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dollgxtz · 10 months ago

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His Watchful Eye Pt. 6

Word Count: 15.k...(oops)

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, dubcon, vaginal sex, creampie, breeding, comfort sex, cunnilingus, overstimulation if you squint, mentions of murder, nightmares, manipulation, pet names like, kitten, sweetie, honey, tw for panic attacks, rape flashbacks, xavier appears

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh, @eliasxchocolate, @nozomiaj, @xmiisuki, @sylus-kitten, @its-regretti , @m0onlustre , @ve1vet-cake, @letgobro, @starkeysslvt, @yarafic, @prince-nikko, @leiaglmela @connorsui, @iluvmewwwww75, @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer, @mysssticc, @babygirl-panda19, @someone-somewheres-stuff, @zaynesjasmine1, @honnylemontea, @altariasu, @the-slytherin-poet, @sorryimakira, @pearlymel, @emidpsandia , @angel-jupiter, @hwangintakswifey,

AN: Hi everyone! This is also on A03! Please someone stop me, how the hell did I manage to squeeze in like 4k extra words than last time??? Anyways, enjoy the meal, I definitely have missed writing smut with yan!sylus and reader :3. Also a gentle reminder that reader has no specific skin tone! I just use images that I think represent the chapter well, you can imagine her however you’d like ^^

"I'll make it all disappear," Sylus murmured, his voice low and hypnotic, penetrating the darkest recesses of your fractured psyche. It was as if he possessed the power to reach inside your mind and vaporize the painful memories that clung to you like shackles. "You want to feel so good you won't think about him again?"

Read Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt. 5 Pt.7

The car roars down the empty road, its tires devouring the distance between freedom and your inevitable return to captivity. Luke sits at the wheel, his face completely hidden behind the bird shaped mask. You can’t see his eyes, can’t gauge anything from the way he’s holding himself—just the silent, unyielding presence of the man steering you back to your prison.

You wonder how he sees out of that thing.

Kieran sits beside him, his mask just the same, his fingers tapping a light, almost carefree rhythm on the dashboard as he finishes humming a cheery tune. His face, too, is entirely concealed, leaving you with nothing to hold onto—no eyes to search for clues, no expressions to read.

In the rearview mirror, you sense Kieran shift his head to look at you but can't entirely tell, his hidden gaze offers you nothing. The silence stretches on, broken only by the low hum of the engine and the steady, deliberate breaths of Sylus against your neck, the heat of his body keeping you trapped in more ways than one.

Sylus holds you tight, as if the moment he loosens his grip, you’ll dissolve into the darkness beyond the windows. His large hands are splayed possessively across your thighs, pinning you in place on his lap. Each minute that ticks by in this confined space feels like a countdown to something you can’t define, but the feeling of impending dread settles deep in your bones.

Your mind is a storm, thoughts swirling in an endless, chaotic loop. The gunshot that ended Reese’s life thunders in your head, over and over, refusing to let you go. You can still see it so clearly—the way his body slumped to the floor, lifeless, his eyes wide with the shock of it all.

It feels like it’s eating you alive.

This is your fault.

Yes, Reese was a monster. He’d kidnapped you, lied to you, dragged you into a nightmare you never deserved. But even now, that part of you—the part that still clung to honor, to a sense of right and wrong, the part of an honorable deep space hunter—hated what had happened. You hated yourself for it. He should have been locked away, brought to justice, not gunned down like that.

Your chest tightens. Why didn’t you stop it? You could have, couldn’t you? You didn’t have to let your anger take over, didn’t have to spit those words at him, didn't have to tell him to go to hell. If you hadn’t done that, Sylus wouldn’t have killed him right? The weight of it presses down on you, like you’re suffocating under the guilt.

You can feel it in your bones—the sharp sting of your failure, the way you let your emotions run wild. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You weren’t supposed to be the reason a person died, no matter how twisted or evil they were. You were supposed to be better than that.

But you weren’t.

And now Reese’s blood is on your hands.

The guilt coils tighter around your chest. You can almost taste the bitterness of it on your tongue, a relentless reminder of how you failed. Maybe if you had just kept your mouth shut. Maybe if you had found some way, any way, to de-escalate the situation, he’d still be alive. You wouldn't have to carry the weight of his death.

But you didn’t. And now it’s too late.

This is your fault.

You feel tears begin to prick at the corners of your eyes, but you quickly suck in a breath, forcing them back. You can’t let them fall—not here, not now. You can’t let Sylus see the storm raging inside you. If he sees you faltering, sees your weakness, he’ll think he’s won.

You sense his eyes on you, watching, studying, but thankfully, he says nothing. His grip around you tightens slightly, as if he’s aware of the cracks forming in your resolve, but for once, he stays silent, leaving you alone with the war you’re fighting within yourself.

Instead of crying, you shift, turning your head to focus on the window. The dark tint makes it difficult to see clearly, but not impossible. You can just make out the blurred outlines of buildings as they whip past, vague shadows in the distance.

How much longer would this take? How far had you come?

You think back to the agonizing walk that had led you to the convenience store—the endless hours of trudging through unfamiliar streets, hoping for an escape. Time had lost all meaning then, just like it had now.

Lost in your thoughts, you feel your body betraying you, your exhaustion creeping in. You start to drift off against your will, feeling the heaviness pulling at your eyelids as you sink further into Sylus’s lap. You fight it, not wanting to rest your head on his chest, fearing what you might wake up to. But it’s been days since you’ve had proper rest, and the pull of sleep is relentless.

Minutes stretch into eternity, and despite your best efforts, your body begins to give in. You’re teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when suddenly, Sylus’s gruff voice cuts through the silence, startling you awake.

“Luke, tell the chefs to have dinner ready in an hour. Kieran, cancel my meeting with the general.”

Luke and Kieran both nod silently, their masked faces giving nothing away, and just as you’re trying to make sense of the words, the car abruptly comes to a stop.

“Yes, boss!” the twins respond with a clipped tones, as if this exchange is routine.

Everything happens so quickly. The moment the car parks, Luke and Kieran scramble out of their seats with swift, practiced efficiency. The sound of the doors opening and shutting echoes in the quiet night. Sylus shifts beneath you, opening his door, and you awkwardly slide off his lap, trying to maintain some semblance of balance as he exits the vehicle. You watch through strained, weary eyes as he steps out, his figure towering over the open car door. Then, he stretches out his hand toward you.

You hesitate.

The gesture, though outwardly polite, is anything but friendly. It’s not an offer—it’s a command, an unspoken reminder of your captivity. The world seems to close in around you, the air growing thicker, and your heart begins to pound in your chest. Your mind races, but there’s nowhere to run.

“If you’re thinking about driving off,” Sylus says with a low chuckle, leaning down to peer into the car, “Luke’s already got the keys, kitten.”

You can’t help but shoot him a sharp glare. You’d thought about running, yes, but not now—not when escape was utterly impossible. The moment passes quickly, and you open your mouth, wanting to explain yourself, to insist you weren’t planning anything. But the words stick in your throat, useless.

Instead, you shut your mouth, swallowing your frustration, and glare at him in defiance. Wordlessly, you reach out and take his hand. His grip is firm, possessive, as he helps you out of the car. Carefully, you step onto the ground, your heart still racing, knowing you’re walking back into your cage.

You glance around as Sylus pulls you forward, your hand still trapped in his. The sight of the mansion looms ahead, its grand, imposing silhouette becoming clearer with each step. Tall iron gates and bird statues loom in front of you, a place that might have been beautiful if it weren’t for the dread curling deep in your chest.

The mansion is more than just a building; it’s a cage, one that now feels even more suffocating as Sylus forces you to walk beside him, hand in hand like you’re something precious. But you know better. This is control, a quiet but undeniable display of power.

With each step toward the front door, the walls of the world seem to close in tighter, and your heart races faster. The echoes of your own footsteps blend with the eerie silence of the night, the only sound that reminds you how very trapped you are in this place—never truly alone, but never free either.

As you walk toward the towering front doors, your eyes drift upward, almost unconsciously, to Sylus. His appearance has always been striking—red eyes that seem to glow with a mix of malice and amusement, and white hair with subtle gray undertones, catching the faint light of the mansion. His angular features, so sharp and perfectly controlled, show signs of wear now. You can see the tension in his brow, the tiredness in the slight creases around his eyes—things you hadn’t noticed before. It makes you wonder how much stress your escape had caused him. How much had he sacrificed in the time you were gone? Had he been frantic, furious?

As if sensing your gaze, Sylus turns his head slightly, catching you in the act of studying him. A smirk plays across his lips, and his crimson eyes flicker with amusement. "What’s the matter? Falling in love?" His voice is a low drawl, teasing, but there’s something predatory in it—like he’s already enjoying this little game.

Heat rises to your face, a mixture of irritation and something else you refuse to name. You look away quickly, forcing yourself to focus on anything but him. His taunts are the last thing you want to entertain, especially when your mind is still spinning with the weight of what lies ahead. Still, the words linger, taunting you as much as his smirk did.

Finally, the massive front doors loom before you, framed by the same wrought iron and heavy stone that always made the mansion feel more like a fortress. Sylus stops, standing tall beside you, his hand still gripping yours as if to remind you that escape, or even defiance, is out of the question.

He gestures toward a small panel embedded into the wall near the door. "Lean down," he orders, the edge of his voice soft yet commanding, "in front of the scanner."

Confused, you glance between him and the scanner, unsure of what he’s planning. You hesitate, but his unblinking red gaze locks onto you, expectant, leaving you little choice. Slowly, you lean forward, lowering yourself until your eyes are aligned with the scanner. A soft beep fills the air, followed by a click as the door unlocks.

You straighten, startled, staring at the door in disbelief. "Wait," you stammer, turning to Sylus. "Aren’t you trying to prevent me from escaping?"

A deep, rumbling laugh escapes him, and he shakes his head, the white strands of his hair shifting slightly as he leans in closer, his red eyes flashing with amusement. "Your eyes," he says with a grin, "can only get you into this place." He leans in further, his breath warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "Not out."

His words settle heavily in your chest, and a knot of dread tightens in your stomach. Your eyes—the very thing that could open doors here—were also the key to locking you in. Any hope you might have had, any fleeting thought of escape, is crushed in that moment. The world seems to warp, the walls of the mansion now looming around you like a trap. A cage disguised as opulence.

Why had he even bothered with something like that? The thought gnaws at you as you stand at the threshold of the mansion. Did he seriously think you would ever want to come back inside? The idea seems absurd. You were his captive, forced into this nightmare. There was no version of this where you willingly returned.

But as you glance back at him, his smirk still lingering on his face, you wonder if that’s exactly what he wants. He’s a man who thrives on control, on bending people to his will, and the thought that he might relish the idea of making you come back to this place, on your own terms, sends a shiver down your spine. Would he leave you out there in that desolate city, waiting, desperate, only to watch you break down and crawl back inside? The idea feels like a twisted game only he could design—where escape was impossible not just because of physical barriers, but because he'd burrowed deep into your mind.

You shake your head, trying to push the thought away, but the question lingers, settling like a weight in your chest. Did he think that, over time, you’d surrender? That this grand mansion, this cage, would eventually become a place you’d walk into willingly?

Sylus catches your hesitation, his red eyes glinting in the low light. “Strange, isn’t it?” he muses, his voice smooth and casual, as if he could read the questions racing through your mind. “A key that only lets you in. But maybe someday…you'll want to use it.”

His words hang in the air, and you can feel your pulse quicken, anger mixing with the uncertainty swirling inside you. He can’t seriously believe that, can he? That one day you’d walk back into this place of your own accord?

The very thought of it makes your stomach turn. You can’t imagine a future where you wouldn’t fight tooth and nail to stay away from here. Yet, there’s an unsettling confidence in the way he says it, a certainty that leaves you with more questions than answers.

“As if I would ever, prick,” you spat, your voice sharp and defiant.

Sylus laughs, his amusement rolling off him in deep waves, rich and unhurried. His red eyes gleam, locking onto yours with a look that holds something deeper than mere satisfaction. There’s affection there—twisted, yes, but genuine.

“Ah, there she is,” he murmurs, his grin widening. “I was starting to wonder if the N109 Zone had fully broken you.” His grip tightens, not painfully, but firm and reassuring, as he leads you into the grand mansion. To him, this was always meant to be your home, even if you couldn't see it yet.

You grimace at his words, irritation bubbling up inside you, making your heart race. This was still a game to him—a challenge, but not one born of cruelty. No, he found your defiance amusing, like a kitten batting at the hand that feeds it. He loved it, even.

You silently curse him under your breath as he leads you deeper into the grand house, your feet moving mechanically while your mind fights to keep up. The familiar sights come back into view, flooding your senses like a slow wave of nausea. The glossy black tile beneath your feet, the dark, lavish décor that loomed from every corner—it was all the same, just as cold and suffocating as you remembered.

Your eyes flick to the kitchen entryway, a place that had once offered a glimmer of hope, a chance to escape. You remember fleeing into it, heart racing, desperate to get away from all of this, only to be dragged back into Sylus’s grip. The memory gnaws at you, bringing a fresh wave of bitterness.

It makes you sick.

Every inch of this place, every dark aesthetic, seemed designed to remind you of your captivity. This was a cage, no matter how opulent or luxurious it appeared on the surface. And the worst part was the weight of his hand around yours—the possessiveness of his grip, the unspoken reminder that escape, no matter how hard you tried, was out of reach right now.

Sylus gently guides you toward the stairs, his grip still firm, giving you no room to hesitate. You feel your heart pounding in your chest as your feet start moving up the dark, winding staircase. Every step feels heavier than the last, your pulse thrumming in your ears as memories flood back—memories of when you had fled, heart racing, legs burning, desperate to escape this place. You’d made it down these very stairs once before, only to have freedom ripped away from you.

Now, you were being forced back up, step by agonizing step, into the room you had fought so hard to leave behind.

With every step upward, your resolve starts to crumble. The closer you get to that door, the more you feel the weight of your captivity settling in again, suffocating you. The darkened hallways, the oppressive silence—it all presses down on you, reminding you that no matter how much you fight, this is where you’ll always end up. Trapped.

You hesitate when you finally reach the door to the bedroom. The sight of it makes your stomach twist, your feet glued to the floor as a wave of dread washes over you. Everything in your body screams not to go inside, not to let yourself be locked in that room again. To run, to fight.

But Sylus is right behind you, close enough that you can feel his presence, his breath warm and steady, almost unnervingly calm. His grip on your hand softens, his thumb tracing a slow circle against your skin, as if to soothe your frayed nerves. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice gentle but laced with that unsettling authority. “Go on, sweetie.”

The way he says it is almost tender, but it only deepens the knot of anxiety in your chest. You can’t tell if it’s real kindness or just another layer of control. That soft, coaxing tone… it unnerves you more than his laughter, more than his taunts.

Despite every fiber of your being wanting to resist, you find yourself moving, stepping forward under the weight of his quiet insistence. You cross the threshold into the room, your body betraying you even as your mind screams to stop. The door clicks shut behind you with an almost imperceptible finality, and just like that, the familiar four dark walls of your prison close in around you once more.

You fight back the tears burning at the edges of your eyes as you step further into the room. The familiar surroundings feel like a punch to the gut—the large, imposing bed where Sylus had forced himself on you many many times, leaving behind scars you hadn’t realized had cut so deep. The leather couch in the center of the room, cold and impersonal, where you’d sat, waiting for the next wave of control to sweep over your life.

It’s too much.

For a moment, your knees threaten to buckle beneath you, the weight of it all pressing down with crushing force. The memories—dark, suffocating—swirl around you, making it hard to breathe. You almost crumble right there, unable to withstand the flood of emotions, of trauma that suddenly feels too close to the surface.

But before you can collapse, Sylus is there, his hand wrapping around your arm, guiding you away from the room and into the bathroom. His touch is firm but oddly gentle, a contrast that makes you even more uneasy. He’s pulling you toward the tiled space, and your mind races, trying to understand what’s happening as he begins to carefully, methodically, lift up your shirt to undress you.

“No,” you whisper, your voice trembling, barely audible over the sound of your own racing heartbeat. Your body goes stiff, your hands gripping the fabric of your shirt as if holding onto it could somehow protect you. “No,” you repeat, a little louder this time, your voice shaky and uneven. The tremors wrack your body, panic rising in your chest.

Sylus looks at you with something akin to worry, his touch slowing, but not stopping. He doesn’t force you, but his actions continue with a sense of inevitability, as though he believes this is just part of taking care of you, of ensuring you’re where you belong.

"I'm not going to do anything to you now, you just need a shower, sweetie."

But your mind is somewhere else entirely.

Flashes of memory assault you—dim lights, the scent of damp stone, and the overpowering fear of when you were in that basement. The man who had tried to force himself on you, who had pressed you against the bed with a hunger that still made your skin crawl. Your breath hitches as you remember his hands, his twisted smile. The terror, the helplessness—it's all too real, crashing down on you like a tidal wave.

You hadn’t realized just how deeply the trauma had sunk into you. Not until this moment, with Sylus standing in front of you, touching your clothes, his touch too familiar, too close to the horror you’d endured. You had been holding your emotions back but you couldn't now.

You flinch, your body recoiling instinctively as the memories close in around you. Your voice cracks, barely holding back the sob building in your throat. “Please…don’t.”

Sylus’s hands pause, and for the first time that entire day, you see it,—hesitation flickering across his sharp features. His red eyes, usually so calculating and cold, soften just enough for you to notice. His grip loosens, his fingers no longer working to take off your clothes but instead resting lightly on your shoulders, as if afraid of causing more harm.

“Be still,” he says again, his voice quiet and strangely tender. “I’m just trying to help you.”

But his words barely register. The panic has already set in, tightening around your chest like a vice. Your breathing grows shallow, quick—too quick. Your thoughts scatter, your heartbeat hammering so hard it feels like your ribcage might shatter under the pressure. The room spins around you, and suddenly you’re not here anymore. You’re back in the basement, cold stone beneath your feet, that man’s hands on your skin, forcing you against the wall. Forcing you on the bed.

You gasp for air, but each breath comes in ragged, uneven bursts. Your vision blurs, and your knees wobble beneath you. It’s happening all over again. The helplessness, the terror. It’s like your body has been pulled back into that moment, and no matter how much you try to claw your way out, you can’t.

Sylus moves swiftly, pulling you into his arms before you can collapse. His embrace is strong and grounding, his chest solid against your trembling form. “Breathe, sweetie” he whispers, his voice low, soothing, as if trying to coax you back from the edge of your panic. His hand rubs slow circles on your back, the gentle rhythm fighting against the chaos inside you. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

But you can’t. The air won’t come. Your breaths are sharp and shallow, your body on the verge of shutting down as you feel the world slipping away. You struggle, pushing weakly at him, but his arms only tighten around you, holding you firmly in place, anchoring you.

“Shhh, shhh…” His voice drops even lower, soft and almost tender. “I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe.”

The warmth of his body presses against yours, his presence somehow steadying the storm inside you. You eventually cling to him, not because you want to, but because it’s the only thing that keeps you from spiraling into complete panic. His hand continues to stroke your back in slow, measured motions, and though your heart still pounds in your chest, his touch starts to break through the suffocating fog.

“I’ll turn around, okay?” he says gently, as if sensing the root of your fear. “You can undress yourself. I won’t watch.”

There’s something in his tone—something that feels honest, reassuring, like he’s not just saying the words to control you but because he wants you to feel safe. You weakly nod, barely, but he catches it. He loosens his grip and takes a slow step back, raising his hands in surrender, his red eyes locked onto yours.

“I’ll give you some time. You don’t have to rush.”

With a careful turn, he faces away from you, his broad back filling the room but no longer imposing. His actions aren’t threatening; they’re deliberate, giving you the space he knows you need.

Your breathing slows and you blink back tears, but your body still trembles. You wipe the remaining tears from your eyes with a shaky hand, glancing around the bathroom as the panic begins to ebb. And then you notice it—something is different.

The bathtub is gone.

It had been there before, you remember. A large, ornate tub that had taken up the corner of the bathroom, a symbol of something luxurious in this prison of yours. But now, it’s nowhere to be seen. Your brows knit together in confusion as you stare at the empty space.

“Where’s the tub?” you ask, your voice hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Sylus doesn’t turn around, but his response is quick and calm, as if he expected the question. “I had it removed,” he says softly, his voice strangely careful, almost cautious. “I didn’t want you to drown yourself again.”

The words hit you like a slap, sharp and unexpected. You freeze, your heart skipping a beat as the weight of what he’s saying sinks in. He thought…no, he knew. He knew how deep the darkness inside you could go, how close you’d come to actually dying. He’d taken precautions—not just to keep you here, but to keep you alive.

You stand there, frozen, staring at the empty space where the bathtub used to be, and the reality sinks in—there’s truly no escape. Not from this place, not from Sylus, and not from the relentless grip of your own mind. He’s stripped you of every option, every avenue, until there’s nothing left but this.

Nothing left but him.

The exhaustion presses down on you, heavier than ever before. With slow, mechanical movements, you step into the shower, your limbs feeling distant, as if they don’t belong to you anymore. The warm water hits your skin, but it does nothing to ease the weight in your chest. You close your eyes, hoping that the steady stream of water can drown out the chaos inside your head—the panic, the hopelessness, the memories.

But they cling to you, stubborn and unyielding.

Images flash behind your closed eyelids—memories of that basement, the cold stone walls pressing in, the terror that gripped you when the man came too close, his hands reaching, his breath sour. You press your hands against the tiled wall, your body shaking as you fight the memories back, but they keep coming, like waves crashing over you, dragging you under.

And then there’s Reese.

You can’t stop seeing it—the moment his body hit the floor, the sound of the fatal gunshot echoing in your mind like a haunting refrain. His face, twisted in shock and pain. Your fault. The words circle in your mind like a dark mantra, mixing with the trauma of that basement. It’s all tangled together, and no matter how hard you try, you can’t make it stop.

"Go to hell, Reese."

The water cascades down your back, but it doesn’t wash away the guilt. It doesn’t drown out the horror. The images of blood and brain matter sliding down concrete walls.

You press your forehead against the cold tile, letting the water soak through your hair as you fight the rising tide of emotion threatening to overwhelm you. You want to believe that there’s a way out, some form of freedom—maybe not from this mansion, but at least from the grip of your own mind. But right now, standing under the relentless stream of water, you know that freedom is further away than ever.

No matter how much you fight it, you’re trapped. Inside this house. Inside yourself.

And the worst part? Sylus knows it.

You feel the tears begin to well up, hot and uncontainable, spilling over before you even realize you’ve let them go. They mix with the water, disappearing beneath the steady stream of the shower, unseen, unclaimed by anyone but you. For the first time in what feels like forever, no one is watching. Not even Sylus.

You let the sobs come quietly, your body trembling as the tears fall, merging with the warm cascade. It’s a strange relief, knowing that in this moment, he isn’t witnessing your breaking point. Sylus had made it clear—your pain, your misery, your tears, they all belonged to him.

But right now, this moment is yours.

As the tears fall silently, you press your forehead against the cool tile, letting yourself cry in a way you hadn’t allowed before. The sobs are shaky, barely audible over the sound of the water, but they are real, raw, and they are yours alone. The stream washes them away before they have the chance to leave a trace, like they never existed at all.

Even as your heart aches and the trauma still weighs you down, there’s a strange comfort in the tears that go unnoticed. For just these few minutes, you aren’t his broken thing to fix or keep. You’re just a person, trying to survive, trying to breathe.

And even though the water doesn’t drown out all the pain or the memories, it gives you enough space to let the emotions pour out—if only for a little while.

Xavier’s breath came in shallow bursts as he navigated the empty streets of Linkon City, the familiar hum of his hunter’s watch glowing faintly on his wrist. His blue eyes flicked between the road and the holographic screen hovering just above the watch face. The blue light illuminated his face, highlighting the sharp focus in his eyes. The signal from the phone booth was still there, blinking steadily. That was his main lead—the last place you’d been before everything went silent.

His mind replayed the sound of your voice from the call, every word etched into his memory. Kidnapped. You hadn’t said much, but the panic in your tone had been unmistakable. The moment the call cut, something in him snapped. There was no hesitation, no second thought—he had left almost immediately, speeding through the city, your trembling words echoing in his head.

"Yeah, his name is S—"

Your words echoed in Xavier's mind, over and over, like a haunting refrain. You hadn’t been able to finish your sentence before the call had abruptly cut out, leaving him with nothing but that single, meaningless syllable. S. It replayed in his head as the car sped forward, finally breaking free from the limits of Linkon City and onto the dark, winding road that would lead him toward the N109 Zone.

He had tried to call back the second the line went dead, his hands trembling as he frantically redialed the number, but it was no use. The call wouldn’t connect. Maybe you had run out of money for the payphone. Maybe something far worse had happened.

The not knowing gnawed at him.

Who was S? The question had burned in his mind from the moment you said it. A name. It had to be a name. But just that one letter wasn’t enough to figure out who this person was, let alone why they had taken you. He cursed under his breath, gripping the steering wheel tighter as the dark road stretched out before him.

Whoever S was, they were dangerous enough to bring you to the N109 Zone. That part made his blood run cold. This place wasn’t just desolate—it was the kind of area that most people in the city pretended didn’t even exist. It was lawless, forgotten. A place where the desperate went to disappear, where the city’s darkness festered beneath the surface and on top of it, darkness everywhere you turn.

But why there? What did this S want with you? And why take you so far from the city?

He replayed the phone call in his mind again, your voice shaky but steady as you’d tried to tell him what had happened. The fear had been there, simmering just beneath your words, but you had clearly fought to stay calm.

Xavier’s heart pounded harder with every mile. There was something else that bothered him, something gnawing at the edges of his mind. Why had you been targeted? You were strong, capable—smart. One of the best deep space hunters around. You wouldn’t have let yourself be taken easily. That meant whoever S was, he’d planned this, thought it through, and knew how to get to you. That thought made Xavier’s stomach twist. This wasn’t random. It was calculated.

The car hit a bump in the road, jolting him back to the present, but his mind still raced. He needed to find you, needed to get to you before this S—whoever he was—did something unforgivable. He couldn’t stand the thought of you being out there, scared and alone, waiting for help that felt too far away.

He glanced at the holographic display on his hunter’s watch again, watching as the faint signal pulsed from the N109 Zone. It wasn’t much of a lead, but it was the best lead he had. That phone booth, that single clue you’d left him before the call ended, was his only connection to you now.

Who are you, S? The question echoed in his mind as he pressed down harder on the gas pedal, the car roaring down the empty highway.

He didn’t know what awaited him in the N109 Zone, but he knew one thing for sure: he was prepared to fight like hell for you.

After what felt like an eternity, buildings whipping past him, Xavier finally pulled up to the phone booth, his heart hammering in his chest. The headlights illuminated the cracked pavement and the battered glass of the booth, standing alone at the edge of the desolate lot like a ghost from another time. But of course, you weren’t there. The booth was empty. You were nowhere to be found.

Xavier’s grip tightened on the steering wheel as he sat there for a moment, staring at the empty phone booth. His mind raced, thoughts tangled in frustration and fear. You had told him you would call back—you had said you were going to that strange man’s house, and then you’d come back to tell him what it looked like. But now, standing there in the middle of the N109 Zone, it felt like that plan had shattered into a thousand pieces.

He stepped out of the car, the cold air hitting him like a slap to the face as he approached the booth. His eyes scanned the area, up and down, looking for any sign of you. But there was nothing. Just silence. The eerie kind that made his stomach twist with unease.

The booth was run-down, even worse up close. He stared at it, his thoughts flickering between panic and regret. Should he wait for you to come back, as you said you would? Or had something already gone terribly wrong? Every second that passed felt like a ticking clock, time slipping away, leaving him more uncertain than ever.

He leaned against the booth, raking a hand through his hair, trying to decide. You had been so determined—so sure you could handle this. You’d said you were going to check out this strange man’s house, get some rest, and then return. But the thought of you going there alone, to that man—whoever he was—made him sick.

I should’ve told you not to go with him.

The regret hit him hard, twisting deep in his chest. He should’ve been more forceful, should’ve stopped you. The second you’d mentioned this man, this stranger who had somehow convinced you to follow him, alarm bells had gone off in his head. He had sensed something wasn’t right. Why hadn’t he told you to stay away? Why hadn’t he made sure you didn’t go?

But you were strong, capable—you had always been stubborn, determined to handle things on your own. And he had trusted you to do that. But now…now you were missing. And he was standing in an empty lot with no idea where you were or who had taken you.

Xavier clenched his fists, staring at the phone booth as if willing it to give him answers. The last place you had been. He thought about turning around, driving through the N109 Zone, checking every corner, every building. But the reality of how vast and dangerous this area was made him hesitate. He didn’t even know who to look for. S. The mysterious man whose name had been cut off by the phone’s disconnect. That wasn’t enough.

Xavier’s stomach growled, pulling him from the fog of his frantic thoughts. He hadn’t eaten properly in hours, and the adrenaline that had been fueling him was finally wearing thin. He gritted his teeth, the pang of hunger a sharp reminder of just how long it had been since he’d stopped moving. He didn’t want to waste time, but he knew he needed to eat, to think straight.

Reluctantly, he climbed back into the car and started driving, scanning the streets of the N109 Zone for anything that looked remotely functional. This part of the city was basically wasteland—most of the buildings were crumbling, their windows broken, and the streets were nearly empty. He almost decided to give up before spotting a flicker of neon in the distance.

It was a convenience store—small, dingy, and barely lit—but it was open. The cracked neon sign buzzed weakly, casting a dull glow over the entrance. It didn’t look promising, but it was all he had. He pulled up, the car’s tires crunching over the broken pavement as he parked.

Xavier stepped out, his eyes narrowing as he approached the entrance. The store looked as worn out as the rest of the area, its windows covered in grime and dust, but the lights inside told him it was still in business. He pushed the door open, the warmth of the store enveloping him.

The place reeked of stale air and something faintly metallic. Shelves lined the narrow aisles, most of them half-stocked but there was variety. Xavier grabbed a few snacks—whatever looked edible—and made his way to the counter, where a grimy man with disheveled hair and yellowed teeth sat behind the register, staring at him with a disinterested scowl.

“Do you take gold?” Xavier asked, pulling out a small pouch from his pocket. It wasn’t unusual for places outside Linkon City to not take gold, as a lot of places were still living in the past. Couldn't hurt to ask though.

The man behind the counter laughed, a rough, guttural sound that made Xavier’s skin crawl. “Gold, huh? Figures. You Linkcunt folks just keep coming in here actin’ like it’s worth more than it is.” He leaned forward, eyeing Xavier with something between amusement and suspicion.

"No, we don't take it."

Xavier pocketed the small pouch, unsurprised by the man's harsh words, “You said Linkon folks? Who else from the city has been here?” His tone was casual, but his heart skipped a beat. Maybe someone else had seen you?

"Linkcunt," the man corrected with a sneer. The man’s eyes flicked up, narrowing slightly. “Why, you looking for someone?” He eyed Xavier and leaned back in his chair, his voice taking on an edge of curiosity.

Xavier pressed, trying to keep his voice steady. “Maybe. Just wondering who else might’ve been through here recently.”

The man scratched his stubbled chin, considering. “Well, there was this disheveled-looking girl who came through a little while ago. Had a lot of attitude, that one. Demanding help. Swiped some snacks and shit when I wasn’t looking. Took off before I could do anything about it.” He shrugged, clearly not too bothered by the theft. “But that’s basically all I know.”

Xavier’s heart stopped. A disheveled girl… Could it have been you?

His pulse quickened, the pieces clicking together. You must have come through here before disappearing. The man didn’t seem to know much more, but this was a sign. You had been close—you had been right here.

“What’d she look like?” Xavier asked, trying not to sound too eager.

The man waved a hand lazily. “Didn't look that closely to be honest. Bitch looked like hell, though. Clothes all messed up, like she’d been through something. But she was quick—didn’t stick around long enough for me to really notice much else. Don’t know where she went after that. Just up and vanished with my stock”

Xavier nodded, feeling a surge of both hope and frustration. You’d been here, that much was clear. But now you were gone again, slipping through his fingers like a ghost.

"You really shouldn't talk about women like that".

He paid for the snacks with some dollar bills he kept in his car for out of city trips, and turned to leave, leaving the disgruntled cashier. His mind already racing to figure out where you could’ve gone from here.

Xavier’s heart pounded in his chest as he stepped back outside, the cold night air hitting him like a wall. You’d been here. Not long ago, from the sound of it. He could almost picture it—your disheveled form rushing through the aisles, grabbing whatever you could before vanishing into the shadows again. You were close, too close to give up now. But where had you gone?

He clenched his jaw, glancing around the empty streets. There were too many directions, too many places you could have disappeared to. The N109 Zone was vast, a labyrinth of forgotten corners and abandoned buildings, and there was no telling where you might have run off to next.

His mind raced, trying to make sense of the little he knew. You had come here to get food, maybe out of desperation—running on fear and adrenaline. And then, like the man said, you were gone. No tracks, no sign of where you’d been taken.

Xavier pulled a crumpled pamphlet out of his jacket pocket, his fingers brushing over the faded image of a sleek pair of boots. It was the same pamphlet the shoe store clerk had given him earlier, and now, it seemed like his only other lead. A shoe store… It might seem like a stretch, but he had learned to follow even the smallest clues. If he couldn’t figure out where you had gone, maybe he could figure out more about the man who had taken you. And starting with something as small as his shoes might just be the break he needed.

He studied the pamphlet again, his eyes narrowing as he recalled his brief conversation with the clerk. The shoes had been expensive, high-end—definitely not something most people in the N109 Zone would be wearing.

But S wasn’t like most people, was he?

Xavier’s mind spun as he hurriedly typed the address from the pamphlet into his hunter’s watch, the holographic screen glowing softly as it processed the information. The watch pinged, highlighting the location of the store in the city. It wasn’t far, but it was a place he wouldn’t have expected someone from the N109 Zone to frequent.

If S was wearing those shoes, it meant he had money—or at least access to it. That was something Xavier could work with. People like that left trails, even in places where they thought they could stay hidden.

He started the car again, his pulse quickening as the watch projected the route onto the windshield. The shoe store was his next stop, and if he was lucky, he could get more information about who S really was. Maybe someone there had seen him, or better yet, could point him in the direction of where he lived or did business.

As the car sped toward the heart of the city, Xavier’s determination sharpened. He was getting closer to answers—closer to finding you. If he could learn more about this mysterious man, this “S,” then maybe, just maybe, he could figure out where you were being held.

As Xavier sped through the dark, crumbling streets of the N109 Zone, the world outside his car blurred into a mix of shadows and faint streetlights. His mind was focused on finding you, piecing together the next step in his search. Then, out of nowhere, a piercing scream shattered the stillness.

His foot slammed on the brake, the car lurching to a stop as his heart raced. The sound of the scream echoed through the desolate streets, raw and desperate. He scanned the area frantically, searching for the source of the cry for help. Then he saw her—a woman stumbling into the dim light from a broken streetlamp, clutching her side, her face twisted in pain.

“Help! Please, help me!” she gasped, her voice cracking with panic as she looked directly at him, her body collapsing onto the cracked pavement.

Xavier’s hunter instincts kicked in immediately. He couldn’t just leave someone like that. He shoved the car door open and rushed toward her, his eyes darting around, looking for any potential danger. The streets of the N109 Zone were unpredictable, but he couldn't just ignore someone in need.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” he asked, his tone urgent but calm as he knelt down beside her.

The woman’s breathing was shallow, her face pale and contorted with pain. She clutched her ribs, wincing with every breath. “I don’t know,” she whimpered, “I was attacked. I need help… please…” Her eyes were wild with fear, darting between Xavier and the shadows beyond, as if expecting someone—or something—to come after her at any moment.

