#but i keep thinking i should go back to tagging

[dollgxtz]

His Watchful Eye Pt. 6

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wonder how he sees out of that thing.

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

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

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

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

It feels like it’s eating you alive.

This is your fault.

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

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

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

But you weren’t.

And now Reese’s blood is on your hands.

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

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

This is your fault.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hesitate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It makes you sick.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s too much.

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

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

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

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

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

But your mind is somewhere else entirely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The bathtub is gone.

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing left but him.

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

But they cling to you, stubborn and unyielding.

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

And then there’s Reese.

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

"Go to hell, Reese."

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

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

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

And the worst part? Sylus knows it.

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

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

But right now, this moment is yours.

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, his name is S—"

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

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

The not knowing gnawed at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, we don't take it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A sharp clink. The keys.

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

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

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

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

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

He'd have to walk on foot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Honey.” A new pet name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But something changed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But there was no blood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

From your captor of all people.

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

Anything. Anything to make this pain stop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sylus, ple-mmph!”

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

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

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

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

Like he missed you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Devour him.

He's right there.

Grab him!

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

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

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

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

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

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

 "So greedy, aren't you kitten?"

"I'm not trying t-mmph!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sylus…” you whimper weakly.

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

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

"Did you-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[thefrogman]

Back in the olden days, if you used the "keep reading" function on a Tumblr-dot-com post, it would

not get very many notes.

At all.

I am not sure exactly why.

I think people hated pressing an extra thing.

But maybe it was also a psychological phenomenon where, given the choice, they were unwilling to trust me with their time.

But if I sucked them in with a good story or a compelling image, they would get serious FOMO.

When I created a super high effort post-of-length I would get comments like, "This was way too long but before I realized it I was reading the last sentence."

That was a really good feeling.

I used to do tests to figure out the best posting strategies and I think I figured out you'd lose about 90% of your notes if you did a "keep reading" post.

So that notion was ingrained in my brain again and again from when I was very note-obsessed and I have since avoided the "keep reading" option almost like a conditioned response.

Just seeing that squiggly line appear still induces a Pavlovian fear.

But that was probably a decade ago and I did a new experiment. My story about replacing my mailbox did reasonably well with a strategically clickbaity "keep reading."

This was a promising result due to the fact that some people like to send me hate for writing a lengthy post.

I recently got a death threat for writing too much, which was a fun reminder of my M&M days (I melted men's rights activists' brains with a poorly worded analogy and they launched a years long harassment campaign).

It seems in present-era-Tumblr-dot-com many more people prefer pressing an extra thing rather than scrolling a bunch on their smartphone. The collective behavior has changed. And maybe I don't need to use tricks and running gags in order to get folks to "keep reading".

Unfortunately I started writing that ring light post a few months ago so I wasn't able to include that in the experiment. But I am going to try using the keep reading function in the future and as long as the average number of folks that usually read my longer posts continue to read my posts, that will be the standard approach.

I also tag these posts with "long post" so you can flag that if you wish.

While I am no longer in the audience-building phase of my Tumblr career, these essays and stories and educational posts take a considerable amount of time and effort to create, so I do want to make sure everyone who wants to read them is able to. But posts without hearts and reblogs can quickly die a gruesome algorithmic death. Even my most ardent followers would tell me things were not showing up on their dash. (I think replies help mitigate that, so if you like a long post, you can help with engagement.)

The collective noun is a "business" of ferrets.

Do you want to see a business of ferrets ready to do some business?

KEEP READING

I love writing and it is a huge catharsis for me. And I love sharing any knowledge I feel like I have the earned expertise to speak on with authority (technology, photography, light, fun ferret facts, etc). I wish I had the energy to be a photography teacher, but long posts on Tumblr are probably the best I can do for now.

I know my posts are super long, but I try to make them as fun and informationally dense as I possibly can. I don't like wasting people's time if I can avoid it. Though maybe I should trust my follower's attention span a bit more. I have this fear that if I am not constantly entertaining, people will click away or unfollow.

I think a good business for a business of ferrets would be selling pool noodles that look like ferrets.

So as long as I get roughly the same amount of notes I will do the keep reading. And then maybe people can lay off on the mean comments and occasional requests to end my own life because I bloviated about soft light.

100% true ferret fact..

If you ask a ferret what their business is, they will crawl on your shoulder and whisper in your ear...

[kckt88]

A Heartbeat Between Us VIII

Summary:

As things start to improve between Y.N and Aemond, Alys reveals her true intentions, and as Y.N turns to Aegon for support the brothers come to blows.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Fluff, Tension, Swearing, Idiocy, Miscommunication, Misunderstanding, Jealousy, Violence, Fighting,

AEMOND x Y.N

Word Count: 7770

A.N - Most of the story is already written, as I start a new job on Saturday :-)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx @moonnicole @toodlesxcuddles @mamawiggers1980 @minttea07 @nommingonfood

Aemond woke with a start, his arm stretching across the bed to where Y.N. should have been, but the space beside him was cold and empty.

A sinking feeling gripped him as he sat up, glancing around the room in confusion. Throwing on his discarded clothes from the night before, he hurried down the hallway to Jack’s room. The sight of the empty cot made his heart race, panic flooding his chest.

“Y.N.?” he called out, but there was no answer.

Aemond tried to remain calm, his fingers fumbling for his phone. He rang her, but it went straight to voicemail. He tried again and again, the same result. Frustration and fear mounted with each passing second.

He paced the living room, running through his contacts, ringing Helaena, Daeron, and even Aegon, asking if they had seen her or heard from her. The answer was always the same: no.

His chest tightened. Had she really left him? After last night? Aemond’s gaze darted around the penthouse, and he realized that her things were still there.

The suitcase she had packed in a fury the night before was still there, laying where it had fallen on the floor during their vigorous sex session.

Relief washed over him, but it was quickly replaced by confusion. If she hadn’t left, where was she?

Just as he contemplated going out to search for her, the sound of the door opening made him freeze. Y.N. stepped inside, pushing Jack’s pram.

Aemond rushed to her, wrapping his arms around her without a second thought.

"Where were you?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion as he unbuckled Jack from the pram and lifted him into his arms, holding him close. "I was worried."

Y.N. gave him a small, tired smile. "I went to the doctor," she said, her tone matter of fact. "Since we didn’t take any precautions last night, I needed to get the morning-after pill."

Aemond’s breath hitched. "Oh," he said softly, watching as Y.N. reached into her bag and pulled out a small box.

She read the instructions on the back, popped out the pill, and swallowed it with a glass of water.

"I also decided that I’m going to start taking the contraceptive pill," she added. "Just to be safe."

Aemond nodded slowly, his gaze following her movements. He put Jack down on his play mat, the soft jingling of toys filling the room. He took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts.

“About last night-” he started, his voice hesitant. “-I don’t know what came over me. If I was too rough—if I hurt you—”

Y.N. shook her head, cutting him off. "Don’t apologize," she said softly. “I liked it.”

Her words stirred something inside him, but Aemond knew there was more to say, more to confront. He couldn’t keep avoiding it. Turning to face her fully, he took a deep breath.

“We need to talk,” he said, his voice steady but serious. "About us."

Y.N. finished her water and leaned against the counter, arms folded across her chest. She nodded, her expression unreadable. Aemond took a step closer.

“For a start,” he continued, “-There is no us. But don’t you think there should be?”

Y.N. hesitated for a moment, chewing her lip as she considered his words. "I guess things weren’t working out the way they were."

“No, they weren’t,” Aemond agreed. “But we already have a child. We live together, we have sex and we love each other Why can’t we explore a relationship? Properly.”

Y.N. raised an eyebrow, her voice tinged with scepticism. "What about Alys?"

Aemond sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I swear, there’s nothing there with her. Not anymore. I know I shouldn’t have let her in, but I feel like I owe her-for the way things ended."

Y.N. narrowed her eyes, clearly still not convinced. "I don’t trust her, Aemond. Not one bit."

“I know you don’t like her,” he replied. “But I promise, it’s just business. There’s nothing else between us.”

Y.N. looked at him, her gaze searching his face for the truth. “Is this really what you want?” she asked quietly. “To be with me?”

Aemond stepped forward, his eye never leaving hers. “It is. I’ve been a fool to wait this long to ask you.”

She chuckled lightly, some of the tension easing between them. "Why did you wait?" she teased, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

Aemond smirked, rolling his eye. "Fear, mostly. Fear that you didn’t feel the same way. Fear of ruining what we had."

Y.N. let out a soft laugh. “If you really mean it-I want you to ask me properly.”

Aemond’s smirk widened, and he crossed his arms. “So, regularly sticking you with my cock isn’t asking properly?”

She laughed again, shaking her head. "No, it’s not the same thing."

He let out a deep breath, taking her hand in his. “Y.N.,” he said, his voice soft but sure. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

Y.N. smiled, a bright, genuine smile that lit up her whole face. “Yes,” she said, her voice filled with warmth. “I will be your girlfriend.”

