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dollgxtz · 10 days

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His Watchful Eye Pt. 5

Word Count: 11.6k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, kidnapping, syringes, hitting, bloodshed, attempted rape, lots of blood, sylus goes a tad bit crazy, pet names like kitten, sweetie, doll, little mouse, stalking,

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

AN: I decided to make this chapters theme red since it fits the bloodiness of this chapter. This is on A03 as well! Also YALL I'm so sorry, apparently my taglist hasn't been tagging people correctly. It should be fixed now! I’ll go back and fix it on the other lists as well!! Per usual, heed the warnings and enjoy! Next chapter is definitely going to have lots of smut, I’m already writing it 😌

"Your tears, your pain, your misery," Sylus whispers, his voice dripping with a dark intimacy as his hand moves gently to your face. His thumb brushes against your cheek, wiping away a tear that hasn’t yet fallen, his touch both tender and terrifying. "It all belongs to me."

“I am the only one who gets to see you cry”

Read Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.6

The darkness had swallowed you whole. When you blink your eyes open, the world is a blur, as though you’re caught between waking and a nightmare. Cold, sharp and biting, is the first thing you feel, seeping into your skin from the damp concrete beneath you. Your nightgown is soaked, sticking to your body, the freezing water from the shower still dripping slowly from the showerhead, an eerie rhythm to the otherwise oppressive silence.

It takes a moment before the memories resurface, and when they do, they crash over you like a wave. The basement. Reese. The other man. The betrayal. Your heart clenches painfully as you recall the way Reese had looked at you when he led you here, his guilt ridden face made you scowl.

How dare he have a conscious when he had led you to your very demise? You had trusted him. Told him about your kidnapping, your escape. He had listened with kind eyes, nodding in all the right places, making you believe he was different—that he was your salvation in a world that had turned cruel. He had seemed so genuine, offering you a place to stay, a promise of safety. But now, that memory feels like poison, a twisted mockery of the trust you had so willingly given him.

How could you have been so naive?

You groan as you try to sit yourself upright, every muscle in your body protesting with sharp pain. The cold has seeped so deeply into your bones that it feels like your limbs are made of lead, heavy and uncooperative. Your fingers dig into the rough concrete as you push against it, your nightgown clinging to your skin, wet and miserable.

Your head spins, the pounding ache a reminder of everything you’ve been through, but you grit your teeth and force yourself to move. Lying there, helpless, isn’t an option. Not anymore.

Each breath is a struggle, shallow and ragged, as you steady yourself against the wall behind you. The dampness of the basement, the steady drip of water in the corner, the faint musty scent of decay—it all feels suffocating, as though the walls are closing in. You blink hard, trying to focus, to ground yourself in the moment, but the betrayal still burns in your mind, cutting deeper than any physical wound.

Reese's face flashes before your eyes again, his soft voice promising safety, and you can’t help but let out a bitter laugh, though it quickly dissolves into a shaky exhale. Safety. What a cruel joke.

You had simply traded one prison for a colder, darker one.

You look around the basement, squinting in the dim light. Your legs ache as you try to move them, pins and needles shooting through your feet as you attempt to stand. Your body feels battered, but the deeper pain—the one rooted in the betrayal—hurts far worse. Reese wasn’t some random passerby, some kind stranger. He knew what he was doing, and worse, he had listened to your story of suffering and seen you as an opportunity to fulfill some promise.

As you lean against the wall, trying to steady your shaky breath, Reese’s words echo in your mind, gnawing at your already fragile sense of reality.

“I promised them a girl.”

The phrase rattles around in your skull, unsettling and cryptic. What did he mean by that? Who was them?

Your stomach turns, the bile rising in your throat as you replay the memory over and over. Reese had said it shakily, his voice trembling, his eyes wide with barely concealed fear. But his words were soaked in something far darker, something that made your skin crawl the moment they left his lips.

Promised them a girl.

The weight of it sinks in deeper, heavier with each passing moment, like a noose tightening around your neck.

Your hands curl into fists, nails digging sharply into your palms as you struggle to suppress the rising wave of nausea and panic. Every breath feels like a battle, the air thick with dread. You want answers—need answers—but more than anything, you need to get out of here. Every second you spend trapped in this basement feels like a countdown ticking away to something far worse than anything your mind can conjure.

Whatever Reese had promised them, whatever twisted deal he’d made, you won’t let it come to pass. You won’t be some pawn in this dark, twisted game he's playing. You refuse to be reduced to a bargaining chip for them, whoever they are. They might have Reese tangled in their web, but they won’t have you.

Your eyes drift toward the dingy mattress settled on a metal frame, barely visible in the dim light. A tattered towel, a folded pair of sweatpants and a white shirt lie haphazardly on top of it. You hesitate for a moment, the sight catching you off guard. Did Reese leave these here for you?

The thought sends a wave of conflicting emotions through you—anger, confusion, even a twisted sense of pity. Despite everything, despite handing you over to whatever fate awaits, had he still tried to offer some small gesture of comfort? Or had this been planned, just part of the sick arrangement, a way to keep you alive long enough for them?

You shake the thought from your mind. It doesn’t matter.

The cold clings to you, a constant, suffocating presence in your wet nightgown. Your teeth are still chattering, your skin icy to the touch. Without thinking too much about it, you rush over to the mattress, snatching the towel and the sweatpants. The rough fabric of the towel is worn, but it's warm enough as you rub it over your chilled skin, drying the water that’s soaked through your night gown.

With shaking hands, you strip off your wet, heavy dress and quickly pull on the dry sweatpants and t shirt. The warmth is immediate, a small, fleeting relief that feels almost like a luxury in this basement. You wish they weren't so loose, but it’s better than nothing.

Your body is still cold, still trembling, but the damp heaviness has lessened. You feel lighter, a little less trapped by the elements, even if the air around you remains heavy with the weight of everything that has yet to happen.

Reese’s face flashes in your mind again, his nervous, guilt-ridden eyes, and you can’t help but wonder—was this his attempt at an apology? His way of making up for the unforgivable?

Abruptly, you hear it – footsteps above, faint but unmistakable. Your entire body tenses as you freeze in place, straining to listen. The whispers that follow are barely audible through the thick ceiling, but you can catch snippets of words, just enough to recognize one of the voices: Reese.

Your heart thuds against your ribcage as you make your way towards the metal hatch at the top of the stairs, every step agonizing from the cold and strain. You push through the pain, desperate for more information.

You press your ear against the frigid metal, the voices growing clearer yet still muffled. Reese's voice is shaky and filled with nervous energy, like when he made that dreadful promise to "them."

"She said she was kidnapped," Reese's voice trembles, sending a wave of chills down your spine.

A cold sweat breaks out across your skin. A lump forms in your throat as you strain to listen, your mind racing. You had trusted him with everything, thinking he would help. The other voice – deep and calculated – interrupts.

"By who?" he demands harshly.

"I don't know," Reese replies, panic evident in his voice. "She didn't give names…I didn't ask…I didn't think…"

"Idiot," the man hisses angrily, cutting off Reese's rambling. There's a moment of silence before heavy footsteps approach closer. Your heart pounds violently in your chest.

You hear something unmistakable—a faint scraping sound. Your blood runs cold as you slowly realize what’s happening.

The metal handle of the hatch begins to turn.

It’s a slow, deliberate movement, the iron grinding against itself with a low, ominous creak that makes your breath catch in your throat. Your heart skips a beat, eyes widening as you stare at the hatch, watching the handle twist further, the tension of the lock giving way with a soft, metallic click.

Panic floods through you as the realization hits like a punch to the gut—they’re about to open the hatch.

The handle continues to turn, and with a surge of panic, you pull away from the hatch. Your body moves before your mind can fully process, instincts kicking in. You scramble down the creaky wooden stairs, your legs protesting with every movement, but you push through the pain.

Each step feels like it takes an eternity, the sound of the hatch above grinding against your nerves. You reach the bottom, your breath ragged, and without a second thought, you make a desperate dive under the bed.

You scramble under the grimy mattress, your heart pounding as you press your body flat against the cold floor. The space beneath the bed is cramped, dark, and thick with dust, but you force yourself to stay still, biting back your panic. Your breathing comes in short, shaky bursts, but you try to control it, barely daring to inhale as you listen to the creak of the metal hatch swinging open.

The footsteps echo louder now, descending the wooden stairs, each step making your pulse race faster. You watch from your hiding place, the dim light casting shadows across the room as the first pair of feet—Reese's—comes into view. His sneakers shuffle nervously against the floor. Right behind him, heavier boots thud down the steps—boots that belong to someone much more imposing, someone far more dangerous.

You peek through the gloom, barely daring to lift your head.

Reese speaks first, his voice shaky. “I-I swear, I don’t know who kidnapped her. She just told me she was running, that she escaped. I didn’t ask for details.” There’s a tremor in his voice, thick with fear.

The other man’s voice is low, cold. “And you didn’t think to get more information? You were too busy playing hero.”

You didn't recognize this voice. He wasn't the one from earlier that had helped Reese bring you down here.

Reese mumbles something incoherent, but you can hear his terror. The other man clearly isn’t buying it. The booted footsteps hit the last step, and the man takes a slow, deliberate step into the basement.

You curl up tighter, heart racing, your body nearly paralyzed with fear as you catch sight of him. He’s taller than Reese, broader, with an intimidating presence that fills the room. His voice cuts through the tension. “Where is she, Reese? You promised us a girl. So, where is she?”

Reese stammers, his anxiety palpable. “She’s—she’s here, I swear, I locked the hatch. She couldn’t have gone anywhere.”

The man lets out a slow exhale, clearly unimpressed. “She better be. Otherwise, you’ll have hell to pay.”

You can feel the weight of the man’s presence shifting, scanning the room, and you shrink further into the darkness, praying that the shadows will keep you hidden. The dread mounts as the sound of their steps grows louder.

Your heart races, every muscle tense as the heavy boots come to a stop right beside the bed. You can feel the air shift, the man's presence looming dangerously above you. His shadow stretches over the mattress, and for a second, you think maybe—just maybe—he'll move on. Maybe he won't look under here.

But then, in one swift motion, he crouches down.

His eyes lock onto yours, blue and calculating, a cruel smile playing at the edges of his lips. Your stomach drops, panic surging through you like wildfire. You try to scramble backward, to escape deeper under the bed, but it's too late. His hand shoots out, iron-tight fingers wrapping around your ankle.

"No more hiding, little mouse," he growls, his voice thick with menace.

You kick and thrash, but he’s far too strong. With a brutal yank, he drags you out from under the bed, your nails scraping uselessly against the concrete floor as you try to find some kind of grip. Fear pulses through you, sharp and overwhelming, as you're pulled out into the open.

"Got her," the man says, his grip on your ankle tightening painfully. He hauls you upright, forcing you to stand even as your legs buckle beneath you.

Reese is standing off to the side, pale and trembling, his eyes wide with guilt and fear. He doesn’t say a word as the man forces you up, his cold fingers digging into your arm now, holding you in place.

The man looks you over, his smile fading as he studies you with dark, unreadable eyes. "This is her?" he says, glancing at Reese, his voice a mixture of disbelief and something far more dangerous.

Reese stammers, his voice barely above a whisper. "Y-yes. I swear. She’s the one."

The man turns back to you, his expression hardening. "Good," he mutters darkly, tightening his grip on your arm until pain shoots through your shoulder.

You bit back a cry of pain, refusing to give him the satisfaction. The man's grip tightened further, his fingers digging into your flesh like steel talons. Your heart raced, pounding against your ribcage as you fought to keep your composure.

"Let. Me. Go." You hissed through clenched teeth, each word dripping with venom.

The man's lips curled into a cruel smirk. "Feisty, are we? Hilarious. Won't last long though".

He released your arm abruptly, causing you to stumble. As you regained your footing, you noticed Reese had retreated to a corner, his face a mask of guilt and fear. The betrayal stung, but you pushed the feeling aside. There would be time for that later. Right now, survival was your only priority.

The men turned toward the metal hatch at the top of the stairs, drawn to the sound of heels clacking against the wooden steps. You tensed, every muscle in your body coiling with anticipation as another pair of legs appeared, descending with an air of confidence. A woman stepped into the basement, her dark hair swinging with each precise step, her sharp brown eyes surveying the room with calm, calculated detachment. She was dressed in a crisp, business-casual outfit, perfectly put together, every detail deliberate.

Her heels struck the floor with a final, authoritative click as she reached the bottom of the stairs, her gaze locking onto you immediately. There was no warmth in her eyes, no recognition of you as a person—only cold assessment, as though you were an object, a piece of inventory.

She didn’t speak right away, her expression unreadable as she glanced at the man beside you, then at Reese huddled in the corner. Her presence demanded attention, a silent command of the room that made your skin crawl.

“Is this the girl?” she asked at last, her voice smooth but carrying an edge of impatience.

The man nodded, his smirk never faltering. “She’s the one boss.”

The woman’s eyes swept over you again, lingering on you for a moment longer than before. You felt her gaze like ice, sharp and invasive, as if she could see through you, past your fear, right down to your core.

“She doesn’t look like much,” she remarked, almost casually, though there was a quiet menace in her tone. “But she’ll do hopefully.”

Your heart dropped, dread pooling in your stomach as her words hung in the air. Whatever Reese had gotten you into, it wasn’t just a betrayal—it was something far more dangerous. And now, you were caught in the middle of it.

Your mind raced as you tried to think of a way out, but the walls felt like they were closing in, your options shrinking with every second that passed. You had to do something—anything—before it was too late.

You certainly couldn't fight your way out of here. It was 3v1, and the days of little food and constant stress had weakened you significantly. Your limbs felt like lead, and any attempt to resist would be useless, not against these people—especially with the woman’s calculating gaze locked onto you.

"Wh-what is this?" you stammer, trying to sound calm, but the tremor in your voice betrays you. "What do you plan to do with me?"

The woman turned toward you, her expression cold, detached. She raised an eyebrow, as though mildly amused by your question, but there was no kindness in her eyes—only a chilling indifference.

“Does it really matter?” she replied, her voice smooth but laced with cruelty. She stepped closer, her heels clicking against the floor with each deliberate step, her presence looming over you. “You’re not in a position to negotiate or ask questions, are you?”

You felt your pulse race, panic swelling in your chest. You tried to stand straighter, to show some semblance of strength, but your body betrayed you, trembling from exhaustion and fear.

The man who had grabbed you before let out a low chuckle. “She’s already scared. Good. Makes things easier.”

Reese, from his corner, shifted uncomfortably, avoiding your eyes as if he couldn’t bear to look at you. The guilt was written all over his face, but he said nothing, didn’t even try to stop what was happening. He had already played his part in this nightmare.

The woman tilted her head, her gaze unwavering. “You’ve been promised to someone very important, and it’s best if you cooperate. Things will be... easier for you.”

Your stomach dropped at the implications of her words. Promised? You were no longer just a person—you were a transaction.

Your mouth went dry as you forced the question past your lips, your voice shaky. "Promised for what?" You had to know. Every terrible possibility ran through your mind, but the uncertainty gnawed at you even more.

The woman paused, a brief flicker of something—pity, maybe?—crossing her face. She sighed softly, like she was indulging a child who didn’t know better. “I guess it couldn’t hurt for you to know,” she said, her tone almost bored. “Won’t make much difference in the end.”

She stepped closer, crouching down so she was eye-level with you. Her gaze softened slightly, but the words that followed made your blood run cold.

“You’ve been promised to a very wealthy man,” she began, her voice calm, detached. “His wife...she’s dying. Organ failure. They’ve tried everything—medications, various treatments—but nothing’s worked.”

Your mind raced, struggling to process the meaning behind her words. Organ failure? The realization hit you like a sledgehammer, a wave of nausea rolling through your stomach as her words continued.

“He’s willing to pay any price for a match,” she explained with chilling indifference, her eyes boring into yours. And if you're a perfect match for her...” She paused, letting the weight of the situation sink in before she added, almost with a shrug, “Your organs will save her life.”

A sickening silence followed, the air thick with your disbelief.

They were going to harvest your organs.

Panic clawed at your throat, and your body felt like it was in freefall. You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came. The cold, brutal truth hung in the air between you and the woman, her pitying gaze cutting you deeper than anything else.

“You should feel honored,” she added, her voice devoid of any real sympathy. “You’ll be giving someone like her a second chance at life.”

Your heart raced, blood pounding in your ears. Your survival wasn’t just threatened—it was already decided.

Your body went numb as her words settled over you, the realization of what they planned twisting your stomach into knots. But as the silence stretched on, the woman seemed to catch herself, a slight frown tugging at her lips.

“We don’t know for sure if you’re a match yet,” she admitted, almost thoughtfully. “But you're a woman, so that's already one criteria met. And it’s just a matter of time before we find out the second.”

She reached into the pocket of her crisp jacket and pulled out a syringe and a small vial. The sight of it made your blood run cold. Your heart hammered against your chest, each beat a sharp reminder of how close you were to losing everything.

“I need to take a blood sample,” she said, her tone almost professional now. “Don’t bother resisting. We’ll get what we need, one way or another.”

Your limbs froze, panic surging through your veins. You wanted to run, to scream, but your legs felt like they were locked in place. The walls of the basement seemed to close in tighter around you, and for a moment, all you could focus on was the needle in her hand.

The woman’s dark brown eyes flicked toward you, assessing your reaction. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. It’s just a small test,” she said, almost like she was coaxing you into compliance. “If you’re not a match, maybe you'll get lucky. You're a woman after all, you at least have other parts you can use to gain your freedom."

She stepped closer, the syringe gleaming under the dim basement light. Your body tensed, the urge to fight back bubbling up inside you. But you were weak, outnumbered, and utterly trapped.

“Hold out your arm,” she said softly, like she was giving you a choice.

Your breath caught in your throat as the syringe gleamed ominously in her hand. Your heart hurt as you glanced toward Reese, who stood in the corner, guilt-ridden and pale, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t help you—he wouldn’t help you.

You glanced back between her and the syringe, the world closing in tighter with each second. Your mind raced for a way out, some escape, but it was futile. Even if you refused, they’d force you—there was no other option.

You took a shaky breath and slowly extended your arm, the gesture more out of survival instinct than anything. Live long enough to find another way out, you told yourself, trying to cling to that sliver of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was still time.

The woman smiled, satisfied, as she knelt beside you, her movements smooth and practiced. “Smart choice,” she said, wrapping a rubber band around your arm to prepare for the blood draw.