Xavier’s heart pounded, his mind racing. “I’ll get you some help,” he assured her, reaching for his phone. But as he fumbled for it, he felt a shift—something wasn’t right.

The woman’s eyes flicked over his shoulder, her panic momentarily replaced by something colder, more calculating. Before he could react, a blur of movement rushed behind him.

A sharp clink. The keys.

Xavier’s blood ran cold as he spun around, just in time to see a man slip past him, keys glinting in his hand. The stranger, quick and agile, darted toward Xavier’s car, jumping into the driver’s seat. How did I not see this coming? The realization hit him like a punch to the gut—this was a setup.

“Hey!” Xavier yelled, lunging forward, his heart hammering in his chest. But it was too late.

The woman, now standing tall with no trace of pain or injury, smirked at him, her expression smug and mocking. “Thanks for the ride, city boy,” she sneered, her voice dripping with satisfaction as she ran toward the passenger side of the car. She moved easily now, as if the earlier fear and desperation had been nothing but an act. It had been.

Xavier’s mind raced as he sprinted toward the car, but the engine roared to life before he could even get close. The man in the driver’s seat gunned the accelerator, the tires screeching against the pavement as the car sped away, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake.

His heart sank as he watched the taillights disappear into the darkness, the weight of the situation crashing down on him. His car. His keys. Everything—gone in an instant. And with it, any chance of quickly finding you.

He'd have to walk on foot.

The steam from the shower still clung to your skin as you stepped out, your mind swirling in a haze of exhaustion and hunger. Your stomach growled loudly, reminding you just how long it had been since you last ate. The hot water had done little to wash away the weight of everything pressing down on you—the memories, the fear—but it had, at least, cleaned the grime from your body. You were left feeling raw and exposed, unsure of what was coming next.

You opened the glass door of the shower and grabbed a towel laying on the counter, wrapping it around yourself quickly before exiting.

You saw Sylus had elected to lean against the doorframe when you stepped out, and he turned around to face you. His eyes, those sharp, red eyes, softened when they met yours. "The chef has prepared food for you," he said, his voice gentle. The tenderness in his tone felt unnerving, like everything else with him, but the thought of food was too tempting to resist.

But before you could respond, he gestured to a set of neatly prepared shopping bags laid on his bed outside the bathroom. “I want you to open these first. Consider them gifts I had planned for you… before you ran off.” The edge in his words lingered, but his expression remained neutral. You vaguely remembered him clipping your nails while you were in the bathtub, a pile of shopping bags at his feet.

Ah, you had forgotten all about those. You wrapped the towel around yourself tighter, a knot of discomfort forming in your stomach.

You hesitated for a moment, then slowly approached the bed, your hands trembling slightly as you began to take out the "gifts". The first bag contained delicate pieces of underwear—soft, lace, and undeniably expensive. You swallowed hard, feeling a wave of unease crawl up your spine.

“Gifts for me? Or for you to see on me?” you muttered, unable to hide the malice in your voice, the bitterness slipping out.

Sylus’s lips quirked into a small, amused smile, his red eyes flickering with that familiar, unsettling glint. "Why not both?," he replied softly, the weight of his gaze lingering on you as though he found your defiance amusing.

These weren’t just clothes; they were symbols of his control, of how he saw you. Like you were his little doll to dress up. Still, you nodded hesitantly, accepting the garments with quiet reluctance.

Beneath the underwear were more practical clothes—soft, comfortable tops, leggings, and dresses. Each piece was chosen carefully, and despite yourself, you appreciated the effort, if only because you were desperate for something to wear to avoid Sylus's lingering gaze on your damp body. You chose a simple, slightly loose white dress, letting it fall over your damp skin. Then slipped on one of the many underwear he had bought for you. Sylus watched you quietly, a small smile playing on his lips as he waited for you to finish.

“You might've lost a few pounds from stress, once you start eating more, it’ll fit better,” he said casually, his tone matter-of-fact as though he hadn’t just casually referenced your weakened state. The words hung in the air, a subtle reminder of how long you'll be trapped here. Then, with a surprising softness, he added, “You look beautiful nonetheless, honey.”

“Honey.” A new pet name.

Surprisingly, instead of making you grimace like his usual endearments, it sends an unwelcome heat crawling across your face. You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself not to react, but the flush is unmistakable. Against your will, your gaze drops, and you look away from him, the sudden surge of embarrassment catching you off guard.

Sylus notices, of course. His smile deepens slightly, a quiet satisfaction flickering in his eyes as if he can sense the effect his words have on you. He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his gaze on you—steady, watchful—his presence filling the room in an unnerving way that makes it harder to breathe.

He extended his hand toward you, the gesture oddly tender and yet impossible to trust. You hesitated, unsure if taking it would solidify his power over you further or if refusing would draw out something worse. But you take it, residing to the fact that you didn't have much choice.

He moved toward the door, your hand held in his grip. “Come,” he said. “The food is waiting.”

Your stomach growled again, and despite the tension between you and him, you found yourself trailing after him, your body driven by the gnawing hunger you couldn’t ignore. As you stepped into the dining hall, the rich, mouth-watering aroma of freshly prepared food hit you like a wave.

The table was filled with an extravagant feast. Platters of roasted meats sat alongside bowls of vibrant vegetables, glistening under the kitchen lights. There were thick, tender cuts of lamb, still steaming from the oven, their edges crisp and golden. Roasted chicken, its skin perfectly browned and seasoned with herbs, sat atop a bed of caramelized onions and garlic. Beside them, a platter of seared duck breast, cooked to perfection, its fat rendered into a rich, savory glaze.

On another side of the table were bowls of creamy mashed potatoes, rich and buttery, their surface dusted with flecks of chives. A dish of roasted root vegetables—carrots, parsnips, and beets—was arranged in a beautiful display, their edges crisp and caramelized, drizzled with a balsamic glaze. There was a vibrant salad of mixed greens, tossed with fresh pomegranate seeds, crumbled goat cheese, and candied walnuts, the dressing a light, tangy vinaigrette that made your mouth water.

A basket of freshly baked bread sat in the center of the table, the rolls warm and soft, their golden crusts begging to be torn apart. Small bowls of whipped butter, infused with honey and herbs, accompanied them, the scent sweet and savory.

But it didn’t stop there. Desserts, too, were laid out, tempting you even further. A decadent chocolate tart with a glossy ganache topping, dusted with powdered sugar and fresh raspberries, sat next to a platter of delicate fruit tarts, their centers brimming with custard and topped with glistening berries. A tower of macarons in various pastel shades—lavender, pistachio, rose—completed the lavish display.

Sylus pulled out a chair for you, his smile widening as he watched your eyes dart from one dish to the next. "Well don't just stare, sit down".

The sight and smell overwhelmed you, and for a moment, you felt like a prisoner presented with a royal meal, knowing full well the chains still bound you. But hunger gnawed at your insides, and no matter how conflicted you were, your body screamed for sustenance as you sat.

"Eat," Sylus urged, taking a seat across from you. His eyes never left yours, watching, waiting for your reaction.

Your hand trembled slightly as you reached for a piece of bread, the warmth of it soothing in your palm. You tore it open, the soft dough yielding beneath your fingers, and dipped it into the whipped honey butter, taking a small bite. The flavors burst in your mouth, and despite everything, you couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh of relief.

The food was perfect—too perfect. And as you took another bite, you couldn’t help but wonder: was this all part of the game too? Or was it simply nourishment after the storm?

Sylus leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on you as you ate, his expression unreadable. He didn’t speak, just watched you in that unsettling, familiar way—like he was always studying you, always thinking, always planning. His silence, for once, was almost a relief, allowing you to focus on the food and ignore his presence as much as possible.

You couldn’t help it. The hunger gnawed at you, and the feast before you was impossible to resist. The flavors were rich, the textures comforting, and before you realized it, you had cleared almost four plates. Each bite had momentarily dulled the chaos in your mind, letting you push aside the fear, the memories, and the discomfort that still lingered in your chest.

Sylus didn’t comment as you reached for more, nor did he interrupt. He seemed content to let you eat in peace, his eyes never leaving you but his lips remaining closed. It wasn’t until you finally pushed the last plate away, feeling the fullness settle in your stomach, that the silence between you felt heavier.

The weight of exhaustion began to settle over you. The warmth from the food and the sheer relief of being full left you feeling heavy, your eyelids growing heavier by the minute. You hadn’t realized just how tired you were until that moment. Your body felt like it had finally reached its limit.

Sylus stood up, breaking the silence. His movements were smooth and deliberate as he pushed his chair back, his gaze never leaving you. “You must be tired,” he said softly, the same unnerving tenderness in his voice as before. “It’s time for bed.”

You tensed slightly at his words, but your body, worn down by hunger and stress, didn’t have the strength to protest. You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, afraid of what might come out if you did. There was no point in resisting, not tonight.

Sylus moved toward you, his hand extending again as if offering comfort. You hesitated, looking at his outstretched hand, but you didn’t have the energy to reject him. You let him guide you, his touch gentle yet firm as he led you toward the bedroom you were dreading your return to.

You don’t remember when exactly you slipped into unconsciousness, but the world had faded into nothing after Sylus lifted you into the bed. His arms were unexpectedly gentle, cradling you with a kind of care that felt entirely out of place. You were vaguely aware of him pulling the blankets up around you, tucking you in, but then everything went dark. The exhaustion you had been fighting all day finally consumed you, and you sank into the deepest sleep you’d felt in what seemed like forever.

There was comfort in the darkness, the kind of peace that only comes with complete surrender to sleep. No fear, no panic, just the void. You floated there, cradled in warmth. But soon, the darkness gave way to a dream, vivid and consuming.

Xavier appeared first, stepping out of the shadows of your mind. His familiar figure brought an immediate sense of relief. His ashy blonde hair fell into his face, and his striking blue eyes bore into you with the same warmth and intensity that always made your heart flutter. There he was, just as you remembered—strong, dependable, and safe. He reached out, his hand extending toward you, and without hesitation, you moved toward him.

The moment your hand met his, your heart melted, the overwhelming sense of security flooding through you. For the first time in what felt like ages, you felt safe. You felt home.

But something changed.

Xavier’s gaze, once filled with affection and care, shifted. His eyes darkened, turning cold, distant. The warmth you’d found in his presence quickly evaporated, replaced by something harsh and unfamiliar. His lips curled downward, a shadow crossing his face, and his grip on your hand tightened. The shift was sudden, the dream warping around you like a twisted reflection of reality.

"Why did you want him dead?" His voice cut through the dream, sharp and cold, the softness you’d expected from him nowhere to be found.

You blinked, confusion gripping you as his words sank in. “Huh?” Your face faltered, your heart pounding in your chest. His cold stare drilled into you, and you could feel something inside you cracking under its weight. What was happening?

"You're the reason Reese is dead," Xavier said, his words landing like a punch to the gut. His voice, usually so steady, so comforting, was now filled with anger, with accusation. His grip on your hand turned painful, his fingers digging into your skin with an almost crushing force.

“No...” Your voice wavered, barely able to push the word out as your mind reeled. “That wasn’t my fault, it was Sy—” You tried to explain, to say anything to stop the blame from settling on your shoulders. But the words caught in your throat, and you couldn’t finish. You couldn’t get them out.

His face twisted, contorting with anger and something that looked like disappointment. His blue eyes, once a source of warmth, were now filled with icy judgment, the coldness sinking into your skin like knives. His grip tightened further, pain shooting through your hand, but no matter how hard you tried to pull away, you couldn’t escape.

The dream around you blurred, the edges of reality warping and distorting. The ground beneath you seemed to shift, unsteady, while Xavier's figure loomed larger, his presence suffocating. The weight of his blame pressed down on your chest like a stone, suffocating you, filling your lungs with an overwhelming sense of guilt.

You tried to explain again, your voice strangled by the intensity of the moment, but Xavier wasn’t listening. His hand was like a vice, his fingers digging into your skin as his gaze pinned you in place. His words repeated in your mind, echoing louder and louder—“You're the reason he’s dead.”

Xavier's face began to twist, distorting into something grotesque, something no longer human. His once gentle features morphed and stretched unnaturally, his blue eyes darkening into hollow, accusing pits. His grip on your hand became unbearable, crushing the bones in your fingers as his form continued to change, shifting from the man you loved into a nightmare. The warmth that had briefly comforted you was gone, replaced by a deep, bone-chilling cold.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to pull away, but the force holding you was relentless. You stared in horror as Xavier’s form became unrecognizable, his skin taking on a gray, cracked texture, his mouth elongating into a grimace filled with sharp teeth. His eyes, now nothing more than deep, empty voids, bore into you with a hatred that sent shivers down your spine.

“You’re a murderer,” the figure spat, its voice now a low, guttural growl that echoed in your ears, far louder than it should have been. “Murderer.” The word hit you like a physical blow, making your entire body tense as you tried to make sense of what was happening.

“No…” you whispered, your voice trembling as you desperately tried to defend yourself. “It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t—”

“You have blood on your hands!” the figure roared, its voice shaking the world around you. Xavier’s face continued to twist and contort, veins bulging from his neck, his body looming over you like a towering monster. “You told him to die!”

The words echoed again and again, crashing into you with the force of a tidal wave. The weight of guilt slammed into your chest, almost knocking the wind out of you as the grotesque version of Xavier leaned in closer. His voice became more vicious, more unforgiving. “You let him die, and now the blood is on your hands!”

You looked down, and your breath caught in your throat. Blood. It was everywhere—on your hands, dripping from your fingers, pooling at your feet. Panic surged through you, your heart racing as you tried to wipe it away, but no matter how hard you scrubbed, the blood only seemed to multiply, staining your skin, your clothes, everything around you.

“You’ll never wash it off!” the figure screamed, its voice shaking with rage. “Never!” It grabbed your shoulders, shaking you violently as it continued to scream. “You’re a murderer!

You struggled, trying to pull free, but the figure’s grip was unbreakable. The dream spiraled into chaos, the world around you collapsing into darkness as the screams filled the air, overwhelming your senses. The blood seemed to rise like a tide, crawling up your arms, soaking through your skin. You gasped for air, but it was suffocating, the guilt swallowing you whole.

“Murderer!” the figure roared again, louder this time, shaking you until your vision blurred. “Murderer! Murderer!"

Tears streamed down your face as you tried to shake your head, to deny it, but the accusations wouldn’t stop. The guilt, the blood, the rage—it was all around you, suffocating you, crushing you.

And then, just as quickly as it began, the figure stopped. It stood over you, silent now, but its eyes—those hollow, accusing voids—were locked onto you. “You can never escape what you’ve done,” it whispered, the venom in its voice chilling you to the core.

You shot up in bed, heart hammering in your chest, a scream tearing through your throat before you even knew what was happening. The sheets clung to your sweat-soaked skin as you gasped for breath, the nightmare still gripping you in its suffocating hold. Your hands shook violently, fingers instinctively rubbing at your palms, expecting to see the blood, the thick, crimson stain that had haunted you moments before.

But there was no blood.

The room was dark, dimly lit by a lamp settled on the nightstand. Sylus sat beside you, awake, casually reading a book. His red eyes glanced up from the pages, calm and steady, showing no sign of surprise at your sudden outburst.

“You’re okay,” Sylus said softly, his voice low but steady. He closed the book, setting it aside as he reached out, pulling you closer, into his arms with a gentle grip. The warmth of his body on yours was meant to be comforting, but the lingering terror from the dream made his touch feel heavier, suffocating.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, the echoes of the nightmare still gripping you. The blood, the screams, the weight of guilt—it all felt so real, too real to shake off. Your hands trembled in your lap, still trying to rub away the invisible stain that wouldn’t leave.

“Shhh,” Sylus soothed, his voice soft as he stroked your back with deliberate calmness. “It was just a nightmare, kitten.”

But his words barely penetrated the thick fog of panic swirling in your mind. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to steady your breathing, but the image of Xavier’s cold, accusing gaze still lingered in the corners of your thoughts, leaving an ache in your chest that refused to fade.

Sylus’s gaze never wavered from you. He was patient, his grip around you getting stronger as you fought to regain control, his expression a mixture of curiosity and concern, though it was impossible to tell how much of it was real. He watched you wordlessly, waiting patiently for your breathing to slow as he rubbed your back in soothing motions.

And you did, eventually. Slowly, your heartbeat began to slow, the cold sweat drying on your skin as the nightmare finally started to loosen its grip. You were still shaken, but reality was settling back in.

Sylus smiled, his eyes softening slightly. “Good girl,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "You feel better?"

"It's not my fault..." you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper as tears began streaming down your face, hot and unstoppable. The weight of the nightmare still pressed against your chest, the guilt wrapping itself around your heart. "Reese... I told him to die, kinda. But you killed him!"

Your words trembled in the air, and for a moment, the room felt suffocatingly silent. Sylus’s arm stilled on your back, his red eyes watching you closely. His face remained calm, unreadable, but something flickered behind his gaze—curiosity, perhaps, or even amusement. He began rubbing your back again.

He leaned in slightly, his voice low and steady as he spoke. “I killed him because he took what was mine,” he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “You didn’t pull the trigger, I did. Don’t fool yourself, sweetie.” His fingers gently wiped away the tears falling down your cheeks, lingering on your skin a second longer than necessary.

“His fate was sealed the moment he touched you. You’re not responsible for his death.”

Your heart ached, the confusion and guilt twisting inside you. The memory of Reese's lifeless body, the sound of the gunshot, played over and over in your mind. You knew that Sylus had been the one to end it, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that your words, your anger, had driven the final nail in the coffin.

"But I—" you started, your voice cracking, but Sylus shushed you gently, pressing a finger to your lips.

“Don’t burden yourself,” he whispered, his voice soothing but firm. “Reese was a pest, and pests are dealt with. It wasn’t your fault. You said what you needed to say in the moment” His eyes softened, his gaze almost affectionate. “And now, you’re here—with me. Safe.”

"Am I?" you sobbed, the weight of your emotions crashing down on you all at once. The tears came faster, and with them, the memory of that night—the night Sylus had taken everything into his own hands, literally. The sharp pain, the feeling of your skin being sliced open as he calmly removed your birth control implant, resurfaced in vivid detail. The raw fear that had gripped you then returned now, surging like a wave you couldn't hold back.

"At least Reese never hurt me," you choked out between sobs, your voice trembling, barely holding together. "You, on the other hand..."

Your hand instinctively went to your arm, tracing the faint scar left behind from when Sylus had decided, without a second thought, that he would control every part of you—inside and out. The scar was still there, but it wasn’t just on your skin. The memory of that violation ran deeper than any wound that could heal.

Sylus’s expression didn’t shift at your words. His calm gaze remained fixed on you, though there was a slight narrowing of his eyes. His hand paused in its comforting motions, hovering just inches from you, as if calculating how to respond.

“I did what was necessary,” he said, his voice calm, controlled, almost dismissive. "Everything I’ve done has been for you. For us. Why are you crying over a man that handed you and countless others over for crack?"

The flood of emotions broke through all at once at his words.

"Because-because he wasn't supposed to die. Hunters aren't the reason people die, we save people...he could've went to jail he wasn't supposed to-"

You crumpled, sobs wracking your body as the weight of everything—of all you had endured—became too much to bear. Memories you had tried to suppress, to bury deep within you, rose to the surface like dark waves crashing against fragile walls.

The man from the basement. His hands grabbing you, the smell of his breath, the sheer terror that had paralyzed you as he tried to force himself on you. You had fought, screamed, but the memory was still there, etched into your mind like a brand that would never fade. The nightmare you had just woken from had only served to rip open the scars you had so desperately tried to heal.

Your words came out in broken fragments, incoherent between sobs. "That other man…he tried… I couldn’t— I couldn’t stop him…" Your voice cracked, your chest heaving as you babbled through the memories, the trauma wrapping itself around you like a suffocating shroud. "He—he wouldn’t stop… I couldn’t breathe, I was so scared…"

You weren’t even sure Sylus was listening. You couldn’t look at him. Everything blurred together, your mind overwhelmed by the pain, the helplessness, the feeling of being trapped again in that moment. You curled in on yourself, trembling as the sobs became uncontrollable, the terror of that night suffocating you all over again.

Then you felt it—Sylus’s hand, soft and deliberate, gently cradling your cheek. He leaned in, his voice softening into something almost unbearably tender, a tone you never thought he was capable of.

"Poor thing, you're such a mess," he murmured.

His eyes lingered on you with a mix of pity and affection, as though you were something fragile, something cherished. It was as if watching you unravel before him caused his heart to ache.

“I can help you forget,” he whispered, his thumb brushing away your tears with slow, careful strokes. “Let me take the pain away, kitten. You don’t have to carry it anymore.”

His words were soothing, like a lullaby coaxing you away from the edge of your breakdown. His touch was uncharacteristically soft, his presence surrounding you like a cocoon, making it harder to pull yourself out of the depths of your despair. For a brief moment, the way he looked at you—like he truly cared—made you falter.

You hesitate at his words. The rational part of your mind urged you to turn away, not to respond. To pull yourself from his embrace and fight him. But the other part, muddled by trauma, drove you to stay. To seek comfort, any comfort, even in his arms.

From your captor of all people.

“Yes…” you whimpered, blinking away tears. You didn’t know why you answered that way—your mind screamed at you to stop—but you found yourself reaching out, your fingers clutching the collar of his shirt and pulling him closer.

Anything. Anything to make this pain stop.

His lips crashed against yours before you could even register what was happening, consuming you in a kiss so passionate it bordered on painful. All rational thought evaporated as his tongue plundered the recesses of your mouth, stroking along your palate and tangling with your own tongue in a sensual dance as old as time itself.

You were consumed, caught in the storm of his touch, unable to think beyond the overwhelming need to escape the agony of your memories—even if only for a moment.

Your hands flew to his face of their own accord, fingers threading through his hair as you clung to him like a drowning woman gasping for air. You kissed him back with a fervor born of desperation, pouring all your pent-up anguish and trauma into the hungry clash of lips and teeth. The two of you panted against each other, like animals ready to tear each other to shreds.

Some distant part of you screamed that this was mistake, that doing this with him willingly was certainly wrong. He had kidnapped you after all. Stolen you. But it was drowned out by the pounding of your heart, the ache of need pulsing between your thighs. His hands slid under your dress, calloused palms skimming over hypersensitive flesh, and you arched into his touch with a whimper.

"Sylus..." you whined, already feeling the desperate ache reach your core.

"I know, kitten. Patience, we just started" he said, amusement adorning his face.

His lips found yours again, hot and demanding, silencing any lingering protests. You melted into the kiss, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. The taste of him was intoxicating, a heady mix of desire and danger that left you craving more. His fingers find the hem of your underwear, wasting no time to remove the obstacle from your wet depths.

Your whole body trembled as Sylus's lips blazed a path down your body, trailing molten kisses along the column of your throat. Each brush of his mouth against your sensitive skin sent electricity singing through your veins, igniting another fiery ache between your thighs. When he nudged aside the fabric of your dress to nuzzle the slick flesh of your cunt, you let out a strangled moan, your fingers curling into the sheets beneath you.

The tip of his nose grazed your swollen bud, and your back arched off the bed, every nerve ending sparking with raw pleasure. "Nnnngh…" you whimpered, hips bucking instinctively toward his teasing touch.

Sylus's deep, resonant chuckle rumbled through you, vibrating against your core in a way that made your toes curl. "So responsive," he murmured, his warm breath ghosting over your dripping folds. "Tell me, kitten-were you this wet for him? Did he make you shiver and moan like this when he touched you?"

He grips your thighs almost possessively, waiting for your answer.

His words were like a bucket of ice water dumped over your head, plunging you back into reality. Shame crashed over you in nauseating waves, your arousal doused by the realization of how easily Sylus manipulated your body. Tears leaked from the corners of your eyes as you squeezed them shut, fists clenching in the bedding.

"No," you choked out, voice brittle. "Never. He never touched me like this…Sylus, please…" The plea was torn from your throat, part desperation, part disgust. You felt filthy, tainted by your own traitorous reactions to Sylus's sensual assault on your most intimate parts.

But despite the revulsion roiling in your gut, your body still yearned for more.

"Its hard to say no when you beg me like that," he said, seemingly satisfied with your answer, began trailing a hot, wet streak against your folds. A gasp punches through your throat, eyes fluttering as you try not to lose all control. The mere feeling of his tongue was sending your brain into frenzies. But it wasn't enough. Wasn't enough to block the pain.

"Sylus, ple-mmph!”

You grip the bedsheets even tighter when he tenderly cuts off your plea with a moan against your clit, his tongue beginning to spread the entrance of your lips apart feverishly. Your breathing gets rapid when you feel something hot breaking past the entrance, deeper and deeper into your walls. Sylus's tongue delved deeper, stroking along your inner walls with devastating skill.

"You don't have to hold the bedsheets." he says, withdrawing momentarily from your depths. He wordlessly guides your hands to the top of his head, and before you can say anything, he's back licking up and down your folds, eventually making his way back in completely. The immediate shockwaves of pleasure make you grip his hair basically against your will, and you tearfully hold his hair as you neared an orgasm.

The pleasure built to an unbearable crescendo as Sylus's tongue relentlessly stroked your inner walls, each slick thrust driving you higher toward the brink of climax. Broken moans spilled from your lips, intermingling with his hungry growls of appreciation. Tears streamed down your face as your hips rocked shamelessly against his mouth, silently begging for the oblivion that hovered just out of reach.

Sylus's strong hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as he feasted upon your aching cunt. He seemed enraptured, almost worshipful in his attentions, lavishing your most intimate places with devoted licks and sucks. He ate you out like a starved man. Like he craved you.

Like he missed you.

Occasionally his nose would rub against your clit again and again, a delicious friction that made you sob with the intensity of it all.

When his lips finally closed around your swollen clit and sucked hard, you nearly vaulted off the bed, a strangled scream tearing from your throat.

"Mhgn! Sylus! Please, I can't…it's too much!"

But he didn't let up, his talented tongue circling the sensitive bundle of nerves with ruthless precision. Your vision whited out as you finally reached heaven, wave after wave of ecstasy crashing over you until you thought you might drown in it. Your walls clamped down on his invading tongue, pulsing with the force of your release, unwittingly calling out Sylus's name as you did so.

Finally, blessedly, Sylus withdrew. You melted in the sheets, finally letting go of his hair, boneless and shuddering in the aftermath. Tears streaked your face, but for once, they weren't because Sylus had hurt you. He had done quite the opposite actually.

Taking in the sight of you sprawled before him, flushed and panting, your body trembling. With a wicked smirk, he trailed a hand along your trembling thigh, drawing a shuddering moan from your throat. Evidence of your orgasm coated his mouth, and you watch as he licks the remaining from his lips.

"Tired already?" he teased, quite enjoying the way your body tensed under his touch. "For a hunter I expected you to have more stamina."

The haze of post-orgasmic bliss dissipated as quickly as it had descended, harsh reality crashing back in with brutal clarity. Tears pricked your eyes as the weight of your shame threatened to crush you. You had begged him for it, eagerly spread your legs for your kidnapper as if y'all were lovers. What was wrong with you?

"I..." you trail off, vision blurring with tears once more. What were you going to say? What could you say?

Sylus trailed lazy kisses along your jaw, seeming to sense your internal turmoil within your head. His lips rubbed against your sensitive skin, sending unwanted sparks of pleasure skittering through your nerves.

"If you're still able to think," he murmured against your throat, "then I clearly haven't kept my promise of helping you forget." His nimble fingers worked at his belt buckle.

The leather strap slid free of the loops with a hiss, dropping forgotten to the floor. Soon after, you felt the straps of your dress slip past your shoulders, past your waist, and eventually off your body completely. Sylus's gaze raked over you, lovingly and hungry, devouring the flush on your skin, the swell of your heaving breasts. You felt bare under his scrutiny, stripped of all defenses.

"And here I thought I was doing such a good job of distracting you," he purred, palming himself through his jeans. The rigid line of his erection strained against the faded denim, an obscene bulge that made your mouth go dry. You watched as he began taking his shirt off from over his head, his chiseled stomach and chest coming into view.

"Please..." you whimpered, the word torn from your throat as fresh tears spilled down your cheeks. Your body trembled, caught between the whirlwind of conflicting emotions roiling within you. Revulsion. Lust. Desperation. Self-loathing. You don't even know what you're asking for.

Sylus's expression softened as he gazed down at you, his thumb brushing away the moisture collecting on your lashes. It was uncharacteristic of you to beg for anything other than freedom. It was pulling at his heart and making him feel weak. "Shhh, it's alright sweetie," he soothed, his voice a low murmur. "I'm keeping my promise. Don't think, just focus on me."

Slowly, reverently, he lowered his mouth to yours in a kiss that stole your breath and shattered your reservations. His lips moved over yours with aching tenderness, sipping at your parted lips as if savoring the sweetest nectar. The press of his body against yours was solid, reassuring, anchoring you in the whirlwind of sensation.

His tongue slipped past your defenses to stroke the sensitive flesh within, each languid thrust a silent promise of the ecstasy to come. One large hand cradled your face, angling your head to deepen the kiss, while the other smoothed soothing circles on the small of your back.

When he pulls back, eyes staring down at you, it feels like he's staring into the depths of your soul. His eye begins to glow dangerously, and you begin to feel your mind start to spin and the room start to grow hazy. Voices begin pouring into your ears.

Devour him.

He's right there.

Grab him!

But just as quickly as they started, they stopped. You lay there shocked, unable to process what just happened.

"Your mind says a lot more than your mouth does, kitten" he chuckles, and you can only blink confusingly at him as he begins unzipping his pants. He stands up momentarily to remove his pants and you watch as his cock finally spring free. You feel a gush of arousal as you watch it throb, precum slightly leaking at the tip.

"W-what?" you ask, one half of your brain focusing on his raging erection and the other half wondering why the hell your mind felt like it was splitting in half just a second ago.

But you have no time to ponder such questions as Sylus begins to tower above you once more, grabbing your legs and spreading them apart. You squeal at the sudden touch and shiver when his tip rubs against the slit of your opening. His face is twisted with pleasure and his lips are parted, as if he's restraining every part of himself not to push everything into you at once.

"Slow...please" you beg, your hips involuntarily pushing down on the head of his tip when it greets your opening.

"You want me to go slow, yet your hips are lifting off the bed like you can't wait to have me buried inside you," Sylus teased, his voice a low, wicked murmur. He enjoys the way your face twists in annoyance.

"So greedy, aren't you kitten?"

"I'm not trying t-mmph!"

You words lodge into your throat as you feel the head of his tip pierce your hole. You gasped, back arching as you stretched impossibly around him. A painful stretch causes you to groan and try to pull away, but Sylus puts a hand on your stomach, holding you down and ceasing all resistance.

"Be still, hah, it wont hurt for long". Sylus lips are parted as he lets out his own breathless groan, his senses being overwhelmed with you as he sinks deeper and deeper.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Sylus groaned, his eyes squeezing shut as he fought for control. He eased forward slowly, inch by excruciating inch, letting you adjust to his substantial size. Your velvety walls resisted initially, clamping down around him like a vice.

Sylus paused, buried to the hilt inside you, his pelvis flush against yours. "Breathe, kitten," he instructed, his voice strained with the effort of holding still. "Try to relax okay?."

You tried to relax, to focus on the pleasant pressure building deep in your core instead of the dull ache in your stretched flesh. Gradually, you yielded, your muscles unclenching as Sylus began to move.

"Good girl," he managed through clenched teeth, withdrawing until just the tip remained before sliding back in with agonizing deliberateness. Over and over, he set a torturously slow rhythm, savoring every drag of your fluttering walls along his rigid cock.

Soon, the sting gave way to blossoming pleasure, radiating outward from where you were joined. You found yourself meeting his measured thrusts, your hips rocking up to take him deeper, chasing that euphoric friction. Sylus's pace quickened marginally, his self-control fraying at the edges. The slap of flesh against flesh echoed obscenely in the room, a filthy symphony that drowned out your labored breaths and muffled whimpers.

Each deliberate thrust carried you further from the pit of anguish threatening to swallow you whole. The exquisite drag of Sylus's thick cock along your sensitive walls obliterated every coherent thought, leaving only the raw, visceral pleasure of the moment. Higher and higher you climbed, chasing the blissful oblivion he promised, until the first warnings of an impending climax rippled through your trembling form.

Sylus shifted his angle slightly, and stars exploded behind your eyelids as he grazed a spot deep inside that made your toes curl. A strangled moan tore from your throat, lost in the slick slide of bodies and the heady musk of arousal perfuming the air.

"That's it, sweetie," Sylus coo'd, his voice low and rough with lust. "Let go. Think about the one making you feel good right now. Think about me. Only me."

His words shivered through you, igniting something primal and needy. Your hips bucked up to meet his thrusts, desperate for more, harder, faster. Your mind snapped and went blank. You were drowning in sensation, drowning in him, and you never wanted to surface. Never wanted to think about reality ever again.

"You're so cute like this," Sylus purred, punctuating each word with a savage grind of his pelvis against yours. "Brain empty and filled with too much cock to think. Should just keep you like this..."

His filthy praise melted your reservations, stoking the desperate frenzy consuming your body and mind. Nothing else mattered beyond the slick slide of flesh and the heady perfume of sex saturating the air. In this moment, Sylus owned you wholly, a willing slave to his lust. All you could do was surrender, drowning in the exquisite agony of your impending release.

The coil of tension in your core tightened with each passing second, your impending climax hovering just out of reach. Sylus sensed your mounting desperation, his rhythm faltering as he chased his own release.

"You're so close," he growled, his rhythm growing erratic as he chased his own completion. "I can feel you tightening up, greedy little thing."

"Go ahead, cum. Let me hear your pretty sounds."

The lewd demand shattered your composure, catapulting you into heaven and you practically screamed his name. Pleasure crashed through you like a tsunami, obliterating every coherent thought. All you knew was the pulsing ache in your core, the rhythmic throb of Sylus's cock buried deep, prolonging your climax until you couldn't take the sensations anymore and almost begged him to stop thrusting.

“Sylus…” you whimper weakly.

Your vision grew blurry as you teetered into overstimulation, your walls clamping down on Sylus's pistoning length like a vise. Thankfully, he was at his own end. You hear a guttural groan of your name in your ear, and then felt the hot splash of his seed painting your insides soon after. His thrusting completely stopped, and the both of you lay there, panting and unmoving.

It was only when you felt his warm seed spilling out onto the bed that you snapped back into reality.

"Did you-"

“Yes, I did it inside,” Sylus murmured, his voice calm, almost too calm. “Where else would it go?”

Before you could even process his words and sit up, he was on you, pinning your arms down to the bed with a swift, ruthless precision, as if anticipating your next move. The weight of him was suffocating, leaving you no room to escape. Panic surged through you, your body instinctively twisting and writhing beneath him, but it was useless. You were trapped.

“After your little escape," he continued, voice laced with playful amusement, "I’ve realized I need to put in more effort. Taming you isn’t as easy as I thought...a baby should be a nice, heavy, leash for you"

“Sylus… please,” you stammer, your heart pounding in your chest. Desperation claws at you as the gravity of his words sinks in. “We don’t need to do this. Not like this. Please, let’s solve this without a child?—I’ll do anything you want. I won’t try to run again, I swear.”

Tears blurred your vision as you begged, the words tumbling out in a frantic rush, your voice cracking with the weight of your fear. But Sylus just smiled, that soft, chilling smile that made your stomach drop. He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned closer, his hand disappearing beneath the bed.