Aemond grinned, his heart swelling with joy as he leaned in and kissed her, softly at first, then with more passion.

When they finally pulled apart, Y.N. excused herself to the bathroom, leaving Aemond standing there, his mind racing with relief and happiness.

Finally, she was his.

Aemond sat with Aegon and Daeron at their usual table in the club, the neon lights casting a soft glow over them.

The atmosphere was buzzing, and as they ordered their drinks, Daeron’s eyes zeroed in on the mark on Aemond's neck. He sniggered, pointing at it with a raised eyebrow.

"Who's responsible for that?" Daeron asked, barely hiding his smirk.

Aegon snorted, taking a sip of his beer. "Alys?"

Aemond glared at him. "Absolutely not. It was my girlfriend."

Aegon’s laugh echoed over the thumping music. “So, you finally grew some balls and asked Y.N. out?”

Aemond scowled at him but didn’t deny it, which only made Aegon laugh harder.

Daeron shook his head in amusement. “About time. By the way, did you ever find out where she went the other day? You were freaking out."

Aemond sighed, swirling his whiskey. "She went to the doctor. Got the morning-after pill."

Aegon rolled his eyes dramatically. "Seriously, do you have some kind of aversion to condoms or what?"

"My mind was on other things at the time,” Aemond muttered defensively, taking a long drink. “But she’s on the pill now.”

Daeron chuckled. “At least she’s taking responsibility.”

Aemond hummed in agreement before dropping a bombshell. “Alys stopped by the penthouse.”

Aegon nearly choked on his beer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You what? You let her in? Are you an idiot?”

Daeron looked equally stunned. “What were you thinking?”

“I-feel like I owe her,” Aemond admitted, though his voice lacked conviction.

“For what?” Aegon demanded.

Aemond leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly “-For cheating on her”

Aegon scoffed “The two of you were living completely separate lives before you dipped your wick in Y.N”

“Maybe I still feel like I owe her something for the way things ended”

Aegon rolled his eyes. “Please. Alys was in the relationship for herself, and you know it.”

Aemond shook his head, staring into his glass. “Maybe toward the end, but at the beginning-”

Daeron cut him off. “Beginning, middle, or end—it’s irrelevant now. You don’t owe Alys a damn thing.”

Aegon raised his beer. “Here, here. Come on, brother. Drink up—we’re celebrating tonight!”

Aemond arched an eyebrow. “Celebrating what?”

Aegon grinned wide. “You finally getting the girl.”

Later that night, after far too many drinks, Aemond stumbled down the hallway to his penthouse.

His fingers fumbled with the key, and in his drunken state, he cursed under his breath.

"Who's moving this damned lock?" he groaned, leaning against the door for support.

Suddenly, the door opened, and Aemond went flying into the penthouse, landing ungracefully on the floor.

He blinked up at Y.N., who stood above him, arms crossed but an amused smile playing on her lips.

“Hello,” he slurred, sprawled on the floor.

Y.N. knelt down, a mix of amusement and concern on her face. “Did you have a good night?”

Aemond clumsily tried to get to his knees, swaying slightly. “I had a few beers,” he mumbled.

Y.N. quirked an eyebrow. “Looks like you’ve had more than a few,” she remarked, closing the door behind him and locking it.

Aemond groaned, rubbing his forehead. “I’m bit tired.”

“Let’s get you to bed, then,” Y.N. said, helping him to his feet. He stumbled slightly, and she all but dragged him towards the bedroom.

On the way, Aemond suddenly stopped, looking serious. “I have a girlfriend,” he said, as if making a grand declaration.

Y.N. stifled a laugh. “I’m sure your girlfriend will understand.”

Aemond looked up at her, his drunken expression deadly serious. “My girlfriend is my girlfriend, and she had a baby-my baby-”

“How nice,” Y.N. laughed, guiding him to the edge of the bed. She sat him down and began pulling off his shoes and socks.

As she worked, Aemond’s eye fluttered, his head lolling. “You smell nice,” he murmured, slurring slightly.

Y.N. laughed again, shaking her head as she took off his coat and removed his eyepatch. She was careful, knowing how vulnerable he felt without it.

Aemond squinted up at her. “Are you trying to get me naked?” he asked, a lopsided grin on his face.

Y.N. rolled her eyes. “I’m trying to get you comfortable.”

Aemond’s hands found their way to her waist, his forehead resting against her stomach as he clung to her. “I love you,” he mumbled, his voice softer now. “I do. So much. Please don’t leave me.”

Her heart clenched at his words. “I’m not leaving. Now, come on—lie down and go to sleep.”

With her gentle urging, Aemond finally lay back against the pillows, his body relaxing almost instantly. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out cold, his breathing deep and steady.

Y.N. stood there for a moment, watching him sleep, her hand brushing through his hair. Despite everything, she couldn’t help but smile.

Aemond woke up the next morning face down, groaning at the pounding in his skull.

His mouth felt like sandpaper, and the faint light filtering through the curtains only worsened his throbbing headache.

He groaned and muttered to himself, "Never drinking again."

Slowly, he pushed himself up, feeling like every bone in his body ached from his night of excess. Shakily, he stood and stumbled toward the bathroom, catching a glimpse of his dishevelled reflection.

His hair was a mess, and the faint smell of stale alcohol clung to his skin. “Gods, I reek,” he muttered, stripping off his clothes and stepping into the shower.

The hot water didn’t do much to ease his hangover, but at least it helped him feel a little more human. After drying off, he threw on a clean shirt and sweatpants before heading to the kitchen, still rubbing his temples.

When he entered the kitchen, the smell of sizzling bacon hit him, making his stomach growl loudly. Y.N. stood at the stove, flipping over sausages and eggs, while a platter of crispy bacon sat on the counter.

“What's all this?” Aemond asked, his voice hoarse from last night.

Y.N. looked over her shoulder with a small smile. “Bacon, eggs, sausages—best hangover cure there is.”

Aemond could practically taste the food already, his stomach growling in anticipation. “You're a lifesaver.”

Before sitting down, he wandered into the living room to check on Jack. His son was on his playmat, gurgling happily and kicking his legs in the air.

Aemond’s heart softened instantly as he crouched down, brushing his hand over Jack’s soft hair. "Good morning, little man," he murmured.

Y.N.’s voice called from the kitchen. “Aemond, come sit down. Food’s ready.”

Reluctantly leaving Jack, Aemond joined her at the table and sat down. The plate in front of him was piled with food—golden eggs, perfectly crisp bacon, sausages cooked to perfection.

He didn’t waste time, diving in hungrily. Every bite seemed to ease the ache in his head a little more.

After finishing his breakfast, Y.N. handed him a glass of water and some painkillers. "Thought you might need these," she said with a teasing smile.

Aemond sighed in relief, taking the painkillers gratefully. “You’re a saint,” he muttered, washing them down.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of laziness. Aemond spent most of it sprawled out on the sofa, watching Jack play nearby, occasionally dozing off.

At one point, he even found himself napping with Jack snuggled up against him on the couch, the baby’s soft breaths helping him relax despite his headache.

But his peaceful nap was interrupted by a loud knock on the door, startling him awake. Jack stirred but didn’t cry, and Aemond gently laid him back on the playmat before sitting up groggily.

Y.N. was already answering the door when two men entered, their arms laden with large boxes, making quite a racket as they brought them inside.

Y.N. signed for the delivery, thanking them before they left. She turned toward the boxes with a curious look, wiping her hands on a towel as she approached them.

"What’s all this?" Aemond asked, still feeling groggy as he watched her tear open the packaging.

“It’s a delivery from the museum,” Y.N. explained, pulling away the bubble wrap to reveal two statues inside, both looking worse for wear. The stone was chipped in several places, and the detail on their surfaces was faded and worn down.

Aemond stepped closer, peering at the statues. “Think you can fix them?”

Y.N. smiled confidently, her fingers running over the smooth, cold surface of one of the statues. “Absolutely. They’ve seen better days, but I’ve handled worse. I’ll have them looking good as new soon.”

Aemond nodded, impressed as always with her skill. He watched her work for a moment, feeling a surge of pride in her abilities. “You’re really amazing, you know that?”

Y.N. looked up from the statue, a soft blush colouring her cheeks. “Thanks,” she said quietly before turning back to her workbench.

For the next couple of months, Y.N. worked diligently on the two statues that had been delivered from the museum.

She had printed pictures of what the statues originally looked like and pinned them to the walls of her workspace for reference.

Each day was a careful, deliberate process—she spent hours gently cleaning the weathered stone, ensuring that every inch was properly prepped before moving on to repairs.

When the cleaning was complete, Y.N. mixed plaster to the perfect consistency, using it to patch up the chips and cracks that marred the statues.