You winced as the needle pierced your skin, but you forced yourself to stay still. The vial began to fill with dark red blood, and the woman worked with a cold efficiency, as though she’d done this a hundred times before.

After what felt like an eternity, she withdrew the needle and pressed a cotton ball to your arm. “There,” she said, standing up and eyeing the shiny vial filled with your blood. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You wanted to lash out, to scream, but your body was too drained, your mind too scattered. She was right—it didn’t matter if it was easy or hard. What mattered was what came next.

The woman turned to the man with the heavy boots. “Get this to the lab,” she ordered, her tone brisk. “The results will tell us everything we need.”

He nodded and took the vial, disappearing back up the stairs without a word. The metal hatch closed behind him with a heavy thud, and the basement fell back into tense silence.

The woman stayed behind, her eyes never leaving you. “Now we wait,” she said, crossing her arms. “If you’re lucky, you won’t be a match. But if you are… well, we’ll be in touch.”

You swallowed hard, dread pooling in your stomach. The blood had been drawn, the wheels set in motion—and there was nothing you could do but wait for your fate to be decided.

Reese shifted uncomfortably in the corner, his eyes downcast, as if he couldn’t bear to look at you.

The woman glanced at him, a cruel smile playing on her lips. “I suggest you keep her in good condition until we know for sure. We wouldn’t want her damaged, would we?”

Reese flinched but nodded, his guilt written all over his face.

And with that, the woman turned on her heel and left, her heels clacking up the stairs, the metal hatch sealing you back in the basement.

You were alone again—alone with Reese and the suffocating weight of your uncertain future.

As the metal hatch slammed shut, trapping you back in the dim, suffocating basement, something inside you snapped. The overwhelming dread, the helplessness, the betrayal—it all collided at once. Your chest tightened, and your blood boiled with the rage that had been simmering beneath the surface.

Your eyes locked onto Reese, who was still slouched in the corner, avoiding your gaze. His entire body trembled, but all you could see was the man who had led you into this nightmare. The man who had stood by and watched as they drew your blood like you were nothing more than a piece of meat.

You trusted him.

"You," you spat, your voice cracking with fury. "I trusted you, Reese."

He flinched at your words, but he didn’t look up. His hands were shaking, balled into fists at his sides, but that didn’t matter. He had made his choice.

"I trusted you!" you shouted, your voice growing louder, the raw emotion burning through your exhaustion. "I told you everything—I told you about my escape, I thought you were trying to help me!"

Reese's lips trembled, and he finally raised his eyes to meet yours, guilt etched deep into his pale face. "I... I didn't have a choice," he stammered, his voice weak, barely audible. "They—they would've killed me if I didn’t—"

"Spare me!" you snapped, cutting him off. "You sold me, Reese! You handed me over to them like I was nothing!" The weight of his betrayal hit you all over again, the pain of it cutting deeper than any physical wound. You had told him about your kidnapping, he had watched you sob over Xavier, had you thinking he was someone you could trust, someone who cared.

Tears of frustration burned at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You couldn’t —not now, not for him of all people. "You knew what they were going to do to me," you continued, your voice trembling with anger. "You knew, and you did it anyway."

Reese shook his head, his voice cracking as he mumbled, "I—I didn't know they'd—about the organs. I thought..." He trailed off, as if the excuse could somehow absolve him. But it didn’t.

"Thought what?"

"I'd thought they'd just...rape you. And then dump you somewhere..." he stammers, rubbing the back of his neck. "Like the others.."

"Like the others?!" you said, your voice rising. "You...you've done this before? You're...sick! Fucking sick!"

He shrank back, visibly cowering under your words. "I didn't have a choice," he repeated weakly, like it was the only thing he could cling to.

"You always have a choice!" you shot back, your voice cracking from the strain. "You had a choice to be a good person, and you chose to betray me."

The room was silent after that, the air thick with tension. Reese had no response, nothing to say that could possibly justify what he'd done. He just stood there, looking more like a frightened child than the man who had so easily handed you over.

You swallowed hard, your chest heaving with the weight of your emotions. "I hope it was worth it," you said coldly, the anger fading into something far more painful. "I hope whatever they promised you was worth selling me like this."

Reese remained silent, his eyes cast down, unable to meet your gaze any longer.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, but it held no weight, no real meaning. Before you could respond, he suddenly rushed past you, his footsteps heavy on the cold floor. He didn’t look back.

You watched, stunned, as he hurried up the wooden stairs, his movements frantic, almost as if he couldn’t bear to stay in the room with you a second longer. The old wooden stairs groaned under his weight, the sound harsh in the suffocating silence.

You stood frozen in place, your mind whirling with a mix of anger, disbelief, and the crushing weight of betrayal. His retreating figure disappeared through the metal hatch, and the sound of it slamming shut echoed through the basement like a final punctuation to his cowardice.

The room fell eerily quiet, the air thick with everything left unsaid. You were alone again, left with nothing but the cold, the dull ache of exhaustion, and the horrifying knowledge of what awaited you.

You slumped against the wall, the weight of the situation crashing down on you all at once. The basement felt smaller, colder, and more suffocating than before.

Days blurred into each other, each one indistinguishable from the next. The cold, damp basement became your prison, a place where time felt meaningless. Your mind drifted constantly, a mixture of fear, anger, and hopelessness gnawing at you from all sides. You found yourself thinking about Xavier—wondering if he was still out there, still searching for you. He had to be, didn’t he? You tried to cling to the idea that maybe, just maybe, he’d find you before it was too late.

You wished you had listened to him when he said he had a bad feeling about you going with Reese. How could you have been so stupid?

Reese came in and out of the basement sporadically, never staying for long. He kept his distance, barely making eye contact, as though seeing the consequences of his betrayal was too much for him to handle. He left you basic necessities—pads, water, a couple of small meals—but nothing more. Every time he disappeared, it felt like another thread of hope was being pulled away, leaving you more isolated than ever.

You pondered attacking Reese when he came down here next. He seemed fidgety and not as strong as the others. But still strong nonetheless. And in your weakened state, he could still take you down, or threaten you with the gun again.

At some point, you drifted off to sleep, exhaustion overtaking you in the cold dark. Your period had finally subsided, and so did the awful cramping, allowing you to rest at least somewhat peacefully. You weren’t sure how long you’d been out, but the sound of the metal hatch creaking open startled you awake. Instinctively, you didn’t move, thinking it was Reese again—another silent, guilty visit to drop something off before fleeing.

But then, a deep, gruff voice pierced the silence. A voice you recognized, but not in the way that brought comfort.

“Well, look who’s sleeping like a baby,” the voice sneered, low and menacing.

Your heart sank, and fear surged through you as you realized it wasn’t Reese. Slowly, your eyes fluttered open, and your breath caught in your throat when you shifted to look at the voice.

It was the man—the one who had helped Reese bring you down here in the first place. His heavy boots clomped against the wooden stairs as he descended, and his shadow loomed over you, large and threatening. His expression was cold, his eyes calculating as they swept over you, like he was assessing just how broken you’d become since last seeing him.

“Thought maybe you’d die of boredom or despair by now,” he muttered, amusement tinged in his voice. “Guess you’ve got a little more fight in you than I thought.”

You swallowed hard, your body going rigid. You stayed still, instinct telling you that any sudden movement might provoke him. The air around him seemed darker, more dangerous than Reese’s jittery cowardice. This man was different—he was in control, and he wasn’t afraid of you.

“What do you want?” you finally managed to whisper, your voice shaky but defiant.

He stepped closer, his boots thudding against the concrete floor, the sound making your skin crawl. His smirk widened, and without warning, he crouched down, bringing his face level with yours.

“What I want,” he said, his voice low and mocking, “is to see if you’re worth anything besides your organs doll.”

The threat in his words hung heavy in the air, and you knew with chilling clarity that whatever came next, this man wasn’t here to make things easier for you.

The man crouched in front of you, his smirk growing wider as he watched the fear flicker across your face. You tried to keep still, to steady your breathing, but your body betrayed you—a small shiver ran through you, and you knew he’d seen it. His eyes glinted with satisfaction, feeding off your discomfort.

He leaned in closer, so close that you could feel his hot breath on your skin. "Reese might be too soft to touch a woman, but I’m not." His voice was a low, rumbling threat. "You’re property after all. But it'd be a shame to let sweet pussy go to waste before they cut you open."

You recoiled in horror at his depraved words, bile rising in your throat. The man straightened to his full height, towering over your prostrate form with an air of malevolent authority.

"So here's how this is going to go," he said casually, as if discussing the weather rather than your impending ravishment and dismemberment. "I'm going to have my fun..." He smirked cruelly. "And you are going to lay there and take it. Use any teeth and I'll rip them out of your head. Got it?"

Your mind raced, desperate to find some escape from the waking nightmare. But with Reese too cowardice to come down and interfere, and this sadistic brute clearly intent on violating you in the most degrading ways imaginable , you knew you were utterly at his mercy.

A strangled cry escaped your lips as tears streamed down your face. Despite your best efforts, the man's lecherous gaze only widened at the sight of you in distress. His grip on your arm tightened, filling you with pain.

"Go ahead and cry," he mocked. "It only turns me on even more, doll."

You screamed, desperately trying to free yourself and escape his grasp, but he was too strong. He slammed you back down onto the dirty mattress as you fought to kick him away. But he easily overpowered you and forced your leg back against the bed.

"Stop! Please!" you pleaded, horrified as he reached for the waistband of your sweatpants with his rough, calloused hands.

Panic surged through you as his fingers grazed your skin. In a burst of desperate strength, you twisted violently and managed to wrench your leg free. You kicked out hard, your foot connecting solidly with his jaw. He reeled back with a pained grunt, momentarily stunned.

"I said, lay there and take it" he growled, bringing his palm down against your face in a deafening slap. Angry hot pain radiates against your face and you cry out, tears spilling out faster now.

He wastes no time flipping you around, pinning you on your stomach against the bed. You sobbed loudly as he finishes pulling your sweatpants past your rear, rubbing his cold hands against the cloth of your underwear.

"Nice butt, smooth skin..." he growls, tugging off your underwear past your legs despite your struggle. "Oh this is gonna be so much fun."

Your underwear hits the concrete floor with a soft patter and your mind goes numb. There was truly no way out of this. Maybe the struggle was futile all along.

It was time to accept this.

Your body goes limp as you try to dissociate from the sound of the man unbuckling his belt. The sound of him shuffling with his underwear. The feel of his rough hands as he grabs your hips and raises them towards his groin, forcing you onto your elbows. You notice his breathing gets heavier as he takes in the sight of your exposed cunt.

"He shuffles in his pockets for a bit, looking for something. Your mind drifts off as he does so, thinking of the time Sylus had you in a similar position.

The morning he had promised to only do it once that day if you didn't fight him. You had picked the position yourself, not wanting to see him enter you again. At least that's what you told yourself.

Truthfully, you hated the way your face would heat up and your cunt grew wetter at the sight of his toned chest and stomach. The deep rumble of his voice in your ear as he praised you for taking him in all the way. You didn't know why your body reacted the way it did to him but it scared you. You had chalked it up to it just being an involuntary bodily reaction.

But there was no wetness when this beast touched you, no warmth or aching heat in your core.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of tearing plastic.

Ah, he brought a condom. At least you wouldn't have to worry about catching any diseases before you were hacked to pieces.

You almost laugh at the thought but nothing was funny truly. The man grumbles a bit and rolls the condom onto his thick shaft gently, his knuckles popping as he slides it down. The smell of latex and lubricant fill the air momentarily. You wish you could gag at the smell of it, but you're too scared to move anymore. He positions himself, aligning his tip with you. You brace yourself for the pain that is sure to come, your heart pounding in your chest as he presses forward.

"If you make a sound, I'll beat your ass stupid. Got it?" he growls.

You say nothing as he begins trying to push into you, but he had clumsily misjudged where your slit was and kept missing. You couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh, this guy clearly didn't have much experience with the female body. You feel his hand slam down on your head, causing you to cry out.

"Ain't. Shit. Funny..." he snarled, gripping the side of your face even harder. You stifle another sob, trying your hardest to breathe against the mattress.

Still, he kept trying to force his cock inside you, every clumsy miss rubbing salt in the wound of your complete helplessness. He leans back momentarily to try and balance his cock against you. Your head throbs under his grip and you feel your eyes starting to gently close, sticky tears threaded between your lashes.

Your mind, desperate for an escape from the current nightmare, drifts back to Sylus. Memories of him rise to the surface, unbidden yet comforting in their own strange way. You recall his gentle gaze, the way he’d look at you when you opened your eyes in the morning—those moments when everything was still, and his presence felt like a soft cocoon of warmth around you. You’d never once seen him fall asleep before you. No, Sylus clearly only slept when it was "morning". Your circadian rhythms had always been completely opposite, and you knew, deep down, that he was likely watching over you as you slept.

It had never really felt invasive though. There was something about the way he looked at you that made you feel... cherished. As though, in his world of shadows, you were the one light he couldn’t take his eyes off of.

No one had ever looked at you with such adoring eyes—not even Xavier. Though Xavier had cared for you, and there were moments where you saw glimpses of that same tenderness, it was different with Sylus. Something deeper. Something more intense, as though you were the most precious thing in the world to him.

The thought made your heart ache in ways you hadn’t expected. Even now, locked in this nightmare, it was Sylus’s gaze that haunted you—not Reese’s guilt, not Xavier’s concern, but the way Sylus had seen you, like you were fragile and powerful all at once.

Despite everything, he had shown you the most kindness out of anyone in this horrid place.

"Sylus..." your voice escapes in a broken whisper, a fragile plea lost beneath the weight of fear. Silent tears streak down your face, and your body shakes uncontrollably beneath the man's looming presence. His grunting had finally stopped, but the air between you buzzes with his barely-contained fury. His body is tense, frustrated—still unable to force himself into you.

With a snarl, he suddenly flips you onto your back, his hands rough and merciless. The room spins for a second, and your breath catches in your throat. He looms over you, his eyes dark and burning with a cruel light.

"What the hell did I say about talking?," he growls, voice low and dangerous. His hand rises, fist clenched, muscles rippling as he prepares to strike. Your heart lurches, and a terrified squeal slips out, unbidden. You squeeze your eyes shut, body curling in on itself instinctively, trembling as you wait for the blow to fall.

The seconds stretch unbearably long.

But the pain never comes.

Instead, the air shifts—thickening, buzzing with something far darker than the man hovering above you. His fist, still poised to strike, halts mid-air. His breath stutters. Eyes wide with shock, he suddenly clutches at his throat, his face twisting into something grotesque, panicked. His mouth opens as if to scream, but only a strangled gasp escapes.

"Is that anyway to talk to a lady?"

You blink, unsure if you’re seeing it right—red mist, thin tendrils coiling through the air like living smoke. It winds around him, constricting. His body spasms as if in a silent scream, but no sound comes, only those terrible, wet choking noises.

His eyes meet yours for a fleeting second, wide with horror, before his body jerks violently. With a force that seems inhuman, he’s wrenched from above you, flung across the room like a rag doll. The impact as he slams into the far wall is sickening—bones cracking against stone, the wet sound of flesh collapsing under the blow.

He screams in agony, his body convulsing violently on the hard concrete as his cries echo through the space.

Your breath comes in shallow, rapid gasps, the red mist still hanging in the air, pulsing like it has a life of its own before it slowly starts to fade. The air grows colder in its absence, the immediate threat gone, but the tension in your chest refuses to ease. It's over, but the chaos is still fresh, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

Then you see him.

Tall, broad-shouldered, his white hair touched with streaks of silver, and those unmistakable crimson eyes—sharp, intense, but not as lethal as they were a moment ago. There's no mistaking Sylus, even through the haze of confusion clouding your mind. You blink, trying to process it all. He’s here, finally, but the emotions swirling inside you are a tangled mess.

He steps toward you, slow and deliberate, his gaze softening the closer he gets. Despite the relief that comes with his presence, something else churns beneath the surface—frustration, maybe even anger. He’s here, but it took so long. Too long.

"Why do you look so shocked?" Sylus smirks, his voice low and teasing, as if the sight of him towering over you like this is the most natural thing in the world. He tilts his head, amusement dancing in his crimson eyes as he studies your expression. "You called my name, didn’t you?"

You open your mouth, but no words come. Relief washes over you, but it’s tangled with confusion and resentment. Part of you wants to collapse into his arms, to finally feel safe, but another part of you burns with anxiety—why doesn't he look angry at you?

Sylus’s smirk softens into something more genuine, as if he senses the storm inside you. "I’m here now," he says, his voice quieter, almost gentle. But it doesn’t calm the whirlwind in your chest. You don’t know if you want to yell at him or thank him. Maybe both.

All you know is that the sight of him, standing there like he’s always been, stirs something deep within you that you can’t quite name. You're suddenly aware again of your half-nakedness and you rush to put back on your panties and sweatpants, much to Sylus's amusement.

“Wh-what took you so long?” you finally quip, a sharp edge to your voice as you lift your chin, deciding to meet his presence with defiance instead of relief. The condescension rolls off your tongue, even as your heart still pounds from the aftermath. You can feel the tension in your own body, a mix of trauma and pent-up frustration, but you mask it behind a cold stare.

Sylus moves toward the hyperventilating man still writhing on the ground, his gaze briefly flickering with something unreadable before a low chuckle escapes his lips. The sound reverberates through the room, rich and deep, completely unbothered by your biting words. His crimson eyes flick to you, amusement dancing in them, as if your sharp attitude was exactly what he’d anticipated.

“Is this the thanks I get, kitten?” he muses, his tone playful, yet carrying that underlying edge he always seems to have. A teasing smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he towers over you, utterly relaxed, like your defiance is nothing more than an amusing game to him.

"I save you, and all you’ve got is attitude?" He raises an eyebrow, the smirk on his lips widening as if he’s enjoying this far too much. “You’re getting harder to please.”

The comment, laced with a playful challenge, lingers in the air. He seems utterly unaffected, like your frustration has only fueled his amusement, and for a moment, it’s hard to tell whether you want to snap back or let your guard down. That smirk of his—so infuriatingly calm and knowing—pulls you deeper into the whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

Before you can spit out a retort, the sound of scuffling and harsh footsteps echoes down the stairwell. Your attention snaps toward the noise just as Reese is unceremoniously dragged down the steps, his pleas and panicked protests filling the room. The twins, Luke and Kieran, have him by the arms, hauling him down with little effort. Reese stumbles on the last step, crashing face-first onto the concrete.