“I know you won’t be running away again. In fact…”

Your breath hitched in your throat as you watched him, terror coiling tighter with every passing second. What was he doing? What was he reaching for? You searched your mind desperately, trying to think of anything, anything at all that might change his mind, but you knew better. Sylus was relentless. He hadn’t forgotten your attempts to resist, and now he was only more determined.

And then you felt it—the cold, unforgiving touch of metal snapping around your ankle.

Your eyes flew wide open, your pulse spiking as you looked down in horror. An ankle chain. You were shackled.

“No,” you whispered, your voice trembling. "No...is this..?"

“Anything I want, you say?” Sylus's voice oozed with satisfaction, a smile creeping across his lips as he leaned in closer. The warmth of his breath contrasted sharply with the cold metal now binding you in place.

“Then make us a baby, sweetie,” he purred, his fingers tracing lightly down your arm. “That’s what I want most right now.”

The weight of his words settled like ice in your chest. A shiver coursed through your body, your mind racing, searching for some way out, but the chain around your ankle clinked softly with every tiny movement, a reminder of how trapped you really were.

“It’s long enough to reach everything in here, including the toilet and shower,” Sylus said, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he leaned down to press a slow, deliberate kiss to your cheek.

You shuddered beneath him, your tears finally spilling over as the full weight of your situation crashed down on you. “Is this… my punishment for running?” you whispered, your voice fragile and trembling, as if the question itself might break you.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes gleaming with something you couldn’t quite place. “No, it’s not a punishment,” he said, his tone soft but resolute. “It’s a necessity, honey.”

His words hung heavy in the air, sealing your fate as surely as the chain around your ankle.

Tears broke free, pouring down your face in uncontrollable waves as the reality of it all crushed you. You sobbed openly, your body shaking under the weight of it, and yet there was nothing you could do. Sylus leaned down, his presence overwhelming, his hand softly brushing the side of your tear-streaked face. His voice was low, almost soothing, as if he believed he was offering comfort instead of twisting the knife deeper.

“The faster you accept this,” he whispered, stroking your hair gently, “the easier it’ll be for you. Accept your place by my side and have my baby.”

"I'll take care of both of you, I promise."

His words only made the knot in your throat tighten further. You hated him. You hated him with every fiber of your being, but worst of all, you hated yourself. Hated the fact that you had once given yourself to him willingly, that you had let the devil himself have your body in a moment of weakness, as if you hadn’t known exactly what he was capable of.

The shame of it burned through you, deeper than any chain ever could. How had you fallen so far? How had you ever let him touch you, let him inside your body, your mind—your soul? The answer twisted cruelly in your gut.

But even despite all the burning hatred you had for him in this moment, another unknown feeling sprouted. One that ached and felt almost unbearable to think about. A longing. Festering within the walls of your strained heart and mind. You refused to acknowledge it though, choosing to drown in the sorrow of your new situation.

Sylus shifted beside you, wrapping his arms around you as if you were lovers instead of captor and captive. His warmth pressed against your skin, a twisted parody of intimacy, and you lay there, eyes fixed blankly on the ceiling. You felt his breathing slow beside you, felt his presence still as he settled in comfortably at your side. But you were miles away, staring into the abyss above, where there was no escape, no solace.

Only the cold, bitter truth. You had let the devil in, and now, there was no way out.

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luveline · 2 years ago

Note

hi, i’m not sure if your requests are open, forgive me if not, but i’ve been thinking about bombshell!reader and spence lately. not sure if you’ve written this already or something similar, but how about them sharing a room on a case? similar to alaska.

fem, 1k

Spencer predicted the outcome of the roommate situation fairly quickly. Ignoring whatever data he might have in his head about the team, Spencer was always going to end up sharing with you tonight, because the universe hates him, and because you quite like him.

It's nice to be someone first choice, if nothing else. “Me and Spencer will share, obviously,” you say, holding out your hand for a keycard.

Hotch passes it over without complaint. He doesn't have to say keep it professional, you will (ish), and he doesn't have to ask Spencer if he's okay with this arrangement. Despite endless exhausting teasing, everyone knows that you and Spencer are actually friends. Or, he thinks you are.

You certainly feel quite friendly as you hike your bag higher up your arm and sew the other arm through his. “Let's go. I'm so tired I might fall asleep on the way there.”

You don't look tired. Spencer struggles to understand how every emotion you wear suits you. How every time he looks at you, you're prettier. He read a book recently on human attraction, and less factual but perhaps his most strongly believed takeaway from the book was that a person grows more attracted to the person they're attracted to, like a loop, or an ouroboros snake eating its own tail, forced over and over to make the same stupid mistake. What is he doing? Does he really think this is a good idea? Is he in love with you? How couldn't he be? You walk arm in arm to a room you're going to share and you don't care that he smells sickly of arnica and deodorant mixed together. You ignore the dark circles under his eyes, dark circles you never seem to have, always so perfect, always so you.

“This one?” you ask, coming to a stop. “Room… 108?” He takes your bag and you smile gratefully, inserting the key, and legging open the door. “Tada. Home sweet home, Dr. Reid.”

The hotel room is small and stale. Clean, sure, but questionably, with yellowing furnishings and sparse furniture. There's a double bed, two nightstands, a cubby bathroom close to the door, and a single chair near a small free standing countertop opposite of the bed, hosting a microwave and cups with hot chocolate sachets.

“Wow,” you say, beaming, immediately breaking for the bed.

“Wait, wait! We have to check for bed bugs.”

You hold your hands up in surrender.

Spencer peels the sheets back and uses the little torch on his keychain to investigate the mattress while you sit on the floor, one leg crossed beneath you and the other stretched in front of you as you sort through your clothes. You hum as you fold a shirt cleanly and make a pleased sound that may prove to give him indigestion as you unearth your pyjamas.

“Spencer, can I shower first? Do you mind?”

“I don't mind.” He turns off the torch, satisfied. “Thank you. For letting me check without being annoyed.”He says the second bit quieter than he means to.

“Why would I be annoyed?” you ask, standing up in a whirlwind of pistachio perfume. Low notes of something sweet and caramelised haunt him as you drop your hand on his shoulder. “I'm gonna shower really fast, I swear. Should we get dinner? I bet we could order something to the front desk.”

“I'll see if they have any menus.”

Sitting in bed with you, later, showered and fed and drinking microwaved hot chocolate from paper cups together, Spencer has a strange flash of pleasure. Talking to you, seeing you with your hair in its protective style for the night, your skin shining with lotions and serums, and to have the revelation that you really do have dark circles under your makeup, it all feels private and special. Because you're still undeniably beautiful, and you act like he's worth sharing that with.

He feels overwhelmed, in all honesty.

You can sense it. You do your best to calm him down.

“Finish your drink, babe,” you say, knocking him on the thigh with your knuckles. “It was a really long day.”

“I'm fine.”

“Yes, you are.” You giggle at yourself. “Sorry, I'm being serious tonight, I decided.”

“Why?” he asks, puzzled.

“I don't want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You don't.”

You put your hot chocolate on the nightstand and sink back into the pillows, looking every bit a movie star as usual despite your fresh face. It's your expression, the confidence behind them, that makes you so beautiful.

“What are you thinking?” you ask.

He looks down into his hot chocolate, swirling the drink around and around. “You're beautiful.”

It catches you off guard. You're quiet for too long, panic festering in his chest.

“You are too.” You put your hand on his thigh. When he brings his haze to your face, you've closed your eyes, a small smirk playing on your lips. “Wanna brush my teeth for me?”

“No.” You both laugh. “Sorry if that was out of the blue, before.”

“I say worse to you,” you say. “Lay down with me. We can snuggle.”

Spencer lays down. You don't snuggle, but your hand stays pressed to the side of his thigh, and the smell of your perfume lingers despite your shower. It must've been caught in your hair.

“It's weird,” you say, facing the ceiling, “I'm not tired anymore.”

“It's called learned arousal.”

Your laugh is a shock. “Oh, is it now?”

“Not like that. Are you thinking about work? If you think about certain things while you're in bed, it starts to make it so you think about those things on instinct. You've conditioned yourself.”

“I don't think so,” you say. “Well, maybe. Mostly I just think about you, Spence. And not like that.” You laugh again, so much laughter Spencer could conjure the sound from memory alone. “Sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I promise I'm not trying to harass you.”

He stares at the side of your face. “I know what you mean. I think about you too.”

“Well, good to know I'm not in this torture alone,” you say softly.

It is the worst night's sleep of Spencer's life, but he thinks he might want to do it again.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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pretty-little-mind33 · 7 months ago

Text

Count Alexei Vronsky x fem!reader

Summary: You're forced into an arranged marriage.

Genre: fluff, angsty

Warnings: Alexei is kind of an asshole in the beginning, reader is from France, the daughter of a Marquis, and she is described as having hair that can be pinned up and curled (otherwise no descriptions), sexism of the time (very mild)

~ thank you anon! sorry this too forever (this was requested ages ago)!! ~

COUNT VRONSKY MASTERLIST

As you brush your hair in the mirror of your vanity, staring unemotionally at the girl staring back, your mother's words ring in your ear. "Love, beautiful love, can be learned, ma chérie (my love)," she'd promised, as her hand lay on your nervous knee, smoothing her thumbs over the crinkled skirt of your lavender dress, the fabric bunched up from hours of carriage riding.

"I did not love your father when I met him. Not in the beginning." Your mother smiled and continued, "But, when it finally happened—and it will for you too—I could not imagine myself without him."

And you did believe her. Up until you took your first step on Count Vronksy's estate, the sun hot and warm on your skin, you listened to your mother's proclamations of true love with attention and yearning.

You still want to believe her even now.

Your future husband's lips had felt so foreign on your upper palm, the feeling more like a courtesy than something intimate. He hadn't said a word, minus the polite greetings that frankly don't count in those situations, as he stood beside his mother wearing an oddly vacant expression. The blue shine of his eyes mirrored an ocean you imagined losing yourself in, but one you couldn't yet reach.

You suppose you should feel incredibly lucky that he didn't turn out to be some old, hideous, nobleman with crooked teeth and chapped lips. You certainly did feel lucky that the only reputation he had was player tendencies and fleeting infidelities—which your mother promised you could be dampened with time and care.

"He will be a good husband to you, mon amour (my love). Give him time."

Your mother sounded so sure, but you didn't know how much time your heart could handle without breaking.

Across the house, Count Alexei Vronsky paces his bedchamber, his white chemise hung loosely over his shoulders as he practically tugs at his blond curls. His mind races with countless scenarios and possibilities as he plays the memory of meeting you on an endless loop.

"Alexei," His mother, Countess Vronskaya, chastises as she sits on his bed, her lips pursed. "You are acting like a spoiled child. Sit down."

Her youngest son shakes his head, his voice coming out strained. "I cannot do this, Mama," he says, meaning every word. "I do not know her. I cannot love someone I do not know!"

"Love?" Countess Vronskaya scoffs, staring at him with sharp eyes, "What on earth has put that silly word into your head? And don't tell me it was your little affair from a few months ago—oh, the shame—" she fans her lace fan faster and then shuts it and abruptly lays it onto her lap.

"Alexei, love does not exist. Responsibility, on the other hand, does. It is your responsibility to make up for your mistakes and this is the solution. Marriage. Besides," she fans herself again, "You can easily have Mistresses, I am not denying you that so please, stop this nonsense at once."

"I do not want any Mistresses!" Alexei exclaims, his frustration growing.

Countess Vronskaya stares at her son with an expression of annoyance and disbelief. "Then what, pray, do you want? To bring further scandal upon this family with your childish rebellion? You will marry this girl. It is not a request but an order."

Alexei drops to his bed, his head held pitifully in his hands as he calms his breathing. He pretends he's anywhere but here, his mind focusing on how the wind against his window sounds like waves crashing onto sand.

One. Breath in.

Two. Breath out.

Three. Breath in.

"I understand, Mama," he whispers, knowing he has no choice in the matter.

* * *

One. Breath in.

Two. Breath in.

Three. Breath in.

"Maman, it's too tight, I cannot breathe," you whimper as you press a palm on your stomach, feeling slightly light-headed as the maids tighten your corset and slip over your periwinkle dress, the silk sliding over your shoulder as one hangs delicately to the side. It's a simple dress, minus the puffs and ruffles. "Beauty is pain," your mother says, nodding her head as the maids continue to dress you up.

They pin up your hair with a silver pin and wrap your neck in pearls, adding earrings to finish the look. "Charmante, ma chérie (Beautiful, my dear)," your mother admires as she stands and pushes a stray curl behind your ear.

"Il va t'adorer (He'll adore you)."

You focus on her promise as you walk down the grand staircase and enter the ballroom, which is illuminated by golden chandeliers and sparkling candles. The event looks lavish and it seems to you that Countess Vronskaya had invited all of Russian Society for the announcement of your marriage. Your stomach churns with nerves as you glance around the room. You don't know how to introduce yourself to the women who stare judgmentally from behind their fans.

Your mother takes your arm and leads you to the center, where Count Vronsky stands beside his mother again, chatting ideally with some other aristocrats. Upon seeing your arrival, he turns and you hold out your hand, his lips brushing your skin in the same fleeting manner as it had earlier.

"Good evening, Lady Y/l/n," he says, looking you over and you wonder if you look unpresentable from the way he's staring. His gaze then shifts to your mother. "Marquise Y/l/n."

You smile up at him. "Good evening, Count Vronsky," you say and then smile at his mother, "Countess—" You swallow your words when she sees your dress and her frown deepens.

"What is this?" she asks with a hiss, her voice low. Alexei tenses from beside her.

"I beg your pardon?" you whisper, eyes wide with confusion as your mother's frown deepens.

"Your dress. It isn't suitable for an occasion like this," Countess Vronskaya almost snarls, looking around the ballroom and then her eyes land on you again. "You look positively underdressed!" She sounds completely taken aback and almostdisgusted as she looks you up and down. You feel stupid and exposed, hearing her tell you this in front of your future husband. You don't dare look at him.

Your mother takes the fall. "I didn't know this wouldn't be suitable for this occasion, Countess Vronskaya. In France—" The Countess sends her a dirty look, clearly having no patience for any explanations.

Your mother exhales, "I assure you, Countess, the fault lies with me. I misjudged the attire. I apologize for my mistake," she says with a forced smile, pushing on your back to move you closer to Alexei—who still hasn't said a word. "Our children should have a dance, shouldn't they?"

You look up at Alexei, your chest tightened as you make eye contact. Countess Vronskaya doesn't seem pleased but she nods and Alexei holds out his arm, his lips still shut as he stares in front of him.

You hesitate but take his arm as he leads you onto the dance floor and begins the dance, his hand around your waist. You try to remember the moves and once you're finally comfortable, the dance is suddenly over.

"I–"

Alexei interrupts you with yet another chaste kiss to your hand and then he spins around, his posture as composed as it always is. He excuses himself and walks to make conversation with other guests, leaving you all alone.

You stare at him, blinking back tears. How are you supposed to love him if he won't even talk to you? You feel hopeless as you stand there, feeling stupid and lonely in your dress.

So lonely.

* * *

Alexei's knee bounces impatiently as he waits. You're over thirty minutes late. None of your maids have seen you and neither has your mother. His mind flashes back to last night; your pretty smile, the sound of your voice and the curls in your hair—the ones that had gotten slightly messy with the constant movement of your head. He feels a tightness in his chest.

Where are you?

The thunder cracks outside, the rain pouring against the window of the parlor. It's a dreadful day and it only creates a pit in his stomach at your disappearance. Something is wrong.

"Should I fetch your mother?" One of the maids asks timidly when, ten minutes later, you still haven't shown up. Alexei takes a breath and shakes his head, he stands and holds his head in one hand.

"No need, it's fine, I'll—"

He's interrupted by the sound of a familiar neigh-ing outside the window. His head snaps around and his eyes widen. "Frou-Frou?!" he gasps, seeing his horse out in the rain. His eyes widen even more when he sees familiar hair blowing messily in the wind and rain, covered only by a flimsy cloak.

He stands and runs outside, ignoring the calls from the confused maid. All he can think of is Frou-Frou and you. Frou-Frou doesn't do well with strangers and Alexei knows that the slightest jerky movement could startle him and he could unintentionally hurt you. You. Why would you steal his horse? In a thunderstorm no less?

Are you running away?

"Y/n!" he screams into the yard. You're approaching the fence but Frou-Frou's never ridden outside of the manor without him. Alexei breaks into a run and curses when Frou-Frou makes a jerky movement, kicking you from his back as you scream. The rain is blurring Alexei's vision now as his white shirt becomes soaked. His hair is sticking to his forehead as mud from the grass sticks to his boots. You've fallen into the mud and grass, your skirt heavy under the extra weight of the rain.

Seeing him run up, you try to stand to run but the mud slows you down and you fall again. Frou-Frou panics from the rain and the situation and he runs off. "Damnit," Alexei curses, hesitating. He knows Frou-Frou isn't going to leave the grounds without him, so he turns and grabs you under your armpits. "What is wrong with you?!" he hisses as thunder cracks again. You kick your feet, mud splattering his trousers and Alexei's chest tightens when he sees the tears in your eyes.

"Don't touch me!" you hiss, hitting him as you try to stand in the mud.

"What were you thinking?" he demanded, pulling you upright. "Were you attempting to flee?"

"Why should it concern you?" you spat, wrenching your arm from his grasp.

"Because you are my betrothed!"

"And you do not love me," you hiss. Your heart is thumping and you hate how pretty he looks, wet and disheveled. You hate how your heart reacts to him in ways you're sure his doesn't when he looks at you.

Alexei groans, his head already hurting from this entire situation. He just holds you tighter. "You are correct—I do not know you well enough to claim such feelings for you. But I do not wish to see you harmed, running recklessly into a storm! My God, you already drive me mad! How am I supposed to tame you?"

He sighs, his voice drifting when he realizes he's said the wrong thing as your expression twists into one of pure anger. You hit him with your palm, mud flying into his hair.

"Tame me? Is that how you see me?"

"No, wait, I didn't mean it like that," he tries to explain, shielding himself as he keeps his hold on you. You're so different from when he'd met you yesterday when you'd been on your best behavior— he groans when you pull away, only to slip and fall.

You shriek when he falls over you, the rain still pouring on you both. It's almost comedic now, your dress and his chemise a mess of dirt, mud, and rainwater. "Lady Y/l/n, please," Alexei tries again, struggling to get you to listen to him.

Once he's leaning over you, his knees digging in the dirt as he holds your hands beside your head, he whispers; "My darling, please, you misunderstand me."

You're breathing heavily now, your gaze intense.

"I do not love you, but that doesn't mean it has to be like this our whole lives," he whispers, not sounding quite like himself. He lifts one arm, finger gently tracing your cheek as he slides the mud away. "It does not mean I want to see you hurt, running off in a storm with my horse."

You calm your breathing and when you move to sit up, he does the same and you both catch your breaths. The rain is soaking you both, the cold air chilling your skin, and you watch him. He doesn't look as distant anymore. His skin is smeared in mud and his blond hair is askew. You push some wet strands of hair away from your eyes, half wishing he would have just let you run away.

As the storm begins to calm and the rain softens to a gentle drizzle, Alexei's breathing is calm.

"I did not mean to frighten you," you murmur, your voice barely audible. "I just—I feel so out of place. As if I don't belong here. As if I don't belong with you in your world."

His expression flickers, and for the first time, you see a vulnerability he's been keeping hidden beneath his polished exterior. "Do you think I don't feel the same?" he asks quietly, his voice raw. "I have spent my life pretending to be the man everyone expects me to be. I have never been what anyone truly needs. I am not fit to be a good husband."

The honesty in his words sends a sharp hurt through your chest. "Then why chase after me?" you ask, your voice shaky. "Why not let me leave if you feel the same way?"

Alexei hesitates, then with a deep breath, he moves a little closer, his eyes searching yours. "Because," he begins, "when I saw you out here, stubborn and fearless in this storm, I realized something. You might be the only person brave enough to truly see me. And if I let you leave, then I would regret it until the day I die."

The rain has nearly stopped now, the storm's fury replaced by a stillness that feels almost unreal. You're unsure what to say, your chest tightening with the weight of his confession. For a moment, neither of you moves. The distance between you feels both vast and insignificant, the air thick with something that will probably remain unnamed.

Then, almost tentatively, Alexei leans in, the lips that had barely let themselves brush your hand, now kiss your forehead. You inhale.

"We can figure this out," he murmurs against your skin. "Together. Please do not run anymore. I can do better, for you."

You close your eyes, the weight of his words settling in your heart as you take them in. A moment passes and then you force a small smile, leaning into him as you nod.

"Okay. Let's go find Frou-Frou then," you whisper, earning a smile from Alexei. Your smile widens a little. Maybe your mother was right—maybe love could be learned. And perhaps, just perhaps, it could start here.

#alexei vronsky #count alexei vronsky #count alexei vronsky fanfiction #count alexei vronsky x reader #count alexei vronsky x fem!reader #count alexei vronsky x you #count alexei vronsky x y/n #alexei vronsky x fem!reader #alexei vronsky x reader #count vronsky x y/n #count vronsky x you #count vronsky x fem!reader #count vronsky x reader #coutn vronsky #aaron taylor johnson #anna karenina 2012 #anna karenina

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ramp-it-up · 2 months ago

Text

Consent

Summary: Bucky's in his head. Only you can get him out of it.

Word count: 4.8 K

Pairing: Congressman Bucky Barnes x Teacher!Reader; Sam Wilson x Bucky and Reader (platonic)

A/N: Been on my Bucky bullshit for a minute. Just block me now. Or, read, respond, and reblog! Love you heauxes! This is connected to Charm , Celebrate and Claim, but can be read alone! This was inspired by a reblog comment from @binkybonkybucky. Thanks, love! 😁

I’ve also decided to include some prompts from my 5K follower celebration challenge, #PraiseMe5k. See if you can spot them! 😉

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. All mistakes my own. Smut! Teacher Reader, Congressman Bucky, Bucky Angst, Switch! Bucky, dom Bucky, sub Bucky, consent conversation, shower sex, EDGING, teasing, fold fucking, anal play, SIZE KINK, orgasm denial, tit worship/play, BEGGING KINK, overstimulation, sex game play, lap dance, did I say sub!Bucky? Dinner with Sam, f receiving orall, raw p in v, praise kink, bit of the Sargeant kink, nicknames Charm and Baby, use of Good girl and Good boy. Basically pwp.

I do not have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-----

The next time you came to D.C., you had a key to Bucky’s townhouse.

The place was quiet when you let yourself in, causing a small pang of worry to bloom in your chest.

You knew he was struggling.

Congress didn’t move like Bucky did.

He was a man of instinct and of action. He was built for swift decisions and clean execution. But this world of legislation, compromise, and rules that looped in on themselves was agony.

He hated the endless meetings. Hated the speeches. Hated the sensation of being trapped, muzzled, and constrained by red tape.

This wasn’t the fight he’d signed up for.

School was out, and you’d carved out this one week before you started teaching summer school to be here.

With him.

You listened for a moment after you closed his front door. You heard water running and smiled; Bucky was in the shower.

You slipped off your sandals by the door, heart already racing a little. You padded toward the sound, the hem of his stolen dress shirt skimming your thighs above a pair of khaki short shorts.

Steam poured from the bathroom, thick and curling like fog from the cracked door.

You stepped inside.

And there he was.

Bucky stood under the spray, his palms braced against the tile, head tipped back, water trailing down the ridges of his chest, over his abs, tracing the deep grooves of his hips, and soaking the powerful muscles of his thighs. His jaw was clenched. His eyes were closed. And his whole body taut with something that wasn't physical strain.

You didn’t say a word. Just peeled your clothes away and stepped into the heat behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your cheek between his shoulder blades.

He exhaled like he hadn’t breathed in hours.

“Did you have a good trip?” he asked, voice low and quiet.

“I missed you.”

Your voice was soft, muffled against his skin.

He turned slowly, his hands sliding to your hips. His eyes flicked over your face, searching for something. You gave him a small smile.

“You okay?”

He hesitated.

“I should be. Just… been in my head. Thinking.”

“About what?”

His jaw flexed.

“About you being here for the week. About what that means. About what it does to me.”

He looked down for a beat, then back up.

“I came in here to clear my head, but you’re always in it. You make me forget the constant struggle. You make me want to stop holding back. And that’s... terrifying.”

You kissed the scar above his heart, your lips gentle. His breath hitched. Not from pain. From memory. From trust.

“You don’t have to hold anything back with me,” you said. “Not your strength. Not your softness. Not your want.”

You reached up, gently cradling his face.

“So here’s what I propose,” you said, voice steady.

“This week, we consent. Fully. Freely. You take what you want when you need to lead. And when you need to surrender, you can give yourself to me, with no shame, and no hesitation. Deal?”

His body shifted. You felt it happen. That subtle undoing of tension in his shoulders, the air returning to his lungs in a deep, cleansing breath. His grip on your waist tightened.

And then his expression changed.

The softness burned away, leaving something feral in its place.

“Deal, Charm,” he said. His voice dropped to gravel. “Right now I want to ruin you a little.”

Your breath caught.

“Make you come so hard your knees give out,” he growled, lips at your ear.

You were soaked already, and not from the water.

“Wanna hear you beg for it, Charm.”

You smiled against his mouth, heart slamming in your chest.

“There’s my Bucky.”

He lifted you effortlessly, your legs circling his waist as your back met the cool tile. His cock, hot and thick, pressed between your folds, the water slicking every inch of you. He kissed you hard, and then pulled back just enough to speak.

“You’re gonna take all of me,” he said, voice barely controlled, “even if it’s rough. I’m going to get you ready for me first. Okay?”

Your head dropped back, breath ragged, legs tightening around his waist.

“Okay, Bucky.”

He grinned darkly, lowering his mouth to your throat.

“Good girl.”

His gaze dropped to your breasts, your nipples tight from the air shift, your breasts rising and falling with every panting breath.

“Your tits, baby…fuck. I sit in budget hearings hard as a rock thinking about how they bounce when I fuck you.”

That made you grind down harder, feeling the thick length of him trapped between your bodies.

He groaned. His hands slid up, cupping your breasts in his warm, rough hands, rubbing his thumbs over your nipples. The flicks were gentle, then punishing, making you gasp. Every stroke sent a jolt straight to your core.

The strikes of his hot breath against your skin made the taut buds tighten even more. Then his mouth was on you, tongue lapping, lips sucking, teeth grazing, treating your breasts with the same devotion he gave your cunt.

You moaned, nearly weeping with pleasure already. His teeth scraped and his tongue lapped against the underside of the sensitive peak and you were almost cumming, the wave cresting and intense.

It was going to change your life, you just knew it. The pulls of his mouth were greedy and sublime. He moved to the other nipple, giving it the same attention, teasing you to the very edge and not letting you go over.

You whimpered, trembling, clenching around nothing.

Bucky chuckled darkly, mouth brushing your collarbone.

“Not yet, baby. I wanna hear you beg.”

Your pride broke first.

“Please, Bucky… don’t stop. I need you.”

“That’s better.”

His hand slid between your thighs, parting your folds with practiced care. He slid his fingers over the lips of your pussy, squeezing them between his straightened fingers as his thumb skated over your clit. His fingers teased relentlessly, dipping inside just enough to make you gasp, then pulling back.

The edge was sharp and unbearable.

You couldn’t stop moving your hips, trying to chase him.

“You’re soaked,” he said, voice broken. “This all for me?”

You nodded quickly, unable to speak.

He slid two fingers inside you, curling them. You sobbed.

“Jesus!”

He pulled his fingers out, studying them slick with your arousal before licking them clean.

“Sweetest fucking nectar.”

You whimpered, practically vibrating.

He growled low in his throat, positioning himself. The blunt head of his cock was at your entrance. He paused. He looked at you. You knew what he wanted.

“Please,” you breathed. “Please, Bucky. I need it.”

That did it. He rolled his hips, cock grinding along your slick folds, teasing you where you ached the most. Every movement sent sparks skittering through your body. You gasped into his mouth, your nails digging into his shoulders as he pinned you to the tile, the shower spray pounding around you like white noise.

Then he slowed down, dragging the thick head of his cock down, then up again, just grazing your clit.

“Fuck, Bucky…”

He caught your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your face up.

“Keep those eyes open,” he said, voice rough. “I want to watch you fall apart.”

He lifted you slightly, adjusting his angle, and then slowly his cock began to press inside. Then, another breach: two fingers slid into your ass. The sweet burn made you keen.

“Don’t cum,” he warned.

“Oh God, Bucky!” you cried as he bottomed out, buried to the hilt.

“Fuck, you’re dripping. You want to be used like this?” he asked, voice broken with lust.

“Yes,” you sobbed. “God, yes.”

“You’re taking me so good, baby,” he whispered. “So fucking tight for me. So perfect.”

He held you there, stuffed full of him, stretching you wide while the hot water poured down around you like a curtain.

“You feel that stretch?” he murmured at your ear.

“That’s mine. You’re not gonna cum until I say, Charm. You’re gonna take it. Hold it. Beg for it.”

“Please, please, please!”

Finally, he began to move with slow, grinding, deep thrusts, each one dragging against the most sensitive parts of you, keeping you right there on the edge. He kept his eyes locked on yours, watching every reaction.

“You want to cum already, don’t you?” he asked, smirking against your lips.

You couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.

“I said,” he growled, thrusting hard enough to knock the breath from you, “you want to cum?”

“Yes, Bucky,” you gasped. “Please. I can’t hold it, I can’t…”

“You will.”

He reached between you and brushed your clit with maddening precision, and your whole body arched.

“Every time you get close, I’m gonna stop,” he promised. “Until you’re crying for it. Wanna ruin you.”

You were already crying. Tears and steam and desperation all mixing into one wet haze. But you didn’t want it to stop.

He kissed the corner of your mouth, then whispered in your ear.

“You’re so fucking perfect when you cry for me. Doing so good for me, baby. So good. That little cunt’s gripping me like it doesn’t want to let go.”

Another thrust. Another crest of pleasure. And then he stopped

Just stopped. Buried to the hilt. Not moving.

You whimpered, hips rolling against him on instinct, but he held you in place with one hand around your throat just tight enough to still you.

“You’re so close I can feel it,” he murmured. “But you’re not there yet. Not until you break.”

Your clit throbbed. Your body shook. You were wrecked.

“Bucky, please…”

He held your face in his hands, eyes boring into yours.

“You trust me?”

“Yes,” you whispered. “Always.”

“Then give me everything.”

And he took it.

He moved again, slow at first, then harder, deeper, faster. The pace edged into brutal territory, the sound of your slick heat echoed in the steamy bathroom, and your cries bounced off the walls.

Every time you hit the edge, he denied you. Again. And again. Until your legs gave out and your tears fell freely and your lips couldn’t form full words anymore.

“Please, Bucky,” you begged. “Don’t stop. Let me…please…”

He grunted, driving into you.

“Look so pretty like this. Taking all of me. Like you were made for it.”

He rubbed your clit again, this time in more insistent, more perfect circles. He grabbed your hair, yanked your head up.

“You wanna cum?”

“Yes! Please!”

“You gonna thank me when I let you?”

“Yes, Bucky. Thank you, thank you—”

“Cum.”

The command detonated in your bloodstream. Your back arched. You screamed, your pussy pulsing in tight, spasming waves around his cock. You shook from the inside out, sobbing his name, and absolutely broke apart.

Bucky groaned into your neck, thrusting through your aftershocks until he came, deep and hot, buried in you, his whole body shuddering with release.

You collapsed against him under the water, both of you gasping, trembling, utterly spent.

Eventually, he kissed your forehead, hand stroking your cheek.

“You took it so well,” he murmured. “My perfect girl.”

Your voice was hoarse.

“You’re gonna kill me one day.”

He smiled, kissing you again.

“Not until I’ve made you cum like that a hundred more times.”

—--

The next afternoon, the two of you were lazing in Bucky’s bed, having slept and cuddled most of the day. But even in that bliss, you felt it: the slow, creeping return of tension. It slithered back into his shoulders as he sat up and began to button a crisp shirt, each movement precise, and almost too careful.

Sam was coming over for dinner. But Bucky was thinking too much, still carrying the weight of his world behind those pretty blue eyes.

You still had a couple of hours.

So, you decided to break his brain before dinner.

You walked over to the armchair where he was sprawled scrolling emails and trailed a hand lazily down his chest. Your lips found the place just under his jaw.

“Let’s play a game,” you whispered, fingers dipping below his waistband before you pulled back and walked toward the table.

He raised an eyebrow, his suspicion clear.

“What kind of game?”

You pulled a slim deck of cards from your tote, a novelty thing from a friend’s bachelorette weekend, once laughed at and forgotten.

Until now.

“Give and Take,” you said, smiling sweetly.

“One of us draws a card. The other does what it says.”

He narrowed his eyes, amused.

“And if we refuse?”

You shrugged, cocking a brow.

“Then the other gets a point. First to three wins. Winner decides how the night ends.”

That got him. Bucky loved rules. Loved breaking them. And he loved choosing when to surrender.

“Alright, Charm,” he said. “Deal.”

You pulled the first card.

GIVE – Eye contact. While touching. No talking. One minute.

He pushed the chair back, inviting you in with the lazy sprawl of his legs. You climbed into his lap, straddling him, fingertips brushing the sharp line of his jaw.

You locked eyes.

The electricity bloomed instantly. His body reacted, fast and fierce, his cock thickening beneath you, his breath catching as you rolled your hips just barely against him… then stopped.

He twitched. His lips parted. But he didn’t break.

When the timer chimed, he snatched the next card and flipped it with a flick of his wrist.

GIVE – A whisper. Something filthy. Something real.

You leaned in. Your breath danced over the shell of his ear.

“I want to make you cum in your pants while Sam’s sitting right next to you.”

He twitched. All over. And his hands gripped your thighs like he was grounding himself.

“Your turn,” he rasped.

You drew your card.

TAKE– Let them tease. You can’t touch. Five minutes.

Your eyes gleamed as you set your timer and slid off his lap, dropping gracefully to your knees between his legs.

He sucked in a sharp breath.

“Shirt open,” you commanded.

He obeyed.

You dragged your tongue along the ridges of his abs. You dipped lower, hot breath ghosting over the bulge in his pants, and let your cheek brush against the thick line of his cock. Your mouth moved over the fabric, teasing his balls, the sensitive tip, the aching outline of him, but never giving more.

He groaned. His hips bucked slightly. You held him in place with your palms on his thighs.

The timer beeped.

Relief crossed his face. Until he flipped the next card.

GIVE – Ask for something. Nicely.

You turned the tables.

“Please tell me what you want right now, Bucky.”

He bit down hard on his lip, and your pussy clenched at the sight.

“I want your mouth,” he ground out, voice hoarse and fraying. “I want to cum down your throat.”

You leaned back on your heels, and licked your lips, as if considering.

“Too bad,” you whispered, licking your bottom lip. “You haven’t earned that yet.”

His cock twitched visibly, precum soaking through the fabric. His fists clenched on the chair arms, breath ragged.

Next card.

TAKE – Lap dance. No kissing. Two songs.

He exhaled like he’d been punched in the gut.

You put on the speaker. Rihanna’s Kiss It Better began to thrum low and sultry through the room.

Your eyes flicked to Bucky’s, and he swallowed hard.

You straddled him again and moved. Slow circles of your hips ground right down on the bulge in his pants, and your ass dragged over him with just enough friction to torment. You kept your hands on his shoulders, your lips just out of reach.

By the time Diamonds and Pearls came on, he was sweating.

He whimpered, his hips barely resisting the urge to buck up into you. He was shaking now.

“I’m close,” he gasped.