She took her time, delicately applying the mixture before using a fine-grain sandpaper to smooth out any unevenness. Every touch required precision, and the smallest mistake could ruin weeks of progress.

After the repairs were done, she moved on to the final stages: painting and applying a special wax that not only enhanced the statues' details but also provided an extra layer of protection.

It was a painstakingly slow process, but Y.N. found it rewarding. Still, the work had taken longer than anticipated due to balancing her time between the restoration and caring for Jack.

Once the statues were fully restored, they were carefully boxed up in layers of protective material and sent back to the museum.

As much as Y.N. loved her work, she felt a sense of relief when the project was completed. She had poured so much energy into the restoration that, despite her passion, it left her feeling drained.

But knowing that she had done justice to the pieces, especially with Jack in tow, made the reward even sweeter.

One afternoon, feeling a little freer after finishing the statues, Y.N. decided to surprise Aemond at work.

She stopped by a local café to grab them some dinner and pushed Jack in his pram as she made her way to Targaryen Inc.

As she entered the sleek lobby, she was startled to hear someone call her name. She turned to see Jacaerys waving at her from across the room.

They hadn’t seen each other since the heated argument in the café months ago, and Y.N. hesitated for a moment before waving back.

Jace quickly crossed the room to meet her. "Hey," he said, a bit of uncertainty in his voice. "How have you been?"

Y.N. smiled, adjusting her grip on Jack's pram. "I've been fine. You?"

Jace glanced down at Jack, his expression softening. "Wow, he really looks like Aemond."

Y.N. smiled fondly at her son. "Yeah, he does."

After a beat, Jace rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Look, I wanted to apologize for how I spoke to you in the café. I was angry, and I lashed out. But I shouldn’t have said those things."

Y.N. took a deep breath, remembering how hurtful that encounter had been.

But seeing Jace now, visibly regretful, she nodded. "It’s okay. I probably should have told you from the start that Aemond was Jack’s father. I understand why you were upset."

Jace gave her a sad smile. "How are things with my uncle? My mother said you two are dating now."

Y.N. felt a warmth spread through her at the thought of Aemond. "They’re good. I know we did things a little backward—baby first, then the relationship—but we’re happy."

Jace nodded, but his smile was tinged with sadness. "I'm glad to hear that," he said quietly.

For a few moments, they stood there in silence, the weight of everything unspoken hanging between them.

Then Jace cleared his throat and glanced at the time. "I should get going. I told my mother I'd only be five minutes."

Y.N. smiled. "Of course. It was nice seeing you, Jace."

He hesitated for a second, then quickly stepped forward and hugged her.

It was brief but sincere. "Take care, Y.N.," he said as he pulled away, rushing off before either of them could dwell on the moment.

Y.N. watched him go, feeling a strange mixture of relief and nostalgia. She took a deep breath, then turned back toward the lift.

Pressing the button, she smiled at Jack, ready to surprise Aemond with their impromptu visit.

Y.N. stepped out of the lift, pushing Jack's pram ahead of her, feeling a surge of excitement at the idea of surprising Aemond.

The office was quiet, and she noticed Aemond’s assistant wasn’t at her desk.

Smiling down at Jack, who gave her a gummy grin in response, she whispered, “Let’s surprise Daddy, shall we?”

She quietly pushed open the door to Aemond’s office, but the sight that greeted her made her stop in her tracks.

Alys was sitting close to Aemond on the leather sofa.

Aemond shot up from his seat the moment he saw Y.N. walk in, looking slightly startled.

"Y.N.," he said, with a forced smile, quickly crossing the room to kiss her head. "This is a nice surprise."

Y.N. fought the wave of anger surging through her but forced a smile. "I was taking a walk with Jack," she said, her voice tight, "and thought I’d bring you something for dinner since you've been working hard lately."

Aemond’s face softened. "That was thoughtful of you," he said, reaching into the pram to lift Jack out. He held his son close, pressing a kiss to his chubby cheek. “Daddy's missed you.”

Y.N. watched, her stomach churning as Alys rose gracefully from the sofa and walked over to stand beside Aemond.

"He’s gotten bigger-" Alys said with a sweet smile, looking at Jack. "Can I hold him?"

"No," Y.N. snapped, before she could stop herself. She quickly reached for Jack, putting him back into the pram and turning him away from Alys.

There was a tension in the air that no one could ignore as Alys stepped back, her smirk barely hidden.

Y.N. turned to Aemond, her voice sharp. "What is she doing here?"

Aemond leaned in close, whispering hurriedly, "I didn’t know she was coming. She just turned up."

Y.N. narrowed her eyes, her anger boiling over. "Then you should’ve thrown her old arse out."

Aemond sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I’m just helping her get established with her business. That’s all."

Y.N. scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "The only business she’s after is in your pants."

"You're being ridiculous," Aemond muttered, trying to keep his voice low.

Y.N. caught a glimpse of Alys standing by the desk, the smug smirk on her face as if she were relishing the tension in the room.

That was it. She couldn’t take it anymore.

Without a second thought, Y.N. grabbed the bag of food she had brought for Aemond and threw it at him.

The containers hit his chest and fell to the floor, spilling sandwiches and chips across the carpet.

“Here,” she spat, her voice seething with anger. “I hope you both fucking choke”

Ignoring Aemond’s frantic calls of her name, she turned on her heel, pushing Jack’s pram out of the office as fast as she could, her heart pounding with fury.

Aemond stood in the middle of his office, wiping the food off his shirt with quick, agitated movements.

His eye flicked to the mess on the floor, the sandwiches and chips scattered across the carpet. Frustration gnawed at him, but before he could act on it, Alys approached, placing a hand gently on his arm.

“Aemond—” she began, her tone soft, but he immediately snatched his arm away, his patience frayed.

"Don't," he snapped, his voice cold and sharp. He moved quickly to grab his jacket from the back of his chair, already making his way toward the door.

Alys’s voice followed him, laced with confusion—or perhaps something more manipulative. "Where are you going?"

"After Y.N.," Aemond responded, his tone clipped. "I need to talk to her. I need to explain."

"Explain what?" Alys asked, her voice turning smug. "We were only talking."

Aemond halted, turning to face her fully, his eye narrowing with irritation.

"What are you even doing here, Alys? The clients I recommended to you are more than capable of keeping you busy. You don’t need my help anymore."

Alys smirked, a dangerous glint in her eye. "You’re right. I don’t need your help," she admitted, stepping closer. "I never really did"

Aemond’s frustration shifted into suspicion. His voice turned demanding. "What do you want, Alys?"

She gave him a slow, calculated smile. "I want you."

Aemond froze, his gaze hardening. "What?"

"I wasn’t lying when I said I missed you," Alys said, her voice sultry, as she moved closer to him, her hands grazing his chest.

“I’m not interested” snapped Aemond.

"I remember when you used to be interested."

Aemond immediately removed her hands from him. "That was then," he said firmly, stepping back. "This is now."

Alys wasn’t deterred. She leaned in, trying to kiss him, but Aemond pushed her away, more forcefully this time.

"I just want it to be the way it was," she said, a hint of desperation creeping into her voice.

"It will never be the way it was," Aemond said through clenched teeth, his temper rising. He couldn’t believe she had the nerve to push this after everything. "It’s over, Alys."

Still, Alys persisted. "We could be good together again, you know that. You felt it once—"

"Enough!" Aemond shouted, his voice booming with frustration. "Get it through your head—I don’t fucking want you. What we had is over." His words cut like a knife, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

Alys’s face twisted in anger. "So, you're choosing Y.N over me?"

"Yes," Aemond said, his voice steady and final. "I choose her. I will always choose her. Because I love her"

There was no hesitation in his answer, and that seemed to anger Alys further. She glared at him, her face contorting with bitter jealousy.

"Fine," she said, grabbing her coat with sharp, angry movements. "But that’s too bad. We could’ve had something special."

Aemond scoffed, crossing his arms. "I already have something special with Y.N. and Jack."

Alys moved toward the door, her expression icy. Just before she left, she turned to him, her voice low and venomous. "Not anymore, you don’t."

With that, she slammed the door behind her, leaving Aemond standing alone in his office, her final words lingering like a dark cloud.

As Y.N rushed out of Targaryen Inc, her vision blurred by tears, she barely noticed the world around her. Each breath felt heavy with the weight of betrayal.

She had wanted to surprise Aemond with something thoughtful, but instead, she’d walked into a scene that made her stomach turn. Alys, sitting close to him—too close. Her heart ached, and all she wanted was to escape.

By the time she reached the penthouse, Y.N was shaking. She hastily left a note and packed a bag for herself and Jack, not entirely sure where she was going, but desperate to leave.

With Jack bundled up and strapped into his pram, she left the penthouse, wandering the city streets. She hopped onto a bus without thinking, letting the rhythmic rocking carry her away from her thoughts, until she stood before a familiar black door.