Luke and Kieran exchange satisfied glances, snickering as they stand over him, a mixture of triumph and mockery in voices.

"We got him, boss," Luke announces with a smirk, nudging the groaning man with his boot. "Tried to run, but he fell flat on his face." He punctuates his words with another casual kick to Reese's side. "Much like he did just now."

Reese winces in pain, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he slowly lifts his head. His gaze darts frantically around the room, his face paling as he realizes who surrounds him. His eyes widen in terror, flitting between you, Sylus, and the man still crumpled on the ground beside him, writhing in pain.

"S-Sylus..." Reese stammers, his voice barely a whisper as it cracks with fear. His entire body begins to tremble, the weight of what he’s done crashing down on him. "You ran away from Sylus...?" The disbelief in his own voice is palpable, as if fleeing from someone like Sylus was a death sentence all on its own.

Sylus’s crimson eyes narrow as he watches you closely, his expression shifting to something darker—something possessive. He takes a deliberate step toward you, the casual ease he held moments ago now replaced with a quiet intensity. His gaze flicks to Reese, then back to you, and though his smile remains, there’s no warmth behind it.

"So," Sylus begins, voice smooth but tinged with something uneasy, "seems the two of you have gotten well acquainted?" The question feels loaded, not out of curiosity, but something more. His eyes bore into yours, as if searching for answers beyond your words. The smirk on his lips falters just slightly, betraying the irritation he’s trying to mask.

The tension between you grows thicker, his posture subtly shifting as if he’s placing himself between you and Reese. He doesn’t look away, doesn’t so much as glance at the trembling man on the ground. His focus is solely on you, as though the possibility of friendship with someone, especially another man, unsettles him more than the danger you just faced.

You shake your head immediately, the denial spilling from your lips without hesitation. "We’re not close!" you say quickly, the firmness in your voice leaving no room for doubt. "He’s no one to me."

Sylus’s eyes remain locked on yours, his crimson gaze intense, but you don’t falter. "Reese… he tricked me," you continue, the words coming faster now. "He’s the reason I’m down here in the first place. I didn’t come down here willingly. I followed him, stupidly thinking he was going to help me."

Your last words are filled with malice as your eyes flick to Reese, who cowers on the ground, unable to meet your glare. You shoot him a look of pure disdain, your anger boiling over at how easily he had deceived you, how he had dragged you into this mess.

Before you can say anything more, Sylus reaches out, his hand cool against your hair as he rubs the top of your head with an almost unnerving gentleness. His touch sends a shiver down your spine, but it’s the smug look on his face that catches you off guard.

“I know, sweetie,” Sylus says, his voice smooth and dripping with that signature arrogance. His eyes glitter with amusement as he watches you closely, his smirk deepening. “I watched you disappear into this house. I saw everything.” He speaks as if he had been in control of the situation from the start, his tone laced with confidence, as if he was always one step ahead.

"You were following me the entire time?" you ask, your voice tinged with disbelief as you try to piece together how much of this Sylus had been controlling from the shadows. Sylus merely chuckles, the sound rich and full of amusement, like your confusion was a source of entertainment for him.

"Something like that," he replies casually, his smirk widening. "I had Mephisto follow you."

As if on cue, swirl of red mist begins to materialize on Sylus's shoulder. The mist condenses around the form until, with a sharp, eerie caw, a large black crow appears, its wings flapping beside Sylus’s head. The bird’s eyes glow faintly, a reflection of the same crimson hue in Sylus’s gaze.

"Mephisto?" you and Reese say at the same time, your voices overlapping in disbelief.

You take a step back, staring at the bird in shock. "Mephisto... he's been that bird this whole time?" The revelation hits you like a slap in the face. You'd seen the bird before—many times, in fact—but you’d never thought it was more than just an ordinary creature. Now, the sight of it perched so confidently on Sylus’s shoulder, surrounded by that ominous red mist, makes your head spin.

Reese, still on the ground, stares up at the bird and then back at you, his eyes wide with fear and confusion. "I thought your name was Meph—" he begins, his voice trembling as he looks between you and Sylus, but his words are abruptly cut off.

Sylus’s expression hardens instantly, the playful amusement evaporating as he glares down at Reese with pure disdain. His eyes darken, the malice in them palpable as he takes a step toward Reese, who shrinks back, trembling.

"Don’t talk to her," Sylus snaps, his voice cold and sharp, dripping with venom. The possessiveness in his tone is undeniable, a clear warning that Reese’s mere presence, let alone his attempt to speak to you, is unforgivable in Sylus’s eyes. The tension in the room grows suffocating, the danger swirling around Sylus like a storm barely contained, and you can’t help but feel the weight of his protectiveness—both unsettling and strangely reassuring.

Mephisto caws again, the shrill sound echoing through the room as if punctuating Sylus’s command.

Reese looks away, trembling on the ground. Your head spins, barely able to process what's going on here. You suddenly feel dizzy, as if the room was getting smaller and smaller.

You hadn't truly escaped from him. Not once, the entire time you had been gone. He had been watching. His influence here stretched farther than you could ever imagine.

Reese looks away, trembling on the ground, clearly too terrified to challenge Sylus any further. His presence becomes insignificant in the midst of everything else crashing down around you. Your head spins, the room seeming to close in on you as the weight of the situation presses against your chest. It’s suddenly hard to breathe, as if the air itself is suffocating you. You try to steady yourself, but a dizzying realization takes hold.

Every step you’d taken, every move you thought was yours alone—he had been watching.

Mephisto.

Sylus had seen everything, every moment you thought you were free, unraveling in front of your eyes now like a cruel illusion. His influence, his reach—it stretched farther than you could have ever imagined.

The invisible leash you thought you’d slipped off, the one you were so sure you'd broken, had never left your neck at all. It had been there the whole time, just waiting to tighten when he decided.

Your pulse quickens, panic settling in as the walls seem to close in tighter, the room shrinking around you. The thought of being watched, controlled, all while you believed you had any autonomy—it sends a cold wave of dread down your spine. Sylus’s smirk, the way he speaks so casually about it, only amplifies the feeling that you were never really out of his grasp.

He knew. He always knew where you were.

And here he stands, calm and possessive, like he’s merely reclaiming what was his all along.

The weight of it all becomes too much to bear, and your legs give way beneath you. You crumble to the floor, feeling as though the world has closed in around you. The realization sinks deeper, suffocating you with the cold, hard truth—despite all your efforts, all your fighting, you’re right back where you started. The leash had never been cut. You hadn’t escaped. And now, the path ahead is one you thought you'd left behind.

Your body trembles, you let out a sob, overwhelmed by the torrent of emotions—fear, frustration, resignation. But before the panic can fully take over, you feel a hand brush against your shoulder, light and reassuring. Sylus crouches down beside you, his presence filling the space, his voice low and deceptively soothing.

"Shh, kitten," he murmurs softly, the nickname rolling off his tongue like a caress, though it only twists the knife deeper in your chest. "It’s alright. I’ve found you, its okay." His tone is affectionate, but there’s something twisted lurking beneath the surface, a dark possessiveness wrapped in that comforting voice.

"You're mine again," Sylus whispers, his voice soft but laced with an iron-clad certainty. His fingers delicately trace small circles on your back, sending involuntary shivers up your spine. You don't look at him, unable to meet his eyes. Your chest tightens, and you can feel the threat of tears building, teetering dangerously close to spilling over.

As much as you wanted to leave this wretched place, to escape the nightmare of it all, the thought of being trapped with him—completely under his control—felt just as suffocating. Maybe more. Yet, despite that suffocating feeling, your body betrays you. You’re not pulling away from him. You’re not resisting.

Why weren’t you leaning away from him right now?

"Don't cry," he murmurs, leaning closer, his breath warm against your skin, drowning out the cold, damp air of the basement. "Not now. Not in front of them."

Before you can process his words, the room fills with a new, horrific sound. Reese and the bleeding man on the ground suddenly scream, the agony ripping from their throats. Red tendrils of mist swirl violently around their bodies, coiling like snakes ready to strike. The sound of broken bones echoes sharply through the space as Reese is slammed into the back wall next to his fallen comrade, the impact brutal, unforgiving. The sight sends a fresh wave of horror washing over you.

You instinctively shift your gaze toward the carnage, wanting to see what’s happening—but Sylus’s hand shoots up, his fingers gripping your chin firmly. With a gentle yet unyielding force, he turns your face back to him, refusing to let you look anywhere else but into his crimson eyes.

"Look at me," he commands softly, his tone dark but calm, as if the violence behind you was nothing but a trivial distraction. His fingers are warm against your skin, his touch disturbingly tender despite the chaos around you.

His crimson eyes lock onto yours, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a vice. He leans in closer, his bourbon cologne enveloping your senses, his presence suffocating yet intoxicating.

"I’m the only one," he murmurs, his voice a possessive, almost dangerous softness, "who gets to see you cry."

The declaration sends a chill down your spine, and your heart clenches at the weight of it. There's a dark finality in his words—a twisted claim over every ounce of your suffering, every emotion that was once yours, now his to control. The room feels smaller, the air thinner, as if everything in this moment is solely for him, as though the very act of your tears belongs to him and him alone.

You can feel the tears threatening again, but now even that feels like giving in to him—another part of yourself slipping through your fingers, taken by the man who holds you so tightly in his grip, both physically and mentally. And as his thumb lingers on your cheek, his gaze never wavering, you realize just how much he's wrapped himself in every aspect of your life.

The screaming in the room builds to a deafening crescendo, filling every inch of the space with the sounds of agony. Reese’s voice cuts through the chaos, desperate, pleading.

“Please, make him stop! Ask him to stop!” Reese begs, his voice cracking, raw from pain and terror. His broken body trembles against the wall, red mist still coiling around him like a vice, squeezing the life out of him with every passing second. He looks at you, eyes wide, desperate, his fear palpable.

"I-I helped you! R-remember? I'm sorry!"

For a moment, you hesitate, frozen in place, the weight of his suffering tugging at some distant part of your conscience. Should you take pity on him? The thought flickers briefly in your mind. But then you remember. The lies, the manipulation, how he had dragged you into this nightmare without a second thought. Your heart hardens.

You look at him, your voice cold and unwavering.

“Go to hell, Reese.”

The words cut through the air, sharp and final. Reese’s eyes widen in horror, but before he can speak another word, Sylus moves with a calm, terrifying ease. Without a second thought, he reaches into his coat, pulling out a sleek black pistol. The room falls eerily silent for a brief second, the chaos holding its breath.

And then, without a word or hesitation, Sylus points the gun at Reese and pulls the trigger.

The shot rings out, and Reese’s body goes limp, his head lolling to the side as blood pools beneath him. The life drains from his eyes in an instant. The silence that follows is deafening, the weight of what just happened settling heavily in the air.

You stare at the scene in shock, unable to fully process how quickly it had all happened. Your breath catches in your throat, your mind racing as you look to Sylus. But he simply shrugs, completely unfazed, his expression calm and even slightly amused.

“I sent him to hell, just like you said, sweetie,” Sylus says casually, tucking the pistol away as if nothing had happened. His voice is smooth, disturbingly nonchalant, like this was just another task to cross off his list. His eyes, however, flicker with something darker—satisfaction, perhaps, or just a quiet thrill at doing what he believed you wanted.

Your stomach twists, a mixture of shock and disbelief churning inside you. Sylus turns his gaze back to you, his smirk still present, as if waiting for your approval or reaction. You say nothing, just watching as Reese's once lively body slumped to the floor.

Sylus then turns his attention to the last man still clinging to life, his crimson eyes narrowing with cold calculation. Without a word, the red mist surrounding him begins to swirl, thickening and intensifying with an ominous hum. The tendrils of mist snake their way toward the man, wrapping around him like a tightening noose.

The man’s breathing becomes erratic, desperate gasps for air as his body convulses. He tries to scream once more, but no sound escapes his throat as the mist constricts further, crushing the last remnants of life out of him. His limbs jerk, his eyes wide with terror as the pressure grows unbearable.

Sylus watches with a dark, detached satisfaction, his hand slightly raised as if guiding the mist with an almost casual precision. Then, Sylus clenches his fist. And with a final, sickening crack, the man’s body gives way. The force of Sylus’s power snaps through him like a vice tightening too fast. His chest caves in, bones splintering as the red mist crushes him entirely.

A grotesque splatter erupts as his body meets the tiled shower wall behind him, his carnage painting it in violent shades of red. Blood and tissue streak down the wall, dripping in a slow, macabre trail, the remnants of his existence.

You flinch, your breath catching in your throat at the brutality of it all, but Sylus remains calm, lowering his hand as the mist dissipates, his expression indifferent to the destruction he’s caused.

"Sorry," Sylus says smoothly, his tone as casual as if he had just finished a routine task. His gaze slides back to you, eyes gleaming with quiet satisfaction. "I didn't want them breathing the same air as you any longer."

The room is deathly silent now, save for the slow drip of blood from the walls, and the overwhelming finality of it all settles in your chest. You can't tear your eyes away from the gruesome scene, the shock numbing your senses as Sylus steps in front of you, his presence once again wrapping around you like a suffocating mist. His dark eyes bore into yours, a predator sizing up its prey, his calmness only amplifying the terror that gnaws at the edges of your mind.

You flinch as the squelch of his shoes on the blood-soaked floor breaks the silence, your heart pounding in your throat. Every instinct tells you to run, but your legs refuse to obey, frozen in the icy grip of fear. Sylus tilts his head slightly, his lips curling into a faint, unreadable smile.

"Woo hoo! Boss is so cool!" Luke chimes in, his bubbly voice shattering the eerie stillness. He gives Kieran a high five before erupting into a fit of laughter. The contrast between his cheerful tone and the grotesque scene feels jarring, almost surreal. You glance at him, baffled by the carefree attitude, as if the carnage before him was nothing more than an impressive show.

He bounces on his feet, voice shrill with admiration as he watches Sylus with the same excitement one might have for a favorite hero. The dissonance is unsettling, pulling you deeper into the spiraling nightmare, where the boundaries between reality and madness blur with each passing second.

Sylus doesn’t react to Luke’s enthusiasm, his focus entirely on you.

Sylus, now visibly more at ease after the extermination of the two men, steps forward with a calm confidence. His eyes never leave yours as he crouches down and effortlessly grabs you from the floor, hoisting you up into his arms as if you weigh nothing. The abruptness of it sends a jolt through your body, and you instinctively try to push away, but his grip only tightens—firm, yet almost playful, like a cat owner gently restraining a stubborn pet.

His chest rumbles with a low chuckle, and when he speaks, his voice is laced with dark amusement. "Ah ah, I won’t let my kitten scatter off a second time."

Your body begins to tremble uncontrollably in his arms, the weight of the situation finally crashing over you like a wave. You had escaped—however briefly—and now you were trapped again. The suffocating inevitability of it wraps itself around you, a crushing reminder that there was bound to be a punishment for trying to flee. Your mind flashes with memories of him slicing open your arm, the cold, detached precision of it, and you wince as the old wound aches in response.

"Please... I'm sorry," you whine, your voice barely above a whisper as tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "Don’t hurt me again, don’t punish me."

Sylus tilts his head slightly, his dark eyes watching you with that unsettling mixture of amusement and something that borders on tenderness. "Sweetie, it’s okay," he whispers, his tone disturbingly gentle. He reaches up to brush a bit of dirt from your face, his fingers cold against your skin. "Do you really think I’m going to hurt you? Am I that scary?"

Despite the soft cadence of his voice, the dissonance between his words and the twisted affection in his gaze only amplifies your fear. He holds you securely as he begins to ascend the stairs, leaving the bloodied carnage in the basement to rot, a gruesome memory that would never wash away.

As you both make your way out of the metal hatchet you spot various bags filled with small white powdery substances settled on the couch and tables.

Drugs. Reese had been tricking girls and trading them for drugs.

The air grows cooler as you pass through the broken, dingy living room and out into the crisp, suffocating night of the N109 Zone. With a shrill caw, and a flatter of his wings, Mephisto takes flight and disappears into the night sky.

A dark car with blacked-out windows waits for you at the curb, its ominous presence sending your heart racing again. You think about making a run for it—just for a fleeting second—but that hope vanishes as the twins scatter hurriedly to the front seats, and Sylus pushes you both into the back with an effortless shove.

The car roars to life, and the world outside begins to blur as you realize the inevitable: you were headed back to your cage, the one you had fought so desperately to leave. Sylus keeps you firmly straddled on his lap, his grip unyielding, as if he thought you’d vanish into the night if he let go for even a moment. His eyes, sharp and predatory, stay locked on you, unblinking and watchful.

For a while, the only sound is the hum of the engine as it cuts through the night, the silence between you as suffocating as his hold. Then, suddenly, Sylus lets out a long sigh, breaking the quiet as he leans forward, his face burying into the curve of your neck. The unexpected closeness makes your skin prickle. He nuzzles into your skin like a bird seeking warmth, though you doubted you smelled like anything but blood and grime.

"I missed you," he whispers, his voice soft but strained, as though it carries a deep weight of worry. He shifts, tilting his head up to look at you, his gaze surprisingly gentle, like someone gazing at something precious. His eyes search yours, a strange vulnerability flickering behind the usual cold dominance. "So, so much."

Something tightens in your chest at the sight of him looking at you this way, as though you were his treasure, something he had longed for. The sincerity in his expression shakes you, confusing your thoughts even further. Could he possibly mean it?

"Did you miss me?" he asks, his lips curling into a small, almost playful smile.

You just stare at him, uncertain how to respond. The words lodge in your throat, and before you can stop yourself, you turn your head away, avoiding his eyes. The truth is, you don’t know what to feel. Had you missed him? Or were you just desperate to be saved, no matter who?

He chuckles softly at your reaction, resting his head gently against yours, his breath warm against your cheek. "It’s okay," he murmurs. "You don’t have to answer."

As the car speeds deeper into the dark, your mind begins to spiral, thoughts tangling into knots you can’t unravel. As his arms tighten around you, keeping you pinned in place, you ponder a persistent thought.

Sylus had said he wouldn’t hurt you—but he never said he wouldn’t punish you.

#umi writes ♡︎#love and deepspace #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace smut #sylus #sylus x reader smut #l&ds smut #lads #love and deepspace x reader #love and deep space x reader #loveanddeepspace #lnds #l&ds #love and deep space smut #lads smut #love and deep space sylus #l

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hazard-symbols-that-fuck-hard · 8 months

Text

Fun fact: almost all of the apples you eat are clones!

