

It’s Choso. Choso naked. Choso dialogue, “please … use me.” If that doesn’t count as a review of this masterpiece then I’m a monkey’s aunt (oh no call Geto … tehehe).

Ahem.

Seriously though. Choso is perfect. He is the best drawn, best written character she ever did. Also, I will spoil one thing: throughout the story, he is learning about being human but he is NOT infantized. He is not a babbling crybaby as many other writers portray him. He is very much himself. He starts out guarded but, like the beautiful flower that is Choso, he blossoms—but it’s not over night—very believable.

The MC was interesting. Khywae does a great job (as always) juggling with being a great character but still leaving space to be you. So it can be played as a character on her own OR as a self insert. Now, I will warn you, your character is NOT an angel … But has growth which was … amazing. Easily my favorite MC since Sukuna’s game. (I believe this was made before that though.)

One last thing I must commend! Though your character goes through something (there is a reason you are paired with best boy TM) and when everything comes to a head, it’s emotional, but no useless, stupid drama. It shows how you grew, and how he surpassed you. It was actually very touching.

One last thing—maybe minor spoiler--it has BDSM … I am not into this and never watch nor researched this ,so my opinion maybe invalid but: it was very light. Perhaps very intro-ey if that makes sense. (Also, very consensual if that is any concern.) But it’s not all smut! There are fluffy scenes as well. One scene in particular was … *chef’s kiss* Includes you with a sexy, yet awkward pigtail man.

Sequel please?

Can choose between three skin tones.

Choices don’t matter.

Rating: 4 pigtails out of 2 -- perfection

TL;DR:

+ Choso

+ smut

+ Choso

+ submissive Choso

+ fluff

+ then … opposite day (if you catch my drift)

+ Khywae gave us great tits

- BDSM (though light in my opinion)

- no log - you have to replay the chapter

‘If you think you are perfect because you have no disabilities, illness or family trauma. I will be there to knock you to back on your knees and crush you like the ant you are.’

‘Pathetic.’

‘Weak.’

‘More excuses from those who have a superiority complex.’

‘Turn away like you do when someone asks for help, when foster homes and orphanages do shady shit. Your word mean nothing to me.’

‘Leave. Me. Alone.’

They don’t know what your real name is. Your file is coated in so many layers of black ink it might as well be a black page. Even then, so much of who you are and what made who you have remained classified. Under lock and key. Away from unauthorized personnel. To be able to view your file they would need permission from your superiors as well as their boss.

You wore a nanofiber, reinforced body suit underneath your shirt and trousers. The black jacket draped over your shoulders, as you continued to glare from the sidelines. “I don’t care why you might want to have her. She’s not yours to have, she doesn’t belong to you, she isn’t yours to take. She is better off in our care than she is in yours. Don’t ask or request for this again.” Your superior, to say he was angry with them would be an understatement.

“It’s like they don’t understand how you function.” He groaned as he slammed the phone down. Cutting them off from making more incessant demands. You and he walked from his office to the mission briefing.

“Hopefully, they’ll find someone else to assist sir.” You told him.

He nodded in agreement, “Hopefully they do Reaper, hopefully they do.”

It felt like yesterday when that conversation occurred. You wanted to go back to that time. It was far simpler than the time of your life now. Things didn’t feel like they were constantly stacked against you for one reason or some other.

You were always told to love yourself. Yet you never learned how. You didn’t have a role model like the children you grew up with. You didn’t look up to your mother or your father, you saw them falling over themselves. Mentally, sometimes literally.

You wondered what it would like to have parents to pick you up from school. For your parents to put your report on the fridge to show off your good grades.

You reminded Soap, “I'm only helping you to make sure you don't fuck it up.”

The thick leather boots kept the cold snow from seeping to your limbs. You’ve been here before. Many times, before. The cold welcomed you back like a mother waiting for them at the front door after school.

You make took any work to have the excuse to avoid a confrontation from any of them. ‘Can’t confront someone if they’re not there, right?’ you mused with a slow smirk creeping across your face.

However, they weren’t keen on letting you slip away into the night, you were about to cut firewood as they huddled up in the main room. You didn’t mind the cold as much. It felt more welcoming to you than the warmth inside. Layering the wood, you cut up into the firewood holder inside. Picking it up from the wheelbarrow you found in the abandoned shed close by. You were about to make another trip outside. This time to gather sticks, leaves and anything to keep the fire going without resourcing to depleting their back-up firewood.