The sound of music leaked through the walls, and she hesitated for a moment before ringing the doorbell.

The music paused, and moments later, the door swung open to reveal Aegon, shirtless and slightly dishevelled, clearly caught off guard.

“Y.N.,” he said, surprised to see her standing there.

Behind him, a girl lounged lazily on the sofa, eyeing Y.N. with vague curiosity.

Embarrassed and feeling out of place, Y.N. tearfully apologized, backing away. "I’m sorry for disturbing you. I should go—"

Aegon quickly stepped forward, gently catching her arm. "Hey, wait—what’s wrong?" he asked, his brow furrowed in concern as he quickly pulled on a T-shirt.

"It doesn’t matter," Y.N. muttered, tears threatening to spill again.

"It does matter," Aegon insisted, his voice firm yet kind. He turned to the girl on the sofa, gesturing toward the door. “You need to leave.”

The girl huffed, gathering her clothes and glaring at Y.N. as she passed by.

As soon as the door shut behind her, Y.N. broke down, the sobs she had been holding back finally spilling out.

Aegon didn’t hesitate—he pulled her into a comforting hug, hushing her softly as she cried into his chest.

“What happened?” he asked gently, rubbing her back as she tried to calm down.

Y.N. took a shaky breath, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “I went to surprise Aemond at work-and Alys was there.” Her voice broke, and Aegon cursed under his breath.

“That fucking idiot,” Aegon muttered, holding her tighter. He didn’t press her for more details, just let her cry it out until the storm of emotions passed.

“Can Jack and I stay here tonight?” Y.N. asked after a moment, her voice soft and uncertain. “I don’t want to go back. But he’ll come looking for me-”

Aegon quickly nodded. “Of course, you can stay. Don’t worry about him. If he comes round here, I’ll tell him you’re not here. And when Daeron gets home from work, I’ll make sure he keeps his mouth shut, too.”

Y.N. managed a small, grateful smile through her tears. “Thank you-and I’m sorry, again. I feel like I’m imposing.”

Aegon shook his head, giving her a comforting smile. “Stop apologizing. You’re not the one in the wrong—Aemond is. What the hell is he thinking?”

Just then, Jack’s soft cries filled the room, and Aegon released Y.N. so she could tend to him. She reached into the pram, but Aegon quickly offered to take the baby. “Here, let me.”

Y.N. handed Jack over, and Aegon rocked him gently, his touch surprisingly tender. “My brother needs to open his eye and see that harpy for who she really is,” Aegon muttered, rolling his eyes.

Y.N. let out a small laugh, despite herself. “You’re not wrong there.”

Aegon raised an eyebrow and grinned. “I’m serious. I’ve never liked her, and you know if I don’t like a woman, that’s a red flag. I mean, I love the ladies.”

Y.N. laughed again, this time a little more genuinely. “I know. Especially the married ones.”

Aegon shrugged with a playful smirk. “Of course. But Alys-she’s different. In all honesty I never really liked looking directly at her.”

“She’s not Medusa” Y.N. said, shaking her head.

“She might as well be,” Aegon shot back with a mock shiver.

After a few more moments, Aegon smiled and said, “Why don’t you sit down? I’ll sort us something to eat.”

Y.N. raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you cooked.”

“I don’t,” Aegon admitted with a grin. “I’m ordering takeout. Will pizza be okay?”

Y.N. nodded, grateful to be here in this moment, with someone who had her back when she needed it most.

Y.N gently bathed Jack in Aegon’s bathroom, the warm water soothing her nerves as much as it did Jack’s.

He splashed playfully, his little hands reaching for her as she carefully washed him, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the heaviness in her chest.

After drying him off, she dressed him in his soft, blue pyjamas, his eyes beginning to droop as she cradled him in her arms. She fed him, rocking slowly, humming a quiet tune until his soft, rhythmic breathing told her he had drifted off to sleep.

She laid him in the middle of Aegon’s bed, arranging pillows around him carefully, making sure he was safe and comfortable.

The door remained slightly ajar, just enough for her to hear him in case he woke up. Stepping back into the living room, she felt a pang of guilt.

"I feel terrible for kicking you out of your own bed," Y.N. said, biting her lip.

Aegon waved a hand dismissively. "Don’t worry about it. I offered. Besides, I’m not exactly known for my chivalry—this is a rare moment for me, let’s not ruin it."

Y.N. chuckled weakly but appreciated the levity. She sank onto the couch, pulling out her phone.

Her breath hitched as she saw the screen flooded with notifications—30 missed calls from Aemond, and numerous text messages.

She scrolled through them, her heart twisting at the range of emotions. Messages declaring his undying love, apologizing profusely, followed by angry ones accusing her of taking Jack from him without any right.

The whirlwind of his emotions matched her own confusion.

"What are you going to do tomorrow?" Daeron asked, sitting down beside her.

Y.N. sighed, putting the phone down. "I don’t know. I really don’t. Part of me wants to talk to him, but after what happened today, I don’t even know where to start."

"You can stay here as long as you need," Daeron reassured her. "But-you know Aemond’s going to find out eventually that we’ve lied to him. And when he does, he won’t be happy."

Y.N. rubbed her temples, feeling the weight of it all crashing down on her. "I’m sorry to drag you both into this. I just needed to get away, and I didn’t know where else to go."

Aegon scoffed, lounging on the other end of the couch. "Screw him. We’ve all tried telling him about that bitch, but noooo-Aemond thinks he knows better. Now look where we are."

Daeron, ever the peacemaker, leaned forward. "Not to defend Aemond too much, but maybe he thought he was helping Alys out of some twisted sense of guilt—like making up for cheating on her."

Aegon rolled his eyes, his frustration palpable. "The guy’s an idiot. He’s letting this mess get in the way of what really matters”

Y.N. suddenly feeling overwhelmed, stood up "I’m going to bed," she murmured, offering them both a tired smile. "Goodnight."

“Night-” said Aegon and Daeron in unison.

Y.N. walked down the hallway, her heart heavy. She peeked into the bedroom, watching Jack sleep peacefully, oblivious to the storm swirling around them.

As she lay down beside him, she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hold everything together for just a little while longer.

The next morning, Y.N. woke early, fed Jack, and packed their things. As she stood by the door, she turned to Aegon and Daeron, offering a grateful smile.

"Thank you, both of you, for letting us stay over. But I think it’s time we head back to the penthouse. I’m going to take Jack for a walk in the park first, clear my head before I see Aemond."

Aegon, still lounging lazily in his chair, got up and walked over to her, pulling her into a hug. "You’re always welcome here, you know that" he said, giving her a wink. "But if you ever come back, I won’t give up my bed again. We’ll just have to share."

Daeron rolled his eyes. "Ignore him and regardless of what happens, we’ll still be there for you and Jack”

Y.N. gave a soft laugh and nodded. "Thanks again, really." She checked the straps in Jack’s pram and then wheeled it towards the door. "Goodbye, and take care."

As she left, the door clicked shut behind her, leaving Aegon and Daeron in the apartment.

Not long after, Daeron furrowed his brow and turned to Aegon. "Oh no, she forgot one of Jack’s toys."

Aegon picked up the small plush from the table, examining it.

"What the hell is this thing?" he muttered, turning the soft rabbit-like toy over in his hands. The ears crinkled when he squeezed them, making an odd sound.

"I don’t know," Daeron shrugged. "Right, I’ve gotta head to work. You good?"

"Yeah, yeah," Aegon waved, still scrutinizing the toy as if it held the answers to life. "See you later."

Just as Daeron grabbed his jacket and headed out the door, it swung open again—this time revealing Aemond, standing in the doorway.

His eye narrowed when he saw Jack’s toy in Aegon’s hand.

Aegon tried to hide it behind his back, but it was too late.

"Where did you get that?" Aemond asked, his voice tight.

Aegon stuttered, "Well, you see—"

"Was Y.N. and Jack here?" Aemond cut him off, his tone dark.

Aegon sighed. "Yeah, they were, but they left a little while ago. She didn’t know where else to go."

Aemond's expression turned furious. "When I rang you last night and asked if you'd seen her, and you said no—was she here?"

Aegon swallowed, glancing at the floor. "Yes, she was here. She slept in my bed—"

That was all Aemond needed to hear. Without warning, he punched Aegon in the face.

Aegon stumbled backward, landing hard on the floor, clutching his nose as blood began to flow.

"Did you fuck her?" Aemond bellowed, his voice full of rage.

Aegon groaned, sitting up slowly, blood dripping between his fingers. "No! I stayed on the sofa, you fucking arsehole-"

Aemond began pacing around the apartment, his hands running through his hair in frustration.

Aegon stood up, wincing as he gingerly touched his nose. He grabbed a nearby towel, pressing it to his face.

"You have no right to be angry," Aegon spat. "You’re the one who’s been hanging around with your bitch of an ex."