You see, apples have extraordinary variety in their phenotypes. Just like dogs, their fruit can vary so much that it’s hard to believe that they even come from the same species.

Except unlike a dog (where if you breed two boxers together, you’ll get another boxer), apple genetics have so much variety that every single seed planted will sprout into something completely new (and likely foul-tasting).

Even if you pollinate an apple tree with its own pollen, enough genetic re-combining will happen so that the resulting tree will produce fruit that is absolutely nothing like the fruit of its singular parent.

This makes apples (and other tree fruits) extremely difficult to selectively breed, so almost every single apple variety simply… isn’t selectively bred! Almost all apples, save for GMOs, were basically spontaneously generated by nature and simply propagated by humans.

But how do you propagate a set of genetics that doesn’t grow “true to seed”? Easy.

You graft.

Plants, unlike animals, are eager to accept any marginally similar flesh as their own.

You can cut off a branch of a tree (or a stem of almost any plant), affix the branch of a different tree (called a scion) over top the newly-created wound, and the base tree (called the rootstock) will heal them together and incorporate the new branch into its vasculatory system.

Not only will a tree willingly incorporate tissue of any member of its species, many trees will also take on the tissue of other species!

If it’s done while the tree is young enough, you can get a tree with very sturdy roots AND nothing but perfect apples from the waist up.

Grafting is the oldest form of cloning. It’s an agricultural practice with evidence of practice as far back as 2,000 BCE

Could you imagine if animals were like that? You could just stick something on and it would just work?

(I can’t help but wonder if ancient people ever tried grafting livestock together after seeing that it works with crops)

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freedomfireflies · 1 year

Text

Jealous*

Summary: The fourth part to 404*

The one where Harry's even more annoying when he's jealous.

But he's kind of cute, too.

Word Count: 5.6k

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞You are so much more important!*

(Note: This edit is not mine!! I believe the @ is on it, but full credit to the incredible creator! It's so perfect!!)

“Head back, tongue out.”

Quickly shifting onto your knees, you glance up at the man before you. Watching eagerly as Harry’s large hand strokes the hardened cock that lingers near your lips.

His other palm reaches out for your neck, slowly sliding up into your hair before tugging you back even further. “Like this,” he murmurs, only satiated when you oblige. “Good girl. Show me your tongue, Tink. Come on, not gonna ask you again.”

Quickly, you rush to obey, presenting it to him willingly as you scoot closer and silently plead for his offering.

He gives you a rare, pleased smile that makes your insides jump before he brings his cock closer to your mouth, tapping it twice. “Gonna swallow it all, yeah? Like a good little cumslut?”

Nodding fervently, your lashes flutter in a somewhat desperate attempt to coax him closer to release.

To this, he exhales an amused breath, smirk growing until you see that familiar and infuriatingly charming dimple. “You’re a lot less annoying when you’re desperate, you know that?”

You swat at his thigh. “Shut up and cum in my mouth already.”

“Eager, are we?”

“The fuck do you think? Just do it, come on.”

“See, there you go again. Don’t know how to romance a guy, do you?”

“And why would I ever want to romance you?”

He laughs and sweeps the tip of his cock along your bottom lip. “Because deep down…you like me. Don’t you, Princess?”

And before you can reply with another quippy retort, he’s sliding himself along your tongue, and filling your mouth completely.

It doesn’t take long for that warm, salty tang to go slipping down your throat. Effortlessly coating your taste buds as Harry tightens his grip on your head and releases a rather lascivious groan.

“Fuck…there you go, that’s a good girl,” he murmurs, using his other hand to brace himself against the wall to keep upright. “Take it…fucking take it, Tink, good. Feel so fucking good, don’t you? Such a tight little mouth, yeah?”

He’s babbling, a string of nonsense and praises falling from his tongue, but you revel in it. Indulge in the way you’re the only one on his mind, the only one to make him fall apart so quickly.

And you imagine you’d both like to stay here in the lobby coat closet for at least a few more minutes (or a few more rounds), but before you can entertain the idea, your phone is going off.

The shrill alarm cuts the moment in two, slicing it right down the middle as you pop off his cock and reach over to turn it off.

In turn, Harry blinks, breathing still a tad ragged as he steps back. “What…what is that for?”

“Oh, I have a meeting with Mr. Prescott in five.” You straighten up onto your feet and swipe the back of your wrist across your mouth. “This was fun, though. Thanks.”

Harry blinks. “Wow. Way to dine and dash.”

“Funny,” you snort as you head for the door. “Anyway, I think I’ll be good for a while, so…no need to keep dragging me in here.”

“I didn’t drag you,” he argues with a huff while yanking his jeans back up. “I casually suggested it and you jumped at the opportunity.”

“Mm…wrong.”

“Mm…right. Face it, Princess, you can’t stop thinking about me.”

“Actually, I think about everybody but you,” you tell him. “Seriously, just the sound of your name kills my libido. It’s quite sad.”

His eyes roll. “Fucking go already, I have shit to do.”

“Fine, but you have to wait at least three minutes,” you remind him as you slip out into the hallway. “I mean it. Cassie almost saw us last time and I was mortified. So be less suspicious this time.”

“Come on, do you really think I want people to know we’re shagging?” he retorts, crossing his arms as he leans against the wall in wait. “Getting seen with you at the bar was already bad enough.”

“Yeah? Is that why you stuck your hand down my pants in front of everybody?”

“Okay, you know what—”

“No, I don’t. Bye,” you call before swinging the door shut.

Harry’s muffled grumbling follows you all the way to the elevator.

You can’t help but grin as you step inside and hit the button for the fifth floor, flashes of his hands and practiced fingers flooding the forefront of your mind.

You might still hate him, but you suppose you don’t mind his company as much anymore. He’s not as irritating as he was when you first started this little arrangement, and you’ve noticed his technique has gotten better. He’s always been good, but recently he seems to be trying incredibly hard to make each time the best.

Not that you’d dare complain. After all, it’s not like you’ve really—

“Wait, hold the door!”

Quickly, you reach out and press your palm against the sliding entrance, keeping it inside the frame as the stranger swiftly slides through.

You watch as he gratefully slumps against the railing, seemingly out of breath as he nods his appreciation and allows you to release your hand.

“Thank you,” he exhales, head dropping back against the wall as the elevator takes off. “Thought I was gonna have to take the stairs.”

“No problem,” you return before gesturing toward the buttons. “Which floor?”

“Fifth,” he answers, smiling when he notices it’s already been selected. “You, too?”

“Yeah, I work in the lab.”

Curious, the man straightens up. “No kidding. You’re one of the engineers?”

“Mhm. For about four years now.”

“No fucking way,” he replies, studying you with interest. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah, actually. Pay is good, hours are better.”

“Ah, very nice,” he muses. “In that case, do you think you’d be able to show me to Prescott’s office?”

“Sure. I’m headed there now, actually.”

“Yeah?” His head tilts. “Wait, shit…you wouldn’t be working on the Keaton Project, would you?”

Surprised by his knowledge on your current work, you blink. “Uh…yes, actually. How did you…?”

“I’ve been hired to help with your development operations,” he tells you. “Just for a couple weeks, see where you’re at.”

“Oh, that’s good. Harry and I could use the help.”

The mystery man smirks. “Good. S’what I like to hear.”

With that, the elevator comes to a stop and the doors open, allowing you and the stranger to begin down the hall and toward the main office.

After a rather interesting discussion with Mr. Prescott, you learn a bit more about Lucas, your new project partner.

He’s incredibly smart and well spoken, he’s got some wonderful ideas for the website, and he’s absolutely going to drive Harry up the goddamn wall.

You’re practically giddy as you lead Lucas back to the lab to help him get set up. Already imagining the scowl on Harry’s face when he learns he’ll be sharing a space with someone else. Someone arguably much better suited for the position and with much fresher ideas.

Unfortunately, Harry has already left for the day by the time you return. And while you’re somewhat disappointed that you’ll have to wait on the introductions, you use the rest of the shift to get acquainted with Lucas.

Turns out, he’s delightful, and you laugh harder with him than you have anybody else in a long time. He’s rather flirty, too, you notice, but you don’t mind. It’s nice to have such forward attention and you revel in his sneaky smiles and playful remarks.

You leave the lab that afternoon with a large grin, laughing when he calls, “Goodbye, Duchess,” as you walk out the door.

Come Monday morning, Harry is in a foul mood. You notice it before he’s even set foot into the room, the exasperated expression on his face visible from the parking lot.

He walks differently when he’s upset, you realize. With his hunched shoulders, clenched fists, and heavy footsteps that echo through the halls.

Everyone within a hundred-foot radius takes notice, shooting him odd looks as he strides by, but he pays them no mind. Instead making a beeline for his corner of the room where you reside before throwing his things down with a huff.

“Morning, Sunshine,” you call, turning in your chair to watch while he slumps into his. “What the hell is going on with your hair? It looks…well, like shit.”

A venomous glare is shot through the dark frames of his glasses. “Blow me, Princess. I’m not in the fucking mood today.”

“I can see that,” you reply calmly, hiding a smirk behind the rim of your coffee mug. “Hope you’re at least a little nicer to the new guy.”

Harry’s frazzled and irritated shuffling stills. “What new guy?”

“The new guy,” you say, nodding toward Lucas who’s beginning to make his way through the lab. “Prescott told you, right? He’s working with us for the next couple of weeks on development operations.”

Harry’s attention follows the tall, lanky figure as he moves between the tables, a frown beginning to form. “What the fuck?” he scoffs quietly but full of repulsion. “I’m sorry, since when do we need a fucking babysitter?”

“He’s not a babysitter, Harold. He’s just extra help—”

“We don’t need extra help,” Harry bites back. “Okay, I had it covered—”

“Clearly, yeah. Is that why the simulation kept glitching—”

“It wasn’t glitching, the code was just off. But I had it handled—”

“Sure, yeah. Obviously. That’s why Prescott hired someone else—”

“Duchess,” comes a new addition to the conversation, forcing you and Harry to lean back as Lucas approaches. “Hey, listen. Thank you again for showing me where to set up my shit, I really appreciate it.”

“Of course,” you return with a smile. “Seriously, anything we can help you with, just let us know.”

He nods. “Perfect, yeah. Most of it is just working on the HTML, but eventually I’d like your input on the file transfer.”

Peeved, Harry’s eyes flitter across the man’s face. “Right. And you are?”

“Lucas,” he replies brightly, offering you both a charming smile. “Yeah, sorry. Met Duchess here the other day on the elevator. You must be…Harry, right?”

Harry’s eyebrows begin to weave together, broad shoulders straightening up ever-so-slightly. “Why the fuck were you in our elevator?”

“Well, Duchess was showing me up to the lab," Lucas says, nodding his chin at you while you share a smirk. "Helped me set up, which was really sweet.”

You wave the compliment away while Harry slowly turns to you and subtly mouths, “Duchess?”

You shoot him a pointed look. “Yes. Well. Anyway, Harry and I are really excited about working with you. Aren’t we?”

Harry merely returns your stare with a glare of his own before gritting his teeth. “Fucking ecstatic.”

If Lucas picks up on the charged air between you, he doesn’t comment on it, instead grinning again as he steps back. “Perfect. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

You nod. “Absolutely. Oh, we’re still on for lunch, right?”

“Of course,” he calls before returning to the hallway, leaving you with a very displeased partner.

You blink.

“Lunch?” Harry repeats, almost incredulously. “You’re having fucking lunch with the babysitter now?”

You snort. “It’s lunch, not an orgy. Relax, Harold—”

“And what the fuck is with the degrading nickname?” he continues, nodding his chin in the direction Lucas disappeared to before nudging his glasses back up. “He sounds like a fucking twat.”

“For your information, Duchess means queen,” you tell him haughtily. “And I love it. It’s a lot nicer than anything you call me.”

“I call you the same fucking thing—”

“No, you call me Tinkerbell,” you correct. “And Princess. Which is nice. But Queen trumps Princess. Sorry.”

He makes another noise before spinning around in his seat, turning his back to you. “Fucking ridiculous. Fine, have your fucking tea parties and your fucking nicknames while I get some real shit done.”

“It’s not a tea party, it’s lunch—”

“Oh, my apologies, your Royal Fucking Highness.”

You smirk.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Got it stuck right up there. Poor thing had to go to the emergency room just to get it removed.”

Lucas laughs – a loud, infectious laugh – while glancing down at his plate with a shake of his head. “Shit. I bet he enjoyed that.”

“No. No, not at all,” you chuckle. “And he wouldn’t speak to me for about a week afterward. Honestly? It was the best week of my life.”

“I imagine.” He runs a long finger around the rim of his glass in thought. “So, he’s always been like that, then? Kind of…sullen? And moody?”

Smiling to yourself, you run through your memories of the brooding man you’ve known for years. Remembering the first day you met, and the way you instantly became enamored by those bright green eyes and chestnut curls.

“No,” you admit. “No, he used to be…fun. Nice. Shy, even.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he was…I mean, he was nervous, I think. It was one of his first jobs out of university, and I think he just wanted to do a good job.”

“Makes sense,” Lucas replies. “From what I’ve seen, he’s quite good at what he does.”

“He is,” you agree, almost begrudgingly. “Always has been, which is really annoying.”

He smiles. “So, what happened? What made him switch?”

You release a heavy sigh and shrug your shoulder. “Honestly…I don’t know. There was a bit of a dark period. He stopped talking to people, stopped going out. Got a motorcycle of all things. And then he just…wasn’t the same.”

“And he never talked about it?”

You snort. “No, Harry doesn’t…talk. About personal things. At least not with me. And asking never gets me anywhere.”

A quiet pause settles over your small table before Lucas leans closer.

“I think he trusts you, Duchess,” he says. “And I think he’s scared of how much.”

“That’s quite an observation from someone who just met him.”

“What can I say, it’s my superpower,” he teases. “But I mean it. His hostility felt…forced. Like he was putting up a wall to save face. And if he really didn’t like you…he wouldn’t spend so much of his time trying to be near you.”

It’s a nice thought. Sweet, even, and you’re almost tempted to entertain the idea.

But you know Harry. You know his cruel jokes, and his pensive demeanor. You know that he fucks to drown out the rest of the world, and that he’d rather spend the rest of his life alone than in someone else’s company.

So, you simply sigh, and offer Lucas another shrug. “Yeah, well. If that were the case, I’d hope he’d at least—”

“The fuck is all this?”

The two of you turn toward the sound of Harry’s huffed remark, smirking to yourselves when you see that familiar frown.

“Uh…lunch,” you reply calmly, raising an eyebrow. “Like I told you.”

Harry comes to a stop just beside the table, flicking his glare between you. “It takes you a fucking hour to eat?”

Your eyes narrow. “It hasn’t been an hour, and we were talking.”

“So you were wasting time?”

Lucas grins, and you catch the way he glances down at the table to hide his amusement.

You straighten up and direct your displeasure toward Harry. “We were not wasting time, we were eating and getting to know each other. Is that all right with you?”

“No,” Harry says simply, and it infuriates you. “You don’t get paid to talk shit.”

“We were not—” You suck in a sharp breath, silently commanding yourself to remain relaxed. “Do you want something?”

“Yes, actually. Prescott wants to see us.”

You blink. “Why?”

“Don’t know.”

You look to Lucas, confused and slightly annoyed while Lucas leans back curiously.

“I’ll come with you,” he offers as you both stand. “If it’s about the project, maybe I can help explain—”

“We don’t need your help,” Harry interjects bluntly. “And he didn’t ask for you. He asked for us.”

You shoot another peeved look his way. “Harry—”

“Really, it’s no problem,” Lucas tries. “I probably need to get caught up, anyway—”

“Then catch up on your own fucking time,” Harry nearly snaps, large hand outstretching to snatch onto your upper arm. “If we need you, we’ll ask for you.”

With that, he begins to drag you away from the table, leaving Lucas and his mystification behind.

Stumbling along, you begin to fight against Harry’s firm grip, already wildly annoyed. “What the fuck is your problem—”

“Your car is fixed, right?” is all he says, keeping his eyes forward as he leads you through the lobby and toward the parking lot.

You hesitate. “Uh…yeah? Why?”

“Where is it?”

Your lashes flutter as you look from him to the array of vehicles before you. “Um…there. By the tree.”

With a short nod, he yanks you forward, guiding you to your car without so much as an explanation.

Still irritated, you slip yourself free right as he stops beside the trunk. “The hell are you doing—”

He opens the backdoor. “Get in.”

“What?”

“I said get in,” Harry repeats, “Duchess.”

You frown. “And why would I do that?”

“Because I’m gonna fuck you.”

And you almost want to laugh because you can’t believe where he got the nerve. “You’ve got to be kidding—”

“I’m not,” he says, rather assuredly before guiding his glasses back up. “Get in.”

“Harry…this is so fucking—”

“Don’t care.” He nods his chin toward the backseat. “In, Princess.”

You reckon you should stand your ground and refuse him. Tell him how childish he’s being, how vulgar, how rude. Make it clear that he doesn’t get to stomp his foot and demand you do as you’re told just because he’s upset.

And yet…your legs urge you forward until you’re slipping inside the car and settling on the other side.

Harry follows suit, yanking the door shut to close out the rest of the world before facing you. “Take off your jeans.”

However, your expression is menacing as you begin to fumble with the zipper on your pants. “You’re so fucking pathetic, you know that?”

“Yeah,” he says simply, but he’s beginning to smile as he tugs off his own belt. “But I’m not as pathetic as whatever the fuck that was.”

“What was? A harmless, friendly lunch?”

“Please,” he snorts. “He was clearly flirting with you, and it was hard to watch.”

Your eyes roll as you tug your jeans down your legs. “He was not flirting with me, he was just being nice—”

“Guys aren’t nice,” he retorts. “Not for nothing. He wanted something from you, and I spared you from having to pretend you were interested. You’re welcome.”

“Oh, really? And what did he want? To fuck me? Like you so desperately want to do?”

He scoffs, but he’s smirking. “I fuck you to make you feel better.”

“Right, okay.” You wiggle your underwear down your thighs. “Who’s to say he wasn’t gonna do the same?”

“He wasn’t,” he replies simply. “Trust me. Get up.”

With a huff, you oblige, turning around so you can settle on your hands and knees while Harry gets situated behind you. Strong hands melding to your hips to keep you steady.

His fingers move to smooth between your cheeks and down to your cunt, stroking it softly to prepare you.