A firm hand grasping tightly on yours as you turned the doorknob, you were warm, weren’t you? You had more layers on than an onion, at least you felt like you had more layers on than people would have loved to assume. The reinforced bodysuit, the shirt, the trousers, the fur jacket over the top. Black leather with fur lined gloves to tie it all together.

Layers like an onion. Warm like a Siberian bear. The more dead wood from the snow-covered forest you gathered, seeing your mother everywhere still, you walked closer to her, or you attempted to. Yet no matter how close you got, the further away she was.

Was she a hallucination? A visual and audible hallucination? A product of her grief, lack of proper sleep, a lack of a proper send off when your parents passed at sixteen. Once you saw your mother, it was like something inside of you snapped. You didn’t realise you were chasing after her until you felt someone grab your wrist tightly.

You were slowly moving further away from the cabin, step by step, losing your mind in a haze of grief.

‘Have you come to apologise?’ you wondered. Moving faster to get closer to her. Hearing her humming through the forest. Echoing through the trees. Feeling like you were ten years old playing hide and seek with your mother in the park. Only for to disappear whenever you got too close to her.

You didn't hear them calling out to you to snap out of it. You were too caught up in the chase, the illusion of your mother's presence. The cold wind whipped around you, but you felt no chill. Your mind was racing, your heart pounding. You were desperate to find her, to talk to her, to understand.

‘I’m coming mother. Wait for me.’

‘Wait for me.’

‘Please mother.’

Those three thoughts repeating like clockwork, repeating like a broken record. A grandfather clock chiming, the sound of the reverse and slowed down. You never caught up. As soon as you closed your eyes and opened them again. The illusion of your mother vanished, replaced by the stark reality of the snow-covered forest.

As the illusion of your mother faded, you found yourself standing in the middle of the snow-covered forest, the sound of your own ragged breathing echoing in the quiet. You felt a cold shiver run down your spine, not from the frigid air, but from the realisation of what had just happened.

When you got back to the cabin, you hoped you were quiet enough to sneak to your corner and sleeping bag to go to sleep. Ghost spotting you asleep in the corner, arms crossed and frowning like you were still annoyed with someone.

Even in your sleep. You looked like you were tired of dealing with people. Though you were not as young as people assumed you were. You were treated like you didn’t know anything or that you didn’t know any better.

“I’m a thirty-year-old woman. I’ve been in the military for twelve years. Stop treating me like I don’t know anything.” You said to Price once. You were beyond angry at the time. “You have second guessed every decision I’ve made since this whole thing started. If you have an issue with how I did things you could have told me instead. For someone so keen on open communication. You haven’t been doing a lot of it.”

"I apologize, Reaper," he said, his voice sincere. "I've been under a lot of stress lately, and I've taken it out on you. I trust your judgment, and I'm sorry for doubting it."

“Try to do better. An apology without action is just as bad as no apology at all.” You reminded him. “And no, I’m not mad at you, a little disappointed, but not mad.”

Price raised an eyebrow at the second part of what you said, "You're not mad? That’s a first.”

“What can I say? I’m full of stardust and miracles.” You snorted sipping your coffee, wrapping your gloved fingers around the white coffee mug.

Price chuckled, "You're definitely something else, Reaper."

“I try. It’s hard work, and most of the time, a bow and arrow doesn’t always cut it.” You replied, taking another sip of your coffee.

His gaze falling on the compact bow on the table, next to your recurve bow, more like hunting bows. The military didn’t use them as far as knew. You have been using them to hunt for more food, Ghost said something about it while you were gone hunting.

Soap loved taking naps near you afterwards, which didn’t bother you nearly as much as they assumed. “We’re in a snowy area.” You stated. As if they should think about the cold rather than anything illicit.

His head resting on your shoulder, as you both were fast asleep, as Ghost walked inside from the blizzard outside. His breath fogging up in front of his face, closing the door behind him. Eyes drifting over to where you and Soap were huddled together on the couch in front of the fireplace.