Aemond stopped pacing, his face tightening. "I was just trying to make up for what I did. But it was a mistake—a massive one. Alys-she tried to kiss me."

Aegon’s expression hardened, and without a second thought, he punched Aemond in the mouth.

Aemond stumbled back, stunned, as blood began to trickle from his lip.

"You moron," Aegon growled. "What the fuck were you thinking?"

Aemond wiped the blood from his mouth, still in shock from Aegon’s punch. "She tried to kiss me, and I pushed her away. I didn’t let it happen."

Aegon shook his head, disappointment clear on his face as he went to the freezer to grab some ice.

"You’re such an idiot. I’ve been telling you for years what she’s like"

Aemond stood there, blood staining his lips. "I know," he said quietly. "I know now that it was all a manipulation. She didn’t need my help with her business. She just—"

"—wanted to get back into your pants," Aegon finished for him. He shook his head, pressing the towel full of ice cubes against his bruised nose. "You only lost one eye, brother. How could you be so blind?"

Aemond’s shoulders slumped as he sat down heavily on the edge of the couch. "I’m an idiot ok" he admitted, voice hoarse. "I let her in when I should’ve known better."

"You’re damn right you’re an idiot," Aegon said with a bitter laugh. "You let that old bint back into your life when we all tried to warn you. And now, you’ve potentially lost the best thing that’s ever happened to you all because of your own stupidity."

Aemond closed his eye, running his hands through his hair again. He knew Aegon was right. And now, he didn’t know how to fix it.

As Aemond sat on the couch, staring down at the toy he had snatched from Aegon’s hand, a heavy silence settled between them.

Aegon, still pressing the towel full of ice to his swollen nose, finally broke the quiet.

"You know, I’m jealous of you," Aegon muttered, his voice low but steady.

Aemond frowned and looked up. "Jealous? Of me? Why?"

Aegon let out a tired chuckle. "Because of Y.N."

Aemond's expression darkened, and his jaw clenched. "What are you saying?"

Aegon raised his free hand, waving off his brother’s suspicions. "No-I’m not into her like that. It's the way she loves you, Aemond." He looked away for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "The way she looks at you-it’s something else. I’d give anything for a woman to look at me the way she looks at you. There’s this—" He struggled to find the right words, "—devotion in her eyes. And she brings out the best in you, even if you’re too blind to see it."

Aemond’s face softened slightly, and he allowed a faint smile to tug at his lips. "Maybe if you stopped chasing unavailable women, you'd find someone like that."

Aegon huffed a laugh. "Yeah, maybe. I was actually trying to get with someone last night, if you must know. But then Y.N. came over and interrupted." He shrugged, the corners of his mouth lifting in amusement.

"And you helped her instead," Aemond remarked, his tone shifting to something more serious.

"Of course I did," Aegon said, looking at his brother with a surprising sincerity. "I like her—no, not in that way. But I wanted to make sure both her and Jack were safe”.

Aemond sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Thank you, Aegon."

Aegon nodded, leaning back against the counter. "You’re welcome. But I don’t care what you have to do. You better make it up to her. She’s good for you, Aemond. You two belong together. Don’t be the fool who throws it all away."

Aemond stood, taking a deep breath. "You’re right. I need to fix this." He paused, glancing at the door.

"Yeah," Aegon replied, standing straighter. "She mentioned she was taking Jack for a walk in the park and then heading back to the penthouse”.

Aemond started towards the door, but Aegon called out to him. "Hey, one more thing."

Aemond stopped and turned, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

Aegon smirked, his usual playful self returning. "You should ask her to marry you."

Aemond froze for a moment, considering the weight of Aegon’s words.

Slowly, he nodded, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "Maybe I will."

Aegon grinned, his smirk widening into a mischievous grin. "Because then she’d definitely shag me."

Aemond took a deep breath before he charged at his brother. Aegon dodged out of the way, laughing loudly as Aemond began chasing him around the table.

"You little—!" Aemond shouted, but despite his frustration, there was a smile creeping onto his face as Aegon kept laughing, the tension between the brothers momentarily broken by their banter.

"Too slow!" Aegon called out, still running, a cheeky grin plastered on his face.

For just a moment, the heaviness that had hung over them lifted, and despite the mess Aemond needed to fix, he felt a flicker of hope. He wasn’t going to let Y.N. slip away—no matter what it took.

Aemond wandered through the quiet streets, his mind racing. He desperately wanted to see Y.N. and Jack, to hold them both close and promise he would never let his stupidity come between them again.

But he knew he had to give her time—to get back to the penthouse, to settle Jack, and most of all, to calm down. As much as he wanted to rush to her side, he knew that right now, patience was key.

She was the love of his life, and the thought that he might have jeopardized everything made his chest tighten.

How had he let it get this far? It was easy to blame Alys, to paint her as the villain in his mind, but deep down, Aemond knew the truth—it was his own fault.

His misguided sense of duty, his foolish belief that he could make up for his past mistakes by helping her, had led him down this path. He should have left the past buried.

As soon as Alys had reached out, he should have told her to get lost. Instead, he had let her manipulate him, and now Y.N. and Jack were suffering the consequences.

He clenched his jaw, his hands balling into fists as he walked. Alys’s motives were clear from the beginning, and he cursed himself for not seeing them.

But the damage had been done. Now, all he could do was hope—pray, even—that Y.N. would give him the chance to make things right.

He loved her, more than he had ever loved anyone, and the thought of losing her, of losing their life together, sent a sharp pain through his chest.

As he rounded a corner, his steps slowed when he came to a stop in front of a jewellery shop. His eye caught on the glittering rings displayed in the window, and for a moment, he allowed himself to close his eye and imagine.

He pictured Y.N. in a beautiful wedding dress, walking towards him with that radiant smile she always wore when she looked at him. His hand reaching for hers as they exchanged vows, their kiss sealing their promises as they became husband and wife.

But was that future even possible now? Or had he ruined it beyond repair?

Aemond let out a heavy breath, running a hand through his silver hair. He had thought about proposing to her before, but now-was it even right to consider it?

Would she still want a life with him after everything that had happened? After the hurt he had caused?

He wasn’t sure, but he knew one thing—he had to try. He couldn’t give up on them, not when he loved her with every fibre of his being.

Aemond stepped into the penthouse, his heart immediately dropping at the sight of a suitcase by the front door. Jack was fast asleep in his pram, his small chest rising and falling peacefully.

Aemond's gaze shifted from his son to Y.N., who sat on the sofa, nervously fiddling with her fingers, her face pale and her eyes distant.

His voice cracked as he asked, "Are you leaving me?"

Y.N. looked up at him, her expression torn. She took a deep breath and nodded slowly. "I think it's for the best”.

The words pierced through him like a blade, and Aemond felt his knees weaken. In an instant, he was in front of her, kneeling on the floor with his head resting in her lap, his body shaking with quiet sobs.

 "Please don’t leave me," he choked out, his voice thick with desperation. "I’m so sorry, Y.N. I thought I owed it to Alys, after everything that happened, but I was wrong. I see that now. I made a terrible mistake, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Please, please don’t go."

Y.N. hesitated, her hands trembling as she slowly stroked his hair. But then, gently, she removed him from her lap and stood up, forcing a shaky breath as she wiped her eyes.

"I need to think, Aemond. I need to figure out what’s best for me and for Jack."

Aemond rose to his feet, his desperation mounting as he cupped her face in his hands, peppering soft, frantic kisses across her cheeks, her forehead, her lips. "I love you," he whispered, again and again between kisses. "I love you more than anything. Please, just—just stay. Let’s work this out."

Y.N. closed her eyes, letting her forehead rest against his for a moment as the pain of the situation overwhelmed her.

"I love you too, Aemond," she whispered, her voice heavy with emotion. "But I need space. I need to think about what I really want”

Aemond’s breath hitched, but he nodded, knowing he couldn’t push her any further. He backed away slightly, his eye red and pained.

He turned to Jack, still peacefully sleeping in his pram, and pressed a tender kiss to his son’s forehead.

"Be good for your mummy," he whispered softly, brushing a finger over Jack’s tiny hand.

With that, Aemond walked to the door and held it open, his heart breaking with every passing second.

Y.N. pushed the pram through the door and glanced back at him one last time, her suitcase in hand, her eyes filled with sadness and uncertainty.

“Goodbye Aemond-”

As soon as the door clicked shut, Aemond collapsed against it, sliding down to the floor until he was sitting with his back against the wood.

His head fell into his hands as the weight of it all came crashing down. Silent sobs wracked his body.

He had lost them both—And it was his own fault.

TBC

[pepperf]

Genuinely can't decide if the writers intended the Five and Lila relationship to be toxic, or if that's just their idea of romance - just like Rochester, Heathcliff, Darcy, and that dude from Twilight, right???

Okay, let's have a readmore. Note tags, ppl, and curate your experience.