“Charm…fuck, I’m gonna– ”

You stood up and he let out a sound like you’d ripped his soul out.

“Next card,” you said lightly, drawing from the deck as he sat there, ruined.

His eyes shut as he heard the words.

GIVE – Beg. Without touching.

He looked wrecked. His mouth was red, his hair disheveled, and his pupils were blown.

“Please,” he breathed.

“Please let me touch you. Let me taste you. Let me fucking cum. I’m losing it.”

You leaned in, mouth almost brushing his.

“Not yet, sweetheart,” you whispered.

“One more card.”

He picked it up with shaking fingers.

TAKE – Let them taste. One minute. That’s all.

He dropped to his knees before he even finished reading it aloud, then he pushed you back on the bed, pulled your thighs apart and buried his face between them.

The moment he tasted you, he moaned, licking at you like a man starving. Tongue flat, then pointed, then swirling. He mouthed your clit like it was the only thing keeping him alive. His grip on your hips was bruising.

You were soaked, shaking, and already close.

One minute passed; you pushed him back.

“No,” he growled, trying to chase you.

“Better go change your pants, Sergeant,” you purred.

“Sam will be here in twenty. And you’re not going to cum… until after dessert.”

He stayed on his knees, panting, flushed and furious. And grinning like a man undone.

“You’re gonna ruin me.”

“That’s the point.”

—-

At 6:30 sharp, you were dressed and deadly in a black dress that hugged every curve. No bra. No panties. And Bucky knew it.

He opened the door looking put-together, but tight, barely in control.

Sam grinned. “Good to see you, man.”

Then his eyes shifted.

“Well damn. You must be Charm. He didn’t say you were gorgeous.”

You smiled sweetly and took Sam’s offered hand.

“He also didn’t say you were this charming. You too always withhold information from one another?”

“Only when it comes to feelings,” Sam joked, clapping Bucky on the shoulder, missing the subtle flinch it drew.

You were watching Bucky closely. The slight stiffness. The twitch in his jaw. The way his hands kept flexing like they needed to hold something. Or someone.

Dinner was set: simple pasta, garlic bread, wine. Easy enough to manage while your mind ran absolutely wild with all the things you wanted to do to your man after dessert.

The conversation flowed. Mostly.

You asked Sam about the transition to being Captain America. He asked you about teaching. Bucky interjected here and there, quieter than usual, his fingers white-knuckled around his fork.

His leg bounced.

So you slid your bare foot under the table, and up his leg.

He froze mid-sip; you went higher.

“You good, Barnes?” Sam asked.

“Fine,” Bucky rasped. “Wrong pipe.”

Your foot pressed between his thighs.

Sam kept talking. You kept teasing. Bucky unraveled. He was flushed, damp at the temples, shifting constantly in his seat. His cock was straining again, still aching from earlier, but still denied.

Finally, Sam stood.

“Early flight. I should head out.”

Sam stepped in for a quick hug and a beautiful smile.

“You take care of him, alright? He’s a grumpy bastard, but he means well.”

“Don’t I know it,” you said, your smile angelic.

As soon as the door shut behind Sam, Bucky spun around.

“Take off the dress.”

You raised a brow.

“Excuse me?”

“You knew I was barely hanging on.”

His voice was low, dark with need.

“You're wearing nothing under that dress. You played footsie under the table while I tried to pretend I wasn’t already leaking in my pants from what you did earlier.”

“Poor thing,” you murmured.

“Did you want to cum in the middle of dinner, Bucky? With Sam sitting right across from you?”

He stalked toward you like a predator finally let off the leash.

“I would’ve. If you’d told me to. Right there. Right in my fucking pants.”

You stood your ground.

“You’re not in charge tonight.”

He stopped. Breathing hard. Neck flushed.

“Then tell me what to do.”

You stepped up close, sliding your hands into his hair, tugging gently so he looked at you.

“On your knees, Baby.”

He sank immediately.

You slipped your dress over your head and stood there naked and glowing in the low light. Bucky looked up at you like you were divine.

“You don’t touch me until I say. You don’t speak unless I ask. And you don’t cum until I allow it. Understand?”

He swallowed hard.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You grinned.

“Good boy.”

—---

He was on his knees.

Shoulders wide, thighs parted, chest rising and falling with deep, restrained breaths. The collar of his dress shirt was open, sleeves rolled. He hadn’t dared take it off.

You hadn’t given permission.

But you stood over him, completely bare.

“You’ve been very good tonight,” you said, voice like silk. “And very patient.”

He nodded, eyes flicking up your body with reverence. And hunger.

“Thank you,” he rasped.

“For dinner. For… everything.”

You ran your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly, watching his eyes flutter shut as he leaned into the touch.

“But you want more.”

“God, yes.”

“Even after I tortured you through the entire meal?”

He let out a breathless laugh.

“Especially after that.”

You smiled and pulled his face against your inner thigh.

“Then earn it.”

And he did. Instantly.

He kissed up the soft line of your leg, slow and open-mouthed. But when he reached your cunt, you pulled back. Just enough to drive him insane..

“Not yet.”

His groan was guttural.

“Please, Charm…”

“You want your reward?”

You reached down and traced your fingers along his jaw.

“Then you have to keep your hands behind your back and your mouth very busy.”

Obedience was instantaneous. His hands locked behind him, his posture was perfect. And he opened his mouth like a man ready to be fed.

You stepped forward and let your pussy press against his face. The moment his tongue met you, everything inside you tightened. He licked a long, slow stripe up your slit, moaning into you, like your taste alone was bliss.

“That’s it,” you whispered. “Take your time.”

And he did. Tongue teasing your clit, then dipping lower, circling and stroking, his mouth working you with slow, endless hunger. His nose bumped you rhythmically, your hips starting to roll against his face, chasing each wave of pressure.

You glanced down, and his eyes were locked on you. His jaw worked like he was starving, like this was his first real meal. And he was so good at it. The perfect pressure. The perfect rhythm.

“Fuck, baby—”

You grabbed the edge of the counter for balance as heat coiled tight in your belly.

“You’re going to make me cum just like this.”

He moaned into you, encouraged, mouth open wider, his tongue curling up just right, and you grabbed his hair and rode his face.

He held still and strong beneath you, his cock aching in his slacks, untouched and forgotten.

And then it hit. A sharp, blinding orgasm that rippled through you, your thighs clenching, cunt pulsing against his mouth. He licked you through it, gentle now, soothing your shaking legs until you could breathe again.

“Good boy,” you whispered, fingers stroking his cheek.

“You’ve earned something else now.”

His breath hitched.

“Bedroom. Now.”

You walked slowly to the bedroom, Bucky behind you. Once there, you turned, voice firm.

“Strip.”

He obeyed in record time. Shirt, pants, boxers, all discarded, leaving him bare, flushed, already leaking, his cock thick and red and so, so ready.

You pushed him back onto the bed and straddled his thighs, letting your soaked heat brush the length of him.

“Look at you,” you murmured, sliding your fingers up his shaft. “So eager. So desperate.”

His hips jerked on instinct. You pinned him with yours.

You took him in hand, guided his tip to your slick folds. Rubbed it there. Let him feel it. But didn’t let him in.

He whimpered.

“Do you want to cum, Bucky?”

“Please. Baby, I need it. I’m dying.”

“Then beg. Properly.”

“I need to be inside you, Charm,” he rasped. “I’ll be so good. I’ll take everything. Please. I need to feel you. I need to fill you. Please let me cum inside.”

You let his tip breach you. Just enough. His head dropped back, a strangled sound ripping from his chest. But you didn’t let him thrust.

Instead, you slid down slowly, inch by inch, taking him in deep until he was fully seated inside you.

And then you stopped.

“Stay. Just like that.”

His entire body was trembling. His cock throbbed inside your cunt. His fists clenched in the sheets.

“Charm…baby, please…I can’t…”

You leaned down and kissed him.

“Not yet,” you whispered. “You’ll know when.”

Then you began to move in slow, deliberate rolls of your hips. Just enough to feel him, to keep him simmering, but never enough to push him over the edge.

He was huge inside you, stretching you perfectly, the thick head of his cock dragging over your sweet spot with every slow grind. His hands clutched the sheets like a man in pain.

“God,” he choked. “You’re so tight. So warm. I…fuck, I can’t…”

“You can,” you whispered in his ear, dragging your teeth along the edge.

“You will. Because it’s not time yet.”

He groaned, head tossed back into the pillows, jaw clenched, muscles straining under you. You ran your hands over his chest, over the muscles twitching beneath his skin. His eyes opened just enough to find yours.

“You want to cum so bad, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he choked. “God, yes.”

You clenched around him and stopped again.

“I know,” you said sweetly.

“I can feel how close you are. You're twitching inside me, Buck. Leaking for it. You’re aching to lose control.”

His hips bucked, instinctive, but you had him pinned. Even though he was much stronger than you, he wouldn’t thrust. Wouldn’t move.

“You’re gonna wait,” you said. “Until I say. You’re going to stay right there and take it. Because you’re mine. Just lay there and take it, handsome.”

“I can feel it. You’re twitching. Leaking. Holding it for me like a good boy.”

He sobbed through gritted teeth.

“I’ll wait. I’ll wait. I swear.”

“You’re going to. Because you’re mine. And you don’t cum until I say so.”

You rode him harder, faster now, chasing your own orgasm while holding his hostage. His hands were shaking, his thighs trembling under you, and he was babbling now.

“Fuck, you feel so good. I’m gonna blow, Charm, I can’t…please…need to cum, please let me, let me…”

“Not. Yet.”

You clenched around him again and he turned his head and screamed into the pillow, sobbing with pleasure and denial.

You trembled against him, cumming hard, pussy pulsing, your cries loud and raw. And still, he didn’t cum.

You leaned down, forehead pressed to his, your body still trembling with aftershocks.

“You’ve been so good for me,” you whispered, stroking his sweat-damp hair.

“So obedient. So desperate.”

“Please,” he begged, his voice wrecked.

“Please let me cum. I’ll do anything. I’ll get on my knees, I’ll eat you out ‘til morning, I’ll fuck you senseless, I need it, baby, please.”

You kissed him, and then you whispered: “Cum for me, Bucky. Now.”

The second the words left your mouth, he broke.

His body arched off the bed, his hands grabbing at your hips to pull you closer. His mouth opened in a silent scream as he came harder than he ever had. Thick spurts of semen filled you, pulsing deep inside as he shook beneath you, every nerve alight with release.

You held him through it, kissing his cheeks, his jaw, murmuring praise as he sobbed your name and trembled beneath you.

When it passed, he collapsed under you, ruined and glowing.

“You took it so well,” you whispered, fingers stroking his sweat-slick hair.

“You were made for this.”

He smiled softly, dazed, and blissed beyond reason.

“I fucking love you, Charm.”

You curled against his chest, his heartbeat a steady rhythm beneath your cheek. He was totally relaxed now.

And if he got tense again, you’d let him decide if he wanted to take control or be controlled, whatever it took to keep him in this space.

“I love you too, Bucky. No matter what.”

———

Let me know what you think! 😓

#thunderbolts*#thunderbolts #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #congressman james buchanan barnes #congressman bucky #congressman bucky barnes #congressman james bucky barnes #sebastian stan characters #sam wilson

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pinkpurplesunrises · 26 days ago

Text

When the Darkness Felt Endless (You Were the Light I Found)

4500 words - I guess this is a middle long story - Alexia Putellas x Reader - Maybe this will heal the anxiety - Angst and Fluff - Happy ending - Mentions of depression and prostetics - Please read with care.

Writer's note: wow, wow, wow, you are all so kind! Keeps me going when the creative brain hits. Enjoy this piece while I finally get to work work. See you next week.

The headlines had stopped screaming her name. The lights had dimmed. The cheers faded like echoes in a cold, hollow tunnel.

Alexia Putellas sat in the back of her apartment, hood up, body curled into the corner of a couch she barely remembered buying. The only sound was the ticking of a clock she wished she could rip off the wall. Time was still moving. Everything was moving. Except her.

Her knee still ached, even though the doctors said it was healing. But they didn’t see the part that didn’t show up on scans. They didn’t hear the static that buzzed in her head every time she looked at her boots. Or saw the photos she’d flipped face-down.

Everything inside her was sharp edges and shame. And that voice… her own voice, somehow sounding like someone else. It told her this was who she really was: not the leader, not the fighter, not the hero. Just broken.

She hadn’t been outside in days.

And then the knock came.

It wasn’t loud. Just three soft, almost tentative knocks. Like the person on the other side wasn’t sure if anyone would answer. Or wanted to.

She didn’t move.

The knock came again.

“Alexia.” Your voice was gentle, but it carried something heavier underneath. Like you knew. Like you’d been here, too.

She hated that. That you might see her like this.

Why did you see her like this? You are just one of the neighbors.

“I’m not…” she croaked, but her voice cracked like dry wood. “Just go.”

But you didn’t.

“I brought food,” you said. “You can ignore me if you want. I’ll just leave it here.”

Silence.

“I’m coming back tomorrow.”

That night, Alexia sat with the food untouched on the kitchen counter. Staring at the note you left beside it.

You’re not alone.

She hated how much she wanted to believe it.

You kept coming back.

Every day.

Sometimes with food. Sometimes with nothing but silence and that look. The one that said you see her. Not the athlete. Not the legend. Just her. And she couldn’t stand it.

The third day, she opened the door. Only a crack. Just enough for you to see the bruises under her eyes. Not from fists, but from insomnia and tears.

"You don’t have to…" she started.

"I know," you said. No hesitation. "I want to."

She hated that answer.

Because it didn’t make sense.

People only stay when they want something. That’s what her mind told her. That twisted, looping thought she couldn’t shut up.

What did you want?

Whatever it was, she didn’t buy it.

Fame by proximity? A favor? A story to tell your friends. ‘Oh, I saw Alexia Putellas fall apart once. Up close.’

Or maybe you were just like her… sick with guilt and pretending not to be.

Still, she let you inside that night.

You didn’t ask questions. Didn’t push. Just sat on the floor while she stared at the ceiling. And somehow, in the silence, she cracked.

“They keep saying I’ll come back stronger,” she muttered.

You turned to look at her, eyes soft but honest. "And what do you say?"

She laughed. Bitter, low. "That I’m tired of lying.”

There it was.

The truth spilled from her lips like poison. "I don’t even know who I am without football. Without winning. Without people chanting my name. When it’s quiet like this…" she gestured around the dim apartment, “I can’t hear anything except how much I hate myself.”

Your voice didn’t break, but it trembled with understanding. “I know that feeling.”

She studied you for the first time. Really studied you. There was a weight behind your eyes. Not pity, she would’ve shut down if it were pity, but recognition.

You’d been there, too.

“I used to think if I could just do enough, be enough… maybe I’d stop feeling like a burden,” you said. “Turns out you can accomplish everything and still feel like you’re rotting inside.”

A beat passed. She almost stopped breathing.

Because it felt like you were inside her head.

“Why are you here?” she whispered.

“I don’t know. Maybe because when I look at you, I see someone worth saving.” You paused. “And I wish someone had done that for me.”

She turned her face away so you wouldn’t see the tear fall. But she felt your presence, warm and still. Not trying to fix her. Not telling her to “get back up.” Just… there.

The silence between you was heavy, but not suffocating. For the first time in weeks, she didn't feel like she was falling alone.

Later that night, as you left, she murmured it… half asleep, half broken, but clear:

“Luna.”

You turned back. “What?”

“That’s what I’m gonna call you,” she said, voice hoarse. “You’re quiet. But you show up when it’s dark.”

You didn’t reply. But you smiled. And somehow, that smile stayed with her long after the door closed.

One evening, she was distant, colder than before. You noticed it the moment you stepped in. Her eyes avoiding yours. Her body taut like a wire ready to snap.

You became her Luna, the quiet light in her darkest nights.

But even the moon disappears behind clouds.

“Alexia?” you asked softly.

She shook her head, voice sharp and brittle. “I don’t need anyone.”

That cracked something inside you. A fissure that had been growing since you met her. But you held your ground. Refusing to let her slip away.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” you said.

She laughed but there was no humor. “You don’t understand. Nobody does.”

Her voice broke, just for a second, but that was enough.

“I hate who I’ve become,” she confessed. “The injury, the silence, the empty space where my future used to be. Every time I look in the mirror, I hate her. Hate myself.”

The raw pain in her words stabbed you. You reached out, trembling, to touch her arm.

But she flinched.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “I’m broken.”

You wanted to scream, to shout that she wasn’t. That no one was broken beyond repair. But your voice caught in your throat.

Because you knew this was a battle she had to fight inside herself.

Days passed, and the distance grew. Texts left unread. Calls unanswered.

You tried to respect her space, but the silence swallowed you whole.

One night, your phone lit up, a message from her.

“Go away.”

It was simple. Cold.

You stared at the screen. Heart shattering.

But you didn’t reply.

Instead, you showed up at her door the next morning. No words. Just presence.

After a long moment, she opened the door, eyes red and swollen.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

You shook your head. “You don’t have to apologize for pain.”

Her lips trembled, tears spilling down. “I’m scared you’ll leave. Like everyone else.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promised. “Luna stays through the storms.”

And in that fragile moment, between fear and hope, she let you in again.

She never understood why you kept knocking. Why, out of all the faces in the building, it was yours.

The truth was, you’d never spoken more than a handful of words. Maybe five in total. Mostly just glances through half-open doors or hurried nods in the hallway.

Neighbors, not friends. But something kept pulling you to her door.

Tonight was no different.

Another knock. Three soft taps.

Alexia stared at the door like it was a stranger’s, heart pounding unevenly. She had so many questions, none of which she dared voice.

Why her? Why now? Why someone she barely knew. Someone she’d barely looked at?

She wanted to slam the door. Yo shut out the unknown. But her body betrayed her. The door cracked open.

There you stood. No food. No note. Just that steady, quiet presence.

You said nothing, just offered a small, almost hesitant smile.

She wanted to ask, Why? Why do you care?

But words wouldn’t come.

Instead, she looked away.

“It’s ridiculous,” she finally muttered. “You don’t even know me.”

You nodded slowly. “I don’t.”

“But you keep coming back.”

“Yes.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Why?”

You looked down at your hands, then back up… eyes steady.

“Because sometimes, when someone’s breaking in silence, the right thing to do is just... show up. Even if you don’t understand.”

Alexia’s chest tightened.

She hated feeling like a charity case. A project. Someone to be saved. She was a fighter, or she used to be. But now… now she felt like nothing.

“You don’t owe me anything,” she said, voice trembling. “You don’t have to be here.”

You stepped a little closer. Still cautious. Still respectful.

“I’m not here because I owe you. I’m here because I see you. And you deserve more than being invisible.”

Her eyes flicked to yours, searching for something. Hope, maybe, or just the truth.

She didn’t know what to say.

So she said nothing.

And in that silence, a fragile understanding settled.

But the walls were still up.

And the healing… if it ever came… was still far away.

You started staying longer.

Never asked to. Never assumed. Just waited. Always waited for her to open the door first.

The first time she left it unlocked, you stood there for a moment. Unsure whether it was an invitation or an accident. But when you knocked softly and she didn’t flinch, you stepped inside.

She was on the floor, back against the couch, legs drawn in. A hoodie swallowed her frame.

No words. Just your breath in the quiet.

You sat down across from her, not too close. The space between you wasn’t distance. It was permission. She needed that.

The silence stretched until it didn’t feel like silence anymore.

Finally, she spoke.

“You live across from me, right?”

You nodded. “End of the hall.”

Her eyes flickered over you, cautious. “How long?”

“About a year.”

She blinked. That long?

“You ever hear me cry?” she asked bluntly.

You didn’t lie. “Sometimes.”

Her jaw tightened. She looked away. “Bet that was pathetic.”

“No,” you said simply.

She didn’t respond, but something in her posture shifted.

You looked down at your hands. “I used to cry like that, too.”

She glanced up. “Used to?”

You hesitated. “Sometimes still do. Just quieter.”

That earned a dry, bitter huff. Not quite a laugh. But not silence either.

Alexia rubbed at her face. Her fingers trembling. “You know... I thought if I lost football, I’d lose everything. Turns out I did.”

“You didn’t lose everything,” you said.

She met your eyes. Sharp, tired, guarded. “What’s left?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. You didn’t want to say me. Not yet. Not when she barely let you touch her shadow.

So instead, you said, “Maybe something you haven’t noticed yet.”

Another silence. Heavier this time.

Then she asked, voice low, “What’s your name?”

You gave it to her.

She repeated it quietly, testing the sound. And then... without quite meaning to... she said, “Doesn’t suit you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “No?”

She shook her head. “You’re still Luna.”

Your chest ached, but in a good way.

She was letting you in. A little. Enough.

Enough for now.

You didn’t knock.

For the first time in weeks, your knock never came.

The hallway was quiet.

Alexia sat in the dark. Blanket wrapped around her like armor. Phone on the table. Screen blank. No texts. No sounds. Just the ticking again. That clock she still hadn’t taken off the wall.

Her apartment had never felt so empty.

She waited an hour. Then two.

Then three.

Maybe you were busy. Maybe you finally realized she wasn’t worth the effort. She told herself that. Repeated it like a mantra.

This is what people do. They leave. She should be used to it.

But something about your silence was off. Not cruel, not distant. Just… wrong.

So she stood. Pulled on a sweatshirt. Crossed the hallway.

Your door was closed. No sound from inside.

She hesitated.

Then knocked. Once. Twice. Three times.

No answer.

Her gut tightened. She knocked again, firmer. “Luna?”

Still nothing.

She didn’t mean to open the door. But it was unlocked, just like hers had been the night she let you in.

She stepped inside.

And stopped.

Your place was dim. Quiet. Lived-in but tidy. And in the far room... she saw the silhouette of you curled up in bed, facing the wall.

“Luna?” Her voice was barely a whisper now.

You didn’t turn.

She walked closer. Slowly. And then she saw it. The empty socket beside the bed. A sleek black prosthetic leg propped against the wall. The skin of your thigh raw and irritated. Like it had fought a battle all day and lost.

You still didn’t turn. But you spoke, voice low and flat. “Didn’t feel like being a person today.”

Alexia blinked. The words were a mirror of everything she’d ever said. Everything she thought only applied to her.

And suddenly, she felt like a thief.

You’d been showing up for her. Over and over. And she’d never once asked if you were hurting too. She never noticed your limp, never questioned your quiet exits. Never even saw the piece of you that was missing. Not really.

She’d been drowning so deeply in herself, she never realized you might be wading through your own hell.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.

You turned your head slightly, eyes tired but calm. “Would it have mattered?”

That answer gutted her.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “It would’ve.”

A long silence.

You gave a tired shrug. “It happened years ago. Car accident. I was in the backseat. Some nights I still dream I’m trapped there.”

She sat down beside your bed, not touching you. Just there.

“I used to think I’d never walk again,” you continued. “Then I thought I’d never be loved. Now I just try to get through the day without wanting to disappear.”

Alexia pressed a fist to her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be.”

“No. I am.” Her voice cracked. “You were always there for me. And I never asked about you. I never even looked.”

You glanced at her, lips curling just slightly. “That’s okay. You weren’t supposed to. You were drowning.”

She blinked fast, but tears slipped through anyway.

“I’m tired of drowning,” she said, voice almost inaudible.

Then, softer still: “Do you want me to stay?”

You nodded, just once.

And for the first time, she lay beside you.

No walls. No armor.

Just two broken people, side by side, in the quiet dark.

The morning sunlight filtered softly through your window, painting your room with pale gold.

Today was different.

Today you were getting a new prosthetic leg.

Your first in months.

The one designed to move. To run. To jump. To feel alive again.

You turned to Alexia, heart pounding with something close to hope.

“I have an appointment,” you said quietly. “Physio and the new leg fitting.”

Her eyes flickered, hesitation written in every line of her face.

“I don’t know if...”

You smiled gently. “I want you to come.”

For weeks, she’d barely left her apartment. The shadows clung too tight. The pain was too loud.

But something about your invitation felt different. Not a demand, but a promise.

She nodded slowly, pulling on a jacket she hadn’t touched in days.

Outside, the air was cool and sharp. A fresh contrast to the stale loneliness of her rooms.

You walked side by side. Tentative but steady.

The clinic was bright, bustling with life and the sharp scent of antiseptic.

You tried on the new prosthetic. Lighter, more flexible. And for the first time in months, you felt the thrill of movement.

Alexia watched, eyes wide, a small smile playing at her lips.

On the way back, you both walked a little taller.

And then, unexpectedly, you saw her.

Eli.

Alexia’s mother.

Her face softened at the sight of her daughter stepping out into the sunlight. Not alone but with you. the stranger who had quietly become her lifeline.

“Alexia,” Eli’s voice was gentle but firm, full of the unspoken worry and love only a mother carries. “I’ve been waiting for this day.”

Alexia’s lips trembled as she gave a nod.

Eli turned to you, eyes bright with gratitude. “Thank you for bringing her out.”

You exchanged a glance. Warm and quiet.

For the first time in a long time, hope didn’t feel fragile.

It felt possible.

The days after the clinic visit were quieter but not empty.

Alexia noticed it first in the mornings.

She woke without the usual weight pressing on her chest, the dark thoughts that tangled her mind overnight still there, but softer... distant echoes instead of a roaring storm.

You were part of that change.

Not because you said anything profound.

Not because you tried to fix her.

But because you simply were... a steady presence in a wrld that had felt fractured and cold.

One afternoon, Eli stopped by. She lingered in the doorway. Her eyes warm and kind.

“I see a change,” she said softly.

Alexia shrugged, unsure if she wanted to believe it.

Eli smiled gently. “Sometimes the right person doesn’t just walk into your life. They carry a light you forgot you had.”

That night, you two sat on her small balcony, wrapped in blankets, watching the city lights flicker.

She turned to you, voice quiet.

“You make this... lighter. Like the weight is still there but I can breathe underneath it.”

You reached out, fingers brushing hers briefly.

“That’s enough,” you said.

Alexia smiled, fragile but real.

In the dark, with you beside her, she let herself hope. For the first time in a long time. That maybe. Just maybe. She wasn’t alone.

The knock was soft but deliberate.

You opened the door to find Alexia standing there. A carefully balanced container in her hands.

“I made lunch,” she said, voice a little shy. “Thought you might want some company.”

You stepped aside, letting her in.

The apartment smelled faintly of warmth and effort. Something she hadn’t done in a while.

You ate together, the quiet between bites feeling less like an abyss and more like a space where something new might grow.

After the last forkful, Alexia looked at you, eyes steady.

“I’m going to the training grounds tomorrow,” she said.

Your heart skipped.

“Rehab,” she added quickly. “I’ve decided I can’t stay stuck. And they have staff there of course. Professionals who can help. Maybe even help you, too. With your new leg.”

You blinked, surprised.

“Would you like to come? Start yours together?”

You blinked, surprised.

“I… don’t really have any training clothes,” you admitted shyly, voice small.

Alexia’s lips curved into a proud, teasing smile. “You can wear mine.”

Your heart fluttered in a weird, warm way.

She caught your glance and laughed softly. “I’m serious. You’re going to need something comfortable. Besides, it’s about time I share more than just my pain.”

The morning sun spilled through the windows as you both prepared for the day ahead.

Alexia handed you a loose-fitting sweatshirt and sweatpants. Her training clothes, worn but clean.

You hesitated, fingers brushing the fabric. Feeling a strange flutter in your chest.

“You sure?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

She smiled, a mixture of pride and encouragement in her eyes. “Absolutely. It’s a start. We start together.”

The walk to the training grounds was quiet at first. Neither of you knew exactly what to say, or how to act.

You noticed the way Alexia kept glancing at you. Maybe nervous. Maybe hopeful.

When you arrived, the clinic staff greeted you warmly. Ushering you both into the rehab area.

The room was filled with equipment: parallel bars, treadmills, balance boards. A physical world of challenge and possibility.

You fumbled with the new prosthetic leg, its unfamiliar weight strange against your skin.

Alexia stood beside you, silently offering support.

“Ready?” she asked, voice soft but steady.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat.

Your first steps were awkward and uneven. The prosthetic didn’t quite feel like part of you yet, and your muscles screamed with unfamiliar effort.

Alexia’s own movements were cautious. Shadows of hesitation flickering in her eyes.

But neither of you gave up.

The physiotherapist guided you gently. Adjusting your posture. Encouraging you.

Between attempts, Alexia reached out, squeezing your hand briefly. A small anchor in the uncertainty.

You caught her gaze, and in that moment, words weren’t necessary.

Hours passed in a blur of effort and quiet triumphs.

By the end, you were both exhausted but smiling. The first genuine smiles in a long time.

On the walk home, Alexia slipped her hand into yours.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?” you asked.

“For coming. For staying.”

Your heart swelled.

When you stopped outside her building. The world seemed to pause.

Alexia looked up at you. Eyes searching. Vulnerable.

Slowly, she leaned in and your lips met in a soft, trembling kiss.

It was hesitant. A question and an answer all at once.

The kind of kiss that promises more than words ever could.

When you finally pulled apart, neither of you spoke.

But the quiet between you now held something new.

Hope.

And the beginning of something real.

A few weeks had passed since that day at the training grounds.

You and Alexia were officially together now. Girlfriends, as she’d said once. Shy but sure.

Most days, you found yourself spending hours in her apartment. The place that had once felt like a prison but was slowly becoming home.

Today, you two tackled the chaos of her room. Clothes piled on the floor. Unopened letters. And the shadows that still lingered in the corners.

You laughed quietly as you worked side by side. The easy comfort between you growing.

Later, she mentioned dinner at her mother’s.

“You’ll finally meet my mamá properly,” she said, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“And my sister,” she added with a smile.

Your heart fluttered, nerves bubbling up. Meeting family felt like a big step. But one you were ready for.

Before you left, you needed to freshen up.

Alexia’s shower was small, built before your accident, not quite made for someone like you.

You hesitated at the bathroom door, voice trembling. “I… might need some help.”

She looked up. Surprise flickering in her eyes.

You’d never seen each other quite like this. Vulnerable, exposed.

But Alexia didn’t hesitate.

She stepped inside, gentle hands steadying you as the warm water glided over your skin. Her arms wrapped around you, holding you close in the tight, steamy space.

“Thank you,” she whispered softly against your ear, her voice trembling with something raw and real. “Thank you for pulling me out of the dark.”

You leaned into her, heart pounding, feeling the weight of those words settle between you like a promise.

When you finally emerged, clean and steady, Alexia smiled softly.

“You’re beautiful,” she said simply.

You blushed, heart full.

Tonight, you’d meet her family.

But for now, wrapped in the warmth of each other, you felt ready for anything.

It still felt surreal. This place was yours and Alexia’s now.

A modest one-floor home nestled in a peaceful neighborhood, spacious enough for dreams and laughter and the quiet moments you both craved.

Boxes sat unpacked in the corners, a testament to new beginnings, but the walls already hummed with the promise of life unfolding.

Today was special.

Alexia had a match.

Her first game back after months of grueling rehab, of rebuilding not just her body but her spirit.

You could see the nervous energy radiating off her as she laced up her boots. Her eyes sharp but filled with a fragile hope.

Her mother was coming with you to watch. Her presence a steady, loving force that somehow made the day feel lighter.

The stadium buzzed with anticipation as you found your seats.

The whistle blew, and she was off.

Watching her move with fierce determination. The joy of the game shining through the sweat and effort, made your heart swell.

Each pass, each sprint, each goal attempt was a testament to her fight. Not just to return, but to reclaim.

Eli beside you smiled softly, whispering, “She’s stronger than ever.”

After the final whistle, you met Alexia outside the locker room, her face flushed. Breathless. Radiant.

“You did it,” you said, pulling her close.

She laughed, a sound of pure relief and triumph.

“We did it,” she corrected, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

----------------------------------------------------------

Writer's note: your thoughts about this one?

#woso community #woso writers #woso x reader #woso #fc barcelona femeni #woso fanfics #fc barcelona femeni x reader #woso imagine #my long story #alexia putellas fanfic #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader

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solbaby7 · 1 year ago

Note

Holy mother of pearl I need a part 3 of blurred lines like I need air to breathe

as you wish. but this lil blurb is it y’all 🤣

[ part 1 ] [ part 2 ]

Rhysand was being obnoxious.

Unreasonably jealous and filled with a need like no other—almost comparable to the one induced by the powder that still burned in your system—his mouth wouldn’t stop latching to the marks Azriel had sucked into your neck. “Don’t get all quiet on me now,” Rhys huffs out, teeth nipping at your ear from behind.

Water sloshes over the edge of the tub, soaking the floor and the clothes scattered in it but neither of you can find it in you to care. Not when Rhys’ cock felt so deep, fucking into the swollen mess of your pussy like it was the first time all over again. “Azriel’s still here. It’s rude.”

“Don’t,” He’s vicious in his reprimand, guiding you up and down the girthy length of him with ease. Nails bite into already bruised flesh but the relief overrides the temporary discomfort. “—ever say another males name while I’m fucking you.”

A low hum dips in your throat. “Jealousy’s sexy on you, High Lord.” The soft fat of your breasts drag against the rising muscles of his chest, manicured nails raking through strands of silky obsidian. “Worried he did a better job? Lived up to the rumors about those great, big wings of his?”

The hand that splays across the length of your neck is unforgiving when he pulls you in closer, noses touching and breath mingling when a growl grows in his chest. It should spark fear, force your heartbeat to rise but all you feel is the electrifying tingle of anticipation. “Did he?”

“Maybe,” You shrug, feigning nonchalance but you can feel the twitch of his cock from inside you. There’s no friction, just fullness as your arms remain looped over broad shoulders, cool air nipping at wet skin. “Can’t remember—was a little out of it.”

“Is that right?” Rhysand’s eyes glaze over a moment, a dark smirk forming on regal features. Through the drug induced haze, you have half the sense to notice the shift in the air. Gone is the mate willing to offer endless coddling and comforting words crooned into the sensitive spot below your ear. Sweet touches are replaced with the all-consuming power that made Rhys the most dangerous of all the High Lords; dark magic cloaking the bathing chamber in pitch black, cutting off all sense of sight and distorting sound. “Shall I give you a refresher?”

Familiar talons tease at the barrier of your mental walls, itching to sink in and take the reins. Goosebumps swarm your skin despite the warmth of the water lapping at your legs. “Do as you please—take notes if you must.”

Your mates leniency towards your steadily growing snark seems to dwindle with each sentence spoken and he’s less than gentle when breaching the boundaries of your mind, rooting around as if he owned the place. Rhys yanks the offending memory forward, his presence lingering at your back, breath tickling at your neck as you’re forced to watch with him.

Watch you and Azriel—the fucked out glaze in your eye. The moans and hoarse screams for it harder. Deeper. “It surprises me that you could’ve forgotten this,” Rhysand taunts, chuckling to himself at the pliant lean of your body when his hands mimic Azriel’s. Fingers pinch at hardened nipples, copying the cruel pace set until witty remarks fizzled away; all the spark snuffed out by alluring darkness and the delicious drag of Rhysand’s cock inside of you. Your eyes begin to flutter closed when a hand curls around your jaw, face forcefully raised to keep watching. “Pay attention,” The rasp in his tone shoots right between your thighs and it’s impossible to resist wiggling your hips, meeting every thrust until you swore you could feel both of them at the same time. “Don’t look away,” He commands, barely winded. “Or I’ll stop and leave you here to ride this out on your own.”

Thank the Mother he was standing behind you, unable to catch the harsh bite of your lip and the pitiful wobble of your chin. But still, you obeyed. Never tearing your eyes away for even a second as Rhysand fucked into you, hands gripping at your hips and wandering the length of your body before the touches began to lose its synchronicity. “It’s so deep,” The whine is abruptly cut off, a palm pressed against your lips as he manually silences you.