Then, he chuckles. “And who is this for, hm?” he taunts, dipping into your arousal to spread it around. Ignoring the way you inhale a sharp hiss. “Me or him?”

You brace yourself against the seat of the car, chin dropping to your chest. “Him,” you grit. “Obviously.”

Harry hums, thumbing at your clit. “Is that so?”

“Yes.”

Suddenly, there’s a sharp smack to your left ass cheek that makes you reel, the pain instantly dissolving into pleasure as you whine.

“Try again,” he tsks before slipping a practiced finger inside. “And this time…be honest.”

“I’m always honest,” you argue, already breathless from the feel of his touch. “How could it ever be for you?”

You can’t see him, but you imagine he’s smiling, entertained by your bratty behavior as he adds a second digit. Curling and pumping at a deliciously slow pace.

“You’re right,” he finally answers. “You hate me. You’d never get wet for me.”

You swallow another noise. “Exactly.”

“And if I fuck you…you’ll moan his name. Won’t you, Tink?”

“Yes.”

“Think about him the whole time. Beg him for what you think he can give you.”

“Shit—”

“Imagine his tiny, soft little cock. Too small to get you off. Probably wouldn’t even feel it, would you?”

He’s cruel. Sadistic and outrageously annoying. But he knows exactly how to play you, and you damn him to hell for how well it works.

He reaches around your body to tug your shirt up, pushing it over your tits until he can take a nice handful.

You love his hands. Love the way his skin feels against yours. The way he tweaks your nipple and rolls it around.

“Like that, don’t you?” he coos, the rhythm of his strokes through your pussy ever steady. “Know you do. Cause I know your body, Princess. Better than he ever will.”

You try to ignore the pleasure that ripples across the deep of your stomach, keeping your focus on the stitching beneath you. You hate when he’s right.

Suddenly, and without warning, he rips his fingers out, leaving you empty and dripping while you groan.

“Easy,” he tuts, now tugging his cock free. He shifts some, propping his leg up onto the seat while his other foot remains on the floor. “Gonna have to be quick, aren’t we? Since you wasted so much of our lunch break with him.”

You exhale a scoff at this, glancing back just long enough to glare.

He grins.

“Stay still,” he instructs, dragging the tip through your folds. Spreading you gently and moaning when he sees his cock glisten with you. “Just like that, s’a good girl. Gonna make it better. Gonna fuck you right.”

The first push in is heaven. It always is, and you aren’t sure why. Like adding the final piece to the puzzle. Complete, in a sense.

Your nails curl into the seat below, a futile attempt at finding some stability as his thick cock stretches you open.

You hear him hiss through gritted teeth, his hands once again finding your waist to hold you in place. “Breathe,” he suddenly calls, smacking your leg once. “You’re not breathing.”

“Sorry,” you gasp, forcing air back into your lungs. “Don’t…don’t know why I do that.”

He makes a small, entertained noise before allowing you a moment to adjust. “Feels that good, yeah? Do I take your breath away?”

“Blow me,” you retort, but you can’t help smiling.

Finally, he settles himself all the way, sinking into your warm cunt rather comfortably as you both release sighs of relief.

“There it is,” you hear him murmur, his fingers curling into your side before he pulls back. “Okay, easy. Easy, Tink, yeah? Shit—”

The rapid but hard pace is addictive. Perfectly full and pleasurable with each thrust and snap of his hips against your ass.

Despite the somewhat small space, Harry finds a way to bend your body to his will. Keeping you below him as he drives himself faster and faster. Uncoordinated and unrhythmic. He’s merely chasing the feeling, chasing the way your pussy pulls him in. Clenches around him, soaks him, keeps him warm.

“You know what?” he suddenly seethes, surging forward until he finds a new angle. “I think you were right…think you should have gone with him.”

You want to respond – want to make any other noise besides these strained whimpers, but it’s useless. Your voice forming around his name yet again as your toes curl.

“You were better before he came along,” he says, hand coming down to slap against your ass. The sound echoing around the tiny constraints of the vehicle. “Tighter. Needier. So fucking easy.”

Your lashes flutter, eyes rolling back. He’s feeding into the part of you that likes to be degraded, and you feel a chill dance down your spine.

“Did anything I fucking wanted. Took my cock like a good girl,” he continues. “Let me stretch you. Let me train you. Break you. Have my fucking way with my fucking pussy. Behaved so well for me.”

Another spank is had to your tender skin, and you cry out as you bury yourself into the seat below.

“Now, well…now you're just useless to me. Aren’t you, Princess?” His movements get sloppier. Faster. “Now you waste your time with him.”

In any other moment, you’d refute his comments. Play his game, egg him on.

But in this moment – a moment where your singular focus is him and only him – you find that you can only shake your head quickly and with misery. “No. No, just you.”

You hear him chuckle, and it makes a new wave of arousal rush between your legs. A type of praise you thrive on. “Just me, huh? But you’re not my whore anymore, are you? You’re his—”

“No,” you whimper, writhing when he reaches down to press his fingers to your clit. “Yours…you…only you.”

“I don’t know, Tink. Seemed awful smitten with him. Same way you used to be smitten with me—”

You can do nothing but whine pitifully as you push back into his touch, ass raised and spread in front of him.

Another smack ripples across your cheek before he kneads the flesh with his free hand, circling your clit with the other. “What? What do you wanna say, baby, hm? Wanna beg me to let you cum? Is that what you want?”

You try to nod, but your cheek is pressed firmly to the seat of the car.

“I know you’re close,” he murmurs, shifting some so he has a better position to fuck himself into you quicker. “God, you’re so fucking close. Can feel your pretty little walls clamping down on me. You’re fucking shaking, baby, come on. Come on, let go. I’ll let you cum. Go ahead.”

To accompany his instruction, he begins to rub the sensitive nerves in a harder fashion. Pressing them down as he forces your body to comply.

It happens all in the same moment. There’s no time for preparation or warning as you release a strangled gasp that disappears into his equally fervent moan.

Instantly, he releases your clit to take hold of your hips with both hands, and slam his cock into you – sheathing himself completely as he releases his load.

It’s familiar and incredible. The car is hot and filled with the sounds of your ecstasy. You’re drowning in it – drowning in him. In the way he makes you feel, in the blinding pleasure that still travels down the back of your neck all the way to your toes.

It’s deep and it’s full and it’s endless. One of the best you’ve had, and you can’t help but smile as you work to catch your breath.

You begin to slump forward as Harry chases after you. Slipping his arm beneath your stomach to keep you upright and turn you toward him as his cock slips out.

“Hey, hey,” he mumbles, glancing over the part of your face he can see. “You all right? You breathing?”

You nod weakly. “Mhm. M’good. So good.”

You catch his soft smile. “Good.”

He reaches for your panties, gently dragging them back up until they settle around your hips. Keeping what’s left of his cum inside of you.

“Just in case Lucas gets any ideas,” he teases, shooting you a wink before helping you sit up.

You both begin to wrangle your clothing back on, redoing belts and buttons as you work to catch your breath.

Oddly enough, Harry doesn’t rush to exit the car, and you find yourself somewhat surprised. Instead, he merely readjusts his glasses, runs a hand through his hair, and slumps back against the seat.

And for some reason, the sight of his flushed cheeks and dilated pupils makes you grin. And you find that you can’t resist moving closer and crawling onto his lap.

Once you’re straddled across his thighs, you dip down, and take his lips with yours. Kissing him hard and with everything you haven’t been able to give him before, ignoring his look of his surprise.

But he kisses you back, exactly the way you knew he would. Taking hold of your body once more to keep you close.

Tongues and teeth clash – it’s messy and rushed, yet effortless and easy. And you can’t help but smile giddily as you tug on his bottom lip.

When you finally pull back to breathe, Harry is wearing a similar expression, seemingly dazed and amused as he holds you on his lap.

Chuckling, you swipe your thumb across his mouth. “God, you’re so fucking annoying.”

He nips at your finger to make you squeal. “I know.”

A quiet moment settles then as you study him, feeling entranced and relaxed by the soft green behind his crooked glasses.

With a gentle smirk, you push them back up, and whisper, “Were you really jealous?”

His snobby scoff makes you laugh. “I was not fucking jealous, Tinkerbell. You just don’t know him.”

“Neither do you,” you retort. “He’s really nice. He just wants to help.”

He groans again, letting his head drop back. “For fuck’s sake, Princess. You’re so goddamn trusting—”

“Yeah, I am. After all, I trust you.”

His eyes fall to yours. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He smiles again, and you feel your heart flutter. Reminded yet again of the way things used to be – a time before the hostility and angry comments.

You think back to what Lucas said. His inquiry on the shift, and while you’re sure nothing good can come from your prying, you find yourself asking, “What happened?”

Harry blinks. “What?”

“To you. To us, I guess,” you ask, growing oddly nervous under his confused stare. “When you first started, you were so…nice. And happy. And sweet, even.”

His expression falls, settling into a chilling frown.

“And then…I don’t know, something happened,” you continue, now a bit quieter. “You changed, you got…angry, and tense, and you just…you hid yourself away, you know? And don’t get me wrong, I like bickering with you, I just…I guess I’ve always wondered what…went…wrong?”

You feel him tense beneath you. The way his hands tighten and the way that soft green turns into a raging storm of indifference and spite.

Almost within the blink of an eye, he disappears into another version of himself. One that refuses to participate in this discussion and one that desperately wants to remove himself from you.

You can feel him slipping away. Can feel the drop in your stomach – a pit a mile deep. Normally, you like to piss him off. But this is different, this is…this isn’t what you want.

He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing once. “Why does it fucking matter?”

“I don’t…I guess it doesn’t,” you stammer, shrugging once. “I just wondered, is all. I don’t mind, or anything, I just…I was thinking about it—”

“Why?”

“I…I don’t know. Lucas asked, and I thought—”

“Lucas?” It’s a venomous scoff that makes you jolt. “Let me guess. He was just trying to help—”

“No, he just…he asked what you were like, and I said that you…you—”

“I what?”

“That…fuck, I just said things used to be different,” you huff, but your cheeks feel warm. You’re embarrassed. Disappointed in yourself for pushing. For ruining the first calm moment the two of you have ever shared. “And it made me think about it, so I…I wanted to ask—”

“Well don’t,” he seethes, releasing your waist as if trying to get away from you. “It’s none of your fucking business.”

“I know,” you agree, sliding off his lap to give him a bit of space. “I know, I’m sorry, I just…I thought maybe I could help.”

He shoots you a look that splits right through you. It’s cold and it’s incredulous and it makes your throat run dry.

“Why?” he says again, studying you closely. “Why the fuck would you want to help?”

Truthfully, you aren’t sure. “I don’t know. Maybe because there’s a part of me…a very small part…that doesn’t totally hate you? I guess?”

You wince as you say it. You hate the way it sounds. Hate what it implies because you do hate him.

But not enough to leave him when he needs you.

Harry’s lashes flutter at your response, and he watches you for a moment more before he leans back, and his expression twists.

“Yeah, well…it doesn’t matter,” he mumbles, almost to himself as he reaches for the handle on the door. “So don’t fucking worry about it.”

Confused and somewhat dejected, you lean forward. “Har—”

“I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“…what?”

He sighs, looking down toward the floor. Refusing your eye. “I can’t do this anymore, I can’t…I don’t want to do this. With you. It’s too fucking…there’s too much extra shit. All right, it was fun, but I don’t…I’m done.”

There are a hundred things you want to say. A hundred excuses, a hundred pleas, a hundred retorts.

But none of them feel fitting as you watch him push the door open and step out.

He hesitates, almost as though expecting you to stop him. To argue and call him back.

Yet you don’t. Because you know that nothing you say will ever be able to change his mind.

He’s already decided.

“Fine,” you whisper, offering a short nod. “Yeah, fine. Whatever you want.”

He looks at you. Finally. Expression filled with a solemn sort of goodbye before he nods as well.

And the door slams shut.

Next Part:

~ Always*

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~ SnakeBite*

~ Full 404 Masterlist

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allmightluver · 2 months

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@hhbluedynamite I’m going to make separate post here to address this. Tumblr mobile is a pain and I can’t add all picture examples I want to it here goes.

This has been a debate ever since My Hero came out,

“Why are All Mights eyes black?”

There’s been multiple explanations from how his borrowed quirk works to simply his own emaciated state. I’ve come up with my own theory. It’s said the eyes are the windows to the soul. I believe All Might’s eyes grow darker the more “weight” he carries.

For example,

When All Might was a kid, his eyes were normal. White. After losing his family, rendering him an orphan, white. Even after losing Nana, still he looked normal.

And after first releasing to the public.

This is because although he’d already been thru hell and back emotionally, he’s still normal. Even with his quirk.

Then, after he’d been in the game a while, they suddenly darkened.

Why?

Because by that time, the full gravity of his position, his responsibility and the realization he was essentially alone in that place, had fully sunk in.

Because he was so over powered above everyone else, everyone including the heroes left him to take care of almost everything they felt was too hard. And because he’s a selfless person at heart without a care to his own safety, he willingly allowed it to happen without asking for help. He didn’t want to risk losing anyone else. Which is also why he didn’t take on any sidekicks.

Until Nighteye.

Vigilantes showed us Toshinori when he wasn’t being All Might. And his eyes turn back into white in his more relaxed form, albeit with tired lines beneath them. However this is when he had Nighteye to count on. And Nighteye can see the future, so perhaps he would be safe, right? Well we know what happened there.

After he and Nighteye break up go their separate ways, we never see Toshinori with white eyes again. (Unless I’m forgetting so please tell me if I am). Now he’s injured, only a handful of people to trust, and none can truly understand what he’s going through. At this time he truly is alone, and the one thing that gives him joy is slowly but surely being fizzled out within him.

All Might’s eyes continued to remain black for years. Even after giving his quirk to Izuku. He still felt the weight of the world on his shoulders because he feared for Izuku’s safety. Blamed himself for every scar and Injury the boy suffered thru. Even though he was retired, nothing had changed. In fact it was worse now, because he could do nothing to help anymore.

And then he gains support items to face AFO for the last time. He’s a distraction, a willing sacrifice to slow the monster down, and he couldn’t be happier. We see the whites of his for the first time. All through the fight we see them, shaded albeit, but they’re there.

When he speaks to Nighteye asking if this isn’t the place he was meant to die, Nighteye confirms that it is. The fact that he’s still alive makes him raise the question, why is he still here then? I’m the mentor, Izuku is a ready and worthy apprentice. He doesn’t need me anymore. I’m supposed to be dead by now. His eyes seem darker here, as if the weight and his own depression have increased again. Perhaps begrudgingly accepting his fate.

But then here after Nighteye tells him he reads too many comic books, and that there’s no way he would go out that way, we get a closer look. Although his eyes are still shrouded in black because of his emaciated state. His eyes themselves are clearer, brighter. Even if Nighteye is only in his head, his words are still bringing him hope deep down.

While being tended to medically, his eyes are dark again, though I believe this is mainly due to him barely being alive and conscious at this point. And they’re still white, more than we’re used to seeing.

Finally after the war while they’re recovering, his eyes remain white, though they’re still shaded. The weight is still present. His work isn’t done yet. Izuku is losing his quirk, and he still feels like a failure in some sense because of that. Also because he and Bakugo almost died. And because of everyone who did die in the war all because he failed to stop AFO after three tries.

People who weren’t qualified to be heroes were even involved in this battle. And he thinks it unfair to hold such high standards when there are people who can still help, even if not at the extreme levels of the top heroes. He and Deku are proof of that!

In the last chapter several years later, we finally see Old Man Might! And his eyes-they’re so bright. ❤️

Of course they’ll always have a little shadow to them because of his sunken in appearance, but the tired lines under his eyes are gone. There’s not the black bags from pushing himself too hard, just the normal wrinkles that come with age.

This is Toshinori that’s been missing for decades. The man whose impossible weight has finally been lifted off his shoulders. He knows he can finally relax, he doesn’t have to be on alert or on call anymore. The world is safe without him.

He even found a way for Izuku to keep up his hero work with a suit similar to his own during the war (though most definitely suped up).

Finally, he can be at peace. His body, soul, and mind can finally begin to heal. He can work through all of the trauma he’s been stuffing down all of his life.

Finally, he can live.

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wqnwoos · 1 year

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joshua hong breaks your heart three and a half times before you can even reach nineteen, and yet you can’t stop loving him with the pieces that remain.

i. the first time ; when you meet

the story of you and joshua starts at the beginning, which sounds pretty redundant, but it’s the beginning in more may than one. the beginning of friendship — the beginning of freshman year — the beginning of something bigger than two fourteen year olds can imagine.

it starts, as you say, at the onset of freshman year. you’re nervous — extra nervous because these kids went to the same middle school, and you’re the stranger, the outsider, the transfer student who nobody knows yet. it’s obvious in the way they talk to each other; gossipping about unfamiliar names, inside jokes only they understand.

and so homeroom begins with ice breakers, and it turns out that you and someone named joshua hong have the same favourite colour and you both like horror movies, and that’s enough for you to think to yourself, that one. i want to be friends with that one.

for a moment, it seems like that sentiment is mirrored. when lunch is called, and you’re stuck in the corner of the canteen, eating lunch alone, joshua hong appears to your side, holding his tray. he smiles at you first, and when he speaks, he speaks softly; you like him instantly, especially when he gets your name right first try, and talks to you about the horror movies you like.

unfortunately, your conversation lasts about five minutes; it’s interrupted by joshua’s actual friends, waving from another table, yelling for him to come join their arm wrestling competition, and someone wants his chocolate milk, and, and, and — because of course, joshua is popular.

he’s also incredibly polite, for a fourteen year old boy, looking between you and his table, eyes torn, mouth twisting. but you make the decision for him; you stuff the last of your food in your mouth — it tastes like cardboard — and you gesture for him to leave, saying, through a dry mouthful, “i’m done anyway, go ahead!”

he leaves then, sending an apologetic smile you pretend not to see. you won’t be pitied, not even by popular guys with nice smiles. but when you walk out the cafeteria, as alone as you were when you walked into it, your silly, young little heart does break a little.

and then it’s glued back together by clumsy fingers the next day. joshua’s in the cafeteria before you, and this time, he waves you over to his table, patting the seat next to him. he introduces you to his friends, who are nice and sweet and funny, and you do like them, you just like joshua that extra little bit more.

ii. the second time ; when you fall, suddenly, completely, absolutely.

by the time junior year rolls around, you and joshua are joined at the hip.

you do everything together. you’re at his house more than your own; his mom calls you the second child she never had; your mom calls him by his nickname; you know his deepest darkest secret, and he knows yours; he’s your favourite person in the world, and as teenagers are apt to do, you’d never willingly tell him such a thing.