Lila has a relatively sensible approach to relationships, which is consistent, despite her somewhat Machiavellian approach to getting what she wants out of them - she put Diego in his place about having realistic expectations back in s3. She's pretty clear about who she is and where her lines are drawn, and is "weirdly self-actualised", according to Klaus. And Five - romantically inexperienced, thinks everyone should do what he says at all times - tries to impose his notion of How This Should Go onto her, from nearly the start of their brief romance, but leaning hard into it once it starts going sour - which also checks out: he was alone for 45 years and his previous relationship was all in his head, giving him full control, so that's what he's used to. But I couldn't tell if they genuinely intended to show it as him being incredibly selfish in prioritising his feelings over her wishes, or if they honestly thought it was romantic. I mean, the barbed wire-style bracelet is a little on the nose, and there's some symbolism that I'll get into in a sec. Truthfully, I'm not inclined to give them the benefit of the doubt - I think SB at least thought it was hot, judging by what he's said about identifying with Five, and about how he finally gets to have a romance. This seems to have been his pet project for the season, blergh.

It's that tedious old misogynist chestnut, that all women secretly want A Man to take control. It's frustrating, because they already established that Lila likes to be in charge, she wants to be free to make her own choices, she'd already had twenty-plus years of being told what to think and do. And yet she has to remind Five, who really ought to know her better by now, "You do not get to decide what I do with my life!" It's also very disconnected from reality. It's not actually fun or sexy to be gaslighted, to be lied to by some insecure asshole who thinks they know better about what's good for you, that they have a right to stick their nose into your personal relationships or keep you away from your kids. Not cool, Five, not cool. He's lucky she didn't kick him in the nuts on the way out. But another reason I think they didn't do this consciously is that Five doesn't seem to realise his assholery - there's no hint that he's regretting anything other than being dumped.

Lila was trapped for seven years in an intense, claustrophobic situation with Five - and if they'd continued to exist, she could have worked through the feelings that come out of that. Like Ritu said, of course there's going to be love there: they've spent seven years together, on the run. If nothing else, it would be a matter of survival - either you find a way to get along, or you kill each other. And they went in with a fair amount in common already (although being adopted by the Handler at age four is not at all the same as being recruited by her at age fifty-something). So I'm annoyed that Lila's whole arc this season is one of frustration about having to be the grown up in her relationship, taking a break to reassess, going off to do something a bit crazy and fun - and promptly getting stranded with someone considerably less emotionally competent.

Okay, I'm being somewhat harsh - Lila unexpectedly getting the timeout she wanted could've been a decent storyline, she could have some time to reflect, live the child-free life without consequences, and have some adventures (she actively enjoys danger!). And she and Five got to bond, that had lots of interesting potential, especially with their complicated history. But it tipped over from being a potential opportunity into an immensely over the top punishment for her impulsivity, and took them so far from where they'd started that there's a total emotional disconnect with the main story. Which is a fucking weird choice for one episode in such a short season, ngl.

And then, ugh, she's right back to dealing with the apocalypse, visibly thrown by a Diego who has unexpectedly thought about what she said and is trying to be a better husband, and dealing with a Five who has decided to get territorial. It's deeply uncomfortable, Five is gearing up to start trouble, so wrapped up in his own hurt feelings that he's functionally useless for the actual problem in front of them - leaving Lila to deal with the mess he creates, and then leverage said feelings to get him to put on his big boy pants and help. She still reaches out to him in the end, I think she knows him well enough by this point to understand what makes him tick...and she's having to be the sensible one up to the end of her existence. Can't she have someone who's willing to meet her halfway? The reflecting that Diego did, him making a start on making amends (given that it was only a few hours for him, that's about as much as they could squeeze in) was basically just wasted. They start to reconnect at the end, and mutually apologise for the damage they've done - but that's all they get, and it's a travesty.

Personally I think the whole storyline should have been cut, but if - if - they really felt it added something, they could have given it some time in the real world, see how this shaky new romance holds up against a serious relationship that's been massively fractured. In a different show, that might have been a fine story. But they don't do that. Whatever she might have wanted, Lila doesn't get time to even think about her choices. She gets to stop existing. (Or they could just have not gone there in the first place, god I hate love triangle plotlines, they do no favours for anyone involved!)

Given a continued existence in which to do so, I'm sure Five would have moved on pretty quickly. It's his first romance with a real person, he feels it intensely - but once the dust settled, he'd see that they were in very different emotional places (she wanted to get back to her family, the break from reality is way overdue to end - and he wanted to stay in their little bubble and leave all that behind). The actual romance part was actually pretty brief, and lacking in any deep communication - as Lila says, it wasn't real. They're playing house in an attempt to feel normal - in a greenhouse (a fragile structure, not a real home), eating strawberries (a treat more than real sustenance), like children...hey, maybe I'm wrong and the writers DID intend to do that, bc that's some choice visual metaphors. And they're playing roles: all their normal antagonism - what made them so fun and sparky in previous seasons, and even during the earlier part of their adventure! - disappears. Lila is a chameleon, taking on a character is her happy place - and this was how Five kept himself going, last time he was in this situation, so he's slipping back into that method of survival (although he's not as good as she is at separating reality from fiction). So while all that is totally understandable, it's insubstantial. If Five had the space to do some self-reflection, or if one of his more rational siblings (Luther maybe, or...um...or a friend, if he can make one...or maybe that dude in the Losers Department at the CIA...) sat down with him and explained that you need to treat a partner as an equal, maybe he could do better next time - or double down and keep being an asshole, that's also a strong possibility.

idk - I still don't honestly think the show intended it that way, unfortunately. I think they shoehorned the characters into the scenes they wanted, regardless of sense or even plot requirement. There are a LOT of badly-explained or badly-thought out moments in this season, and this whole mess just adds to the incoherency. Or maybe it's just a consequence of TV - you get multiple creative people involved, and the reasoning gets muddied, especially over time. Maybe it was SB's intention from the start, but he didn't inform the actors until the final season, so they've been playing it straight.

This show has an...interesting tendency to do something that you think is totally unacceptable and just gloss over it at the time, and then address it next season (like Luther apologising to Viktor), as if the writers all brought it up in their respective therapy sessions during the break, and worked through the issues - so maybe if they'd had another season, they would have gone into all that. Maybe. But we're clearly not going to get that, and they're all gone from existence so I can't headcanon that in this universe, they eventually sort it out. So I'm putting it down to one thing:

Break out the dodgy facial hair (I see you're ahead of me, Five) and let's get kicking babies!

[yeonbinwyd]

a place to sit

pairing: subfem!reader x softdom! Beomgyu

synopsis: you’re looking for a new place to live and your brothers friend had a spare room at his place. he’s always had a crush on you but now he gets to live with you. What more can he dream of?

genre (w/tags): smut, (minors dni), kinky sex, body exploration, masturbation, protected sex, explicit language

Word count: 1354

“Thanks again for letting her stay” your brother thanks Beomgyu as helps you with the last of your boxes.

“No problem bro. I got you.” He dabs up your brother with a back pat. You’re already inside unpacking your things. You were thankful you had a place to stay for the upcoming semester but it had to be with him? The two of you barely get along. Beomgyu always has a witty comment or two. Maybe even a joke here and there. It drove you nuts so for him to let you stay with him was a bit of a shocker. Honestly who are you to turn down free housing?

Beomgyu walks up to your door, leaning against the frame. He crosses his arm and shakes his head.

“It looks like you’re stuck with me” he chuckles.

“Not a chance. I’ll find another spot soon it’s just temporary” you bite back. He purses his lips.

“You really think you’ll find a place? The semester starts in a week.” He rubs in. You stay silent. “That’s what I thought.” He chimes as he steps closer to you, looking down at you while shaking his head with a smirk. You instinctively shove him forwards. He keeps his snicking smile, while leaving your room. Whoa he looked really good looking at you like that. You couldn’t help but feel a little bit attracted to him Beomgyu was a cute guy and he knew that. The last thing you needed was to let him know you thought so too.

After you finish unpacking, you change into something more comfortable, and head into the kitchen. He was in the living room, just playing his game. You join him, taking a seat. He glances at you with the corner of his eye. Beomgyu was a bit distracted by what you were wearing. It was just a short pj set. Your legs exposed to the point where you could see your panties. Your shirt was a bit seen thru too, with your nipples poking through. He swallows hard and turns his attention to his game. Suddenly he smells the candle you lit. It fills the room evoking a pleasant feeling throughout his body. It automatically makes him think of you. How sweet you must taste. He can feel himself getting hard at the thought of getting a glimpse of your cunt. He tried one last time to divert his attention to his game but he sees movement. Beomgyu looks over to see you applying a moisturizing lip mask, making your lips soft and kissable. He’s at his limit. He stands up quickly to avoid you seeing anything, then dashes out of sight. You shrug and turn off his game.

“This might be more difficult than I thought.”