“That’s not what you said to him.” One finger raised from your face to point at the memory, Azriel’s gruff words muffled by the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. Every nerve burns, muscles screaming with tension as that coil tightened more and more and more in the pit of your belly. “I thought you were worried about Az hearing you, pretty girl?” Your neck cranes as he pulls your back flush to his chest, resting your head on his shoulder but the devastating thrust of his hips don’t stop and the angle threatens to force your eyes closed. “Don’t be fucking rude.”

It’s torture; trying to remain quiet with so much happening. You swear you can feel Azriel’s hands on your body, skipping past Rhys’ own while twin tongues taste at your neck. Your sounds muffle against his palm, water splashing and skin slapping until four hands became too much for one body.

“He didn’t fuck you like this,” The High Lord all but snarls in your ear, two strong fingers rubbing at your clit in firm circles. “Say it.”

“He didn’t—“ You stammer over the words, garbled syllables rumbling against the hand that slides back down to your throat and the memory is shoved away; tucked in a box and lock deep within the corners of your mind. “He didn’t fuck me like this. Not how you do.”

Plush lips kiss at sweat-slick cheeks, tongue claiming at the line of your jaw and teeth sink into the already bruised expanse of your neck. “Now say it like you mean it.”

It’s too much, the teasing and that possessive bite in his grip. “No one does it like you, Rhys.” You’re so close, fingers digging into the edge of the tub, back arching into him as you teetered that line—coil threatening to give at any second. “No one ever will.”

#acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #acotar x you #acotar #azriel #high lord rhysand #acotar azriel #rhys x reader smut #rhysand smut #rhysand acotar #rhysand x reader #rhys x reader #rhys acotar #rhysand #rhys smut #azriel x reader #acotar x reader smut #acotar fics #acotar smut

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jacaerysgf · 1 year ago

Text

lies and sneaking

summary; requested: you are sick of being stuck inside the stone hedge walls and decide to sneak out. You end up running into the worst man you know but it leads to a lot more.

fancast!benjicot blackwood x bracken!reader

w.c: 1.4k

c.w: fluff, minor angst, twin!aeron bracken, minor smut, benjicot is annoying, not proofread

perm benjicot taglist: @lyssaluvs @yeolsbubbles @lenasvoid @at-a-rax-ia @poppyflower-22 @helpyourself-9 @kiraflowersworld @randomgurl2326 @valdezthg @mysticmusicinkpop @tiredsleepyhead @secretf1lms @hardkiddonut @hydrxxxmrti @stlzking @smh-anon @shootinqstars101 @charvsz @helo1281917

you were giddy that you had even managed to sneak out of the castle at all. despite the late hour the town seemed to be as alive as ever and you could barely believe it.

But you got careless and weren’t paying attention until you bumped into somebody’s back. “oh my gods i am so sorry.” the guy turns around and waves his hands, “no no its,,,” his face drops and you freeze upon seeing him “bracken.” benjicot blackwood. Of course you had to run into him. he was the fucking worst. always tormenting you and your brother, not that you never tormented him back, you all were stuck in this endless hateful loop.

you shush him and look around desperately praying nobody heard him. “please just act like you never saw me.” you try to move away from him but he grips your arm and pulls you into his chest and peers down at you a large grin. “oh i dont think so.” you try to pull away from him but he keeps an arm firmly wrapped around you. “what would your dear old daddy think about his precious little baby sneaking out to town to do gods know what.”

you huff and manage to shake your way out of his arms and hiss at him, “if i am going to get caught i might as well make the most out of it.” you turn away and just pray he truly does not knock on your fathers door and tell him you were here. you thought that would be the last of it and you would not see him again but you hear footsteps trailing behind you and you stop and the footsteps stop too.

you turn around and glare at him while he still has that mischievous grin on his face. “what do you want?” his smirk cant seem to leave his face, “im merely making sure the pretty little pampered princess makes it around okay, wouldn’t want you getting hurt.” you tsk and turn away from him, “fine follow me i dont care.”

you walk for awhile merely looking around the town. “you have no clue where to go huh?” you groan and turn around to him throwing your hands up with annoyance. “yes okay i have no clue where im going i just want to have a little fun but the only place i ever go into town is to the bookstore with aeron but i doubt that would be any fun right now.” you scratch your head in frustration. he takes a step closer to you and you step back, “i can show you somewhere fun.”

You want to say no that he should just go fuck off and leave you alone. but you’re sure he knows a good place to go. is he even trust worthy? no he definitely is not. “fine.” you still cant help but accept his offer and he grabs your forearm and begins to pull you along with him. you almost want to ask him where hes taking you but you dont get the chance before he walks you into a building and you’re immediately hit with the strong smell of alcohol and sweat.

you cough lightly into your fist but he just pulls you against him and continues to walk along. “why are we here?” “where else are we supposed to have fun hmm? you have any ideas?” when you say nothing he hums, “thats what i thought.” when he walks up to the counter and buys the two of you a bottle you take the opportunity to look around the place. It was packed, bodies at every corner and turn, you can see people dancing and turn your head when you see a couple in the corner having way too much fun. suddenly you feel a hand on your ass and turn to look at the guy and he just grins at you.

Benjicot sudden pushes the guy on his chest and glares at him. “get the fuck away from her.” the guy runs away at benjicot’s hard stare and deep voice and you place a hand on your chest to calm your racing heart. you dont know what has your heart racing, the fear or the fact that ben had gotten protective over you.

you shake the feeling from your head you shouldn’t be thinking like that. he is a blackwood for god’s sake. He pulls you to a darker corner of the room and sits you down next to him. pouring you a cup of the ale. The two of you just sit and chat for a while, you hate to admit it but he is good company, hes funny, he pays attention when you talk.

The more and more you drink and the closer and closer you sit next to each other. you don’t know who makes the move first, you think it was him or maybe that was your brain denying it had been you but neither of you reject the action. you grab the collar of his tunic and he grabs your hips, placing you on his lap. his fingers reach down and touch parts of you you never dared to. biting onto the fabric on his neck as your legs quiver from your peak.

Your peak brings a sort of clarity and guilt and dread washes over you as you can feel benjicots hardening cock on your thigh. so you run. you run and run until you can see your home back into view. you cannot believe you had done that and you would never forget it, how could you be so stupid? but as you toss and turn in bed you want to regret it but you cant. you want to see him again. but he’ll probably never want anything to do with you since you ran out on him. this is as it should be you remind yourself you two are supposed to hate each other.

you hope to let yesterday be nothing more than a memory as you tend to the cattle in the afternoon. you hear footsteps approaching and you turn around a smile at the sight of your brother. “brother i…” your words trail off as you see the furious look on his face, “aeron?” “were you in a brothel with benjicot blackwood last night?” you freeze. how could he have found out? “what,, what are you talking about?” you try to laugh it off as a joke but he just glares at you. “answer me.” you shrug as you begin to sweat, “no, that’s ridiculous.” “then why have i been informed you two were seen together last night?”

You feel heat crawling up every inch of your body. you did not want to lie to him but you certainly could not tell him the truth. “i was at the establishment and he let me sit as his table thats all.” “what in the hells were you doing there?” “i am locked here everyday with nothing to do i just wanted to see what it was like brother!”

You can see him having an internal conflict at your words. you want him to believe you. to drop this all in its entirety and move on. but he hardens up and he looks you in the eyes. “did benjicot blackwood touch you?” you straighten up and grab his hands, “no of course he did not aeron.” he turns his head away slight. you can tell he does not believe you and you heart aches, you love your brother but you cannot admit to him the truth.

“Benjicot Blackwood never touched me; I swear this to you, upon the memory of our mother!”

You know its a bad move to bring up your mother, his face completely softens at her mention. he has not been himself since she passed but you know its the one thing to get him to believe you. and he does he nods, “i believe you. im sorry for believing such rumors.” you pull him into a hug and stare out into the distance as he wraps his arms around you. you feel like absolute shit but at least it was over and that was that.

At least until later that day lord blackwood and benjicot show up at your father’s door and you find out benjicot had asked for your hand.

#benjicot blackwood #bloody ben #ben blackwood x reader #benjicot blackwood x reader #bloody ben x reader #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon #ben blackwood

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xichilie · 6 months ago

Text

Phainon x (fem) reader (4)

Part1 Part2 Part3 Part4

Phainon was already pacing by the edge of the newly formed pit, his usual bright energy replaced by sheer panic. He stared down into the darkness, fists clenched tightly. “We have to get her out. She could be hurt—or worse!”

“Would you stop pacing? You’re going to fall in too,” Mydei said, grabbing the back of Phainon’s coat to stop him from leaning too far. His calm, tough demeanor was still intact, though his furrowed brow betrayed his worry.

Tribbie knelt near the edge, peering into the dark abyss. Her blue eyes glimmered with determination. “It’s not that far down,” she said, pointing toward faint outlines of rocks below. “She’s probably okay… unless she landed on something sharp. Or something landed on her. Or—”

“Not helping, Tribbie!” Phainon snapped, his voice cracking slightly.

“Okay, okay!” Tribbie threw up her hands. “Just saying we need a plan!”

“Which is exactly what we’re doing,” Mydei said, already pulling a length of rope from his pack. “We go down and get her.”

“That’s obvious,” Phainon said impatiently, gesturing wildly toward the pit. “But what if there’s something else down there? What if—”

“You panicking isn’t helping either,” Mydei cut him off, his voice firm. “Keep it together, Phainon. She’ll be fine.”

Tribbie stood and brushed off her hands, shooting Phainon a reassuring smile. “She’s Y/N. If anyone’s going to handle this like a champ, it’s her. Still, Mydei’s right—we need to move fast.”

“What about Dan Heng and Trailblazer?” Mydei asked, tying a knot in the rope. “They’re not going to be thrilled if we leave them out of this.”

Tribbie nodded. “They’re not too far from where we split up earlier. I’ll go grab them. You two handle the ‘rescue operation’ while I run relay, alright?”

“Wait, why you?” Phainon asked, looking genuinely distressed.

Tribbie planted her hands on her hips, staring him down. “Because I’m the fastest and the smallest, and you two big guys can handle hauling her back up. Unless you want me down there with you, dragging Y/N out while you run to find backup.”

Phainon hesitated, then shook his head. “No. You’re right. Just… hurry, okay?”

Tribbie flashed a thumbs-up, already sprinting back toward the way they came. “I’m on it!”

Mydei turned his attention back to Phainon, handing him one end of the rope. “You ready?”

Phainon didn’t hesitate, grabbing the rope with both hands. “I’m going down first.”

“No, you’re not,” Mydei said flatly, looping the rope around a sturdy rock to secure it.

“What? Why not?” Phainon protested, his golden-retriever energy shifting into stubborn determination.

“Because you’ll get so distracted checking on Y/N, you’ll forget to watch your back,” Mydei said bluntly. “I’ll go first, make sure the path is clear. You follow once I give the signal.”

Phainon opened his mouth to argue but stopped when Mydei fixed him with a sharp glare. “Fine,” Phainon grumbled, his shoulders slumping slightly. “But hurry. Please.”

Mydei nodded and tugged on the rope, testing its strength. “She’s tough, Phainon. She’ll be fine.”

Phainon didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the pit below.

As Mydei began his careful descent into the darkness, Tribbie’s voice echoed faintly in the distance, calling out for Dan Heng and Trailblazer. Phainon gripped the rope tightly, his jaw set with determination.

“Hang on, Y/N,” he murmured under his breath. “We’re coming.”

____

The moment the ground gave way beneath her feet, Y/N felt a jolt of panic shoot through her chest. The darkness of the pit swallowed her almost immediately, leaving her disoriented as she tumbled downward.

The fall seemed endless. Wind rushed past her ears, and her fingers clawed at the empty air for anything to grab onto, but there was nothing. Only blackness.

Her mind raced as the descent continued. How deep is this thing? she thought, her heart pounding wildly. She tried to focus, bracing herself for the inevitable impact.

Then, just as suddenly as the fall had started, she hit something. But instead of jagged rocks or solid ground, she plunged into icy water.

The shock of the cold stole the air from her lungs, and she sank for a moment before instinct kicked in. Kicking her legs, she broke through the surface, gasping for breath. The sound of water lapping against unseen walls echoed around her, a stark reminder of how deep and empty this place was.

“Great,” she muttered to herself, wiping water from her eyes. Her voice echoed faintly, emphasizing just how alone she was. “A bottomless pit and a freezing underground lake. Perfect.”

Treading water, she took a moment to look around. Darkness pressed in on all sides, making it impossible to see where the lake ended or if there was any way out. She turned her head, squinting into the void, and that’s when she saw it—a faint light shimmering in the distance.

The glow was soft, almost otherworldly, and it reflected off the water like moonlight. It was coming from the far side of the cavern, beyond where she could see clearly.

“Well, that’s better than nothing,” she said, her voice a little steadier now.

She started swimming, her strokes strong and steady despite the weight of her damp clothes and gear. The water was cold enough to sap her energy if she stayed in too long, so she pushed herself to move faster.

The glow grew brighter as she neared it, and Y/N could just make out the edges of a rocky shore ahead. She allowed herself a small grin. “Still alive,” she muttered. “Not bad, Y/N. Not bad.”

As she swam closer to the light, she couldn’t help but wonder what she’d find on the other side. It wasn’t just the glow that intrigued her—it was the faint hum of energy that accompanied it, like the air itself was alive.

Her fingers finally brushed against solid rock, and she hauled herself out of the water, her boots scraping against the slippery surface. She sat there for a moment, catching her breath and wringing out her soaked gloves.

“Okay,” she said to herself, standing and looking toward the glowing passage ahead. “Let’s see where this rabbit hole goes.”

With cautious steps, she began moving toward the light, the faint hum growing louder with every step.

______

Phainon leaned as far over the edge as he dared, his eyes straining against the darkness below. “Did you hear that?” he asked, his voice tight with a mix of hope and anxiety.

“Hear what?” Mydei called up from where he was partway down the rope, his boots braced against the rock wall.

“That sound! Like… a splash.” Phainon’s ears perked up as if he were a hound catching a scent. “I think she landed in water!”

“You’re imagining things,” Mydei grumbled, adjusting his grip on the rope. “Or you’re just hoping that’s what happened.”

“No, I’m serious!” Phainon insisted, crouching down to peer into the pit again. “It was faint, but it was definitely water. She’s gotta be okay. She has to be.”

Mydei rolled his eyes and kept descending. “Even if you’re right, this rope isn’t long enough to reach the bottom. We’ll need to—”

The sentence cut off when the rope jerked suddenly, sending Mydei swinging against the wall with a loud grunt. “Damn it! It’s not secure enough for two people!”

Phainon winced, gripping the rope tighter from above. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to lean on it so much!”

“Then stop leaning!” Mydei barked. He braced himself against the wall, his sharp gaze scanning the depths below. The rope’s frayed end dangled uselessly a good ten meters above the bottomless darkness. “This isn’t going to work. We need another plan.”

Phainon frowned, glancing back toward the direction Tribbie had run. “We can’t wait for backup. What if she’s hurt? What if—”

“What if you stop panicking for five seconds?” Mydei cut him off, his voice dripping with irritation. “She’s not made of glass, Phainon. She’s probably—”

“Alive!” Phainon interrupted, his tone suddenly brighter. “See? You admit it! So we just need to get down there.”

Mydei pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re exhausting, you know that?”

“And yet, here we are,” Phainon shot back with a grin. “So, what’s the plan? We can’t just stand here!”

Mydei let out a long sigh, looking back at the dangling rope. “Fine. If you’re so eager, we jump.”

Phainon blinked, his grin faltering. “Wait, seriously?”

“Unless you’ve got a better idea,” Mydei said, his tone challenging. “We can’t climb the rest of the way, and the water you think you heard is probably our best bet.”

Phainon hesitated for half a second before nodding, his usual enthusiasm returning in full force. “Right. Okay. Let’s do it.”

“Hold on,” Mydei said, giving him a sharp look. “If you start flailing like an idiot on the way down, you’re on your own.”

“Flailing? Me? Never!” Phainon put a hand to his chest, feigning mock offense.

Mydei didn’t even dignify that with a response. Instead, he climbed back up to the ledge and secured his pack more tightly. “Stay close. If this goes wrong, at least I’ll have someone to yell at on the way down.”

Phainon chuckled nervously. “Reassuring. Very reassuring.”

Without another word, Mydei stepped to the edge, gave one last glance into the pit, and leaped.

“Wait, don’t just—oh crap!” Phainon shouted, watching him disappear into the abyss.

Not wanting to be left behind, Phainon took a deep breath, muttered a quick prayer to the Aeons, and jumped in after him.

The air rushed past him as he fell, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once. He could see Mydei ahead, the faint outline of his form cutting through the darkness like a comet.

Just as Phainon began to wonder if they’d ever stop falling, the icy shock of water enveloped him. He plunged deep into the cold, the sudden chill stealing his breath.

Kicking his legs furiously, he broke the surface with a loud gasp, blinking water from his eyes. Mydei was already treading water nearby, his expression as stoic as ever.

“Told you it was water,” Phainon said breathlessly, a grin breaking through his panic.

“Yeah, yeah,” Mydei muttered, shaking droplets from his hair. “Now shut up and swim. We need to find her.”

The faint glow from deeper in the cavern caught their attention, and without another word, they started swimming toward it, their determination renewed.

The icy water sent shivers through Phainon as he swam, but his usual golden-retriever grin was back in full force. “See? I told you it was water!” he said, splashing a bit as he caught up to Mydei.

“And yet I’m the one who jumped first,” Mydei replied, his tone flat as always. His strokes were efficient, barely disturbing the water as he moved toward the glowing light in the distance.

“Because you’re bossy,” Phainon shot back with a playful smirk.

“Because someone had to keep you from breaking your neck,” Mydei corrected, not even glancing back.

As the light ahead grew brighter, the hum of energy became more noticeable, vibrating faintly in the water around them. Phainon squinted, trying to make out details as they neared the glow.

When they finally reached the edge of the water, both men pulled themselves onto a rocky outcrop. The glow wasn’t just light—it was a series of bioluminescent crystals embedded in the walls, their ethereal glow reflecting off the still water.

“Whoa,” Phainon muttered, his eyes wide as he looked around.

“Focus,” Mydei reminded him, standing and scanning the area. His sharp eyes caught something on the stone floor: a trail of wet footprints leading away from the water.

“She’s alive!” Phainon exclaimed, his grin growing wider. He immediately took off after the footprints, water dripping from his coat as he jogged ahead.

“Phainon, wait!” Mydei hissed, hurrying to catch up. “You don’t know what’s down here.”

“Yeah, but I know she’s down here!” Phainon called back, his voice echoing off the cavern walls.

The footprints led them through a winding tunnel, the bioluminescent crystals continuing to light their path. The hum of energy grew fainter as they moved deeper inside, replaced by the soft, almost melodic sound of running water.

When they emerged from the tunnel, the sight before them was nothing short of breathtaking.

The cavern opened up into a massive, lush expanse. Vibrant green grass blanketed the ground, dotted with wildflowers in every color imaginable. A gentle river cut through the center, its crystal-clear waters sparkling in the soft light filtering from somewhere unseen above. Ancient ruins rose from the earth like sleeping giants, their worn stone walls covered in moss and vines.

Phainon stopped in his tracks, his mouth falling open. “Is this… real?”

“Looks like it,” Mydei said, though even he couldn’t hide the slight awe in his voice.

“This is incredible,” Phainon murmured, stepping onto the grass and letting his fingers brush against the tall blades. It felt soft and cool, like something out of a dream.

Mydei nudged him. “Footprints.”

The trail of wet footprints continued through the grass, leading toward the ruins. Phainon immediately snapped back into focus, following the trail with renewed urgency.

As they approached the largest structure, a temple-like ruin with crumbling pillars and an arched entrance, they spotted her.

Y/N was sitting on a large, flat stone near the riverbank, her damp hair catching the light. She had removed her boots and was wringing water from her coat, her sword resting beside her. She looked surprisingly calm, as if she’d wandered into a peaceful oasis instead of falling into a bottomless pit.

The moment Phainon spotted Y/N sitting by the riverbank, safe and sound, it was like the weight of the entire universe lifted off his shoulders. His blue eyes widened, and without thinking, he bolted toward her, his wet boots slipping slightly on the mossy stones.

“Y/N!” he yelled, his voice cracking with raw relief.

Y/N turned her head, startled, her damp hair catching the soft glow of the bioluminescent crystals. She blinked in confusion at the frantic look on his face, but before she could say anything, Phainon closed the distance in a flash.

She barely had time to brace herself before he tackled her into a hug, his strong arms wrapping around her with the kind of urgency you’d expect from someone who thought he’d lost her forever. The sheer force of it nearly sent them both tumbling back into the water.

“Phainon!” she yelped, more surprised than annoyed, as he buried his face into her shoulder.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, his voice muffled against her. “You’re okay, you’re okay…” He repeated it like a mantra, as if saying it enough times would finally calm the storm inside him.

Y/N froze for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden affection. Slowly, she let out a soft chuckle and awkwardly patted his back. “Uh… yeah, I’m okay. But, uh, I might not stay that way if you crush me.”

Phainon immediately loosened his grip but didn’t let go, his forehead still pressed lightly against her shoulder. “Sorry,” he mumbled, his voice tinged with embarrassment. “I just… I thought… when you fell…” His words faltered, the usually bright and talkative Phainon struggling to find the right ones.

Y/N softened, her teasing smile fading. “Hey, I’m fine. Really,” she said gently, her tone carrying a warmth that seemed to ground him. “See? Not a scratch on me.”

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his hands still resting lightly on her arms. His blue eyes searched her face for any signs of pain or injury, but all he found was her calm, amused expression.

“You’re… sure?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost vulnerable.

Y/N smiled, her tone laced with playful reassurance. “Positive. I even got a free swim out of it.”

That earned a small laugh from Phainon, his golden-retriever energy starting to seep back in. “I guess that’s one way to look at it.”

Before either of them could say anything else, a loud, exasperated voice interrupted them.

“Are you planning to let go of her anytime soon, or should I come back later?” Mydei’s sharp tone cut through the moment like a blade.

Phainon jumped, immediately letting go of Y/N and stumbling a step back. “I—I wasn’t—! I mean—!” He tripped over his words, his face turning a brilliant shade of pink.

Y/N laughed, brushing off her damp coat and giving Mydei a casual shrug. “It’s fine, Mydei. Let him have his moment.”

“His ‘moment’ nearly knocked you back into the water,” Mydei muttered, crossing his arms and raising an unimpressed eyebrow at Phainon.

Phainon scratched the back of his head, his sheepish grin doing little to mask his embarrassment. “Uh… sorry about that. I just… got a little carried away.”

“A little?” Mydei deadpanned.

“Okay, a lot,” Phainon admitted, throwing his hands up in surrender. “But can you blame me? She fell into a pit!”

“And yet she’s perfectly fine,” Mydei replied with a pointed look at Y/N. “Which is more than I can say for your dignity.”

Y/N snorted, giving Mydei a playful glare. “Alright, that’s enough out of you. Both of you, actually. We’ve got more important things to worry about than Phainon’s dramatics.”

Phainon straightened up, eager to prove himself useful. “Right! More important things! Like… this place!” He gestured to the lush surroundings, his enthusiasm bubbling back to the surface.

Y/N nodded, her expression shifting into one of awe as she took in the vibrant grass, the sparkling river, and the towering ruins. “Yeah… this place is incredible. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

“And that’s what worries me,” Mydei muttered, his gaze scanning the ruins with a wary eye.

But Phainon’s focus had already shifted back to Y/N. He watched as her eyes sparkled with curiosity, her earlier fall seemingly forgotten as she took in the wonder of their surroundings. His heart did a little flip when she turned to him and flashed him a grin.

“Come on, Phainon,” she said, nudging him lightly with her elbow. “You didn’t jump into a freezing pit just to stand there gawking, did you?”

Phainon laughed, his cheeks still faintly pink. “Nope! Lead the way, fearless leader!”

As she turned and started toward the ruins, Mydei sighed heavily and followed. Phainon lingered for a moment, his smile softening as he watched her go.

“Hopeless,” Mydei muttered under his breath as he passed Phainon.

Phainon snapped out of his daze and jogged to catch up. “What? I’m not hopeless!”

“You absolutely are,” Mydei replied, not even bothering to look at him.

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr art #phainon x you #phainon honkai star rail #phainon hsr #phainon x reader #phainon #hsr x reader #honkai x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x y/n #x y/n #x you #hsr x you #oc x character #x reader

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tardisblueten · 8 months ago

Note

Someone made an imagine scenario of The Doctor and reader going to an alien sex club (where couples were going at it in glass cages) and he takes her into a glass cage for them to use

My imagination can only do so much, I need this to be a full fic, please

•18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! •

Warnings: nsfw, voyeurism, exhibitionism, alcohol, afab-fem!reader. Notes: Thank you for the request! I hope I did it justice. Also credit to the original imagine author! Enjoy <3

The unusual techno music was thumping so loud you almost didn’t hear the roar of the excited crowd of aliens filling the exotic nightclub. It was dimly lit by neon strobe lights and was a struggle to see anything in front of you besides the endless thick sea of colorful creatures skimpily dressed in foreign styles you’ve never seen anything like before. The bodies swayed and danced to the strange song and it was hard to not stare in curiosity.

You almost jumped a mile when you felt the Doctor nudge your shoulder from behind you. You turned and he was holding two small glasses of some sort of cloudy neon blue liquid. “Here! Try this!” He pushed the condensation soaked glass into your hand with a wide-eyed toothy smile. He looked like an overly excited dog bringing you a bone. You had to strain to hear him over the booming music and the hooping crowd of aliens. You hesitatingly took the drink from him. “…What is it?” You scoffed wearily at the Doctor. “No idea!” He beamed before speedily throwing the blue liquid back like a shot, then wincing and jutting his tongue out. Well that’s reassuring… You thought. “This is my second one! Then I thought ‘ohh Y/N would love this!’” He howled.

Only his second one, huh? You rolled your eyes. Just then an alien parading a pare of bare blue tits squeezed through the crowd right in front of you and that was all it took for you to throw the drink back with no hesitation. The Doctor cackled at your shell shocked face. The blue drink had a sweet fruity taste at first that quickly burned into nothing but cold bitterness, making you wince as well. It was nothing like anything you had back on Earth, that’s for sure. “C’mon, let’s do another.” The Doctor grabbed your hand and woozily led you both to the front of the sardine packed room where the neon decorated bar was.

You already felt pretty dizzy as you let your hands drop down on the cold table of the bar. The slapping sound was barely audible due to the boom of the chaos around you. Your mind just kept replaying the question of what you just consumed and what club this even was. “You alright?” The Doctor asked, half concerned-half mocking, snapping you out of your looping thoughts. You looked up at him and saw two new yellow drinks were suddenly in his hands. “This planet is known for especially strong liquor. We can stop whenever you’d like.” He winked and chuckled as he handed you your cup then started sipping his own. You rolled your eyes and laughed. You willingly took your drink and began sipping the strong concoction. The both of you decided to take this round a little slower, enjoying the new gleeful buzz.

You took this time to try to make sense of what was happening in the club around you. You were only wearing jeans and a sweater but felt severely overdressed and as modest as a nun seeing all the next-to-nude or fully nude people. That’s when you finally noticed it. Just over your shoulder, behind the bar, was a stage. The stage bore two large glass cylinders. Inside each cylinder were completely naked alien couples. At first you thought they were swaying along to the loud music. You swung your head around to the Doctor with a bewildered, cringing grin on your face, only to see his gaze was almost glued to the couples in the glass cages. He looked mesmerized. You chuckled awkwardly, utterly confused, and then slowly turned your view back to the stage. You squinted, straining your line of vision in the dark room. You noticed they weren’t dancing. They were fucking.

Each alien couple was somehow connected at the hips. The first tank had a yellow lady with large bouncing tits, riding on top of the blue man. His dick wasn’t human like at all. You could only see so much from your bar stool but from what you could tell, there were purple tentacles attached all over his member. The pink woman from the other couple was on all fours. Her face was scrunched into a euphoric grin while the green man plowed into her from behind. You now understood why the Doctor was so focused on the obscene show. The way they moved was almost hypnotic. It was like an erotic train wreck. You had to force yourself to look away.

Your face was red hot. There was another heat that was naturally starting to bloom between your thighs that were now tightly pressed together in your seat. You felt shame for being turned on by the bizarre performance. You felt even more shame for even being in the club in the first place. And you felt ultimate shame for being there right beside the Doctor… You slowly looked at your partner for some kind of explanation you hoped he had to give you. The lower half of his face was hidden behind his now empty glass. He finally peeled his stare away from the erotic show and looked at you. His alluring brown eyes were heavy with something you couldn't place your finger on. “Doctor…” You tried breaking the awkward tension. The blaring bass barely allowed your uncomfortable speech to be heard by your companion beside you. “I kind of forgot…” He let out an awkward chuckle. You couldn’t tell if that was a lie or not. “This planet is also very famous for their… parties.” His eyes flickered to the direction of the obscenity behind you and then he snickered into his empty cup. “Parties…?” You raised your eyebrows at him with an uncomfortable laugh. “The mating rituals on this planet go way back. Now, it may seem very bizarre to your culture but these rituals are very sacred to the people here.” He put his cup down on the bar table. “Now days the tradition is still being celebrated but in a more modern fashion.” You just stared at the man. Not even knowing what to think. “Being selected to perform the act on stage for a big audience in a club like this is the highest honor. People can get very competitive over the chance to be chosen. What a thrill that must be!” He had to be joking, right?

You blinked at him. His remarks kept echoing through your tipsy head. You turned to watch the show again curiously. The first couple had apparently switched positions while the Doctor was busy explaining what was going on. The woman was now on her back with her legs straight in the air, the man thrusting behind her thick thighs. The other couple was still in the similar position from earlier but the lady was now sitting up on her knees while the man was still behind her. They both proudly wore big smiles. As you observed the show in a hypnotized state, you couldn't help but try to fantasize what it would be like to be in their places. To be fucked like that in front of a captivated audience who cheered for you. The woman’s hand was reached behind her to adoringly caress the alien man’s cheek as the front of his hips slapped the plush of her ass over and over. Out of the two couples, you were naturally drawn to the second one. The pair truly looked like they were having genuine fun. They were grinning and leaning into each other’s touch. The other duo looked too serious. Bored, even. It wasn’t as captivating like the others. You couldn’t look away. Before you knew it, you had been watching for at least fifteen minutes. Though you couldn’t possibly hear it from your seat, you could tell the passionate couple was moaning loudly with the way their heads were thrown back, their jaws hung open, and their face scrunched in pleasure. The guy began to quicken his pace behind the woman before abruptly stopping and clutched his arms tightly around her torso, his green hands squeezing her gorgeous breasts. The alien voyeurs roared with loud hoops and cheers. He buried his face into her shoulder and the two rested in this position, visibly panting and sweating.

You looked around you and saw all the alien clubbers cheering and going ballistic over the show’s grand finale. You looked back over at the stage and discovered the first couple had stopped. You didn’t notice if they had finished as well while the other duo had stolen all the attention or not. They just stopped the act all together sometime while the other tank was busy. They were sitting awkwardly far apart from each other. As far as the glass cage could allow them. The woman had her arms crossed. She looked deeply upset. “Ah, seems like we have a winner! The crowd favorite.” The Doctor stated with a smirk. You could barely look at him. Your cheeks were flushed pink with guilty arousal. “Winner? It’s a competition?” You asked, intrigued. “Not traditionally no, but to spice things up these days- typically the viewers will pick a favorite couple. They’ll go crazy when they… finish.” He informed. “So- What do they win?” You awkwardly chuckled. This whole thing was absurd. “The couple will usually get awarded by some of the planet’s leaders. It’s a big thing.”

“Congratulations to the winners!” You heard someone announce over a loud microphone. It came from a tall woman who sat regally in a golden, flowered covered chair that was on stage right. You never even noticed she was there that whole time because you were too hypnotized by the acts in the glass cylinders. She was completely nude except for the scarce jewelry made of pink flowers that adorned small sections of her blue body. She wore a crown made of pink and purple exotic plants. She must be one of the leaders the Doctor was talking about. “Beautiful performance, Creesto and Jariana. Simply beautiful. Thank you.” She put her hand over her heart towards the victorious partners who smiled and embraced each other with joyful tears in their eyes.

As the head-woman crowned and sang the praises of the victors with the crowd of aliens, you turned to look at the Doctor. He was clapping and whooping along. You rolled your eyes and just laughed. You felt compelled to clap your hands with them so you gave in. “Do we have any others that would like to give us our final performance of the season?” The blue woman announced over the microphone. You saw dozens of hands shoot up. “Wouldn’t that be an honor!” Chimed the Doctor beside you with an eager beam. You just snickered along to his joke. That’s when you watched him raise his hand with the extra terrestrial onlookers.

Your heart sank along with all the blood in your once rosy face. “Doctor…” You clawed at his arm as a desperate attempt to make him put his arm down and remain unnoticed with you. But his surprisingly strong arm remained proudly in the air like a flag. You shrunk in your seat beside him, horribly mortified. There were countless colorful arms up in the air amidst you. There was absolutely no way the leader would pick your friend out of all of the aliens jumping up and down with greed to be chosen. Right? “What is that over there?” The blue woman mumbled into the microphone as she shielded the magenta stage lights with her hand from her ethereal black eyes. You sat up and frantically attempted to pull the Doctor’s arm down. “No, no, no, no.” You pleaded. You were not about to watch your best friend fuck a random alien on stage. No way. Just thinking about him being intimate with another soul made your heart ache with jealousy and sadness. All those unspeakable dreams you often had suddenly rushed through your mind as your nails clawed helplessly at the Doctor’s sleeve. He couldn’t do this and you couldn’t watch.

“Forgive me if my eyes are deceiving me but-“ The regal alien announced. “Is that a human?” Oh no. The Doctor whipped his head to look at you with his slightly intoxicated cheeky grin. You wanted to run away. Just melt into the floor beneath you. But there you sat. Every single eye on you. “I- um.” you began, not knowing what to do. “Beautiful human girl,” the chairwoman said to you. “Would you bless us in closing out our mating season?” She gracefully held her hand out to you from across the room. Your heart pounded in your ears. That time you spent trying to imagine what it would be like to be fully naked and exposed up on that stage was all of a sudden close to becoming reality. "Your handsome male beside you is also welcomed to accompany you." She smiled with proud eyes. You looked staggered at the Doctor with wide eyes and your jaw nearly on the floor. “I would love to accompany you.” The Doctor said lowly where only you could hear. “If you’d like.” He added with a smug grin. You thought about it. If you were to do this, you would much rather share the sacred experience with the Doctor rather than a complete extra terrestrial stranger. The more you thought about it, you had to admit... the thought of having sex- with the man you loved most, especially- in front of hundreds of people, turned you immensely, accompanied by a thrilling adrenaline rush. You looked around at all the obsidian eyes on you. They didn’t look at you with lust or objectification. They instead looked at you with innocent excitement at the idea of a beautiful human girl performing in their beloved and sacred ceremony. You could tell how much this meant to them, and the Doctor as well, who was also beaming with eagerness. The thing you loved most about traveling with your friend was the love you both shared of just living life and trying new experiences.