Now the mission a distant memory. An echo inside their minds. News of your kidnapping drifted to them. A week after it had occurred. You were taken by someone while you were on mandatory leave. Price kicking himself mentally. How would he have known this would be the outcome of sending you back home?

“When was the last message she sent out?” Price asked Gaz, his frown deep and his impatience growing by the second.

Gaz checked the transcripts of the most recent messages she had sent them to the last one she had sent through before the recent one. Searching for a possible connection between the last two calls you made. The only thing standing out to them was the number. The number of your mother’s cell phone stood out to them as an anomaly.

The last two calls you made were to your mother’s cell phone. Odd. Suspicious even.

“Gaz, run a trace on the phone number, Soap, grab the co-ordinates after Gaz gives you and follow up on the location of where the phone call might have come from.” Price said to the two of them.

Alaska. Northern part of the forest called the Chugach National Forest.

"According to what I've seen. It is coming from a burner phone." Gaz told Price.

Soap is still gripping onto the shirt you gave him a year ago. "Take it." You said.

"Odd way to give a present Reaper." Soap smirked.

"Odd way to say, 'thank you' Soap." You countered with a smirk. You didn't know how to give people presents without making it awkward.

Yet Soap, he never seemed to mind. He always seemed to appreciate your awkward attempts at gift-giving. He cherished them. Although now his mind has is pictures of you in an oversized hoodie.

When your rank of Lieutenant Colonel was revealed to them. A picture of you at 18, dead pan expression and a tired look in your eyes giving look of a 'perpetually resting bitch face' according to Price. Which strangely enough fit you, well that, along with your personality of a stray feline with a penchant of an Irish goodbye.

The last recorded message to them, 'It's weird being back home. But doctors’ orders are final, and I don't think I would be able to look him in the eye if I didn't. Fear of failure is scary I'll say it. It's strange here. Too quiet. I think I got used to Price's snoring and Gaz's endless chatter. You have no idea how many times I was overstimulated, and your chatter was the perfect white noise I needed. Hard to have ADHD and depressive disorder with psychotic traits mixed in. But hey, it is what it is, and the rest is stardust, biscuits, naps and getting scared because you saw your own mask in the mirror at 3am. I'll say this once though I love you. I'll never say to your face because you'll have to pry the word from me like you'd have pry the mint chocolate ice cream from my cold dead fingers. But, yeah, I love you and I'll see you soon alright? And you too Ghost."

The last message you sent out. 'I think someone might be in my house. Not too keen on being someone's target. Ghost, being you're the responsible one out of the two of us. I sent you confirmation of where I lived with my parents. A starting point.' The background noise of creaking floorboards, as you whispered. An unmistakable Austrian accent, "Maus where are you?" In the background followed by heavy rain masking the footsteps.

You continued to whisper into the phone as the message was pretty long in duration. "Ghost, you were right, I admit it, you were right during that argument, and I was clearly wrong." You moved to the attic. Sneaking there while the intruder was downstairs. You continued to whisper, "I'm sorry I argued with you. I should've listened to you. I should've stayed with you. I should've..." Your voice trailed off as you fumbled with the attic hatch, trying to secure it. "I should've just stayed with you."

A sob escaped your lips as you realized your mistake. You had been so stubborn, so determined to prove your independence, that you had ignored the warning signs. Now, you were trapped, alone, and terrified.

You pulled out your phone and sent a final message to Ghost: "I was wrong. He found me. I'm in the attic."

"Mäuschen there you are." The male Austrian voice said in a chilling tone, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching the attic hatch. The line went dead as he crushed the cell phone beneath his hefty foot. "You're pregnant Maus. I can't have you hurting OUR child."

You didn’t know what he was getting at, what did he mean by our child? Surely you remember what he means by that don’t you? Apparently, it seems to bother him. It bothers him that you don’t remember him. That’s fine Maus. He’ll make you remember him. One way or another, you will remember who he is.

Over his shoulder you go Maus.

Right to the den of inequity.

One of his own making.

Only you can make all this world seem right.

Only you can make the darkness bright.

Only you and you alone can thrill me like you do

And fill my heart with love for only you

Note: I'm trying to hint at him without revealing who he is too fast. I hope you enjoyed reading. See you when part 4 comes out.

German Meaning for:

Maus means mouse.