Beomgyu takes a glance down at his pants to see a raging hard on. He made a promise to your brother to look out for you but he’s as much trouble as the guys that go after you.

“Maybe I can rub one out really fast” he thinks to himself. He shuts his door and without thinking starts to jerk off his hard on. He squeezes around the tip nice and snug. Beomgyu lets out a low groan in satisfaction. He rapidly jerks himself off to the thought of you. Just being able to touch you, hearing you beg for more, he was going insane. He came quickly and quietly as he heard your footsteps coming closer.

“Hey you ok?” you ask outside the door. He had been gone for a minute, so your curiosity got the best of you. You heard everything on the other side of the door. He may have tried to be quiet but it didn’t work with those thin walls.

“Yeah I’m fine.” He manages to reply. Beomgyu gets himself together then opens the door to find you standing behind it. The two of you lock eyes, Beomgyu swallows hard again.

“You know if you were into me, you should have just said so” you tell him with great pride as you turn from him. Hearing that he sighs in relief then gives you a hug from behind.

“You can’t tell your brother” he warns.

“What if I want you too?” You confess. He furrows his brow in confusion at first then he looks at you with the same smirk as before.

“You wore this on purpose?” Beomgyu calmly asks. You shrug your shoulders neither agreeing or disagreeing. He doesn’t waste any time and attacks your neck. Still behind you, he cups your chest, fondling your nipples. You gasped, caught off guard by his sudden movements. You get adjusted at the glorious feeling and rest your hand on the back of his neck to give him more access. He accepts, placing kisses down your neck to your breasts cupping them in the process. Now in front, he travels down even further to take a peek at what he’s been dreaming of.

“Can you do me a favor? He asks. You nod in agreement. “Can you sit on my face?” He asked with confidence. He wants to see you in full view without any breaks. You agree and without wasting any more time, he pulls you to his bed. Beomgyu lies down flat, waiting for you to take a seat. You pull off what you were wearing, then position yourself over his face. You gently lower yourself but he locks his arms around your thighs, forcing you to come down aggressively. He immediately moans inside you, giving you vibrations throughout your body. His tongue starts by making circles around your clit. His grip was strong, so strong there wasn’t much space to break free. You already feel the build up. As he keeps going, his tongue now is darting inside your pussy while cupping your ass checks. Beomgyu is licking up and down your walls while burying his face in you. He’s drunk off of you and can’t get enough. He lifts you up for a moment for air and he gets back in there. You spot a condom on his side table and reach for it. Beomgyu catches on and helps you lean to over the grab it, still holding on you tight. You grab it, tearing it open. You can see he’s fully erect and ready for the plunge. You help him with his sweats, releasing him and position the condom on his member. He growls at just your slight touch and starts to feel the condom in place. Beomgyu lets you go and helps you move forward to go on top. This time you were in control, you slide down slowly, taking him in. He covers his mouth as an unbearable whine was released from his lips. He had finally felt all of you. It was better than he had imagined. You thrusted forward and back for him, making him see stars. He was overwhelmed but the pleasure he was feeling was phenomenal. Beomgyu got it together, wanting to make you feel good too, he pulled you back to rest on him and began stroking up. You started to whine in his ear. It was giving his power. He speed started to pick up.

“Please Beomgyu” you begged. Hearing you cry his name like his dreams made him want to finish right there. He pulls out and helps you forward so he can fuck you from behind. He grabs a fist full of hair while reentering. Your back arches. At this point, you both don’t care at the amount of noise you were making. The sounds of sex filled the room and you both loved it.

“Say my name again baby” he demands.

“Beomgyu fuck me please” you manage to obey.

“Oh god I’m so close.” He moans.

“Me too Don’t stop” you demand in return. The slaps pick up, deeper and deeper. He pulls your hair back, forcing you to sit up. You both finishing. Beomgyu lets you go while pulling out. You grip your neck, shocked at how wild he was.

“I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?” He asked concerns

“No I loved it.”

[andcars]

# 𝗖𝗦𝟱𝟱 ─── TO THE PODIUM N' BACK DOWN MASTERLIST . . . REQUEST ME . . . TAGLIST . . . AO3

IT'S YOUR FIRST WIN with carlos trailing behind you. to celebrate, the both of you hit the club. things ensues, sexual tensions are sexual, and holy shit he just pinned you to the bathroom door and fucked you raw. ────── original prompt req.

PROMPTED DIALOGUE . . . # “We can run away together, somewhere far away” + “We’ll only be caught if you’re loud” PROMPTED TAGS . . . # breeding kink, bareback, obsessive behaviour, body worship, teammate!reader ADD. TAGS . . . # cunnilingus, slick as lube, wall sex, semi-public sex, creampie WORD COUNT. . . # 2k

The victory anthem plays as champagne is sprayed all over you. There’s nowhere to hide from the liquid shooting at you from both ends. It’s warm. It smells addicting. You’re living the high of being a winner and Carlos is right there with you.

When most of everyone’s champagne has spilled, you drink yours to the bottom of the bottle. The adrenaline screams at you. Your heart is still finding its resting pace. You think to yourself, You really got your first fucking win.

Coming down from the podium, Carlos has a hand on your back. “You did well, mi reina (my queen). How are you celebrating?”

You don’t have to say a word to him to tell him. He laughs beside you when you stay silent.

“We can always run off,” he suggests, “we aren’t needed anymore.”

“I’m pretty sure we will be,” you retaliate, despite not caring anyways.

He tells you, ignoring your concerns, “We can go somewhere far from here. Where they won’t find us.”

You look at him then. He’s already looking at you. The smile on your face is something he’s seen time and time again. You don’t think he’ll get tired of it. “Sounds like a plan.”

────── SHORT WHILE LATER. . .

The club music roars in your ears. There is not a single drop of alcohol in your body and yet you feel like you’re intoxicated from the win alone. It’s like your body knows.

In the edge of the crowd, your body is pressed up with Carlos. For the greater part of this season, he has been helping place high into the ranks. More often than not, you out-qualify him in the race. 

Ferrari finds their strategy and you have never been more glad to be the one to receive the win. Turning around, you place your arms around Carlos' neck.

Maybe it’s still the high of the win. Maybe it’s because Carlos has been nothing but a good teammate.

It really could just be because he’s really hot.

“You’re looking at me,” he says, like an idiot.

“Not like you don’t look at me first,” you tell him. “Always following me around, one would say you’re my stalker.”

Both of you know it’s true. The amount of times he would follow you around the garage though he has his own duties. In the hospitality, he would find anything just to keep the both of you together.

You've watched the onboards, him always inquiring where you stand. You know he always finds a way to make sure you’re beside him in the rankings.

He shrugs, barely hiding it. “I like being with you. Should there anything be more than that?”

Without thinking about it anymore, you pull him for a kiss. He comes easily, body pressed against yours as warmth spreads between the two of you. The taste of champagne is still on his tongue.

Of course he loves you. It’s like he got one taste of you and he can’t get rid of you now. His tongue memorised the shape of your lips. His mouth can’t help but utter your name. Now, his hands find themselves on your hip. In slow strokes, he caresses you tenderly yet his kisses tells differently. It’s hungry. It’s insatiable. You can barely breathe under the pressure.

When his lips trailed down your neck, you moaned.

“You like that, corazón (heart)?” he gasps, the sound barely noticeable over the deafening music. “You like it here?”

He doesn’t need to hear your response as his kisses and turns to bites. You squirm under him. Both of his hands come to steady you by the hips, immobilising you in his arms. He’s heavy on you, his dominance alluring you to give in. Fucking addicting, so fucking good.

You don’t think about why you let Carlos take you like this in the corner of the floor. His touch feels electrifying. His body is warm—fucking hot. It’s in the way he sways you to the music and the open mouthed bites on your neck.

“Carlos,” you breathe out as you pull him away, “maybe don’t fuck me in public.”

He laughs, seeing the sly grin on your face. “Surely you won’t mind the bathroom? I don’t think I can go far like this.”

Pretending to ponder about making Carlos exit the club with a hard on and you by his side, you lean against him. “I'll tell the whole world how ungentlemanly you are.”

“You’ll tell the world about us?”

You smile, “I’ll tell the universe about us.”

With his hand in yours, he leads you to the bathroom. You’re thankful that it’s not like one of those dingy bathrooms in most clubs. Despite wanting to fuck your teammate this bad, you don’t think you can stand the smell of vomit and piss.

Carlos takes you to a room inside—this level of privacy for a singular toilet is crazy, but then again, you're sure this was often visited for sex—and pins you by the door.

It’s not tight in here and yet he finds a way to suffocate you. One of your legs wrap around him as he undresses you. The strap of your dress falls and the skirt is pulled up. He moans against your skin as his hands love your ass.

“Carlos,” you moan, his hands feeling your cold skin, “fucking hell…”

Distantly, you hear the bathroom door open. Carlos chuckles against your neck, kissing it after. “Better be quiet, corazón. Unless you wanna tell the universe now?”