“I’ll do it.” You yelled. The room went wild. “Why the hell not?” You grabbed a shot from the table and downed it back, hoping it would give you more confidence. “Fuck, are we really doing this?” You whispered anxiously into the Doctor’s ear while you both strutted to the stage, surrounded by the thunderous excited chatter. “You can always change your mind.” He squeezed your hand and gazed deeply into your eyes with a comforting smile. You glanced behind you to size up the exotic viewers. Your heart was racing as you were already imagining yourself getting fucked in front of everyone. It turned you on like hell. His firm hand held your shaking one to help you up the stairs to the stage and then he stood proudly beside you. "Your male," The superior gestured towards the Doctor. Her authoritative voice commanded silence from the crowd. “He is mightily handsome.” The Doctor humbly smiled down at his red shoes with his hands behind his back. “And you,” she gently caressed your chin with the tip of her long blue finger. “Are the most stunningly gorgeous human woman.” You blushed as the onlookers yelled in agreement. “How blessed are we tonight!?” She yelled to the room. Your ears were starting to ring from the powerful applause.

The alcohol buzzed throughout your warm body and gave you a newfound surge of confidence. Now you knew why the alcohol was so strong there. “Please, let us not waste anymore time. You may begin anytime you like.” She gestured to the the glass cage. A buff stage hand wheeled the other cylinder off stage as the Doctor eagerly walked to the remaining one. You caught his elbow, “Wait- I thought it was a competition?” You whispered in his ear. He started to take off his converse and you followed along, doing the same. “This is the final ritual of the mating season. It’s just us. How lucky!?” He exclaimed and climbed inside the glass tank. You took a deep breath and joined him. The door sealed and the house got eerily quiet in anticipation.

“You can always say no, Y/N.” Your companion grabbed your hands and looked into your eyes with concern. He could tell you were nervous. “No-“ You quickly replied, “I want to do this.” You smiled, now feeling braver. And wetter. “With you.” You whispered coyly, taking another deep breath. The Doctor smirked and pulled you into a peck. It was tender yet sent electric sparks throughout your body. Fuck, this is really happening, was all you could think. You tested the waters by slightly deepening the kiss. His hands snaked to your waist before you hastily threw your hands to his hair, tugging him in even deeper. You slipped your tongue between his soft lips, finally tasting the sweet taste of him that you could only dream about. His tongue attacked yours back as he gingerly leaned you down onto the cream colored cushions beneath you. He hovered over your body as you lay down, never breaking the passionate connection. You could taste the foreign alcohol on his breath as you both panted. You threw your arms around his neck as he began to kiss your neck and collarbone, licking sensitive spots on your skin that made you moan.

You almost jolted when you heard the onlookers cheer, suddenly reminding you of where you were. And what you were doing. Your now opened eyes looked at the Doctor with furrowed brows. He sweetly smiled and nodded, reassuring you everything is okay. He was right there with you. You could stop whenever you wanted. Your anxious expression transitioned into a devilishly aroused smirk at the thought of putting on a show like this. He finally began to remove your fuzzy sweater. He kissed along your exposed chest while snaking his hands to your back to diligently unclasp your bra. The viewers cheered at the sight of your tits on display. Not only were you now exposed to the man you loved most, but also hundreds of alien strangers. Your heart began to pound against your chest even faster. You liked the feeling of the cold air hitting your sensitive nipples as you watched the large crowd ogle at them directly. It made you feel vulnerable and exposed, yet incredibly special and sexy. Wanted. The Doctor chuckled at the oglers reactions while he started to remove his own tie and shirt. You began to gingerly trace your fingertips along his smooth chest. His skin was hot to the touch, sending more sparks to your own heat. You needed him. You no longer cared that you were in front of an audience. You needed him and you needed to show everyone how much you needed him. You pushed the brunet’s shoulders down onto the cushion under him and mounted his lap, unbuttoning his blue trousers while he grabbed at your own buttons. When you were both finally freed of your bottoms, you could now comfortably grind on his incredibly hard erection while he whined into your kiss. You couldn't believe this was actually happening. You dreamt of this exact moment for so long. You rid him of his boxers and slid your hand to his throbbing cock. You and the spectators both gawked at the sight. It twitched pathetically in your grasp while you stroked it while simultaneously kissing his neck and nipping at his ear. Your eyes flickered to the audience under your eyelashes, hoping so far you were giving them a show they’ll remember.

He threw his head back when your thumb rubbed underneath his sensitive pink tip. An ivory bead of precum slowly rolled down your finger and onto his pale base that was adorned with beautiful dark hair. You loved how much he was enjoying this. His cock was begging to be used by you more. His audience was not even a thought in his mind anymore as he watched the erotic sight of you ridding yourself of your panties and pushing his dick between your soft folds. You lulled your head to the side and moaned at the feeling of his shaft caressing your clit while you sluggishly rocked your hips. “Fuck-“ He groaned and grabbed your hips. You were soaking wet from this whole bizarre situation that you drenched his forlorn cock completely. The Doctor quickly grew impatient. He tossed you down on your back and kneeled between your thighs which had your slick dribbling down them.

The voyeurs audibly gasped at this new position. “It’s mandatory the woman cums first.” He whispered in your ear. Your heart felt like it was about to fly out of your chest at the thought of all of these strangers watching you be pleasured. The man got on his elbows in front of your cunt like it was his sole purpose and duty in life. He dove into your heat, nose first, pushing your lips aside hungrily. You almost screamed at the feeling of his warm tongue sliding across your sensitive pussy. His tongue flicked across your clit, sucking and slurping at the nectar you so graciously fed him. Your hands pulled on his hair frighteningly tight. The people loved this. They loved watching beautiful women feel pleasure. They loved watching you. You almost saw stars when you felt his tongue flick your clit faster. Your thighs clamped tightly against the Doctor's head as your back arched off the cushions and your orgasm snuck up on you. His suction never left your pussy as your body spasmed from the powerful waves of euphoria washing over you. You ears rang. Your legs shook. The roaring cheers echoed throughout your skull as your body finally calmed down and your partner’s tongue slowly departed from your soaked cunt. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned looking at the strings of your arousal clinging to his chin. Your face flushed bright red as realization of it all set in. You rolled your head to the side to look at the club, grinning in a daze at your adoring fans.

Before you even had time to catch your breath, the Doctor was lining up his aching cock to your weeping hole. He slowly inserted his length, biting his lip and groaning at the warm resistance. You gasped at the stretch and clung your nails to his forearms. “Darling…” He whined at you. “Fuck, you feel amazing.” After what felt like a painfully slow eternity, he finally bottomed out and caressed your cheek with his lanky hand. You gripped his arms tighter as he began to thrust his hips slowly. You shamelessly looked over at your viewers. You loved the hypnotized look on their faces as you let your best friend make love to you. They never broke stare with the obscene sight of the thick cock that plunged into your dripping pussy. “Hey,” The Doctor gently tipped your chin to look at him. The way he looked at you made your heart do somersaults. “Look at me.” He whispered tenderly. His chocolate brown eyes twinkled with something you've never seen from him before. For just a moment you could almost believe it was just you two. Completely alone. Alone in the Tardis or your bedroom back at home. Just like you had always secretly imagined. You grinned into his warm hand and let the pleasure consume you once more.

He used his free hand to rub circles on your clit. Your back once again arching off the cushions. “Oh shit-“ you hissed. Taking advantage of your new angle, he lifted your hips in the air with both hands, fucking your pussy with an entirely different feeling. His tip now kissing parts of you way deeper than before. Your mind was going blank as the fire in your abdomen began to grow hotter and higher. “D-darling-“ he cried out. His face was flushed pink and glowing with sweat. His arms quickly flew around your torso, pressing you both tightly against each other's warm bodies, as if him being inside you wasn't close enough. Your previous orgasm from just minutes before still made you mind-numbingly sensitive. Your walls twitched around his length while you held on to his damp back. His thick cock kept fucking that spot inside you just right. Your eyes squeezed shut and you tensed up. "D-doctor..." you whimpered loudly in his ear. You could hear his pants grow heavier as his hips sped up. You were both so close. The base of his cock, that was just below his naval, rubbed deliciously against your clit as he pounded into your pussy, leaving his skin completely soaked.

Your eyes rolled over to the side where you saw the audience going wild over you two. You saw their mouths wide open as they roared with cheers and clapped their colorful hands, but you couldn't hear a thing. Your ears rang as you suddenly started to cum around the Doctor's thick cock. You couldn't hear your own screams of pleasure while your fingernails dug into his back and you started to see white. His erratic hips stuttered and his grasp on you tightened. You gasped when you felt the thick, hot ropes of his seed spilling into you. You didn't even notice you were starting to drool saliva on his shoulder as his hips slowly came to a stop. You both held onto each other panting as your orgasms died down. The Doctor's final spurts of cum emptied into you making you gasp once more.

Your hearing was finally coming back as you tried to catch your breath. The once high pitched ringing silence faded into the thunderous roars of the hundreds of alien spectators. They loved the show. They loved you. You lethargically peered back at your fans and smiled. They about lost their minds. The Doctor continued to hold you close for a few moments while he kissed your red hot cheeks, then finally stood up, stretching his hand out to help you back to your trembling feet as well. "Stars," You heard over the cheers. The chairwoman gracefully strode towards your glass cage. "That was the most beautiful show I ever had the privilege of seeing. Thank you..." She was visibly overcome with emotion. The adrenaline (and maybe the alcohol from earlier) made you feel like you were floating high above the room. The Doctor embraced you in a sweaty hug while you both shared sentimental grins.

"Please, we would love to reward you for your beautiful performance of passion," The blue woman gestured at you both. The Doctor opened the glass door for you and helped you climb out. The two of you stumbled over to the front of the stage, still completely nude, where the tall woman placed carefully crafted ropes of beautiful pink and purple exotic flowers around each of your necks. The Doctor hugged you once again as the onlookers screamed your praises. You felt like a movie star as you basked in their applause. "So proud of you," he whispered sincerely in your ear. It was definitely an experience to remember.

#10th doctor smut #doctor who smut #doctor who #10th doctor x reader #10th doctor #fanfic #tenth doctor smut #smut

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melancholy-of-nadia · 2 months ago

Text

heart on the window FINALE (m) | ksj

title: heart on the window (m) pairing: ksj x reader(f) rating/genre: m (18+) ; smut ; roommates au / streamer/cam boy au / office worker au, childhood rivals to awkward roommates to lovers? au summary: You got the job! ... but at what cost. A long year living with Seokjin comes to an end, and so does camming with him and any contact with him as well. It's time to move on with your new job at Netflix, finally feeling like life is moving forward though something is missing. note: this is the end line!! i hope you enjoy the finale! happy jin echo day!! warnings: end of the house party drama mess, big fight drunk fight, sad move out from jin's place, breakup (they were never together) sex, shower sex, off cam, final cam stream, a lot of sad internal monologues from jin and reader, moving on??, distancing, namjoon x reader?, date, convos with yunjin and wendy, a year timeskip because they suck at feelings, final confessions, i don't want to spoil more etc. drop date: May 15th, 3:00pm pst word count: 12.8k crossposted on ao3 here <- chapter 6 | THE END | special chapter - -

“You… you got the job? Congrats…” Jin repeats, his voice uncertain, almost like he doesn’t believe his own words. Then, for a split second, doubt crosses his face—like he’s afraid he sounds anything but supportive.

But you barely register it. Your mind is spinning too fast, a relentless, pounding blur of everything that’s happened in the last fifteen minutes.

God, the alcohol is hitting way too hard now. Your head pounds. Your stomach churns.

“Uh, yeah… thanks,” you say, voice unsteady. The words feel foreign coming out of your mouth, like you’re speaking from underwater. “I just—”

A sudden wave of dizziness crashes over you.

“Agh,” you gasp, squeezing your eyes shut as the world tilts beneath your feet.

Jin steps forward immediately, hands hovering near your arms. “Whoa—hey, Y/N, are you okay?”

You’re not.

Your thoughts won’t stop—rapid, repetitive, overlapping in a frantic, endless loop:

Netflix job. You just got offered the job.

Seokjin just fucking kissed you with no explanation.

Moving away.

Seokjin’s place.

The party going on outside this room.

Seokjin’s unknown intentions.

Both of your friends sensing something off.

Seokjin and you camming and fucking.

Exes. Stress. Netflix job. You just got offered the job.

Seokjin just kissed you with no explanation.

Moving away. Seokjin’s place.

The party outside. Seokjin’s unknown intentions.

Both of your friends sensing something off.

Seokjin and you camming and fucking.

Exes. Stress.

Seokjin.

Your breath catches, stomach twisting violently. The room feels too small, like the walls are closing in, like everything is pressing down on you all at once.

You need to get out.

Now.

In a frantic blur, you push past Jin, making a beeline for the door. Your fingers barely brush the handle before—

Jin steps in front of you, blocking your exit.

“H-Hey, I’m sorry, I’m just— I’m not feeling well,” you blurt out, voice strained. You clutch your head, wincing. “Can you just go back to the party?”

Jin’s brows knit together, concern deepening in his gaze. “What? No—Y/N, you’re obviously not okay. What’s hurting? Just tell me what you need—”

“I need you to leave,” you cut in, more sharply than intended. “Please, Jin. I just… I just need a second.”

Jin doesn’t budge. His lips press into a tight line, eyes searching yours. “Why are you pushing me away?”

His voice isn’t angry. It isn’t teasing.

It’s something else. Something softer.

Something that makes your chest ache.

But you can’t deal with that right now.

“I just—” You suck in a shaky breath, forcing yourself to stay upright. “I need space, Jin.”

A long pause.

Then, slowly, Jin exhales through his nose. His expression shifts—just barely. His jaw tenses, but after a lingering second, he steps aside.

“…Fine,” he mutters.

He lingers for a moment, like he wants to say something else. But then he shakes his head, runs a hand through his hair, and turns toward the door.

“Just don’t pretend you’re fine when you’re not,” he says quietly.

And then, he’s gone.

The door clicks shut.

And finally, finally, you let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

But it doesn’t help.

Because the second you’re alone, the weight of everything crashes down even harder.

Your legs give out beneath you, and you sink onto the edge of the wall next to the door, head in your hands.

Your pulse is erratic. Your hands tremble.

You don’t know if you want to scream, cry, or just close your eyes from the overwhelming pressure you’re feeling right now.

But you do know one thing.

Nothing is ever going to be the same after tonight.

You’re not the only one with too much on your mind.

Jin steps back into the party, the bass of the music thrumming through the floor, the warmth of bodies pressing in around him, yet all of it feels strangely distant. Like he's watching the scene unfold from behind glass.

His head is spinning—not from the alcohol, not entirely—but from the reality that just crashed into his lap.

You got the job.

The words replay over and over, each time sinking in a little deeper, a little heavier.

You’re leaving. Maybe not immediately, but soon.

That door you once saw as an escape hatch has finally opened, and for the first time, Jin realizes he never wanted you to walk through it.

The Netflix office isn’t far from his place, but logic tells him you’ll want to move closer. And why wouldn’t you? It makes sense.

But knowing that doesn’t make it easier to swallow.

His jaw tightens as he pushes through the crowd, forcing himself to look collected, normal, like nothing inside him is unraveling. He’s barely taken a step into the living room when Namjoon, Yoongi, and your friends spot him.

“Seokjin! How’s Y/N?” Namjoon asks, concern laced in his tone.

Jin tugs at the collar of his shirt, his throat suddenly dry. “She was feeling nauseous. Got a little overwhelmed.”

“Oh no! Is she okay? I can go check on her—” Yunjin starts, already turning toward the hall.

“No!” Jin’s voice is too sharp, too forceful. It startles everyone, including himself.

A beat of silence follows, and he quickly smooths his expression, schooling his tone into something more neutral. “I mean… she said she wanted some space. She looked exhausted, so I think she’s calling it a night.”

It’s half-true.

You’re overwhelmed. Probably still reeling from everything that happened in the last hour. The job offer. The kiss. The weight of an entire future shifting in real-time.

And Jin?

Jin is trying to pretend it doesn’t affect him.

But deep down, he knows he’s been bracing for this moment since you first showed up at his door. He’s watched you pour yourself into job applications, practice interview answers, take skill courses late into the night, anything to build the career you’ve been dreaming of.

He should be happy for you. And he is. He really is.

But there’s a small, selfish part of him—the one that still remembers every moment with you, every fleeting touch, every night spent tangled together under dim lights—that aches.

Because this is it.

Your exit ticket.

The chance to leave, to move forward, to disappear from his life once again.

You were never one to keep in touch. He knows that.

If it weren’t for your moms staying in contact all these years, he doubts you would’ve crossed paths again at all. The idea of it twists something deep in his chest.

He’s always been a little soft for you, even as kids. Even through the teasing, the bickering, the playful fights that turned into something else entirely.

And despite the years, despite the distance, time never really dulled his feelings.

He dated other women, of course. Wendy included.

He cared about her, respected her. Wendy is truly a great catch after all. Their breakup wasn’t achingly painful, not in the way losing you will be. It was sad and disappointing, for sure. He wasn’t blind to how he’d let things fall apart just because he put his gaming company job above all else. But the hurt he felt wasn’t about her leaving.

It was about himself.

Was he just… not enough?

If you had been in Wendy’s place, would you have left him too? Would you have grown bored of him, and realized he wasn’t what you wanted? Realizing that his desires and likes were too odd and unique for any girl for that matter.

That doubt festered for years, and then you came crashing back into his life.

And when you found out his secret—that he made money through camming—he thought for sure you’d be disgusted. Instead, you surprised him. You were intrigued, fascinated even. And eventually, you crossed the line.

And so did he.

And now?

Now, Jin has no idea where you stand.

His thoughts swirl, thick and heavy, as he sinks onto the couch. He can hear the guys around him, their conversation humming in the background, but the words blur together. His head tips back, eyes slipping shut for just a moment, the weight of alcohol and exhaustion pressing down on him. Yet, he decides to pick another drink. And another. And another.

By the time he blinks himself back into focus, the party has dwindled.

It’s nearing 2 a.m. now, and most of the guests have cleared out. Only Yoongi, Yunjin, and Wendy remain, standing near the door.

Yunjin crosses her arms, eyes sharp as she looks at Jin. “I don’t know what happened or what you did, but we have to head back to our hotel and rest because we have other plans in the morning,” she says, her voice leaving no room for argument. “I know how Y/N gets when she isolates herself, so please, Seokjin, check on her later and take care of her.”

She doesn’t wait for his response before turning on her heel and walking out.

But Wendy lingers.

She hesitates, biting her lip before finally taking a breath.

“Jin… I don’t know if I did anything to cause tension—between you and her—because of our past. But please let her know I mean no harm.” Her voice is soft, careful. “I feel like now’s not the best time to talk about this, but, reach out to me to catch up, alright?”

Jin meets her gaze.

For a long moment, he just watches her.

Then, finally, he nods. “…Yeah. I will.”

He still has her number, though in his old phone. He’ll reach out once he’s able to feel more comfortable doing so.

Wendy looks like she wants to say more. Maybe ask something, maybe clarify something. But instead, she just gives him a lingering look before stepping out the door, closing it in the process.

And then, silence.

The house, once buzzing with life, is eerily still.

Jin exhales, running a hand through his hair.

He should clean up. He should go to bed.

But instead, he just sits there.

Because for the first time in a long time, he feels like he’s already losing you.

Yoongi still there, hunched over his phone, tapping out a beat with practiced ease, but he’s only half-focused. He glances up at Jin slouched on the couch, eyes distant, fingers gripping the cushion like it's the only thing keeping him tethered. With a sigh, Yoongi locks his phone and sets it down.

“You look fucking pathetic.”

He pushes himself up and starts gathering the discarded cups and bottles littering the living room, tossing them into the overflowing trash can in the kitchen. The rhythmic clatter of plastic and glass fills the silence between them.

Jin exhales sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. “That’s because I am.”

Yoongi doesn’t bother sugarcoating it. “What happened? You brooding like this because you’re in your feelings, or did something actually go down in her room?”

Jin hesitates.

Does he even have the right to talk about this? About you? About the life-changing opportunity that just landed in your lap?

His gaze flickers toward the hallway. The door to your room is shut, silent. If he knows anything about you—and after these months of living together, he does—it’s that you’re probably passed out by now. Alcohol always hits you hard, and the weight of tonight must have drained you completely.

At least, he hopes you’re asleep. He hopes you didn’t cry yourself there.

He swallows, choosing his words carefully. “We fought. Then we made out. Then she got a call—Netflix offered her a job.”

Yoongi stills, eyebrows lifting.

Jin presses his lips together, jaw tight. “And then she had a panic attack and kicked me out of the room.”

A beat of silence.

“Oh.” Yoongi pauses mid-step, fingers tightening around the empty beer cans he’s holding before he exhales through his nose. “Well, shit.” He dumps the trash into the bin with a hollow clatter. “That’s a hell of a sequence of events.”

Jin huffs out a laugh, humorless and dry. “Yeah.” He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Tell me about it.”

Yoongi eyes him for a moment before heading back to the couch, sinking into the spot beside Jin. He doesn’t say anything right away, just pulls out his phone and taps at the screen, as if looking for the right words.

Jin doesn’t know what to say either. His mind is still a mess, tangled up in the events of the night, replaying over and over. Your lips on his, the way you clung to him like you needed him just as much as he needed you—then the sheer panic in your eyes when reality came crashing down.

And that fucking phone call.

A golden opportunity, the very thing you’ve been working toward, and it hit you like a freight train instead of a celebration.

Jin sighs, rubbing his face with both hands. “I don’t know what to do, man.”

Yoongi finally looks up from his phone, a brow arched. “About what?”

“About… all of it.” Jin gestures vaguely, as if that somehow explains the storm in his head. “She’s leaving.”

“She got a job, Seokjin. That’s a good thing.”

“I know that.” His voice comes out sharper than he intends, but Yoongi doesn’t flinch. Just waits. “I know that,” he repeats, quieter this time. “She deserves it. She worked her ass off for this.”

“But?”

Jin swallows.

“But I don’t want her to go.”

Yoongi sighs, leaning back against the couch. “Yeah. Thought so.”

Jin stays silent, staring at the floor.

“You gonna tell her that?” Yoongi asks after a beat.

Jin scoffs. “And say what? ‘Hey, I know this is your dream job and all, but could you maybe stay here and keep fucking me instead?’”

Yoongi snorts, shaking his head. “Jesus. Maybe not that wording.”

Jin exhales sharply, slumping against the couch.

Yoongi taps his fingers against his knee, considering something. “Look,” he finally says. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, and honestly? I don’t think you do either.”

Jin opens his mouth to argue, but Yoongi cuts him off.

“I do know that you need to figure your shit out before it’s too late.” His voice is even, but firm. “Before she’s packed up and gone, and you’re stuck here wishing you had said something.”

Jin’s chest tightens.

Because that’s exactly what he’s afraid of.

Yoongi decides to crash on the couch, too tired to make the trip home at this hour. Before he dozes off, he mutters something about Jin needing to stop being a coward and say what he really feels. Jin doesn't respond, he just stares at the ceiling, drowning in his own thoughts before also falling asleep.

By the time the sun rises, Yoongi is already up and gone, leaving behind nothing but the faint scent of his Invictus cologne and a lazily folded blanket on the couch. Jin doesn’t dwell on it. Instead, he gets to work, cleaning up whatever remnants of the party are still scattered around the apartment. Empty bottles, forgotten jackets, a stray phone charger. It gives him something to focus on, something to do—because if he sits still for too long, his mind circles back to you.

To last night.

By the time he’s done tidying, he’s moving onto breakfast, stirring a pot of haejang-guk (hangover soup) on the stove when he hears the soft shuffle of footsteps behind him.

You.

Waddling into the kitchen, looking half-asleep and disheveled, dressed in a faded Sex Pistols t-shirt that hangs loose on your frame and a pair of soft, hot pink shorts that—fuck—leave way too much of your legs on display for him.

You move straight to the fridge, pulling out a cold bottle of water, cracking it open and taking a long sip. You don’t notice him right away, but when you finally glance up, your entire body stiffens.

Jin’s standing at the stove, stirring the pot, hair slightly messy from sleep, wearing sweats and a plain black t-shirt that clings to his broad shoulders.

Your heart does an embarrassing little flip.

Oh. Right. Last night.

The sheer panic that overtook you. The way you shoved him out. The fact that he kissed you before that—before your entire world was upended by one phone call.

You were too overwhelmed to process it all then, too drunk to even begin forming coherent thoughts. But now? Now you feel... clearer. Hungover, sure, but rational. Maybe now you can finally piece together what to say.

You need to ask him about that kiss, because what was all of that about?! Why did he do that?

You mentally repeat to yourself that you’re going to ask about this, but when Jin glances up, eyes locking onto yours, just like that, your carefully assembled train of thought derails entirely.

“I–Uh, good morning…” you mumble.

Fuck. "Morning. I made hangover soup for us."

For us.

Ah! Now, how the hell can you even bring this up? Your grip tightens around the bottle of water as you shift on your feet, suddenly hyper-aware of how quiet the apartment feels now. No music, no voices, no party—just the soft bubbling of the pot on the stove and the occasional scrape of Jin’s spoon against the metal.

You should say something. Acknowledge something. Last night. The job offer. The kiss.

But all you manage is a nod, stepping closer to peek into the pot.

Maybe you should just wait until he brings it up? Or just bring it up another time before you move. You need to eat something now.

The scent of rich broth and soft tofu fills your senses, warm and grounding. Jin ladles some into a bowl and sets it on the counter in front of you.

"Eat," he says simply, sliding a spoon your way.

You hesitate, but only for a second. The first sip is heaven—warm, salty, soothing against the dull ache in your head. You let out a quiet sigh, and Jin chuckles under his breath.

"That good, huh?"

"Shut up," you mutter, but there's no real bite to it.

Silence falls between you again, but this time, it’s not as suffocating.

Jin sits across from you on a stool, eating his own bowl, eyes flickering toward you every so often like he’s waiting for you to speak. Waiting for you to bring it up.

And maybe he’s right. Maybe it should be you. Maybe this is the moment to clear the air, to figure out where things stand between you now.

You set your spoon down. Take a breath.

"I—"

But before you can finish, Jin beats you to it.

"Are you really taking the job?"

Unexpected question, you’d thought he’d bring up the kiss first, out of all things.

"Huh? I mean, I gotta take the job. I haven't worked…professionally in months. Why wouldn't I take the job?"

Jin sets his spoon down, his fingers drumming against the countertop as he watches you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a slight tension in his jaw, a flicker of something behind his eyes. Something he’s trying to suppress.

"I don’t know," he says finally, voice even. "You just seemed... overwhelmed last night."

You blink at him, then scoff lightly. "Of course I was overwhelmed. I was drunk, we were arguing, I got a job offer out of nowhere, and you—" You pause, heat creeping up your neck.

Jin raises an eyebrow. "I...?"

You swallow. He’s really going to make you say it, huh? "You kissed me."

Jin doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away, but he doesn’t rush to explain himself either. Instead, he leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the counter. "And you kissed me back."

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Because—fuck. He’s not wrong.

But could he focus on that instead of making a fuss about your new job!? You want answers, but you’re also not going to push if he’s just not going to do that first.

Jin tilts his head, studying you, and then sighs. "Look, I’m happy for you. Really, I am. You worked your ass off for this." His fingers tap against the counter again. "But I just—I guess I didn’t expect it to happen so soon."

You frown. "It’s not like I planned it either."

"I know." He exhales sharply through his nose, ruffling his bangs. "And it’s not like I’m trying to hold you back, but…"

"But what?"

Jin hesitates. And for the first time since this conversation started, you see it—the crack in his composure, the barest flicker of something else.

He shakes his head. "Never mind."

"Jin." You push your bowl aside, heart pounding just a little faster. "Just say it."

He looks at you for a long moment, then rubs the back of his neck, glancing away. "It’s just—I guess I was getting used to having you around again."

Your breath catches.

"And now you’re gonna be gone," he adds quietly.

A lump forms in your throat. You grip the edge of the counter, staring down at your hands as a new kind of unease settles over you.

Because the worst part?

You were getting used to him too.

“...But maybe this is a good thing," you say, voice quieter now. "I feel like I need some space.” You keep your eyes on your hands, tracing an invisible pattern against the counter, afraid to meet his gaze.

“Space?” Jin repeats, like the word itself is foreign.

“To grow… to move forward. Life has felt kind of stagnant.”

Jin lets out a short, dry scoff. “Has it really? Has life felt stagnant here? The last few months…we—" He shakes his head. "Did none of this mean anything to you?"

It has meant something.

More than you ever expected. It’s given you back the confidence you didn’t even realize you lost. It’s helped you rediscover yourself and explore your desires in ways that felt safe and natural because it was with him.

"It did," you admit, forcing yourself to look up at him. "But like any job, when time starts running out, you start looking for the next thing. That’s just where I’m at now."

Jin’s lips press together, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, finally, he nods. "I get it," he says, but there’s something heavy in his tone, something almost... resigned. "So... I guess that means we’re done camming, then?"

Something about hearing it put so plainly makes your stomach twist.

It started out as something so outrageous, just to take up the challenge.

But damn, you really did get used to this—to him.

"Yeah," you exhale, trying to ignore the ache in your chest. "That’s the next step. I’m back in my professional field now, and if I stay at Netflix long enough, I could actually be somebody there. So I’d rather not have the sexiest part of my quarter-life crisis come back to haunt me."

That finally earns a laugh from Jin, even if it’s brief. "That’s a shame," he sighs, rolling up his sleeves and heading toward the sink. "We never did figure out a way to stream shower sex on cam."

“Seokjin!” Your gasp is immediate, scandalized, but also, if you're being honest, just a little turned on.

He smirks, unbothered. "What? I’m just saying. Missed opportunity."

You roll your eyes, shaking your head. But then, before you can stop yourself, the words slip out—half joking, half serious.

"I mean… we could still do it."

Jin pauses mid-rinse, fingers still gripping the dish in his hands. Then, slowly, he turns his head, eyes narrowing with intrigue.

"One last hurrah," you add, teasing. But there’s an edge of challenge in your tone.

You haven’t had sex with him off camera since the first time he fucked you when he discovered you masturbating to his stream. All sexual activities have been restricted to the livestream to keep that emotional/mental barrier with each other up. This would be the second time you guys do this without others watching…if he decides to indulge in this.

And by the way Jin’s gaze darkens, he definitely hears it too.

He sets the dish down in the sink, shaking off the excess water from his hands as he turns to face you fully. His expression is unreadable at first—lips slightly parted, eyes flickering with something unreadable but intense. Then, his tongue swipes across his lower lip, and you know exactly where his mind has gone.

"You serious?" His voice is low, careful.

You hesitate for just a second. Not because you don’t want to, but because the reality of what you just suggested settles in, and it sends a ripple of anticipation down your spine.

"Why not?" you say, lifting one shoulder in a shrug, playing at nonchalance even as your body betrays you—the way your thighs squeeze together just a little, the way your breath hitches. "One last time. Just for fun."

Jin exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. But then he steps closer, bridging the space between you with deliberate slowness. His fingertips ghost over the hem of your shorts, barely there.

"You say ‘one last time,’ but we both know how that goes," he murmurs, eyes locked onto yours.

His hands slide to your hips, pulling you flush against him. He’s warm, solid, and already you can feel the way his body reacts to the proximity. You swallow hard, heart thudding against your ribs.

"Then let’s just not think about it too much," you whisper, tilting your chin up slightly. "Just... take me to the shower. I need to take a shower anyways."

Jin doesn’t need to be told twice.

In a blur, he grips the backs of your thighs, hoisting you up effortlessly, and your legs wrap around his waist as he strides toward his bathroom. It's big enough to fit the both of you unlike your own en-suite bathroom.

Your back presses against the cool tile wall, a contrast to the heat blooming between you, and Jin's mouth is on yours before you can take another breath—hot, demanding, hungry.

His fingers are already slipping beneath your shirt, teasing along your bare skin, and you gasp into the kiss, clutching at his shoulders as he grinds against you.

"Hope you weren’t actually planning to shower," he murmurs against your lips, his voice thick with amusement and arousal.

"Jin," you whimper, already half-lost in the sensation of his hands roaming your body.

"Yeah, yeah, I got you," he chuckles darkly, and then he’s reaching for the faucet, turning the water on full blast.

The warm spray hits your skin, but the heat between you burns hotter. And as Jin’s mouth trails down your neck, his hands already tugging at your soaked clothes, you know—this last hurrah is about to be anything but tame.

Steam rises in thick waves around you, curling against the glass shower door, but it’s nothing compared to the heat between you and Jin. His mouth moves against yours, hungry and insistent, hands already roaming under the hem of your soaked t-shirt, fingers grazing over your damp skin.

"I’m gonna make you never forget this last time,'" he mutters, lips brushing against yours, teasing.

You shiver—not from the water cascading down your back but from the way his fingers tighten around your hips.

"Jin—" you start, but he’s already lifting your shirt, peeling it off your body and tossing it out of the shower. The cool air hits your bare skin, but it doesn’t last long before his hands are on you again, palms gliding down your sides, his touch possessive.

His mouth trails down the column of your neck, hot and wet, as his fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts. He tugs them down slowly, teasing you with the friction of the fabric sliding against your thighs before they hit the wet tile with a dull thud. You kick them away blindly, more focused on the way Jin takes you in. His eyes dark, pupils blown with something raw and unfiltered.

"Fuck," he murmurs, hands dragging over your bare skin, gripping your waist, kneading the softness of your thighs.

"Your turn," you breathe, reaching for the hem of his drenched shirt. You yank it up and over his head, reveling in the way the water beads down his toned chest.

Jin grins, though it falters slightly when your fingers dip into the waistband of his sweats. You make quick work of them, shoving them down along with his boxers, and suddenly there’s nothing between you but heat and urgency.

Before you can even think, Jin’s hands are on your waist again, spinning you effortlessly and pressing you against the shower wall. The cool tile is a sharp contrast to the warmth of his body caging you in, chest flush against your back, one hand braced against the wall beside you while the other slides over your stomach, dipping lower.

"You sure about this?" he murmurs against your ear, voice thick with something dangerous.

You nod, breathless, your hands splayed against the tiles. "Yeah. No cameras, no audience. Just us getting out whatever final pleasures we have left in us."

Jin groans, his fingers digging into your hips as he lines himself up, teasing you for a moment before rolling his hips forward, sinking into you with one slow, deep thrust.

A strangled moan escapes your lips, your body arching against the wall as he fills you completely. The feeling is almost overwhelming—the heat of the water, the way he stretches you perfectly, the way his grip tightens on your hips as he starts to move.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Jin groans, pressing his mouth to your shoulder, his thrusts slow at first, deliberate, making you feel every inch of him.

The sound of the water hitting the tiles mixes with the slick sounds of your bodies moving together, the heat of the shower amplifying everything—the way his hands grip your thighs, the way his mouth drags along your spine, the way he groans your name like a prayer.

Your fingers press against the wall for support as his pace picks up, his thrusts hitting deeper, harder, pulling desperate gasps from your lips. The sensation builds rapidly, pleasure curling low in your stomach, threatening to spill over.

"Jin—I’m—"

"I know," he pants, his own breath ragged, his movements growing more erratic. "Me too—fuck—"

And then everything shatters.

Pleasure crashes over you in waves, your body trembling as you cry out, clenching around him. Jin follows right after, groaning into your neck as he stills, his body shuddering against yours.

For a long moment, neither of you move. The water beats down on your overheated skin, and Jin rests his forehead against your shoulder, breaths heavy, arms still locked tight around you.

The aftershocks still pulse through you, leaving you breathless and spent against the cool tiles. But he isn’t finished.

Before you can fully regain your senses, he shifts, strong hands gripping your waist as he pulls out, only to turn you toward him. Your back meets the slick glass of the shower door, the warmth of the steam making it fog up around you. Jin’s body is pressed flush against yours, the heat of his skin searing against the wetness of yours.