“you’re disgusting,” you tell him, whenever he belches, unashamed, on your couch after a horror movie marathon. “you’re the worst!” when he tickles you within an inch of your life, rolling onto the floor with you in a mad tangle of limbs and giggling. “i hate you,” with a smile on your face, when he teases you about a crush or pinches your nose a little too hard.

“you love me,” is always his response — easy, carefree, and the l-word rolls off his tongue so confidently, sometimes you wonder how he does it. but you do love him. as a friend, of course, and nothing more, despite what other people say. at school, people think you’re together — people pull you aside in the locker room, giggling like they’re in on your secret (“so, you like like him, right?”) and nobody believes you guys when you deny it.

“it’s not like that,” you find yourself saying over and over, until it feels like the words are tattooed on your tongue. “he’s just josh, you know?” and he is. he’s just your joshua. nothing more, nothing less, he’s just your person — your best friend.

you manage to convince yourself as well, with those repetitive words, until one day, you find out you can’t.

it’s a sunday, and so of course, he’s singing sunday morning as the two of you stroll down to the park, hands stuffed in your respective pockets. it’s late september, but the dregs of summer are lingering longer this year, and the two of you are drinking them up before autumn rolls around, and strips the greenery bare.

“your obsession with that song needs to be studied,” you say, and it comes easily because you haven’t realised yet.

“your brain needs to be studied,” is his quick retort, as you guys make it to your usual spot.

it’s nothing special, this spot — to an outsider, at least. it’s a crumbling wall to the side of the park, that overlooks a pond (an ugly, swampy looking pond, but a pond nonetheless).

to you and joshua, the deteriorating wall is your Place, with a capital p, because that’s how important it’s become to the two of you. it’s simply. a little bit ugly, but who cares, when you have your whole life stretching in front of you, a wall to sit on, and a best friend to argue over the red gummies with?

“there are five red gummies,” he pronounces, peering inside the pack. “i call dibs on the third!”

“what?” your voice raises automatically. “absolutely not. you had the third one last time.”

“last time there were six!”

“that’s so not fair!” you poke his rib, scowling. “we’ll split it. for justice.”

joshua sighs, long and reluctant, but nods, setting the packet between you — but moments later, when you’ve spiralled down a tangent of cursing out your physics teacher, he swipes down on the third, stuffing it in his mouth with a triumphant, guiltless grin before you can even say stop.

“you’re evil,” you say, slow and shocked, narrowing your eyes at him. “you’re actually fucking evil!”

“sorry,” he says, without the slightest hint of remorse.

“i hate you.” and again, you’re smiling — and so is he, throwing his head back to laugh (because the thought of you hating him is so ridiculous that he has to laugh), and his darn eyes catch the afternoon sunlight at just the right angle, twin pools of honey brown, and you’re drowning in them; and his laughter sounds like music, and his hair’s blowing back in the breeze, and the lines of his face are lighting up golden; and oh, fuck, you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

“you love me,” he says, normally, casually, his ordinary response, but it feels like he’s plucked the sentence straight out your mind, where it had been nothing more than a half-formed sentiment you’d pushed into the corner.

cheeseballs, you think to yourself, breathless, stomach sinking, eyes wide. i think he’s right.

i think i love him, your fifteen year old self thinks, and then your fifteen year old self’s heart breaks.

it’s more painful than the first time. much more.

iii. the third time ; when he leaves (because you push him out the door)

the third time is not like the others. you can’t pinpoint a specific moment; it happens gradually. less of a shattering — more of a slow crushing, like joshua is pressing down on the centre of your chest, slow, heavy, and completely unaware of how blood is spurting from the cracks of your heart.

because he doesn’t know — of course he doesn’t know. and he can’t know now, now that the two of you, as a unit, have become past tense.

you can barely call himself your friend anymore, and it’s entirely your fault.

not even a month after that fateful day in junior year, joshua had gotten himself a girlfriend. and she wasn’t mean and you couldn’t hate her even if you wanted to, she was the sweetest person alive, and had no problem with you; but still, that step did mean other things, like backing off joshua a little. there was another priority in his life now.

they only lasted three months, but it felt significant. it felt like a sign — he’s not yours, he can never be yours, and so even after emily benson and joshua broke up, you kept your distance. then he joined the football team, with seungcheol and mingyu and those guys, and you joined the photography club with wonwoo and seokmin and those guys, and there was suddenly this divide. a line drawn; you were the artist.

because joshua did try, and he definitely tried more than you. he’d invite you over to his house for movie marathons, and you’d decline. he’d wave at you from across the football pitch, and you’d pretend not to see.

you only see his mom in the supermarket now. she still hugs you, calls you her other child. you don’t know what to say to her.

it is, technically, your own fault. self-preservation instincts; because being around joshua hurt like a bitch after that sunday. there was an ache in your heart you’d somehow not noticed for two years, but now that you’d noticed it once, it was there always, a permanent throbbing pain in your chest.

you think of it as losing your heart; you’d given it to joshua without even realising, and he hasn’t realised either. and so the hot, slippery organ is left in his hands, and you don’t know how to get it back.

senior year comes, and it’s clear to everyone that there is no longer a you and joshua. sometimes you get questions about it; “did you guys fight?”, “what even happened? was it emily?”, “did he cheat on you?”, and you answer them all wearily with a smiling front.

just drifted apart, i guess, you always say, paired with a nonchalant shrug, like it doesn’t kill you a little every time you see him.

you wonder what he says, when they ask him. if they even ask him at all.

iii.v half broken, half mended

joshua shows up at your house.

it’s the night before graduation, and if it were a movie, it would be raining when he knocks on your door — but it’s still warm, there’s still faint sunlight behind him, and he’s panting slightly on your doorstep, eyes wide with something you don’t have the time to read before he’s rushing out words, garbled with speed.

you’ve just woken from a nap, and you don’t understand a word he’s saying; you hear a whole lot of “we” and “friends” and before he can get any further, you raise a hand to stop him.

“what — what are you talking about, shua?” you question genuinely, rubbing your sleepy eyes as though this is some sort of twisted dream.

joshua lets out a breath on your doorstep; he looks harried, panicked, like if he doesn’t say everything he needs to, he’s going to explode. but he holds back, inhaling, exhaling, suddenly short of breath at the sight of you, up close after what feels like forever.

“where did you go?” he says finally, and you can hear fifteen year old shua in there, a crack in his voice, emotion leaking into it.

you know what he means, you know exactly what he means, and you don’t have an answer for him. “i didn’t go anywhere,” you reply, voice small. you don’t look at him, because both of you know it’s a lie.

“you did,” he repeats needlessly. “it felt like you left me.”

you don’t have anything to say, and so you stay silent. there are birds chirping, you realise absently, somewhere behind him.

“was there a reason?” his words are growing quicker now, spilling out of him like they’re overflowing; and maybe they are, maybe he’s kept them locked up just as long as you have. “there must have been a reason — you need to tell me, i deserve to know. don’t i?”

his voice is tinged with a sort of raw desperation that pulls at your heart, because no matter how hard you try to convince yourself otherwise, he’s still your shua, he’s still your person, and you can never hate him.

he deserves to know, and you’re too cowardly to tell him.

joshua waits. (he’s always been the more patient out of you two.) “you won’t tell me,” he realises finally, stepping back just once. “god. fuck. i don’t even know why i came.”

he turns, and you blurt three words that halt him in his tracks. you see the way he freezes on the spot, and so you repeat them again, just so he can be sure.

“i love you,” you say, softly, but he hears you. he hears you and turns around, and his pretty doe eyes are round with confusion.

you don’t realise you’re crying until he wipes away the few that have spilled oit the corners of your eyes; he does it delicately, with hands that tremble a little. they’re unfamiliar in their familiarity, those hands, and the feel of them makes you close your eyes.

both of you are breathing shakily. like you’re on the cusp of something new; something bigger.

“how long?” he asks quietly, hands trailing down to cup your cheeks.

you don’t open your eyes when you speak your next words, pouring from your mouth into the space between you. “since we were fifteen.”

joshua’s quiet for a moment, and when you open your eyes, there’s a ghost of a smile playing on his lips, and the ghost of tears filling his eyes. “haha,” he whispers, leaning closer, “i win.” his lips brush against yours, so light and feathery it could barely be called a kiss.

he pulls back, forehead against yours, and smiles, properly this time. “since fourteen,” he says, and it feels like your heart is mended and broken at the same time.

an / typed this out in an hour of feverish inspiration. idk. 💪

taglist: @n4mj00nvq @eoieopda @som1ig @glowunderthemoon @wondering-out-loud @graybaeismytae @hannyoontify @sahazzy @dokyeomin @icyminghao @smilehui @nicholasluvbot @lvlystars @immabecreepin @hanniehaee @kokoiinuts @astrozuya

#joshua fluff #joshua x reader #joshua comfort #joshua fic #joshua fanfic #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen x reader #seventeen fic #seventeen fanfic #joshua imagines #joshua headcanons #joshua x you

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headkiss · 2 years

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hi!! I have an Eddie request!😊 basically something where the new girl (super shy and nervous cause AH I love it😂) at Hawkins is trying to find a seat at lunch, and decides to go up to Eddie at his table, and he treats her like a literal princess cause no girl has ever willingly wanted to sit with Hellfire

hi ty for the request!!! i hope u like it!!! | 0.6k fluff and shy!reader

Switching schools is scary. Especially during your senior year.

It’s even scarier when you have a hard time talking to new people in the first place. It makes friends hard to find, the adjustment lonely and nerve-wracking.

Lunch is by far the worst part. Every single friendship and clique in one room. Each table is dedicated to a group. Jocks, cheerleaders, or simply friends that so clearly belong together. There’s not one empty table for you to escape to.

You scan the room slowly, standing awkwardly with your tray in hand.

Already, your heart beats faster, your palms clammy. You glance around and the first empty seat you find is at a table with a group of boys in matching shirts. You shake your head and walk over, telling yourself over and over that it’ll be fine.

The closer you get, the less the noise of the room is one big mess. You can make out the voices coming from the table, the laughter.

You wind up standing a bit behind the head of the table, a head of black curls occupying the seat. You clear your throat to try and get his attention, but you aren’t loud enough over the rest of the room. You take a deep breath and shuffle over until you’re next to the chair.

Silence falls over the group, every pair of eyes lands on you. Shit.

Eddie’s stunned when he sees you standing next to his seat, shuffling on your feet, a nervous look on the prettiest face he’s ever seen. You’re new. He knows that because there’s absolutely no way he wouldn’t have noticed you before if you weren’t.

“Can we help you?” Mike says.

“Sorry, um, I was just wondering if I could sit here?” You fiddle with the fork sitting on your tray. “The other tables seem pretty full.”

“Uh-” Mike starts to reply but Eddie kicks him under the table.

“‘Course you can,” he says. He directs his attention to Mike and Dustin, “move down.”

“What?”

“Move down.”

They do, sending Eddie two annoyed looks as they do.

“There you go,” Eddie gestures for you to sit at the corner next to him.

“Thank you so much. You won’t even know I’m here, promise.”

Eddie finds that hard to believe. He’s known you for about a minute and already he can’t stop looking at you. Nobody ever comes near the Hellfire table, and here you are, all sweet and shy and something out of a dream.

“None of that. What’s your name?” He asks.

You tell him, and he repeats it, testing it out.

“That’s pretty. I’m Eddie, nice to meet you.”

Eddie.

Eddie’s a pretty boy. Like really, really pretty. From the curls framing his face and dangling over his forehead, to the softest brown eyes, to the rings adorning his fingers. As if you weren’t nervous enough already.

The rest of the table is caught up in a new conversation, but Eddie can’t bring himself to care. He’s sure you’re more interesting anyway.

“How you liking Hawkins?” He asks.

“Um, it’s okay.”

“It’s shit, you don’t have to lie.”

“No! It’s just, everyone seems to know each other already, you know?”

“Don’t worry about that. Most of ‘em suck anyway. Besides, you know me now, so that’s something.”

He doesn’t tell you that it’s actually cause for the entire school to tease him about finally having a girl pay attention to him or some shit. Like he said, they suck. You don’t.

“I guess that’s true.”

When lunch comes to a close and you start packing up, Eddie stops you before you get up with a gentle hand on your wrist.

“You can come sit here again tomorrow, if you want to.”

“Thank you, Eddie.”

After meeting him, you think maybe a new school won’t be so bad.

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 4 months

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Seeing that Epel and Rook used their unique magic, it makes me think everyone is gonna use their unique magic. Like imagine Kalim using his magic against his enemies or Jade use shock the heart for answers. Imagine reaching to Heartslabyul where everyone but Ace use it. This makes me think of Ace since he is a mysterious character and unclear motivation compare to the rest. What will be his dream? Will his unique magic be shown?

That’s true! Looking back, every character that is now “awake” has used their UM at least once:

Malleus uses Fae of Maleficence/Fae Maleficence to 7-37; this is the source of all our troubles in book 7 💀

Silver uses Meet in a Dream in 7-51, then again multiple times to dream hop and to wake up various students.

Lilia’s Far Cry Cradle is revealed in 7-81’s battle map via a flashback sequence. It is thanks to his UM that he understands the origins of the lone infant he finds in the ruins of Castle Wildrose. He blesses the baby and takes it under his wing as his own son… Silver.

Sebek’s Living Bolt, shown in 7-84, allows him to reach Silver and pull him out of the darkness that has swallowed him.

Idia uses Gate to (the) Underworld to open the gates to Tartarus and escape it in 7-114.

Book 7 confirms that Ortho is not capable of a UM, but is is his uniquely robotic ability to transfer his consciousness that allows him to adopt his Cerberus Gear in 7-50, infiltrate Sage’s Island, and return with valuable information to combat Malleus.

The magical glass coffin that Epel conjures with Sleep Kiss/Crimson Slumber in 7-135 protects Neige. It also (theoretically) slows the effects of Vil’s curse (the poisoned apple juice).

Rook uses I See You in 7-135 to tag Vil (who is sinking into the darkness of his dreams). This makes it easier for the gang to locate where Vil has gone.

Finally, in 7-138, Vil’s Fairest One of All allows him to poison Neige (who, up until this point, has been keeping tabs on him and preventing him from escaping the grasp of the dream) and rejoin with Yuu and co.

I guess since this is such a climactic book, the devs decided to go all out and have each boy show up and show off their own special power. This means we’ll most likely see the rest of the main NRC students using their UMs to help us out in the dreams! (Sasuga power of friendship…)

As for Ace! Now would be such an opportune time for him to develop his UM 😳 I believe the popular fan theory is still “Ace’s UM will allow him to copy others’ magic” since he mimics voices well and has a talent for quickly learning new skills (like dancing, as seen in book 5). And hey, if that’s the case then maybe Ace is the one who will be able to reverse Malleus’s magic if Malleus won’t willingly do it himself. Just spitballin’ here. Maybe Ace is frustrated that he can’t contribute in any way…? And then that feeling manifests as something?

How poetically ironic—the first student we meet ends up being the last to get their UM but also one of the final pieces of the puzzle to take OB Malleus down. It works out really well for Ace’s character too; he is the only character of the main cast who sees through the bullshit and calls people out, not caring about how influential or powerful they are.

I don’t actually think he’s that mysterious relative to other characters—we still barely know anything significant about Rook or Jade, for example (despite already diving into Rook’s dream). Rather, I think it’s more accurate to say that Ace has more simple desires. He just wants to be able to do what he wants when he wants, to not have to worry about his future plans. I don’t think his dream would really be anything that drastic; I see it as Ace living a chill life with his friends.

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what-even-is-thiss · 4 months

Note

so are you going to vote for biden?

Yes I am because I don’t want to vote for trump. And if you sent me this ask to send me a follow-up ask with something along the lines of “oh so you support genocide then?” No I do not but I do firmly believe that trump would make the situation over in Gaza and Ukraine and China and everywhere else we’ve got our fingers in even worse. He already did that while he was President. He made stable situations go unstable. He made our relationship with several countries go even more sour than they already are. And I’m also not putting up with trump potentially appointing more Supreme Court judges and ruining all of our lives for the next 50 years. I’m voting for the least bad option that has a chance of winning. And if you can’t see why I’m focusing on harm reduction I doubt you’re looking at the whole picture. Besides, Biden has done some good things. That doesn’t cancel out the bad things, but I’d also rather keep his good policies in place for as long as possible. And for the foreseeable future the only way to do that is to keep him in office even if I’d rather have somebody else.

Tbh I’m never gonna 100% like any candidate for President because the sort of people who would willingly take on that much power and make the kinds of tough decisions presidents have to make are not the sort of people I’d actually want to have that job but they’re also the only people that are going to be doing that job so I’ll have to pick the least bad one.

Also, President isn’t the only thing on the ballot in November. I’m not exactly sure where I’ll be living in November because I’m job searching right now but wherever I end up I’ll also be voting with that same mindset for everything else. Pick the least bad option. Because that’s how democracy works. I’m not abstaining from democracy just because my country is doing bad things. My country is always doing bad things. If liberals and progressives only vote when all available options are good then they’ll never vote and conservatives and fascists will run this country and that’s just how it is. I’d rather have a guy that’s not doing the best job on the international relations front than give the nuclear codes back to Don.

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frvnkcastles · 2 months

Note

Hiiii, can I request Imagine reader using herself as a human shield for frank when someone tries to take a cheap shot at him during a mission and after he makes sure there both out of harms way he flips out on her(Which he later regrets and apologizes for)

A HANDSHAKE WITH DEATH ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: You save Frank from getting shot, and he isn’t happy.

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, Frank is a little mean, feminine nicknames, a very very small reference to sex

Word count: 2k

Author’s note: This one was so much fun to write, I hope it’s to your liking!! Also, side note, thank you all so much for almost 800 followers <3 It makes me so happy that I’ve managed to create a safe space for so many of you! (Ps. that pic is one of my all-time favorite Frank shots, I can’t believe he looks so good covered in blood????)

Frank always protected you. He wouldn’t have hesitated to throw his own life on the line for your sake, and he had proven so countless times before — the man was already scarred, but in an attempt to keep you safe, he had endured endless pain and been on the receiving end of a knife or a gun more than you would have liked him to. But to him, it was non-negotiable, it was a given. He wasn’t willing to lose you or even see you get bruised, not on his watch, and it was something he didn’t make exceptions on.