He leans in, lips capturing yours in a searing kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that reignites the fire in your belly. One of his hands trails downward, skimming over the curve of your hip before gripping the back of your thigh. With ease, he lifts your leg, hooking it around his waist as he presses forward again, burying himself inside you in one deep thrust.

You gasp against his lips, hands flying up to grip his shoulders for support. The new angle sends pleasure sparking through your nerves, and when your eyes flutter open, they land on the large bathroom mirror just beyond the shower glass.

From this view, you can see everything—Jin’s body pressing into yours, the way your skin is slick and flushed from the heat, the way his muscles flex with every movement. His dark eyes meet yours in the reflection, filled with raw hunger, a smirk tugging at his lips when he notices where your attention has drifted.

"Like what you see?" he murmurs, voice rough with desire.

Your only response is a whimper as he thrusts deeper, his free hand sliding up your body to cup your breast, fingers rolling your nipple between them. The contrast of the warmth of his palm against the cool air makes you arch into his touch, your head falling back against the fogged-up glass.

Jin groans, his grip on your thigh tightening as he quickens his pace, his hips snapping against yours, the wet sounds of your bodies moving together echoing through the steamy bathroom. Each thrust pushes you harder against the glass, the coolness against your burning skin only amplifying the sensation.

Watching it unfold in the mirror only heightens the pleasure—the way his body moves, the way your own writhes beneath him, the way his hand greedily kneads your breast, thumb flicking over your hardened nipple as he fucks you relentlessly.

"Jin—fuck," you gasp, nails digging into his back, leaving half-moon indentations in his slick skin.

"Look at us," he commands, voice strained as he fights to hold himself back, to prolong the moment. "Look at how good we look together."

You do. And it’s almost too much—the sight of his body pressed so intimately against yours, the way his jaw clenches as he watches himself disappear into you over and over again.

His fingers tighten around your thigh as his thrusts grow erratic, each movement slamming you harder against the glass. The coil in your stomach tightens dangerously, your vision blurring with the overwhelming pleasure building deep inside you.

"Seokjin—I’m close—"

"Me too," he groans, his mouth dropping to your neck, biting and sucking until he’s sure he’s left his mark. "Come for me, Princess."

And with one final thrust, you do. Your body shattering around him, pleasure crashing over you in uncontrollable waves.

Jin is also nearing his end as well, which leads you to do one last crazy thing. You suddenly push against his chest, breaking the rhythm of his thrusts. His brows furrow in confusion, his lips parting to ask why, until you drop to your knees on the slick shower floor.

Jin’s breath catches, his body going rigid as you look up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, water streaming down your face. You lick your lips, your voice sultry and certain.

"Wait, I want you to finish in my mouth."

His reaction is immediate. His jaw clenches, his grip tightening where he’d been holding your waist. You can feel his cock twitch against your palm as you wrap your fingers around it, stroking him slowly.

"Fuck—" Jin groans, his head tipping back for a moment, overwhelmed.

It catches him completely off guard. Majority of the time, the pleasure is focused on you, which he loves. He gets off on making you unravel, watching you fall apart beneath him. On the rare occasions you do something for him, it’s never expected, always a surprise that leaves him completely undone.

And this…this is different.

Your lips wrap around the flushed head of his cock, and Jin sucks in a sharp breath. You take him in slowly, inch by inch, your tongue swirling around him, savoring the way his body shudders at your touch. His hands find your wet hair, threading through the strands as he watches you with hooded eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Shit—just like that," he rasps, his voice strained as you take him deeper, your hands gripping his thighs for balance.

The warmth of your mouth, the way your tongue flicks against his sensitive spots—it’s almost too much. His restraint is slipping fast, and the sight of you kneeling before him, water cascading over your body, your lips stretched around his cock, has him throbbing with need.

You hollow your cheeks, your pace quickening, sucking him in with more fervor. His fingers tighten in your hair, hips stuttering forward as he fights not to lose control.

"You sure you want this?" he asks, voice rough, a last attempt at restraint.

Your only response is a low hum around him, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure straight to his core. That’s all it takes.

"Fuck—" Jin groans, his head dropping forward as his grip in your hair tightens. His hips jerk as he finally lets go, spilling into your mouth, his entire body trembling with the force of his release.

You take it all, swallowing around him, your tongue teasing him until he’s completely spent. When you finally pull back, releasing him with a soft pop, he stares down at you, his expression dazed, still catching his breath.

"You're gonna be the death of me," he mutters, pulling you up and crashing his lips against yours, tasting himself on your tongue.

Jin pulls you close, his hands roaming over your slick skin as he deepens the kiss, the taste of himself lingering on your tongue. His heart is still hammering against his ribs, his body thrumming with the aftershocks of pleasure.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The sound of the shower fills the space, steam curling around your bodies, the warmth of the water cascading down your backs. His forehead rests against yours, his breath still uneven, but his hold on you is firm—like he doesn’t want to let go.

Eventually, he exhales a quiet laugh, his fingers tracing slow circles along your waist. "That was…unexpected," he murmurs, amusement flickering in his tired eyes.

You smirk, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips before pulling back. "Figured I’d give you a send-off worth remembering."

His grip tightens, a silent protest, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he presses one last kiss to your temple before reaching past you to shut off the water.

With a sigh, you both step out, Jin immediately grabbing a towel and wrapping it around you before drying himself off. The silence between you is thick—not uncomfortable, but heavy with the weight of what’s to come.

As you catch your reflection in the mirror, you can’t help but wonder—was this really just a send-off? Or was it something else entirely?

You glance at Jin, who’s already watching you through the mirror, his expression unreadable.

"Well, the water bill is going to be so damn high because of this," he says softly, handing you some clothes. “It was worth it, though.”

You giggle at his words as you exit the bathroom and go back to your room to change.

As your time with Jin dwindles to an end, the two of you decide to host one final stream for your Chaturbate audience, though, not as wild as your usual performances.

It’s still teasing enough to leave an impression, however!

This time, it's a mix of sensuality and humor, a slow-burn farewell.

Jin sits back against the headboard, shirtless, microphone in hand as he reads passages from Fifty Shades of Grey in his smooth, deep voice. His tone is velvety, deliberate, and teasing as he enunciates every sultry word, making even the most absurd lines sound seductive.

You, on the other hand, straddle him, taking as much of him as you can, moving slowly, carefully, trying to keep your reactions minimal. Your hands grip his shoulders for support, your lips occasionally pressing into his skin to stifle the little gasps that threaten to slip out.

The challenge is clear: stay quiet or suffer the consequences.

The chat erupts with excitement at the unusual setup:

“ASMR daddy Jin? What kind of blessed content is this?”“How the hell is she staying quiet? I’d be a goner.”“Omg, is this their last stream? SAY IT AIN’T SO.”“Pls don’t leave us. We just got used to this masterpiece of a channel.”

Every time a particularly breathy sound escapes you, Jin smirks, setting the book down momentarily to deliver a sharp smack to your thigh or breast.

You bite your lip, gripping onto him tighter, the thrill of the control he has over you mixing with the bittersweet realization that this is the last time you’ll be doing this together. Despite the playful tone of the stream, there’s an underlying sadness creeping in.

By the time the session ends, the chat is flooded with messages, not just of arousal but of disappointment and farewell.

“Our Princess Peach is really leaving us? After all this?”“This is the best cam duo we’ve ever had.”“Jin, are you at least keeping the channel? Even if it’s just continuing to do solo stuff?”“Thank you for everything. You two were insane together.”

Jin watches the comments roll in, his expression unreadable, but you can tell he’s taking it all in. His channel has exploded over the last several months due to the duo concept, catapulting into the top 20 cam accounts on the platform. It’s ironic, really.

Just when things were at their peak, it’s all coming to an end.

Jin logs off, shutting the laptop. Silence settles in the room, save for the hum of the city outside. You look at Jin, unsure of what to say.

He beats you to it. “Well… that was one hell of a ride.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Yeah… it was.”

But as much as you both try to keep things lighthearted, there’s a heaviness in the air that neither of you want to address.

And probably never will.

This heaviness continues to linger days after.

The following Monday, you meet with Gia, the director of the team you’ll be working with, to discuss your offer and finalize your start date. In two weeks, you’ll officially begin your role at Netflix. It still feels surreal. You’ve spent so much time chasing this kind of opportunity, and now that it’s here, there’s no turning back.

In the days that follow, you search for an apartment near the Netflix office, combing through listings, arranging viewings, and packing up your things at Jin’s place. The transition should be exciting, but a lingering emptiness gnaws at you.

Jin, who once felt like a constant presence in your life, eating meals together, going out to eat together, spending time with each other… starts becoming more and more absent.

He leaves early for work and returns late, barely sparing time for conversation.

You don’t push him for answers about his absence or anything else lingering about your relationship with him. You assume he’s caught up in some major project coincidentally as things are starting to ramp up again in your life.

And knowing Jin, he likes giving it his all in the work he does.

But the lack of his presence stings more than you want to admit.

And now, the absence in this place is much bigger. The weekend before your first day of your new job, Jin leaves town for work. He texted you an apology for not being able to help out with your move, but told you he’d send Namjoon to help you out and Yoongi would be picking up the spare keys from you. You’re glad that he didn’t let you handle the final move on your own and sent for one of his good friends to help you out.

Namjoon is someone you found yourself growing closer to since the party, bonding over a mutual love for romance novels. You discovered beneath his intellectual, slightly intimidating exterior, he was just as much of a hopeless romantic as you.

As you tape up another moving box, Namjoon sits nearby, flipping through one of your books. “You have a ridiculous amount of these,” he teases.

You roll your eyes. “And? Sue me for enjoying love stories.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “No judgment because I like them too. Just… it makes sense, considering your past shitty relationship.”

You pause, rolling your eyes at him. “Always dreaming of finding better partners in my love life like the books,”

The response makes him and Wendy giggle.

Wendy was luckily in town for a work conference, so she offered to help out too.

Since the night of the party, she’s has been overly apologetic about never telling you she dated Jin. Every time, you wave it off, telling her it doesn't matter. You don’t even blame her for not mentioning it. After all, you had no idea they even knew each other. You weren’t on social media to keep up with her life, too busy being wrapped up in your own.

Back when you were still with Mingi.

Sigh.

With the last of your belongings packed, your car and Wendy’s are stuffed to the brim with boxes. You slide into the passenger seat of Wendy’s car while Namjoon follows behind, driving yours. Slowly, Jin’s beautiful apartment complex fades from view, swallowed up by the cityscape. Little by little, it disappears in the distance, and from your life.

"Are you going to miss living with him?" Wendy glances at you as she stops at a red light.

You inhale deeply, weighing your answer.

"Not really," you lie. "It was nice having company, though." That’s the only piece of truth you allow to slip through.

Wendy studies your expression but doesn’t press. Instead, she says, "If you like him, you should go for him."

You shake your head. "Oh no, I’m not interested! Plus, he doesn’t like me like that."

Jin has always been impossible to read. His words, his actions, they blurred the lines between friendship, something deeper, and something entirely fleeting. Some days, he felt like a stranger. Others, he felt like someone you could have had forever with.

You’re too old to be pondering this like a teenage girl trying to connect the dots that a guy likes her back.

"If you’re worried about the fact that we dated, please don’t be," Wendy says, keeping her eyes on the road. "I admired him when we worked together, and that turned into dating. But honestly, our relationship always felt more like a deep friendship with bits of romance sprinkled in. Our hearts were always… elsewhere."

Elsewhere.

You chew on that word, wondering where Jin's heart really was if not with her.

"Thank you for letting me know, Wendy. But I think for now, no relationships!" You force a small laugh, trying to lighten the mood. "I just want to focus on my new job and what's to come."

Wendy nods in understanding, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. "That makes sense. A new chapter, a fresh start."

"Exactly." You lean back against the seat, watching the city blur past the window. It’s easier to say than to actually feel, but you want to believe it.

As the drive continues, Wendy chats about her upcoming projects, the books she's been reading, and her plans to visit her family soon. You listen, grateful for the distraction.

By the time you reach your new apartment, Namjoon is already out of the car, stretching before starting to unload the boxes.

You take a deep breath, looking up at the unfamiliar building. It’s a sleek, modern 3 story apartment building not too far from the main streets of the entertainment capital of the world. A stark contrast from Jin’s quiet, cozy apartment tucked away from the chaos of the city. Here, the hum of life never stops: cars honking, distant music drifting from other homes, and the constant murmur of people moving, working, living.

The lobby is just as polished as the exterior, with minimalist décor, warm lighting, and a concierge desk where a sharply dressed employee greets you with a polite nod. Floor-to-ceiling windows give a panoramic view of the city skyline, and the elevator ride up feels surreal—like stepping further into a new reality, leaving behind everything familiar.

Inside, your unit is just as modern. Open-concept, sleek hardwood floors, a kitchen with marble countertops, and floor-to-ceiling windows that let in the golden glow of the setting sun. It’s smaller than Jin’s place, but it feels fresh, new, like an empty canvas waiting for you to make it your own.

"Welcome home," Namjoon grins, patting the hood of your car as he stretches. "Ready for the next big thing?"

You let out a slow exhale, stepping onto the threshold of your new life.

"Yeah," you say, more to yourself than to him. "I think I am."

A home, that doesn’t feel like home yet, but you’ll eventually get there.

The apartment is too quiet.

Seokjin steps through the door and kicks off his shoes with less energy than usual. No warm lighting in the hallway. No lingering scent of the candles you used to light in the evenings. No soft laughter drifting from the living room. It’s dark—just the faint glow of the city outside bleeding through the windows.

He flicks on a lamp, and the room looks… untouched. Clean. Cold. Soulless.

You’re gone.

He exhales through his nose, the weight of the silence pressing into his chest like a familiar ache. The same kind of ache he felt years ago, when his family moved away and he disappeared from your life without warning. Back then, he was just a dumb kid who didn’t know how to say he liked you, didn’t know how to say that teasing you wasn’t because he disliked you—it was the only way he knew how to get your attention.

But now? He’s an adult, and still he didn’t say anything.

He told himself it wasn’t the right time. That you had too much going on. That you were only here for a little while and what you two had was just comfort, release, boredom, exploration. That’s what he told himself. That’s what he told himself when you smiled at Namjoon a little longer than you ever smiled at him. He didn’t think Namjoon was as handsome or charismatic as him, but maybe you preferred that anyways.

He unbuttons his dress shirt slowly, absently. Shrugs it off and tosses it aside, then sinks into the couch in just his undershirt and slacks.

The ceiling stares back at him.

He thinks about texting you. Maybe something casual—

"How was your first day, corporate baddie?" Or something stupid and sweet—

"Rate your new apartment on a scale of 1 to missing me terribly."

He even types them out halfway in his head. But his fingers don’t move. His phone stays face-down on the coffee table.

You have your own life now. A real job. A new place. People to meet. Maybe someone else to love. Maybe someone like Namjoon. Maybe someone he doesn’t know.

And he’s just Seokjin. The guy who let you slip away again. The guy who made you laugh, who made you come undone under soft lights and steady hands, but never said what he really felt.

Maybe this is just how it’s meant to be. Some people pass through your life like seasons—warm, intense, fleeting.

He rests his head back, eyes fluttering shut, lips parting in a slow sigh. “I miss you already,” he murmurs to the ceiling.

But no one’s there to hear it.

And still, he doesn’t send the text.

Leaving these words left unsaid.

Three months pass. It’s a rainy afternoon as you drive home, stuck in traffic, the gray skyline blurring into streaks against your windshield. The light drizzle taps a restless beat on the roof of your car, a soft soundtrack to the ache that’s been gnawing at you all day. You could’ve blasted music to drown it out. You could’ve called anyone else. But somehow, your fingers drift to Yunjin’s contact.

You’re tired. So tired. And not just from work. But from thoughts constantly looming in your head of what you should’ve and could’ve done in the past.

The phone rings once. Twice.

“Hello?” Yunjin’s voice comes through immediately, warm and concerned, like she’s been waiting for you to reach out first for once.

You hesitate for a second, then sigh, forehead leaning against the steering wheel. “Hey. You busy?”

“No, no, not at all…are you okay?” she asks, voice tightening a little. You know she’s been worried. She’s your best friend after all. She’s been checking in more ever since the night of the party. Ever since you moved out of Jin’s place. You kept brushing her off with that stupid excuse: alcohol plus stress from all that damn job hunting plus the sudden job offer out of nowhere. A bad combination of good and bad stuff. Nothing more.

But Yunjin’s always seen through you. She just never pushed.

Today, though, something inside you gives.

“I just…” you start, the words sticking to your throat. “I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts tonight.”

There’s a pause. She lets you set the pace.

You grip the steering wheel tighter, the rain smearing lights into watercolor blurs around you. “Remember that party at Jin’s? It wasn’t just a breakdown that night. I lied.”

“I know,” she says softly.

You laugh—bitter, shaky. “Of course you do.” She’s always been good at reading through you, and the people around her.

Another silence stretches out between you, but it isn’t heavy. It’s patient.

“I got...close to Seokjin,” you say slowly, voice fragile, like if you speak too loud the memories will shatter. “Closer than I ever was… and ever meant to. And I didn’t even realize it was happening until it was too late.”

You swallow hard, fighting the sting in your eyes.

“Living with Jin was supposed to be a temporary thing, you know?” you murmur. “But it felt...safe. Like for the first time in a long time, I didn’t have to hold my breath around someone. He just—he made it easy to exist. I didn’t have to be ashamed of not having a job, or being in a quarter-life crisis, or being cheated on...”

You hear Yunjin breathe in, steady and soft. She’s listening. She always does.

“And I think I...I fell for him,” you admit in a whisper, as if the confession itself might break you. “Slowly. Stupidly. Without even realizing it.” you bite your lip, pulse quickening, careful not to spill too much on your camming secret life with him. “I had a negative opinion of him growing up, but that didn’t reflect into who he grew into now. The way he looked out for me. The way he made me laugh when I thought I couldn’t anymore.”

Your chest tightens unbearably, and you blink rapidly at the windshield.

“But it’s whatever now,” you add quickly, the words a shield, a desperate, crumbling wall. “I’m moving on. It was just...temporary. A phase. He probably didn’t even think twice about it. I’m being stupid. I’m not even sure it was real.”

You try to laugh again, but it comes out cracked and hollow.

“God, Mingi would laugh at me if he saw me like this. Hung up over someone I never even officially dated. Acting desperate for love or whatever. I must look pathetic.”

Yunjin’s voice is warm, a balm to the raw ache inside you. “You’re not pathetic!”

You exhale a shaky breath, the traffic crawling forward a few inches.

“Maybe not. But I feel it.”

Outside, the rain keeps falling, a steady murmur against the world. And for the first time in a while, you don’t feel as alone with it. For a while, you both just sit in the silence, the rain filling the space where your broken words can’t.

Then Yunjin speaks, her voice careful, gentle. “You know…” she starts, trailing off thoughtfully. “I think maybe you should talk to him.”

Your heart skips in your chest.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat. “Talk to Jin?”

“Yeah…” she says, trying to sound casual but you can hear the note of something careful in her tone. “I mean...you lived together for months. Got close. Maybe it’s not as one-sided as you think.”

You scoff lightly, looking away from the windshield. “I doubt it. ”

But Yunjin presses on, choosing her words delicately. “You’re both stubborn. Maybe he’s just...waiting for you to make the first move. Or at least to clear the air.”

You frown. It sounds too hopeful. Too dangerous to believe. You don’t want to entertain this idea on the pretense of a “maybe”.

And Yunjin must sense your hesitation because she adds quickly, “Or, you know...maybe it’s time for you to start fresh. Meet someone new. Go out with some girls from work, hit a club, get drinks. Or like, take a yoga class. Focus on you again.”

You let out a small, exhausted laugh. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“I’m serious,” she says warmly. “You’ve been carrying too much by yourself. You deserve to breathe a little. To live a little. And if you ever need a plus one for any of that? I’m there. I’ll try to visit more often, okay?”

A lump forms in your throat, but this time it’s a little easier to swallow.

“Thanks, Yunjin.”

“Always.”

You can’t see her, but you know she’s smiling that soft, stubborn smile of hers.

Outside, the rain eases into a gentle mist. Somewhere deep inside you, you feel the tiniest, stubbornest spark flicker to life again. Tiny, but alive. Having a full on convo with Seokjin feels like too much, but maybe you’ll send some greetings when you can. Maybe for now, you can continue to give it your all to your new job, and find new ways to cope and forget about all of this. Bury these feelings from within.

No one really says anything—not you or him. And despite the silence, time keeps moving forward, uncaring, unbothered.

It’s been a year since you moved out of Seokjin’s apartment. A full year since you packed up your things and closed the door on a strange, intoxicating chapter of your life. You’ve rebuilt since then. Slowly, carefully. Your new job became your anchor, the thing you threw yourself into fully. You’ve climbed your way back into a stable routine—morning coffees, back-to-back meetings, long work trips to film sets in Seoul and Tokyo, wine nights with your new team.

You helped coordinate the launch of the newest Black Mirror season. You got flown out to Jeju to help with on-set logistics for When Life Gives You Tangerines, a K-drama that’s now getting rave reviews online. You’ve attended wrap parties, panel events, rooftop mixers. Your calendar stays full. Your mind stays busier.

Past memories blur like fog in the distance. The pain from your breakup with Mingi? Obsolete now. The shame and exhaustion from your previous job? Gone. Even those sweet, stolen nights in Seokjin’s kitchen, the intimacy of your shared glances, your whispered jokes, the hot silence between cam sessions—those too are starting to fade.

But not completely.

Sometimes, on nights when your apartment feels a little too cold, you catch yourself wishing he were there. Not to do anything special. Just… to be there. To sit beside you on the couch, to play something dumb on the TV and make sarcastic commentary, to cook something absurd at midnight just because. You didn’t think you’d miss him this much. But the truth is, Jin had a way of making space feel like home just by being in it. And now that he’s gone, that kind of warmth is hard to come by.

He hasn’t contacted you much over the past year—just the basics. Birthday greetings. “Merry Christmas.” “Happy New Year.” You always replied in kind, but nothing deeper ever came from it. No check-ins. No “how are you’s.” Just little digital waves in the distance.

You haven’t seen him in person either. Fate, it seems, prefers irony—like running into Mingi at a shopping plaza looking happy and carefree while you stood there trying not to unravel. But Seokjin? He’s stayed away. Not maliciously. Just… vanished into his world.

Sometimes, you check his cam room. Not out of obsession, just out of habit. Curiosity. Human nature. You tell yourself it’s harmless—just peeking. You notice that he hasn’t streamed in months. The last one was over half a year ago, and even that was a short, quiet stream. His gaming content? Almost nonexistent now. His socials have slowed too. A few posts here and there—group shots with the guys, a couple of work-related updates. There’s the occasional woman in the background of those pictures, which makes you wonder. Maybe he’s dating again. Maybe he never stopped.

And maybe you should start too.

You remember you still owe Namjoon a hangout. He’s been patient and sweet and always texts you about books he thinks you’d like. You two get along almost too well—sharing playlists, talking about art, texting late into the night about some line in a poem that made you ache in a good way. Maybe… maybe it’s time to see where that could lead.

You’re not trying to replace Jin. But you can’t keep orbiting a ghost of something that never fully bloomed. Something he never really reached for.

So maybe it’s time to open that door. Even just a crack. To see if something else is waiting for you on the other side.

After getting home from work, you toss your bag onto the couch, kick off your heels, and sink into the soft cushions of your apartment. It’s been a long day—back-to-back meetings, a creative pitch that went surprisingly well, and now… just stillness. Your place is beautiful, sleek and modern, tucked right in the vibrant heart of Hollywood. City lights spill through your windows, reflecting off your glass coffee table and polished floors. It’s a stark contrast to Seokjin’s cozy apartment tucked outside the chaos—a bit quieter, a bit softer. You try not to think about that too much.

You unlock your phone and open your messages. Your finger hovers for a second, then taps on Namjoon’s contact photo. You start typing.

"i don’t know if you recall, but i owe you a hangout mister"

He replies almost immediately, the little typing dots barely making an appearance before his message lands.

"surprised you remember haha"

Then another follows a few seconds later.

"didn’t want to be weird and bring it up before in case you weren’t down for it, but i’d be delighted to still hang out with you."

You smile softly. You always liked the way he typed—careful, a little poetic, like he thought about his words.

"sounds like a plan, what did you want to do?"

You wait a few seconds before his reply comes in, a thoughtful pause between each message:

"mmm well"

Another pause.

"i saw there’s a wine & film screening event at the Getty on friday night—screening Pretty Woman on the lawn. it’s free, 21+ only, and we can bring in our own snacks."

You picture it: the grassy hill overlooking the city, art lovers and couples lounging on blankets under the stars, the glow of a classic film playing on an outdoor screen. You’ve been craving something peaceful lately. Something warm.

"that sounds perfect actually. i’m in!" you type back.

"should i bring wine for us to enjoy the night ? ;) 🍷" he adds with a winking emoji.

"of course! you know me too well."

"haha friday it is then." he says. "can’t wait."

You lock your phone after hearting the message and set it aside, eyes drifting to the ceiling. A strange warmth settles in your chest—equal parts comfort and nervous excitement. It feels like the beginning of something soft. Something kind.

And for the first time in a long while, you feel okay leaning into it.

Friday arrives with a golden warmth that clings to the breeze. The sun hangs lazily above the horizon, casting long orange shadows across the Getty’s gleaming white stone walls. The soft glow of late afternoon is the perfect backdrop for your outfit—a golden yellow Beverly and Beck Ruby Ruffle Bow Mini Dress, cinched just right to show your figure without trying too hard. A delicate lace bandana in a matching yellow hue ties your hair back, fluttering gently as you walk toward the lawn entrance. You feel good. Fresh. Ready.

You glance at your phone again.

No messages. No Namjoon.

You try not to overthink it—he’s usually good with time. Maybe it’s just traffic. But five minutes before the movie starts, you’re still standing outside and still no sign of him? The anxiety builds in your chest.

You pull out your phone and call him. It rings once. Twice. Three times.

Then he picks up.

“Namjoon! Where are you? I’m here—”

“Hey…” he cuts in, his voice calm but strained. “I… got into an accident about twenty minutes ago.”

“What!? Holy shit, are you okay?”

“I’m okay now, just some scrapes and bruises. A car hit me while I was biking back from Trader Joe’s with snacks. They brought me to the ER to get checked out, but… I don’t think I’ll make it to the Getty in time.”

Your stomach drops. “Oh my god. Forget the movie—I’ll come to the hospital. I can stay with you, make sure you’re alright—”

“No!” he says quickly. Too quickly.

You blink. “No?”

“I mean… you don’t have to. Yoongi and Hoseok are here with me, so I’m fine. I—uh—actually sent someone in my place.”

“Someone?” you echo, confused.

And then, as you look up, you see him.

Seokjin.

He’s standing a few feet away, his gaze already fixed on you. His hair’s grown longer, a little messier, soft waves framing his face. He wears a clean white shirt beneath a gray blazer, his stance easy, yet charged with something... unspoken.

“Seokjin?” you whisper into the phone.

“I’ll let you go now,” Namjoon says on the other end before hanging up.

Jin walks toward you, a familiar boyish smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“It’s been a while, Peach.”

Your heart flips.

“I… What are you doing here?”

“Someone said a princess needed saving,” he says with a wink. “So they sent the best person to do it.”

You raise a brow, arms crossing with a playful smirk. “Mario?”

“No. Me,” he says with exaggerated pride. “Though… yeah, I guess I am Mario in a way.”

You laugh—genuinely, loudly, in a way you haven’t in weeks.

“You sure haven’t changed,” you tease. “Still full of yourself.”

His smile falters for half a second as his eyes sweep over you, lingering just a bit too long, just a bit too thoughtfully.

“That’s not the only thing that hasn’t changed,” he says softly.

Your breath stills for a beat. The movie starts to roll on the lawn behind you, but you barely notice. Because Jin’s still looking at you like no time has passed at all. Like the space between now and a year ago never existed.

“…What do you mean?” you ask, your voice nearly a whisper.

He takes a small step closer. Then another.

He stands there for a moment, the soft glow of the museum lights painting his profile in gold and shadows. His voice drops a little, quieter, more unsure.

“I’m good at expressing my thoughts about things, but for some reason… this is the one thing I haven’t been able to bring myself to say.” He pauses, brows furrowed slightly as he searches for the words. “Maybe out of fear. Or maybe because I convinced myself it wasn’t the right time.”

You don’t say anything—your breath held, your body still, your eyes locked on his.

“I talked to a few people since you left…like Namjoon, Yoongi, Wendy, even Yunjin,” he goes on. “But all of it… it only made me realize something. I should’ve really told you this sooner.”

Your heart stutters. Then starts beating faster. Loud enough you wonder if he can hear it too.

A sensation you haven’t felt in so long spreads through your chest. A warmth. A pull. The kind that’s equal parts terrifying and magnetic.

Jin exhales shakily, his hands slipping into his blazer pockets like he’s trying to ground himself. “I missed you,” he finally says. “Not just your company. I missed you. Your laugh in the mornings. The way you dance around while brushing your teeth. The way you'd tease me when I lost on stream. I missed you so much, my Princess Peach, it made everything else feel… dimmer.”

Your breath catches, tears suddenly threatening to well.

“I thought I was just someone you passed time with,” he adds, voice softer. “But for me… those were some of the brightest days I’ve had in a long time.”

The movie flickers behind you—Julia Roberts’ voice carrying faintly over the lawn—but you’re somewhere else entirely. Caught in this moment with him.

“What are you trying to say, Jin?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He finally steps in close, closer than before, and gently brushes a strand of hair from your face, the touch so careful it nearly undoes you.

“I’m trying to say… I’ve been in love with you for a lot longer than you’ve ever realized.”

You stare at him, stunned. Your throat tightens with something you can’t name.

“And if there’s still even the smallest part of you that feels the same,” he says, voice husky, “then maybe—just maybe—we can try again. But not as roommates. Not as cam partners. Just… us.”

Your eyes brim, lips parting. You don’t know what to say at first—your thoughts tumbling into each other, your heart pounding wildly.

But then your fingers reach for his. And that’s answer enough.

He smiles, wide and boyish, like the Seokjin from years ago and the one standing in front of you now have finally become one.

You let out a shaky breath, fingers tightening slightly around his.

“I feel the same,” you say, your voice soft but steady.

His eyes widen just a little, like he wasn’t expecting you to say it so soon, so plainly.

“I might not have loved you for as long as you’ve loved me… or maybe I never realized a part of me has been in love with you all along,” you continue, “but your feelings… they never went unnoticed, Jin.”

He looks at you then like he’s been holding his breath this whole time—waiting for something, anything, to tell him he wasn’t alone in this.

“There were moments,” you go on, your voice catching slightly, “tiny ones, quiet ones, when I’d catch you looking at me or saying something that felt deeper than the surface. And I’d wonder… ‘Could he be feeling the same thing I am?’ But I was scared. Mingi really left a big fucking wound and I just didn’t want to fall for you and somehow end up hurt again in the future.”

The tension in his shoulders finally softens, relief washing over him like a warm tide that crashes gently on the shore. He doesn’t speak yet—just watches you with eyes that shimmer in the low light as he wants to fully hear you out.

“I tried to move on. I tried to pretend it was just a phase, that it was just… comfort. But I kept missing you, Jin. Not just the apartment or the routine, you. The dumb jokes. The thoughtful silences. The way you made things feel lighter even when everything was falling apart.”

You smile a little, tears finally gathering in the corners of your eyes.

“And now that you’re here, saying all this… I don’t want to wonder late at night about the ‘maybes’ anymore.”

Jin exhales, a sound filled with emotion, and pulls you into him—his arms wrapping around your waist as you fall against his chest. You rest there for a moment, feeling his heartbeat thrum against your cheek, steady and real.

And when he pulls back, just enough to look at you again, his smile is full of something soft. Something new, but also… always there.

“I’ll never leave you hanging ever again.”

He just looks at you—really looks at you—with an expression so open, so vulnerable, you feel it in your chest.

And then he leans in.

His hand gently lifts to cradle the side of your face, thumb brushing softly over your cheekbone as his eyes search yours one last time, as if asking are you sure? And when you lean in too—when you don’t pull away—he closes the distance.

The kiss is slow, tender, but full of all the feelings neither of you could say until now. His lips press against yours like he’s memorizing the shape of them, like he’s been dreaming of this moment and wants to make it last. You melt into him, your fingers curling into the front of his blazer as your mouths move in sync, soft and yearning. It’s not rushed or clumsy—it’s full of quiet reverence, like the kind of kiss you only give someone when the feelings have been sitting in your heart far too long.

When he pulls back, just barely, his forehead rests against yours, his breath a soft tremble between your lips.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he whispers.

You smile, eyes still closed, heart beating wildly. “Me too.”

And above you, the stars begin to come out one by one, while Pretty Woman flickers quietly in the distance.

But neither of you are watching.

Because for once, there’s nothing better than simply being here, in this moment—finally together.

Epilogue

You and Seokjin left the Getty hand in hand that night, hearts lighter and warmer than they’d felt in a long time. When you got back to your place, it didn’t take long for the soft kisses to grow into something deeper—needier.

But this time, it felt different. This time, you took the lead.

You guided him to your bed, eyes locked on his, and undressed him slowly, worshipping every inch of him not just with touch but with emotion. You rode him with purpose, with tenderness, with the weight of everything unsaid over the last year pouring into each movement. He let you consume him, surrender to you, just as he'd once held you through your hardest moments. It wasn’t just sex. it was a quiet promise. A healing. A homecoming.

Later, you fell asleep curled in his arms, your head resting against his chest, listening to the soft rhythm of his heartbeat.

The morning sunlight filtered in lazily, spilling gold across your sheets as you stirred next to him. He was still half-asleep, hair tousled, lips slightly parted.

"So," you said, voice soft, teasing, "you haven’t been doing camming content for a while."

His eyes shot open, brows rising. “H–How did you know? Have you been checking?!”

“Perhaps... out of curiosity,” you smirked. “But answer the question!”

He sighed, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. “Nope. I honestly didn’t feel like doing it because you weren’t around for it.”

Your breath caught. “You’re so blunt.”

He grinned, eyes sparkling. “Why are you asking? Did you want to do it again? Another 'bed scene' together?”

“Huh!? N–No...” you stammered, cheeks heating.

“That doesn’t sound too sure,” he said, flashing that familiar playful smirk. “But if you figure out a way to keep it a secret and keep our actual jobs... I might consider going back to it. With you.”

You laughed, burying your face in the pillow. “We’ll see.”

Jin slipped out of bed, walking over to the large window beside it. You watched as he blew a light breath onto the glass, fogging it up slightly. Then, with his finger, he drew something.

“A heart?” you asked.

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“I’m leaving this heart on the window so you don’t miss me too much.”

You blinked. “Miss you?”

“I’ll see you again tomorrow,” he said casually.

“Huh!?”

“I’m taking you to Locanda Veneta for dinner. Heard it’s got some solid Italian food. Then maybe we can discuss... moving in together.”

You sat up, stunned. “W-Wait, Jin!?”

“Don’t worry,” he waved off, pulling on his blazer. “I’m moving into a new place soon—it’s halfway between your job and mine. So it’ll work out.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “God, you’re still always plotting things ahead.” You pause and look at him, “Always unbelievable…I love you.”

He turned to look at you, eyes widening, then relaxing as the softest smile grows on his face.

“I love you too. Haha, I can’t miss any moment now that I’ve got you.”