To you, it felt like you owed him the same. He was always in dangerous situations, and more often than not, he was the target of the vicious people you faced, so you had an advantage in going unnoticed. You knew he really, really couldn’t handle another loss, but that didn’t mean you were any more open to the thought of losing him, either. So, if only you were able to do so, you were going to protect him, too.

It had taken some debating to get him to agree to let you help with his nightly activities, and you couldn’t blame him. You were willingly going to put yourself in harm’s way, but you felt like you could really contribute something valuable and help, with your knowledge of guns and your fair share of training in hand-to-hand combat. Still, even though you mentioned all this to him, he hadn’t been very open to the idea. It wasn’t until you insisted that you’d go with or without him that he cut his losses and agreed to take you as a teammate on missions.

And that was how you ended up in some shady warehouse that Frank had learned was going to be the grounds for trading illegal weapons.

You were crouched behind a shelf, trying to catch your breath and shake off the kick you had gotten on your ribs right before successfully hiding from the remaining goons. Frank had gunned down most of them, with you working as an effective distraction or temporarily incapacitating them with your fists. You were more than capable of using a gun, but you knew Frank liked to finish the job himself — even if he did secretly enjoy the sight of you taking charge a whole lot.

Another gunshot echoed through the building and you peeked around the corner, seeing Frank pressing his boot on the chest of his latest victim. The sight made you smile proudly, and when you deemed it safe to get up, you did exactly that and strode over to Frank who was breathing raggedly, blood staining his sharp features. He had never looked more handsome, and you couldn’t wait until you’d get home and unpack all the adrenaline together.

The one last armed man in the warehouse had a different plan for you. He came up from behind Frank, and you reacted quickly, jumping to shield him. ”Watch out!” you yelped, and Frank instantly turned to catch the man behind him, but not before the goon had already fired his gun. You managed to protect your boyfriend, the bullet scraping your arm and making you cry out, and as you bent over in pain, Frank shot the man right in the head. As he fell to his death, Frank grabbed you, holding you upright, eyes wide with concern.

”What were you thinking?” he fumed, frustration obvious in his voice. Before you could answer or he could reprimand you further, you heard sirens approaching the warehouse, so Frank put his anger on hold until you were both out of the cops’ sight.

He wrapped an arm around you and led you to his truck, clenching his jaw while you winced and whimpered. Blood was trickling down your arm and you felt a little nauseous — funnily enough, it was never any problem when Frank was covered in blood, but this was your first time getting shot and you didn’t know how to handle it.

From the looks of it, Frank didn’t know, either, constantly eyeing you but remaining completely silent as he started the car and drove you home. You felt the tension in the air, it was impossible not to, and you knew you were going to hear about the move you had pulled all night long. Still, you didn’t regret it in the slightest, painfully aware that the bullet could have hit Frank right in the chest if you hadn’t intervened.

When you arrived at home, Frank curtly gestured at the bathroom door. ”Gonna get you cleaned up”, he announced, short and to the point, and shrinking under his menacing frame, you trailed over to the bathroom and sat yourself on the toilet.

Frank dug out the first-aid kit while you struggled to get your shirt off, and once you were left in just your bra, his eyes didn’t even glance at your chest. His face was a blank slate, and it was making you so nervous.

Sighing, he examined the wound, licking his lips before pulling back. ”Gotta stitch you up. You’re lucky the bullet just grazed you”, he explained while taking out some thread and a needle, setting them aside so he could disinfect the wound first. When you hissed at the sting of the disinfectant, he just snorted.

”Earned it.”

With a loud scoff, you gave him a look. ”What did you expect me to do? I wasn’t gonna let you get shot. I’m not sorry about what I did. In fact, I’d do it again in a heartbeat”, you ranted, standing your ground defiantly. Maybe you were being a little stubborn about it, but to you, it had been a no-brainer. Just like he’d sacrifice himself for you, you’d do the same for him, any day of the week.

”It was stupid. I told you, I’m not messin’ around when it comes to your safety. You should never throw yourself in front of me like that. You better not pull shit like that again”, he gritted his teeth, avoiding your gaze as he started to stitch you up. The feeling of the needle piercing your skin got a weak sound from you, and you closed your eyes to avoid looking at Frank’s fingers expertly working the wound. Despite his frustration with you, he was being as gentle as he could, and it spoke in volumes about how he was really feeling — sure, on the outside, he seemed furious, but on the inside, he was just scared.

”So, I should have just let you die?” you retorted, and sucking in a sharp breath, Frank narrowed his eyes, a sign of concentration but annoyance, all the same.

”You dunno that I woulda died. Regardless, it ain’t somethin’ I want you to do for me. Rather me than you”, he insisted, and opening your eyes, you directed him the most disbelieving stare you could muster.

”You have to be joking. So, you refuse to watch me get hurt, but I have to tolerate you dying? That’s not fair”, you argued, trying to catch his gaze, but he wouldn’t meet you halfway. Instead, he was laser-focused on your shoulder, his thick fingers coated in blood as he did the stitches as thoroughly as he could.

You attempted to add something, but he didn’t let you. Instead, finished with the stitches, he tossed the bloody needle into the kit and stood up, huffing and puffing. ”You ain’t hearin’ me. I’m not debatin’ this. Either you promise to never do somethin’ like that again or I ain’t takin’ you with me next time”, he stated sharply, demanding and solemn as he finally looked at you. It was only for a fleeting moment, though, and he quickly turned on his heel and stomped out of the bathroom.

With your mouth hanging open, you listened to him storm out the front door and slam it shut behind him. The sound made you flinch, and with your lip wobbling, you looked down at your shoulder and shivered when your tears fell on the stained skin. Left alone, you cried quietly, your arm aching and your heart even more so.

It was getting late, and you didn’t think waiting up for Frank was a good idea. When you got in your bed, though, sleep refused to come. You couldn’t help but wonder where he was and when he’d come back, anxiety and regret brewing inside you — not regret for getting shot on his behalf, but regret for not hearing him out. You tossed and turned, restless and uneasy, and you knew it was a problem only he could solve.

The clock on your bedside table read 3:30 when the front door opened again, and you burrowed deeper into the mattress, the covers pulled all the way up to your ears. You were happy he was home, but it didn’t mean you were going to roll over and beg for forgiveness. Instead, you laid on your side, listening intently as he left his boots by the door, washed his hands in the bathroom and then came to the bedroom to undress.

You couldn’t deny the surge of love that kicked you in the chest when the bed dipped behind you and his scent infiltrated your senses. Carefully, he snuck an arm around your waist, and before you knew it, his lips were right by your ear and his hot breath lingering down your neck.

”Sweetheart…”, he started, sending a shiver down your spine. His voice was low, so low, and the impact it had on you was immediate. ”I’m sorry, baby. I shouldn’t have been such an asshole to you. I talked to Curtis and… he made me realize I need to do some grovelin’ right now”, he went on, and even though you kept your back turned to him, you couldn’t help but break into a smile.

”I just wanted to protect you”, you whispered, and sighing, Frank dropped his forehead to your exposed back.

”I know, sweet girl. You did real good. Just scared the shit outta me, y’know?” he grumbled, the nervousness audible in his voice. Finally, you rolled onto your back, facing him in the darkness, the moon outside illuminating his face and the cuts he had received during the fight at the warehouse. With a tender touch, you reached for his cheek, caressing it and frowning as you processed his words.

”I didn’t mean to scare you. But you can’t expect me to stand aside while people hurt you”, you pointed out, and with a defeated look, he nodded.

”I dunno how to do this, sweetheart. I trust you, I do, but I—I’m so fuckin’ scared of losin’ you. It’d be the final nail in my coffin. I need you safe and it drives me crazy when you don’t feel the same way about yourself”, he elaborated, his eyebrows knitted together and gaze cast down as he shared. ”I know you’re just tryin’ to help, so I shoulda been nicer about it”, he admitted, earning a small smile from you.

”Yeah, you should have”, you agreed before pulling him down for a kiss, your lips locking together passionately, all the pent-up worry and fear channeled into it. He cared about you so deeply, and with that kiss, he tried to let you know, his large hand coming to your cheek to hold you close as he kissed the air out of your lungs.

”Just… promise me you’ll try to be more careful, yeah?” Frank pleaded after breaking the contact, and slowly, you nodded.

”I’ll try”, you gave in, and in an instant, Frank smiled — a sight you would have promised anything for. You knew he just wanted to keep you safe, that it was coming from a place of love, but you weren’t quite sure he knew just how much you loved him, in return.

”How’s your shoulder?” Frank asked then, settling down on the bed and propping himself up on his elbow to watch you closely.

You rolled onto your stomach and jutted your injured shoulder out toward him. ”I think you should kiss it better”, you theorized with a contemplative tone, and in response, Frank laughed out loud.

”You got it, baby.”

#frank castle #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle x reader #the punisher #the punisher x reader

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jenscx · 10 months

Text

BEST I EVER HAD — uchinaga aeri x f!reader

you’ve had enough of your cold and distant girlfriend. finally deciding to turn the tables on her, you hope she learns her lesson.

TAGS — angst but crack, fluff, popular!aeri, slight jealousy, aeri is lowk an attention whore ngl, cursing, mentions of drinking

WORDCOUNT — 2.1k

NOTE ; a celebratory fic for 900 followers, thank you for all the support you guys have given me ♡

aeri and giselle are two different people. giselle; yonsei’s queen bee, the exchange student from japan whose good looks and fiery personality attracts everyone. she’s someone that every student either has a crush on, or wants to be friends with. cold and indifferent, yet still manages to gain the interest of many. some see her as a challenge, others as eye candy for motivation.

you’ve experienced this very persona— her hateful glares, sharp tongue and harsh words. it’s almost a weekly tradition.

on the other hand, she could easily turn back into aeri. your aeri. the one you fell in love with; her kind gestures, sparkling childish eyes and puffy cheeks when she’s acting cute. you’ve experienced this too and you prefer aeri over giselle any day.

it’s unfortunate that giselle seems to be taking over aeri, and you have to say truthfully, that you’ve been disliking your girlfriend more and more.

“y/n,” she mutters, “i’m not doing this with you right now.”

your gaze hardens.

“then when should we do this?” you ask.

aeri— no, giselle scoffs, “we wouldn’t need to be standing out here, in pouring rain, if you would just keep quiet.”

you hate this. you hate her cold, almost frozen words. you hate her distant personality. you hate her unresponsiveness. you hate the disappointment that she makes you feel, the uncaring and unloving side of her.

you hate giselle.

“he was flirting with you. imagine if i wasn’t there, what would he do? put his hands on you? obviously i would say something. you wouldn’t like it if someone was flirting with me right? unnie, can you understand me?”

giselle frowns, “that doesn’t matter. you should have just kept quiet. now it’s gonna be awkward when i go back in.”

you can’t believe her words. you’re standing out in the rain, freezing cold, and she plans to go back into the bar to continue drinking with her friends? and that guy that keeps flirting with her? are his intentions not clear to your girlfriend?

“you’re gonna just go back in? don’t you understand how I’m feeling right now?”

“truthfully, i don’t.”

all you can feel is shame. no longer do you feel disappointment at her words. how could you be disappointed when you had no expectations? you feel ashamed. ashamed for letting yourself be willingly thrown aside for so long. ashamed for letting giselle treat you however she wanted. ashamed that you had such low standards for a partner.

“if you go back into that bar, i can’t promise you that your stuff at my place won’t be thrown out in the garbage.”

giselle widens her eyes— of course, it’s the first time you’ve said this. it’s the first time you’ve managed to fight back against her. you finally realise how much of a dog she’s been treating you.

“y/n, this… are you drunk?”

“no? i think you’re drunk, honestly. you can go back into that bar, it’s your choice. at least when our relationship is over, you’ll blame yourself, not me,” you say tiredly, tossing giselle’s jacket back to her, “you can keep this. i’ll just take public transport.”

your girlfriend, stunned, almost fails to catch her jacket. she’s rooted to the ground, jaw almost dislocated at how hard she’s gaping.

“unnie, go back into that bar, i don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

“hey wait,” her voice turns into a worried tone, one you’re painfully familiar with, “darling, are you being serious? you’ll fall sick. the walk back to your apartment isn’t sheltered.”

her eyes are filled with concern, contrast to the aloofness present in them a moment ago. you don’t dare to look at her any longer, for if you do, you might just forgive her too easily.

you turn away from her, only taking a few steps in the rain before getting pulled back.

“y/n, are you being for real? don’t walk in the rain, fuck.”

“when do you care about my well-being? go back to your friends, unnie. i’m tired.”

aeri rubs her neck nervously, her eyebrows furrowing.

“if you’re tired, shouldn’t i call a cab…?” her voice is shaking, wavering at every word that comes out. you take a good look at her.

huh, you think, she sobers up quick.

“unnie,” you finally say, “let’s take a break.”

“what?” she questions incredously.

you purse your lips together, not explaining further.

“i’ll get going now. text me when you reach home,” you say and swiftly jump into a random cab on the street. meanwhile, your girlfriend stands outside the bar, shocked and confused.

“what the fuck did she mean?” aeri cries, “a break? are we breaking up? did we break up?”

minjeong and jimin only exchange glances. yizhuo is the only one who replies, “you’re just too much for her, i guess.”

“her whole personality did a 180 though? and i was being a little stupid but she wants a break? does she not love me anymore?”

the eldest adds in, “maybe it’s a build up, y’know. slowly you just became unappealing to her.”

aeri looks a second away from crying.

“unappealing?!”

“i don’t think unnie meant it like that!” minjeong quickly reassures her, “i think y/n is just taking some time for herself. you were treating her a little unkindly…”

the japanese girl only wails in anguish. her current state was so pitiful that her friends felt bad. they were of course on your side, but aeri was just so depressed that they felt sympathy towards her. she constantly looked like a kicked puppy whenever you’d reject her skinship.

it’s only been a week since you left her at that bar but aeri was struggling hard.

“how do i fix this? she doesn’t even look upset without me…” aeri asks desperately. so desperately that her friends all wince.

“ah… maybe y/n is giving you the same treatment you gave her? i mean, throughout the relationship, she didn’t really complain much even though i think if you were my girlfriend, i would have slapped you already,” yizhuo supplies.

aeri’s head turns so suddenly and sharply that her friends are startled. originally, her face had been on the table, almost sobbing at her now girlfriend-less life. aeri had forced her friends meet her in some starbucks, saying that you and her would always come here.

“fuck,” she mutters, “was i a bad girlfriend?”

“not bad, just questionable.”

“i think you should really talk to y/n and apologise.”

“yeah you were an asshole.” aeri flops back onto the table with a resounding groan.

that’s how aeri ends up on the doorstep of your apartment, flowers in one hand, and takeout from your favourite sushi place in the other.

her heart was beating out of her chest, in fear of your rejection once more. since the day you left, you only replied to a third of her messages, which mostly consisted of her asking if you had eaten or whether you wanted to hang out. you had avoided every chance to see her, except for once when she had showed up at your apartment even after you said you were busy.

aeri didn’t believe that you didn’t miss her. after spending so long together, there wasn’t a chance where you wouldn’t miss your girlfriend, right? aeri was certain that you would have run back into her arms after being distant for a day.

she was terribly wrong.

your socials, story updates, everything, showed no sign of missing her. was this a break? or a break up?

her hands trembled as she reached for your door, knocking on it.

“y/n…” aeri mumbled, “it’s unnie…”

the door almost swung open instantly and aeri was greeted by the sight of you with bed hair, unkempt pyjamas and behind you, bottles of soju accompanied by one of your friends sleeping on the couch.

“aeri unnie? what are you doing here?” you ask.

you looked frazzled. why would she show up randomly? was she here to finally break things off? of course you had already come to terms with it. with the way she was acting, maybe she had already decided to stop caring.

“y/n, i miss you. when will this be over?”

her words shock you. when was your girlfriend ever this open with her affection during your relationship? was it your absence that finally allowed her to see what she was missing?

“i’m sorry unnie, i still need time for myself.”

that were your last words to aeri. the last time she had ever heard your voice in person. after that day, you seemed more determined to avoid her. sometimes even missing lessons that aeri would know of. you had heard from one of your classmates that aeri would stand outside the lecture hall, waiting for you to come out.

her actions seemed so strange to you then. how could your girlfriend suddenly turn into a different person? she was someone who cared deeply for her reputation, so why would she willingly turn into some whipped girlfriend?

maybe you were starting to become a sadist, because whenever your friends would tell you about aeri’s desperation, it only delighted you more.

to say that you were exhilarated to see aeri at your door once again, holding a bouquet of flowers with your favourite food, it was an understatement.

“unnie? what are you doing here?” you ask, grocery bags in your hand.

aeri’s eyes light up when she sees you, her lips twitching into a nervous smile.

“i came here to talk.”

talk? you think, unnie’s so strange. she’s never wanted to talk before.

“ah, you must have been waiting out here long, come in.”

aeri’s heart nearly leapt out of her chest when you invited her in. maybe she could finally beg for your forgiveness…

your apartment seems so refreshing to be in. aeri regrets not cherishing her time spent here enough. the walls are decorated with memories from your childhood to college years. from baby photos to photos with friends and aeri. the bookshelves are lined with books that you have collected from the past few years in yonsei, developing a love for reading after becoming friends with minjeong, who also was a bookworm.

plants that you have cared for surround the living room. everything in your apartment reminded aeri of you. while aeri admires the space, you finish putting away all the groceries and return to the living room, only to see aeri spacing out.

“unnie? are you okay?” you ask. aeri turns to you, teary.

“y/n,” she places the takeout on the coffee table and sits on the couch, eyes reddening, “i’m sorry.”

“huh?”

aeri chokes out, “i’m sorry for being such an asshole to you while we were dating. i don’t know what’s wrong with me. you should have been my first priority, not my reputation, not my friends.”

“unnie, your happiness is your top priority,” you say, sitting down on the couch as well.

“my happiness is you. i don’t know why that took me so long to realise but you’ve always been the one that made me the happiest,” aeri sobs, “i’m so sorry for treating you like that. you deserve way better than how i was. please don’t leave me. i’ll become better for you.”

your girlfriend starts crying into her hands. you start to tear up too, not from sadness but happiness, that she’s finally caring.