And once again, you were happy and content with this being your life. Not just as someone tagging along, not just as a passing moment in someone else’s life, but as someone chosen, someone wanted. All the heartbreak, all the waiting, all the wondering had led to this: waking up beside someone who looked at you like you were the beginning and the end of everything. And as Seokjin smiled at you with that mischievous glint in his eyes and a future already forming in his head, you realized there was no plan better than the one you were building together—one kiss, one laugh, one fogged-up heart on a window at a time.

a/n: thats the END!! how did you like it? did you expect this ending? or did you have other theories?! any questions you're curious about ;)) please let me know! for now, all i got to say is PLEASE! give jin's new album so much love when it gets released this week! and maybe... reread this fic again as i feel the vibe of the album will definitely reflect a lot of the thoughts hotw! jin had throughout this fic. i think me and jin connected to 7G haha but for now! i must disappear. please look forward to my future works or go check out some of my other works!! also 5/17 EDIT: here is a special chapter to celebrate jin's new album and "don't say you love me" mv

➸ let me know what you think OR join the taglist for future works! ➸ check out my masterlist for other fics I have made

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milaisreading · 1 year ago

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Wedding day

Pairing: Itoshi Sae x Isagi's sister!Reader

Warnings: Reader uses she/her. Requests are open

⚽️Blue lock belongs to Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura⚽️

"Can you please calm down, sis? Everything will be fine." Yoichi said as he walked around the room after his sister. The older Isagi was panicking a little as she thought more and more about the whole wedding that was supposed to happen in an hour.

"You think?! Yoichi, what if I am not good enough? Sae is a literal football star and I am just-"

"The best sister and future wife. Exactly!" Yoichi quickly chimed in, annoyed that she had let the recent gossip on the internet get to her. While he did have sympathy for her, marrying a high profiled person lime Sae Itoshi wasn't nothing, he was also mad that she was doubting her own worth.

"Yoichi... You of all people know how the news are. They will nitpick on the most smallest things about me." (Y/n) sighed as she went over to sit on a chair in the room, Yoichi following close behind.

"What if they are right about me not being the one for Sae?"

"That's ridiculous! He loves you!" Yoichi argued again, but he knew it was useless. He wasn't Sae. The one whose opinion mattered the most right now.

"I don't know... What if I am just hindering him? There are so many better options than I am. Did you see all those models from Madrid who talk about him? What if I am not the one?"

(Y/n) held back a few sobs as Yoichi went to comfort her. He would be lying if he said he didn't expect the news to make such a huge deal out of the wedding. He did. But, seeing the state his sister was in just broke Yoichi. She didn't deserve all this stress now. Nor did Sae deserve to be doubted.

And, while Yoichi was comforting (Y/n), he didn't notice Rin peek into the room and catching some of the conversation the were having, and catching the distressed state (Y/n) was in.

'Shit!' The younger Itoshi thought as he slowly closed the door. He didn't expect to walk into all of that. While Sae was on cloud nine in his room, (Y/n) was over here distressed over some gossip.

'Wait? What gossip? Big brother never mentioned anything about that.' Rin wondered as he took his phone out to search for anything that remotely could mention either Sae or the wedding.

Meanwhile...

Sae was happily drinking the water Rin brought him earlier. The older Itoshi never expected to be excited over anything like a wedding. Well, he never saw himself marry anyone until he met (Y/n). The love of his life.

'Ahhh~ I am all excited for our future. I can't wait for us to finally tie the knot. Maybe even a few kids down the line, but that can wait for another few years. For now, I just want to enjoy my time alone with her.' Sae smiled softly and blushed, not hearing the footsteps approaching his room.

'My sweet (Y/n). She is so clumsy and cute. So adorable and always kind to me and others. I am so lucky to have found-'

"Big brother!"

Sae snapped out of his thoughts and looked over at the door as Rin walked in, looking oddly nervous.

"What's up with you? You are more nervous than I am." Sae joked but Rin ignored him as he kept on glancing between his phone and the older.

"Well..."

"Anyway, how is (Y/n) doing? How does she look? Bet as stunning as ever. She is so adorable."

Sae went on a ramble and Rin knew he had to cut it out now before he went into an endless loop with it.

"I... There is something you need to see, and I think you won't like it."

Sae stopped and raised an eyebrow at Rin.

"What do you mean?"

"It's about (Y/n). You didn't read any of the news some of the Spanish and Japanese media reported?"

"No. Why would I? They mostly say dumb stuff, anyway."

"It might be dumb, but the stuff nearly has (Y/n) crying right now."

Sae froze up for a moment and quickly took the phone away from Rin.

The younger Itoshi was used to seeing a lot of emotions on Sae, but anger, genuine anger was not one of them. The more Sae read through the articles Rin had found, the redder his face became and the more his eyebrows furrowed.

'I would pray for the reporters, but they deserve whatever happens next.' Rin thought as an eerie silence took over.

----

Once Yoichi had left the room to let his sister cool down, (Y/n) had finally realized how ridiculous it was that she was crying about these things. After all, if Sae really didn't want her, he wouldn't have asked to marry her. Right?

'I need to have more faith in him, and also be less sensitive.' She thought as she put down her phone, not noticing Sae walk inside.

"Why didn't you tell me about those articles?"

(Y/n) yelped , and turned around to see Sae walk into the room and towards her.

"Sae! You shouldn't see me before-"

"I don't care. Rin said you were distressed over what those journalists were saying. Why didn't you tell me about it?"

For the first time since they started their relationship, (Y/n) was left speechless by the anger Sae was radiating. Sure, she was used to him being angry over what Shidou would say at times, or even when he would lose a game. But, this was a different type of anger. It was more genuine than the previous ones.

"Why?" Sae's voice got softer as he grapped her hands into his, causing (Y/n) to turn red a little.

"I thought it was stupid to bother you with that. It's just me being sensitive-"

"It's not. The stuff those idiots said about you is disgusting, and I will put an end to it on my next interview." (Y/n) raised an eyebrow as Sae pulled her in closer.

"I thought you don't have one yet."

"I asked my manager the schedule me one after our honeymoon. As much as I hate going on these, this is a different circumstance."

"Oh? Thank you." (Y/n) said as she grew flustered, causing Sae to finally smile again and chuckle a little.

"Don't thank me for stuff like this. And, have a little more faith in me. I have my eyes only set on you."

"You are right, I an sorry. I know you do."

She smiled as the door opened again, revealing Sae and (Y/n)'s moms.

"Sar Itoshi! What did I say about seeing (Y/n) before the wedding?! And why did you make Rin guard the entrance?" Sae flinched at his mom's yelling as Rin could be heard apologizing to him from behind her. (Y/n) laughed a little as her mom tried to calm the other woman down, finding the whole situation equally amusing.

"Well, today is an eventful day." (Y/n) laughed, and Sae smiled at her.

'At least you calmed down.'

#bllk #blue lock anime #blue lock manga #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock scenarios #blue lock #isagi's sister #itoshi sae #blue lock sae #bllk sae #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae x y/n

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luxdove · 4 months ago

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Drink Down Your Sorrows

Pure Vanilla Cookie x Drunkard! Reader (Platonic)

Randomly thought of this during school so might as well post this even though I don’t even know if I did this correctly

Characters might be OOC!

CW: Alcohol

You lived in the Pure Vanilla Kingdom for quite a while and yet every cookie seems to always be surprised when they see you- drunk

Pure Vanilla Cookie always tried to warn you about the dangers of drinking too much since ya know he’s a pretty close friend to you- yet you waved him off like it was no big deal- after all it’s just a simple drink; what’s so harmful about that?

you’re always seemed to be drunk, your tongue laced with intoxicating alcohol yet somehow you always managed drink enough to where it’s not so dangerous and life ending

However many cookies that knew you were obviously trying to get you to quit your habits

“My friend please I beg of you- can you please stop drinking? This is not good for you!” Pure Vanilla Cookie and other cookies that were acquainted with you kept asking

“What’s so dangerous about drinking? It’s not hurting anyone else is it? Let me endure the happiness that I can cherish even if it’s for mere seconds” you spoke with hiccuped, your breath stunk with alcohol, your eyes half lidded but your vision was clear as day face flushed as you drank more of the liquor

It’s not like you were a slacker, you worked with your heart beating with the liquor running in your dough

I mean how else did you managed to get enough currency to be living in the kingdom whilst getting your desired drink on the daily?

You weren’t irresponsible either, you were just a cookie who loves being drinking and being drunk all day and all night

Of course you just didn’t drink for fun, like most drunkards- yours had a story that started it all

A memory locked away in the corner of your mind, deaths filled your mind and was stuck in a never ending loop

So you started drinking- you drank and drank- all to cure your sorrow, painful, and pitiful self

So imagine the surprise on Pure Vanilla Cookie’s face once he finally saw you; the kingdom’s heaviest drunkard- finally not drunk and sober

You were in despair, tears fallen one after another, back hunched over as you looked…depressed really, eyes filled with no hope or meaning in life

Yet once you were drunk you were high with euphoria the laughter that is so easily whisked away with just a simple sip of that damn liquor

Pure Vanilla Cookie only needed a few moments to look at you to know what he must do, he will try to rehabilitate your habit of drinking because he will put a stop to this even if it means hurting you in the process

If anyone needed to convince you to do something all they needed to trade in was a simple barrel of alcohol- really you were just that easily swayed away

Now imagine the distraught you felt when Pure Vanilla Cookie finally made it to where there was a limit to your drinking

Perhaps you should move to another kingdom that didn’t have such rules? (All the other kingdoms have been informed with the rules so it wouldn’t make a difference)

oh how cruel he was to put an end to your happiness

Perhaps you should be an alcohol maker so where you had an endless supply and drink to your heart contents!

That would be the case if Pure Vanilla Cookie didn’t spend pretty much the whole day with you to keep you on lock down

Oh how double cruel! Even with the limits of drinking you haven’t even gotten a tiny sip of liquor due to Pure Vanilla Cookie sticking to your side like glue

It was cruel, it was horrible, you felt as the seconds gone by you were slowly suffocating by the sorrows that filled your past

“my friend what’s wrong? Don’t you love the way nature brings in hope?” Pure Vanilla Cookie spoke in a soft, innocent, and calm tone “you had to let go of that habit my dear friend…it was getting dangerous if you didn’t stop now…” he whispered concernly

Yet you couldn’t bear it- you couldn’t handle the pain

The addiction of drinking filled your dough and yet it’s been months without it

You’ve been masking your feelings in fear it would turn people away from you but Pure Vanilla Cookie being your closest friend could tell about your false feelings

So imagine one day you found your beloved alcohol just sitting on the counter of your household

It was tempting to you, it was like calling out for you to just take a sip…just one sip…

Yet that sip turned into a gulp…and that gulp turned into an empty bottle of glass

Yet…drinking didn’t seem to bring out the euphoria you thought it would bring

Instead it made you feel worse, in even more pain

So one day you met up with Pure Vanilla Cookie

You finally spilled everything, the start of your drinking habits to how now it doesn’t feel the same anymore

“Friend…I am so happy you tell me this…don’t you know how long I have been waiting for you to tell me?” Pure Vanilla Cookie said as he spoke soft yet his closed eyes faced showed how solemn he felt

Pure Vanilla Cookie comforted you as you cried your heart out, and you promised to drink to a limit and not to an everyday measure

Lowkey I was actually going to make it angst at the end but then I blanked out and made it comfort, your welcome you guys were saved 😡

The funny part was- when I first thought of this I only had “sorrow, pitiful self” line in my head and we somehow ended up here

#cookie run kingdom #cr kingdom #crk #pure vanilla cookie x reader #pure vanilla cookie #pure vanilla crk #pure vanilla x reader

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orcasoul · 7 months ago

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The Lesser of Two Evils

Chapter summery: You begin to doubt your preconceptions about Marcus. Your actions last night catch up to you with dire concequences.

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, threats of rape, sexual harassment, violence, detailed injuries, angst, enemies(ish) to lovers, slow burn.

Word Count: 5,214

Chapter 3 Friend or foe?

Dawn breaks hazily over the ancient woodland. Morning mist blankets the emerald foliage in tiny dew drops, which glisten when the sun manages to seep through the clouds. You've ridden all night, mostly in silence. For hours your mind has been stuck on an endless loop; blood, the feeling of flesh tearing, the life you ended. It was then you'd realised you had left your fathers knife embedded in Adhelms chest. Your heart sank to your stomach. That knife was all you had left of your father and now a part of you feels like you've lost him all over again.

Fresh tears tingle in your eyes under the crushing feeling of loss. Marcus' voice snapped you out of your thoughts. "We should stop for a while and rest the horse. She's been carrying us all night." Poor Inga. You'd been too lost in your own head to pay her any mind. "Okay." You gently squeeze the reins, bringing her to a stop. You dismount and turn to help Marcus down. "Thank you," he nods and limps to the nearest tree, plonking down, rather ungracefully. You tether Inga's reins to a low branch so she can lower her head to graze.

Placing your bag on the floor, you sit, cross legged in front of it and begin to rummage inside, pulling out a cloth filled with cured meat. After dividing the it evenly, you wrap up half and toss it over to land on Marcus' lap. "It's not much but it's better than nothing." "Appreciate it," Marcus says with a small nod. You both eat in silence for the next several minutes, the sounds of Inga grazing and the birds chirping are amplified in the otherwise still forrest. You decide to break the silence. "How's the leg?" you ask, tipping your head to his wound. "It's sore, but it'll be fine." "I should check it." You open your bag to gather fresh bandages, balm and your water skin.

"There's no need," Marcus shrugs and lays his head back against the tree, closing his eyes. You roll your eyes at his stubbourness. "No point you making it this far just to die of an infection now. Just let me check it." Marcus sighs and slowly opens his his eyes. He holds your gaze for a moment as if he doesn't want to admit you're right. "Very well," he grumbles and shifts onto his side, exposing the wound to you. He hisses as you peel the blood soaked rag from his skin. He must have bled while riding. The balm you apply stings as it makes contact with his raw skin. "Sorry..." you suck in through your teeth, "It won't take much longer."

Through the sting Marcus can feel how delicate your touch is, how you are careful to not add too much pressure. The sensation becomes somewhat soothing as the pain eases. He's almost disappointed when you finish wrapping his leg, coldness replacing the warmth of your fingertips. "All done," you sighed, voice flat and drained. After packing your bag, you too sit against a tree, head back and eyes closed. But the crystal clear image of Adhelms shocked face flashes before you, taunting you. Your eyes shoot open, unable to bare the sight. You bring your knees to your chest and lay your head on them, shaking it as if the motion could expel the mental picture from your head.

"You know he didn't give you a choice, right?" Marcus says with caution. "It was either kill or be killed." Your shoulders tense as your head snaps up. Shame has you turning your head from Marcus' gaze. "You did nothing wrong," he continues. "You defended yourself." "Can you just...!" You let out a defeated breath, still unable to look at him. "Can you not speak of it... please?" Your voice cracked on that last word and Marcus suspects that you've never had to kill anyone before now. He remembers with clarity his first kill and how it haunted him for so long, so he can sympathize with the inner turmoil you're feeling at this moment.

"Alright." he responded, gently. "But if you ever feel the need to talk abou-" "I don't!" you snap, frustration evident in your voice. Marcus says nothing more, much to your relief, but the silence that follows is now heavy. A part of you feels compelled to say something, anything to lighten the atmosphere, but at the same time, you just haven't got the energy. And besides, he's a Roman and you are of the Gutones. Its not like you're here to befriend him and vice versa. You're both using each other for one common goal; to get safely to Rome, and once Marcus has fulfilled his promise to grant you citizenship you will both make your own paths in life. You're not sure how much time has passed while being stuck in your own head, worrying about the arduous journey and all the uncertainties ahead of you, when Marcus rises somewhat unsteadily to his feet.

"We should press on. We don't know if we're being followed." He steps in front of you, offering you his hand. Reluctantly, you take it. As he pulls you up, you unintentionally make make eye contact and for the first time you notice how the rich brown tones of his irises blend together and your breath catches in your chest. After a moment, you realise you're still holding his hand and you quickly pull yours away, still feeling the warmth of his palm on yours. You offer a small, awkward smile and make your way over to Inga. Marcus limps behind, wordlessly, climbing up behind you and you're sure you can sense the same awkwardness from him that you'd just felt.

*****

Hours pass before you stop to rest again. The last of the rations have been consumed but it shouldn't be a problem. If all goes well, you'll reach the Roman encampment tomorrow. You both ride on until the evening sunshine begins to slip below the horizon, casting an almost eerie haze across the ancient landscape. It's no wonder that settings such as this gave rise to tales of encounters with otherworldly creatures such as the Irrlicht, Aufhocker and Fevermann. It's almost as if the forrest itself has eyes. Just before dusk blends into night you reach the river Isar. You are only a few miles from the encampment now and you would have insisted on travelling through the night if it wasnt for an approaching storm.

A nearby cave has become your saving grace for the night. Luckily, it's quite small and doesn't stretch back far, meaning it won't house any preditors. It has just enough room for the three of you to shelter from the elements. Do you t-think it's safe enough to l-light a fire tonight?" you ask through chattering teeth. Of course it's too risky out in the open - the light and smoke would be a beacon to anyone pursuing you - but inside the cave entrance should be okay. Marcus is silent for a moment, weighing up the pros and cons. Finally, he decides. "A small one, just to warm up for a while." As if the gods had been aiding you all along, you just so happen to find some dry sticks and kindling further back in the cave. There had obviously been some nests in here in the past.

You gather them up and place them in a pile in front of you. Marcus takes two stones in hand and in no time at all a warm and welcoming fire lights up the dark cave. It's amazing how simply having a fire can lift your spirits and bring a sense of calm, despite the grave situation you are in. Outside the wind has picked up, whipping the rain sideways. The howling wind makes Inga restless, so to calm her you smooth your hands down her neck while humming a tune quietly. After a few minutes she relaxes enough to lay down. When you turn to walk back to the fire you see that Marcus had been watching the whole interaction, only now turing his head back to the fire as you sit next to him - but keeping a respectful distance.

Holding your hands over the fire, an involuntary shiver ripples through your body as the warmth begins to seep into your bones. "That song... it sounded nice," Marcus said, still staring into the flames. "Yeah..." you nod. "My mother used to sing it to me whenever I had a bad dream." After a moment's silence Marcus asks, "What happened to your parents?" Judging by your now rigid posture and tense jaw, this is a... difficult subject for you. "Nothing," you replied, sharply. Marcus sighed exhasperatedly. "Alia..." You turn your head to face Marcus at the serious tone of his voice. "I do not wish to pry into your past, but I need to know why you fled; what these people did to drive you to turn away from them." You narrowed your eyes in response. "You don't need to know that." "Yes, I do," Marcus insisted, eyebrows set in a firm frown.

"I'm involved now and I need to know what I'm bringing back to my men, to Rome. If I'm going to vouch for you, I should know everything." An indignant scoff rose up your throat. "That wasn't part of the deal. The agreement was I help you escape and you take me to Rome!" The audacity of this man to change the terms now. Your cheeks become flushed with ire as you stare in disbelief at the now impassive face of the general. "That was before I realised you're hiding something. And if it could compromise my legion or my honour-" "You really thInk I could be dangerous?" you laugh, devoid of actual humour.

"You tell me," Marcus eyed you warily as if he was trying to figure you out. "What did your chief mean when he said you couldn't be trusted? Why did he call you evil?" With a frustrated sigh, you roll your eyes closed and shake your head. He's not going to drop this! "You want the truth, fine. Everyone in my village believes I'm a Seer..." "A Seer?" Marcus questioned, raising one eyebrow. "Someone with... unnatural abilities." "You mean like a witch?"

You nod briefly, lower your head and continue, "My mother was considered to be a bit odd in the community just because she kept to herself. She also helped people with various ailments. For a long time people appreciated her contribution, but one year the harvest failed and when people got hungry and angry enough they blamed her. One night a large group came to our house and my..." You pause to take a breath and blink back the threat of tears. "My father was killed when he tried to protect her... and then they burned the house down with my mother inside it." Your head has turned away now, tucked into your shoulder, waiting for the inevitable fear? hate? rejection? There's no way he'll allow you to remain with him now.

So you're a bit surprised when he calmly asks you, "How old were you when it happened?" "Eight," you mumble, quietly. "I'm sorry," Marcus whispered, softly. You slowly lift your head and take in the look of sadness and sincerity on his face. His large eyes seem to shimmer in the glow of the fire and there's a hint of disbelief in them. A heaviness settles in your chest, causing your throat to tighten and your chin to tremble. This is the most kindness you've been shown in years. You quickly wipe away the water blurring your vision and turn your attention back to the fire. "No child should ever have to endure something like that." You nod and exhale, "I think the only reason I was spared is because I was a child."

The air has now become oppressively quiet, as if neither of you know how to steer away from such a dark revelation. Marcus then clears his throat, "Let's get some rest. We leave at dawn." You whip around to Marcus in surprise. "You mean I can still come with you?!" Marcus' brow scrunches at your incredulity. "That was the deal, was it not?" "Well, yes but..." Marcus shifts to fully face you now. "But...?" "I just assumed you'd want to be rid of me, knowing the truth." Marcus scoffed, shaking his head. "I don't believe for one second that you're a witch, or that your mother was." Stunned, your jaw hangs low as your mind scrambles to process what you'd just heard. "So... you don't fear me?"

"No," Marcus stated, with no reservations. "I am not a superstitious simpleton, and you didn't deserve what they did to you." Marcus' words struck you deeply, completely upending what you had been led to believe about Romans. You had been told nothing but horror stories of rape, torture and unspeakable brutality that befell anyone in their path. That they are an unstoppable force that thrived on terror and carnage, yet the first actual Roman you have met is nothing of the sort. He hasn't attempted to harm you in any way and even now, after learning of your past he intends to keep his promise to you.

In a small, wobbly voice you say the only thing you can think of, "Thank you." Marcus nods to acknowledge your appreciation. He can sense there's so much more to your gratitude that you can't articulate at this moment. They say the eyes are the window to the soul and now, in your glassy eyes he sees the weight of all you have suffered, but also a flicker of hope. A part of him feels contented that he could bring you said hope, even if it's just the smallest morsel. The feeling is strange to him, a satisfaction he rarely feels. It's settling and unsettling at the same time. "You get some sleep," Marcus offers. "I'll take the first watch." You give him the faintest hint of a smile before laying down by the fire. "Goodnight Marcus," you say, softly. "Goodnight, Alia."

You wake just as the sun begins to brighten the early morning sky, the birds' melody bringing you back to the world. The cold air sends a shiver through your body as you roll onto your side, noticing the fire has reduced to embers. On the other side of the fire, Marcus snores lightly. Why the hell didn't he wake me? A shuffling outside the cave makes your heart jump up into your throat. Tip Toeing to the entrance, you release your bated breath when you realise it's just the horse grazing. You walk over to where Marcus is fast asleep. Crouching down, you gently touch his shoulder to rouse him.

The moment your fingers brushed him, Marcus' hand shot out, lightening quick, gripping your wrist so tightly you would have cried out, if not for his other hand squeezing your throat. Before you even realise it, you're on your back, Marcus pinning you down while his eyelids blink rapidly. "Fuck!" he gasped as he realised his mistake. He released you as if your skin had physically burned him, throwing himself off of you. "Forgive me," he stuttered, panic evident on his face "I didn't- I thought... Shit! Are you okay?" He reached out to comfort you as you lay gasping and coughing beside him, rubbing your tender throat.

But as soon as he made contact with you you recoiled sharply, looking anywhere but at him. "I'm sorry," Marcus held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "I didn't mean to hurt you." "It's okay," you answer fearfully, voice raspy from coughing. "I just wanted..." cough, "to tell you..." cough, cough, "I'm going to take the horse to the river to drink." Your throat burns with every word. "I'll... be right back." You quickly get to your feet, grab your water skin and make a quick exit. Marcus watches you leave, a part of him wanting to call you back, to make sure he didn't hurt you. Guilt gnaws at him as the image of your wide eyes and red face refuses to leave his mind.

He rubs a hand over his face in exasperation, cursing himself for falling asleep. If he'd woken you as he'd intended, this never would have happened. The last thing he desires is for you to fear him. He rises, his leg stiff but feeling a bit stronger and limps to the cave entrance, ready to follow you to the river to make amends. He walks out into the gleam of the morning sun, shielding his squinting eyes with his hand when it happened. The wind is knocked out of Marcus as he is tackled to the ground, pain shooting through his back with the force of the impact. His attacker quickly rolls behind him, gripping him around the neck with both arms.

"Hold him still!" another man yells as he approaches with his sword drawn. Marcus, now on crouched legs, fights to free himself from the headlock but the grip is solid. "You and that little bitch are going to pay for what you've done!" the man restraining Marcus growled into his ear. A burst of fury and determination overtakes Marcus. Damn it, you'd both made it this far. He won't let it end like this now. Not when you're both so close to safety. With his uninjured leg, he kicks out at the man in front of him, hitting his kneecap. The sound of crunching bone is almost drowned out as his would be executioner wails in agony, dropping his sword and falling to the ground.

The man holding Marcus freezes in shock, giving him the opportunity to strike. He throws a hand over his shoulder, digging his thumb into the mans eye. He looses his grip around Marcus' neck, screaming as he falls onto his back, hands over his bloodied eye. Adrenaline pushes Marcus to his feet, despite the pain in his leg, and he swiftly grabs the sword. Moments later both men lay dead, blood pouring from their open throats as Marcus drops to his knees, catching his breath. But he doesn't have long to compose himself. Your shrill scream echoes through the trees causing Marcus' heart to seize with dread. Gripping his sword tightly he pushes up and limp - runs as fast as he can towards the river.

*****

Sunlight dapples on the slow moving river, the splashing and burbling of water crashing against the rocks along with the smell of wet earth and moss invoke an atmosphere of calm and stillness to an already tense start to the day. You lead Inga to the waters edge, gently patting down her side as she begins to drink greedily. Crouching down, you begin to fill up your water skin, enjoying the feeling of the cool water on your fingers. Your throat and wrist still ache and upon closer inspection you can make out a faint ring of purple bruises already forming on your wrist.

It's clear what happened was an accident and that Marcus feels bad about it, but this incident reminds you that those who are stronger than you - both physically and mentally - will always have the upper hand. Last night you had seen a softer, more compassionate side to Marcus and foolishly, you had allowed yourself to lower your guard, just a little. The wake up call you gave him was also a wake up call to you. You can't put your trust in anyone. Marcus seems to be a man of honour and because of that, you've no doubt he will fulfil his promise to you, but if you ever get on his wrong side...? You shudder to think. He is a soldier after all, crafted on the battlefield; violence and brutality as much a natural part of him as everything else. And because of that, you cannot afford to underestimate him, ever.

You hadn't even realised you'd zoned out while contemplating until Inga began to shift nervously, heavy breath flaring her nostrils. A snap behind you has you spinning around, only to be met with a fist to your jaw. Shock pulses through you, both from the pain and the freezing water you now find yourself submerged in. A pair of hands squeezes your throat as you attempt to fight back, desperate for air. With the water distorting your vision all you can make out is the rippling face of a man above you. Just when your empty lungs can take it no more, you are roughly pulled out of the water, a furious Bardulf snarling in your face, teeth bared and spittle forming at his mouth.

He eases his grip just enough for you to suck in some much needed air. "You murderous, evil witch!" Raged Bardulf. "You killed my father, your chief in cold blood!" "Please!" you cry as he drags you from the water. "And then you run like the snivelling little coward you are!" He throws you to the ground, then flips you onto your back, straddling your hips and pinning you in place. Bardulf is joined by another man, a short, stocky man you've always seen lingering around him like a loyal and pathetic hound. "We should kill her now," he sneered. "No!" Bardulf snapped. "That's too quick, too merciful!" Bardulf grips your wrists as you attempt to claw at his face, pushing them to your sides and trapping them under his knees, leaving you completely defenceless.

"You thought your life was bad before? You have no idea what's waiting for you once I get you home. You will suffer like no one ever has before. I'm going to show you exactly what I'm capable of." Bardulf reached to his side and pulled out a knife. But not just any knife; your fathers' knife! "You forget something..." he smiled maniacally as he traced it lightly along your throat. "Thought you might like it BACK!" You watched in terror filled slow motion as he brought the knife down, sinking it into your shoulder. The scream that tore through your throat hurt even your own ears as white hot pain flashed through your upper body. Bardulf gripped your hair, forcing you to look him in the eye. "This is only the beginning," he threatened, darkness swirling in his horrid eyes.

"Heeeeelp!" "Scream all you want, bitch." Bardluf twisted the knife, clearly getting a sick kick out of your pain. "That Roman can't hear you now." Bardulf then stood up, kicking you in the ribs so hard the force rolled you over only to receive another hard kick from his friend. Your ribs feel like they're about to collapse from the unbearable force. Your instinct is to scream, but the constant blows mean you can't inhale. All you can do is lay there while they extract their pound of flesh. You honestly don't know how much more you can possibly withstand when suddenly a guttural roar swallows the men's laughter and you open your eyes to see the end of a sword protruding from the short mans chest, blood oozing from the laceration and from his mouth.

When he drops, Marcus is standing behind him, blood sprayed over his face and breastplate, swinging the bloodied sword in his hand. Bardulf unsheaths his own sword and lunges at Marcus. Marcus meets each blow time and again. Even in his weakened state, he can tell this fool is lacking in comparison. He has the skill but not the stamina. In his peripheral vision, Marcus can see you trying push yourself to your knees. Bardulfs attacks are becoming more sloppy and careless the angrier he gets. In a moment of fortune, Marcus seizes his oppertunity, disarming Bardulf with a quick twist of his sword.

The sword falls to the side, Bardulf throwing himself to the ground after it, stopping just out of reach as Marcus sweeps at him. Just before Bardulf can reach it, Marcus sees you grab the sword and toss it into the river, collapsing afterwards. "No!" Bardulf explodes, leaping up. He spins to see Marcus advancing on him, ducking out of the way of his sword at the last moment, and backing up. "This is far from over, Alia!" he warns before running off into the woods. Marcus drops the sword the moment the coast is clear, slumping to his knees beside you. It's only now he notices the knife lodged in your shoulder. A small whimper accompanies your laboured breathes, tears streaming down the sides of your face. Marcus feels sick at the sight. He should have gotten here sooner.

"Alia..." he calls but your tormented eyes are fixed on the sky. "Alia!" his tone is more commanding now as he gently grips your face in both hands, giving you nowhere to look but at him. "Look at me and listen carefully. You're going to be okay, do you hear me?" Marcus looks again at your shoulder, grimacing. "The knife doesn't appear to be too deep, but it will hurt to remove it. I have to take it out-' "No!" you beg, desperately, gripping both of his hands. "I have to and when I do you need to keep pressure on it. You can do it!" "No no, please!" Marcus has to swallow the lump forming in his throat. He's seen many injured people in his time but seeing someone like you in this situation - kind and soft and completely undeserving of such cruelty - hits him right in the center of his chest.

He rips a long strip of fabric from his own clothing and turns his attention back to you, wrapping his hand around the handle of the blade. "On the count of three," "No don't," "One..." "No!" "Two..." he continues trying to not focus on the fear in your voice. "Oh nononono!" "Three!" "ARRRRRGH!" That almost inhuman scream is one he hopes to never have to hear again. He quickly places your hand over the gushing wound. "Keep it there," he orders as he begins to wrap the fabric around your shoulder, only moving your hand when he's ready to tie the makeshift bandage. "It's all done," he soothes pressing his hand on your wound. "You were very brave." You wince as he keeps the pressure on you. "I'm sorry," he whispers, regretfully. "I'm going to help you up now." Marcus slips his hind under your back, supporting your weight, slowly pulling you to sit up. Your breath catches from the pain. "Where's the damn horse?!" Marcus grumbled looking around the immediate area, realising she must have panicked and ran off in all the commotion.

"We have to go. It's not safe here now. The horse has fled so we'll have to walk." Your head lolls to the side, colour draining from your face. "Hey!" Marcus taps your cheek. "Did you hear me?" You nod slowly, as your regain focus. "Good. Which way is east?" You point behind you. "Okay, let's go." Marcus groans as he pushes himself up, his leg now flaring with sharp jolts as warmth trickles down it. He must have pulled all the stitches during the fight. Seeing your father's knife beside you, you grab it and tuck it into the waist of your trousers. Marcus places your arm around his neck and pulls you up, holding you tightly around the waist and you both begin to head east.

*****

You've both been going for what feels like forever now, every step gruelling as Marcus struggles onward, half dragging you beside himself. His leg continues to bleed, the pain increasing as time wears on. As a soldier he has endured pain and injuries all of his adult life and has come out of it stronger; this time will be no different. With steely determination and the stubbornness to match even the most wilful mule, he ignores the persistent burn and staggers forth. "Marcus...?" you mumble, voice so quiet he doesn't hear you. "Ma... Marcus," you whine. "We n... need to stop." "No, we're not... far from the Castrum (army encampment). I... recognise this area. We should," urrgh, "come across a patrol soon." "Please," you implore. "I can't... walk anymore." Every breath, every step, every sway of your body shoots straight to your shoulder. You didn't know it was possible to feel fire under your skin! But that's how it feels; like a river of flames coursing through your chest and arm. Marcus stumbles on unsteadily, seemingly intent on ignoring you. You can tell he's tiring as his steps begin to falter.

"Leave me," you pant. "I'm slowing you down." Marcus' hold on you tightens, his voice low and gravelly. "Now you hear me. You did not come this far just to," urgh "give up now. I won't.. have it. There's strength in you, I see it." "I-" "No," Marcus cuts you off. "No more talking, just... walk. That's all you have to... do now. Just keep going." You haven't the energy to argue so you do as you are told. Time feels inconsequential right now. You don't know if you've been walking for minutes or hours. Through the constant ringing in your ears you notice Marcus' breathing has become heavier. Your steps have slowed to a snails pace, but then you realise it's not your steps that have practically stopped, but Marcus'. Up until this point you've just allowed yourself to be lead .

He suddenly collapses to his knees, taking you down with him, exhaustion weighing heavily on both of you. Marcus is clearly in great pain. You look to where his hand reaches behind his leg and gasp when his fingers come away red and shiny. "Your leg!" "It's fine," he grits between clenched teeth. "You should rest," you insist. "No time..." Marcus shakes his head, "We're nearly there." Marcus groans as he tries to stand, falling to the side. "Marcus!-" "Halt!" The booming voice makes you jump, aggravating your wound. "Who goes- General!" the roman before you exclaims in disbelief, lowering his sword. "God's be praised! We thought you had died sir!" "He... help her," Marcus rasped. "Yes sir. You two..." he points to two men in the patrol group, "help the General, you..." he points to another soldier, "Go on ahead. Inform the Medicuses and bring them to the Praetorium (Generals' tent).

Your head is spinning, consciousness becoming harder to cling too. When you feel two large hands grabbing you, you cry out in alarm, trying to shift away from the strange man, who is even larger than Marcus. Marcus' hand finds yours and you can instantly tell the difference, his already familiar touch grounding you. "He won't hurt you, I promise. We're safe now." Marcus' encouragement were more than just words to you; they're a comfort, a reassurance that your spent body can rest, knowing that whole dreadful ordeal is finally over. The soldier bends down and scoops you up, and with the adrenaline now dissolving from your system, your whole body slumps into the mans breastplate. Two soldiers drape Marcus' arms over their shoulders and pull him up, taking his weight as you all make your way to the Castrum (army encampment).

Series Masterlist Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Ch 4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8 Ch9 Ch10 Ch11 Ch12 Ch13 - coming soon

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