“do you want a hug?” you open your arms. aeri almost flies into your embrace, her face sniffling into your collarbone.

you pat her back gently, “all i’ve ever wanted was for you to care. i’m glad you want to be better for me. i won’t leave you.” you want to add an apology in there too, for making her suffer during this break, but it feels like you were going back to your old ways.

“i missed you so much.”

“i missed you too, unnie. i felt really hurt when you threw me aside.”

you can feel aeri’s lips forming a pout, “i’m sorry. i was crazy for throwing away the best thing i ever had. i’m gonna try my best to be the girlfriend that you deserve. if i ever treat you like that again, please slap me.”

“did yizhuo give you that idea?” you ask, amused. it sounded terribly like something the chinese girl would advise.

“how’d you know?”

you both share a laugh and you finally feel that you have aeri in your arms. not giselle. your girlfriend, uchinaga aeri.

#aespa #aespa x reader #giselle x reader #uchinaga aeri x Reader #aeri x reader

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moremaybank · 1 year

Text

EYES ON US — r.c

pairing dark!rafe cameron x dark!fem!reader

summary the man you've been having an affair with enlists you in a devious and downright evil plan to get back at your husband. the husband that owes him a million dollars.

warnings 18+, dark!rafe & dark!reader. read at your own risk! violence/use of force, use of guns, kidnapping, being held at gunpoint, mentions of murder but it isn't actually depicted (all pertaining to reader's husband), unprotected sex, blow job turned to face-fucking, spanking, creampie, overstimulation, squirting, voyeurism, revenge sex, i think that's it ???

author's note this is my first dark fic ever so please take it easy on me LOL. i hope you like itttt

rafe masterlist

It was nightfall, and the air was cold and crisp, with a cloud of fog blanketing the island's heights. It was dark, almost pitch black, barring the dim street lamps, and deafeningly silent, adding to the already ominous theme of the night. It acted as a guarantee that he could make his escape. Flee the island quietly without fearing being sought out by the deadliest man in the Outer Banks.

So, there he was, your husband, Warren, traipsing through a back alley with a duffel bag full of his belongings. The town was eerily quiet, and everything seemed too good to be true.

Could it be this easy? Warren thought. Will I make it out of this thing alive?

He found his answer when he heard the screech of tires in front of him as he reached the end of the alleyway. A shiver ran up his spine, and his eyes widened, watching three men unloaded from the black SUV. They all instantly made a beeline toward him, and Warren’s steps came to a halt.

One of the men stepped into the faint, spotlight-like halo, revealing himself to your poor, and not to mention screwed, husband.

Rafe Cameron.

Rafe was the most powerful man on the island. He was well-respected and well-feared with equal measure, and rightfully so. With the snap of his fingers, one’s life could be swiped from them without a word or a trace.

The stories constantly circulated throughout the town, the ones of him and his ruthless men taking action and retaliating moves when needed.

No one would ever dare to cross Rafe or anyone he still held specks of love for in his cold, nearly-dead heart. They would also do well to avoid getting between him and his money.

Your husband, however? Not so lucky.

“You got my money, Warren?”

“Well, actually…it seems I’ve encountered some complications. I don’t have your money, not right now, but I made some wise investments, and I’m just waiting for the cash to come in. You’ll have your money by tomorrow, Mr. Cameron. Every last penny, I swear,” he spoke, attempting to reassure the authoritative man in front of him.

A wry chuckle left Rafe’s lips in response as he moved closer to your husband. He wasn’t stupid; he knew precisely what Warren looked like when avoiding the truth.

“See, I’d believe you, except you’ve been spewing the same lies for weeks now, and I still don’t have it. I’d also like to take the time to point out the getaway bag stashed in your hand.” Rafe stepped closer still, “You didn’t think you could hide from me, did you?”

Warren swallowed thickly. “So…what happens next?”

“I like to think I’m a nice guy, Warren. But I do have friends that aren’t so nice. So, I’ll give you a choice; you can either get into the car willingly, or my men here will use force to get you inside themselves,” Rafe responded, motioning back toward the two men who accompanied him. “I think the answer is pretty clear.”

“You don’t have to do this, Mr. Cameron. We’re just two people having a civil conversation. We’re talking, that’s it.”

It was easy to note the fear in Warren’s eyes and tone, and Rafe relished that he could bring out the fear in people without even lifting a finger.

“I’m all talked out, Warren. Get in the car, or my men won’t make this easy for you.”

Warren shook his head, “I’m sorry, Mr. Cameron. I can’t.” He dropped the duffel bag, but before he could make a break for it, the two gentlemen on each side of his rival stalked toward him. They grabbed him, gripping his biceps tightly in their hold and dragging him toward Rafe. He tried to put up a fight, kicking his legs and floundering about, but he was quieted in an instant when Rafe’s gun knocked him on the side of his head.

About thirty minutes later, your husband woke in a cold, isolated cellar. He found himself alone with the same two men that had aided Rafe in getting him there.

Warren moved to raise his hand but soon realized that his wrists were bound with thick ropes, as well as his ankles, and both were secured to the metal chair he sat on. He tried to budge, but the tight ropes combined with his head pounding gave him little to no strength or energy to follow through. He hissed as the left side of his head throbbed in pain, and he could feel the remnants of blood still dripping down his temple.

Breaking the silence, Rafe knocked on the door and entered the room. He went over to Warren calmly and raised his hand to remove the tape from his victim’s mouth.

“I’d apologize for the rough tactics used to get you here, but I had no choice. I wasn’t about to let you run from me. Can’t have people thinking I’m getting soft, Warren. My empire would implode.”

“…Dare I ask what the plan is?” Warren mutters in response, eyes focused on Rafe pacing back and forth all too calmly.

“Well, my good friend, to be quite honest, I was just going to have you killed, you know? Lights out,” he snaps, “just like that. But then I thought, how can I make this better? And, shit, I think I’ve really outdone myself this time.” Rafe crouched down in front of Warren, their faces now levelled. “I have a very special treat for you, Warren.”

One of his men opened the door again, and you walked, draped in designer from head to toe. Your dress clung to your curves with ease, and your heels clicked against the pavement of the cellar as you made your way over to Warren and Rafe.

“Hi, baby,” you greeted with a smile, the glimmer in your eyes as bright as ever.

Warren assumed you were speaking to him, but he wondered why you would be grinning from ear to ear when your husband was about to face his impending death.

Things became apparent as you stepped into the arms of Rafe, right in front of him, pressing a long and deep kiss to his lips before pulling back with a giggle. You turned your attention toward your husband, whose expression was gobsmacked. Your eyes landed on the ropes that kept him tied up.

“Ooh,” you mused, “kinky.”

“I thought so too,” Rafe grinned, kissing your temple as his hands stroked your upper arms.

“What the fuck is going on? Why are you with him, Y/N? Why are you kissing him?”

Fury bled through your husband’s tone, and you could see his brows creasing as he let the emotion take over him entirely.

“Aw, come on, sweetie. You had to know I’d leave you eventually,” you replied.

“What?” He whispered, swearing he could feel a crack in his heart threatening to split through it completely.

“You’re broke, Warren. You owe Rafe nearly a million dollars, yet everything you’ve done to get it back has failed. You told me it would all work out, but there you were just half an hour ago, ready to make your escape and not bothering to care about the circumstances you would leave me in. Broke and completely alone.” You crouched down just as Rafe had earlier, “I don’t like being lied to, Warren.”

“You’ve been lying to me for some time, too. You’re a hypocrite. And a two-timing whore.”

Rafe was quick to punch your bad-mouthing husband square in the jaw. “Watch what the fuck you say to her, or I’ll make this worse for you. You got that?”

You both watched as Warren glared at him silently, spitting the blood pooling in his mouth onto the floor beneath him. Then, you stepped directly in front of your husband, tilting his face up to look at you with your index finger. Looking him right in the eye, you started to explain your reasoning.

“It was for a good cause. Rafe can give me everything, all the things you never could. Like good sex, for example. A woman needs her orgasms, my love, and you were doing a very lousy job providing me with them.”

Warren tore his gaze from yours in embarrassment, and it was hard not to bask in it. The taste of revenge was sweet on your tongue, and the fun hadn’t even begun yet.

“So, what, your evil plan was to reveal your little affair to me? Congrats. Can you kill me now?”

Rafe chuckled mockingly, shaking his head. “You underestimate me, man. You should know who I am by now.” Taking hold of Warren’s jaw, he bent to his level and placed the tape back on his lips. “You’re going to watch me fuck her. And believe me; it’s going to be one hell of a show.”

Rafe looked back to you over his shoulder, “Take off your dress for me, baby. Leave the heels on.”

You nodded gleefully, moving to unzip your dress. You shimmied it down the length of your body and let it hit the floor. Your bare breasts and pussy were left in plain sight, having chosen to skip undergarments altogether.

Rafe smirked at you, “No panties? Naughty girl.” He walked over to you, his hand clasping around your throat and drawing your face to his. He then kissed you, letting his tongue slip into your mouth and tangle with yours.

When Rafe broke the kiss, he looked back at his men. “Make sure Warren is facing us at all times. I don’t want him to miss a single second of this.” His men both nodded and began to make their way to Warren’s chair. They stood on either side of him, caging him in — not that he would’ve been able to break free.

Rafe’s attention returned to you. His thumb smoothed over your cheekbone, “How do you wanna do this, baby?”

You pondered dramatically, tapping your pointer finger against your jaw. When you cooked up your answer, you beamed widely. “Why don’t you fuck me in doggy?” Your eyes met Warren’s, “Your favourite. Right, hun?”

“Fucking his wife in his favourite position? That sounds fucking fantastic to me,” Rafe stated proudly. His hand grasped your wrist, about to lead you to the other side of the table. Before he could, you stopped him.

“Wait,” you say. “I wanna suck you off first.”

That stung. You barely ever offered to do so for your husband. You’d always been the girl that got off on pleasing her man. You sucked dick for your pleasure. But you’d grown bored with Warren so long ago; he couldn’t even fathom the last time you had.

With him, that is.

After turning so that Warren could view you from the side, you sank to the floor, your fingers working to free him from the confines of his dress slacks. You palmed and rubbed his cock, waking it up through his briefs. Your eyes peered up and caught Rafe biting his lower lip in response to your touch. You drew his cock out from the fabric before spitting onto your palm. Your dainty hand circled Rafe’s girth and began to stroke him slowly. Your tongue dragged up his length and swirled around his yearning tip before taking him into your mouth entirely.

With ease, you quickly began to bob your head. Your lips created an air-tight suction around it, taking his cock to the back of your throat each time. You twisted and jerked and lapped at his cock with determination, and Warren’s hateful gaze only goaded you further.

“Such a perfect goddamn mouth. You love taking my cock down your throat, don’t you?” Rafe spoke, threading a hand into your hair as you worked at him.

It was hard not to smile when you released his cock from your mouth. You spat on it, watching your saliva coat him and make him more slippery. You continued to stroke him while your moistened lips dragged over his balls gently. Rafe leaned his hand backward, bracing it on the table and holding himself up when your thumb ran over his slit. You’ve always known that it was one of his weaknesses, and you were damn sure to use that to your advantage. Your tongue slithered over the remainder of pre-cum still seeping out of him. You teased the small hole, almost making Rafe’s knees buckle.

“I love how hard you get for me when I lick you like this, baby.” Your eyes wandered toward Warren again, “Love this perfect cock so much.”

You sucked Rafe into your mouth again, your tongue paying special attention to his sensitive tip. It spiralled around the head and slid down his shaft when you practically swallowed him whole. One of your hands fondled his balls and massaged them between your slippery fingers, and Rafe was quick to snap.

“Fuck, stay right there. Let me use you,” he ordered, taking your head in both his hands now and holding your face in place. Your hands held onto his thighs, and Rafe started roughly fucking himself down your throat. You moaned around him, sending vibrations through him as he chased his high. His cock twitched between the seam of your lips, and his cum spurted out. You swallowed the hot substance, and Rafe groaned when he felt your throat close around him.

Rafe pulled out, panting heavily as his eyes roamed over to your husband, and he smirked proudly when he saw his eyes about to pop out of his head.

“How’d it feel, Warren? Watching your wife swallow my kids? Hurt, didn’t it?”

Warren shuffled around as best he could, trying to move toward Rafe, but the guards held the chair back, restraining his movements. You and Rafe couldn’t hold back your amused laughs.

“If you think that’s bad, just wait ’til I fill her pussy up. You’ll be fuming.”

“Enough talking. Let’s show him instead,” you said.

Your hand grabbed Rafe’s as you led him around the table to face Warren. You leaned forward, and your hands braced onto the surface. You arched your back, allowing Rafe full access to your backside. You felt his hands run down the length of your back to your ass, and he squeezed both cheeks before smacking one side. His fingers slid through your folds, feeling the pool of slick leaking from your hole. He sucked on them, tasting your sweetness.

“Hold on tight, baby. I’m going to make this hurt.”

Rafe pushed his way into your pussy, filling you up wholly. The air disappeared from your lungs, and you felt his balls against your clit. You instinctually arched further and tossed your head back, now practically bent in half.

“So big, Rafe. Fuck,” you gasped.

“Yeah?” Rafe asked, starting to move. “Bigger than him?”

You looked right at your prying-eyed husband. “Way bigger. He doesn’t compare."

Rafe grinned at your response, and his hips began to smack against your ass. His hands curled over either side of your neck, bringing you back against his cock roughly. He wasted no time picking up a ferocious pace, punishing your pussy and taking out all his Warren-related revenge on it.

“Oh my god, yes,” you mewled. Your hands slid closer to the other side of the table, and your fingers hooked over the edge as you sought out some leverage. “Right fucking there. Shit.”

Rafe’s hand smacked your ass again, pulling a yelp from you, and he felt the heat rising onto your skin at the harsh contact.

“You never deserved this perfect pussy, Warren. You didn’t even know what to do with it,” Rafe growled as he slammed deep into your hot, slick walls. You encased him so tightly; it was like he was fucking you for the first time again. Rafe never thought it’d get any better than feeling your pussy gripping him like it never wanted to let go, but that was knocked off its pedestal when he watched the rage on his victim’s face.

Warren’s cap was about to blow off. Each time he tried to look away, one of the guards would grip his jaw tightly and force his gaze back onto the two of you. Closing his eyes didn’t help either because he could still hear you calling another man’s name and begging him for more. It was a cruel reminder of how deadly silent you were with him when he gave you your so-called pleasure.

It was killing him. You were killing him.

Noticing Warren’s shut eyes, Rafe nodded to the guards without stopping, and the two freed their handguns and pressed the muzzles of the guns to each of Warren’s temples.

“Eyes on us, Warren, or they’ll shoot.”

Angrily, your husband forced himself to watch the two of you, having no choice but to endure his suffering.

“‘M gonna cum, Daddy,” you babbled, already fucked into a stupor without finishing yet. “Please, make me cum.”

Rafe’s eyes found your husband’s once more as he spoke through gritted teeth.

“This is what it looks like when you can actually satisfy your girl. Can you hear how soaked she is? How loud she’s screaming for me?” Turning his attention back to you, one of his hands slipped into your hair, gaining an unrelenting grip on your strands. “Cum for me, baby. Cum for me and tell him who fucks you this dumb.”

Your tits pressed against the cold metal of the table beneath them, bulging them out and perking up your sensitive nipples as you all but screamed. “You, Rafe! Only y-you!”

A loud shriek escaped your lips as you came hard, your knees buckling under waves of pleasure. Your body sagged against the table, your hands releasing their grip on it, and you essentially became his fuck doll as Rafe still fought for his orgasm. Your walls would not — could not stop clamping down on him, bringing him closer and closer to cumming.

“I’m going to fill this pussy to the brim. Maybe even let Warren taste it afterward,” he mused through a grunt. “Fuck, princess. So goddamn tight.”

Rafe reached his high again, letting his cum spurt inside of you. He pulled out in a flash and scooped you up in his arms so he could carry you. He demanded help from one of his guards, having him bring the other chair in front of Warren. He sat down and hovered you over his cock. He tugged you downward, letting your cunt swallow his cock once more. You whimpered, leaning back against your lover’s chest.

“Spread those legs nice and wide, baby. Need him to see everything he’s missing.”

Though he told you what he wanted you to do, he did you the kindness of helping you out by using his large palms to stretch you out and give Warren a close-up view of his enemy’s cock inside his wife. Your feet braced themselves upon Rafe’s knees, keeping you open for him, and your hands pressed flat against his thighs.

Rafe placed his own hands on the chair, his fingers curling over the edges as he fucked his cock up into you. Your head immediately fell against Rafe’s broad shoulder as you allowed him to pummel into you.

Your pussy was already sore, but the sting was too satisfying to let go of. The thrill of your husband watching your affair spurred you on as well. There was no adrenaline rush quite like making your disappointment of a husband watch you fall apart on someone else’s cock.

To rub it in (no pun intended), your hand found its way to your clit, and you began to massage it tirelessly.

“Fuck. Fuck.” You cursed, going harder as you burned for more. Your cunt started to spasm, contracting around Rafe’s shaft, and you knew you were close when your legs trembled. “Rafe!”

“Oh, shit. You going to squirt for us, baby?” Rafe questioned, the pride washing over him. You nodded desperately, and he kissed your shoulder. “Go ahead. Make a spectacle of it. Be my good girl and soak ‘em.”

You squealed when you let go, falling over the edge and letting the euphoria consume you. Your juices squirted out of you, drenching the three men in front of you and the man responsible for making you do so.

“Bet you’ve never gotten her to do that, huh?” Rafe bragged, free of remorse.

He fucked you harder, triggering his orgasm as he slipped in and out of you vigorously. You both rode out your climaxes, your legs feeling like jello as you tried to stay upright. Rafe then lifted you off of him carefully before standing up himself. He readjusted his clothing, bringing his briefs and slacks to his hips.

Your releases oozed from your pussy and started to run down your thighs, and Rafe scooped it up with his fingers. Leisurely stepping right in front of your husband, he removed the duct tape from his lips again. Then, Rafe smeared the cum on his fingers over the seam of your spouse’s lips, looking smug as ever.

“This counts as your last meal, right?”

Rafe pats Warren’s cheek twice with an evil smile before walking over to you and wrapping his arm over your shoulders. “Say bye, baby.”

“Bye, Warren. I hope you enjoyed the show,” you winked.

The two of you made it to the door, and Rafe opened it. He turned back to the guards before leaving. “Kill him.”

All that could be heard as you two left the building were pleading screams and a single gunshot.

Boom.

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