“Shut the fuck up, Sainz.” You pull him to a kiss as he unbuckles himself. The need to grind into him is convincing. You’re weak against him, letting your panties caress his erection.

He sighs, his mouth biting at your bottom lip at your crudeness. You hear him swear under his breath, mumbling something in Spanish as he finally pulls out his cock.

Before you could offer him anything, he pulled away to kneel. You moan at the sight. He pulls up your skirt and practically breathes in against your clothed cunt. Your underwear is a futile barrier.

He pulls it off with one hand as he spits in the other. You tug at his hair as he goes forward, kissing your clit and his finger fucking into you.

“Shit…” you moan, trying to stifle it afterwards with your arm, “Carlos.”

His eyes look up at you. Your little pleads don’t stop him as his mouth trails lower to your hole, peppering kisses on it as his finger rubs your insides. He gets two more fingers in easily with the wetness. Your thigh quivers around him and you pull his hair.

A whine leaves you when his fingers leave. It was too short. You want more. He hears you and is quick to replace it with his other fingers, drier yet more eager to stretch you out. Though your view is obstructed, you can hear his hand working his own cock. 

It makes you feel manic the fact he’s using your own slick as his lube.

“Fuck, Carlos,” you moan, a leg over his shoulder. Your cunt is directly over his mouth, his nose bumping into your clit perfectly. This is enough to drive you fucking crazy. 

You’re close. The beat of the club thrums with your heart. His tongue is lapping at your leaking pussy as four fingers stretch you out. You’re entirely sure that you’re being heard throughout the bathroom now. It doesn’t matter. You don’t care—

He stops. You squirm on top of him as he comes back up to you. “Corazón,” he whispers as his fingers pull out to tease your clit. “So pretty, so good for me…”

“You fucking tease,” you grunt. He smiles at you.

“I want you to cum on me, huh?” his hand is noisy as it fucks his cock with your juices. “My girl, always want to see you come apart for me.”

However much you wanna hit him right now, it dissapates as his cock slaps at your hole. You wince, “Carlos!” and throw an arm around him.

“So beautiful,” he pants, “tastes so good to me. Tastes like a winner.”

You wanna retaliate. You wanna whine and say no to his love. But he pushes his cock inside of you without protection and it makes you lose your head.

“Carlos, condom—”

“There’s none here,” he says, breathless as he enjoys the way you clench around him. “There’s none. Either I leave you like this or I fuck you raw.”

True to his words, he does fuck you raw. Every thrust of his bare cock inside of you drives you crazy. His warmth, his skin, his leaking pre-cum all touching the most intimate part of you. Just the thought that this is the closest he's ever been with you makes you wanna cum.

“So fucking good,” he says, breath tickling your neck. “My girl, corazón, so fucking loose on me.

“You’re so hot. So wet. I want to keep fucking you like this. Feel my cum drip down your cunt—” you moan—”as you get so full of me.”

Carlos is lost in his own fantasy. He thrusts into you harder, your hips moving along his as you relish in the idea together. He doesn’t miss the way you clench harder on him. The way your moans just get a little bit louder.

“You’d like that?” he asked, “Don’t want me to pull out? Does my girl want to keep my cum inside of her? Fuck her full until she’s bred full?”

“Carlos—!” you scream out into his neck, hiding your red face. “You fucking- oh God, yes, fuck! Just like that, baby. Fucking breed me.”

He doesn’t need to be told again. Your moans echo through the room as your hands pull at his head. He kisses down your jaw, to your neck, and bites and marks you.

You don’t understand him anymore. He murmurs to you in Spanish which you don’t understand. But the way his teeth scrapes, his hand tightens, his hips fucking into you like they’re determined to stuff you full with his semen. You can’t stop yourself from cumming all over him.

His pace is overstimulating, too much for you. Though he slows down, his cock grinding into you has you punching his back.

Carlos understands perfectly. He pulls out with only half his cock inside, still erect, still wanting to feel you. You don’t get him soft as your hands go down to finish him off.

“Fuck,” he grunts as you feel him resist the urge to fuck your first. Your delicate hands moving on him with the head of his cock still feeling your pulsating pussy. He’s fighting everything not to give in to this bliss.

“Come on, Carlos,” you say, “cum in me. Let yourself win today too.”

He looks into your eyes and you can see something primal behind them. Though he doesn’t move, he forces your lips to lock with his. Your hand falters as you taste yourself on his tongue. But his hands intertwine with yours, helping you finish him off.

“So good,” he says between breathing, “letting me have you like this—how I’ve always wanted.

“I’m gonna cum. Fuck, I’m gonna cum in your pretty little pussy.”

Few more strokes and he finishes inside of you with a loud moan. You feel it splatter your insides and your legs give in for just a moment. He holds you upright. His grip on you is strong but never enough to bruise. You know that he was never one to hurt you.

Only after calming down could you hear both of your cum drip down onto the tiles. You blush, whining a little. “Carlos,” you say, “I can’t go out like this.”

“Like you became mine?”

You punch his chest. “Like I’m a fucking whore!”

He laughs and presses a short kiss on your lips. “Mhm, I don’t know, I like seeing you dirty like this.”

After he cleans you up, you hit him in the head for being such a dumbass. He doesn’t really look like he cares. Not with those hearts in his eyes.

🗒 𝗣𝗔𝗣𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗟 . . . the funniest bit is that i was finishing up the graphic for this fic as i watched carlos hit the barriers in singapore q3- so, that happened. anyways! working on a lot of requests so i hope this one is a great start for everyone . ˎˊ˗ ᝰ. ──── 📨 @delululeclerc @hiireadstuff

you support me best on tumblr with reblogs and comments ! ── by andcars ⟡

[aziraphales-library]

Hi!!! Do you have any fics where aziraphale is famous and crowley's just a "nobody"? preferably without explicit scenes, please :)) thank you so so much <3<3

Hello! We have a #famous aziraphale tag. Here are some fics in which Aziraphale is famous and Crowley is not. I could only find a couple of non-explicit fics, I'm afraid, but I'm pretty sure the smut is minimal/skippable in most of these...

First Thing In The Morning by FeralTuxedo (E)

Aziraphale Fell, erstwhile nerd, now successful fantasy author, is signing books at this year’s Heaven and Earth convention when he spots a red-headed man in the crowd. Someone he hasn’t quite been able to forget since his school days. And as luck would have it, Anthony Crowley, former troublemaker, now responsible adult, seems keen to reconnect.

Pride Month and Prejudice by TawnyOwl95 (E)

They say that you should never meet your celebrity crush. Especially when you know what an absolute bastard he is. So, of course, Anthony J. Crowley's participation in a queer adaptation of Pride and Prejudice for Pride Month has nothing to do with the involvement of A-lister A.Z. Fell. Crowley is only doing it so he has some gossip for his column. He didn't mean to get cast as Lizzy Bennet, he certainly didn't mean to be acting opposite Fell's Mr Darcy. And to make matters worse, Fell keeps staring at him...

Veni Vino Vegas (I Came, I Got Drunk, I Got Married) by A_N_D (T)

After a whirlwind drunken evening, author Az Fell came home from Rom-Con without his heirloom pinkie ring – but with a wedding license from a 24-hour Las Vegas chapel. Elsewhere, book fan Tony Crowley woke up with a hangover, vague memories, and a brand new ring he’s only seen in author photos. Mutually attracted, mutually terrified the other one thinks it was all a regrettable mistake, they turn to their dear but anonymous online friend to vent and ask for advice. …Maybe they should tell each other their screennames someday.

and now all of my garden is grown in lavender by ilikeblue (E)

Popular queer romance author, A.Z. Fell, has been lying about having a husband and a happy marriage for years. Longing to escape a string of failed relationships and looking for a fresh start, Aziraphale moves into the cottage left to him by his Great Aunt Agnes. When a TV adaptation of one of his books leads to sudden popularity and throws him into the limelight, his fans (and the press) are eager to catch a glimpse of Aziraphale's own mysterious leading man. Unfortunately, he still has to cast someone for that role. Enter the handsome gardener… Under Crowley's meticulous care the cottage's neglected garden slowly comes back to life, and Aziraphale finds himself writing the most important love story he'll ever write: his own

Once upon a time by elf_on_the_shelf (E)

‘Hello, my dear.’ Crowley bit his lip for a couple of seconds before he took a deep breath and just went with it. ‘Would you like to go for a coffee sometime?’ There was silence at the other end. Oh shit. ‘That was my friend messing around with my phone…?’ ‘You do realise that only works over text.’ ‘Myeah.’ Why was he like this? He had wanted to kill Bea for doing the same thing and yet here he was, doing the thing. At Bea’s behest, mind you. ‘I would love to go for coffee. Oh, and cake!’ Aziraphale is a very rich and successful writer. Crowley is at the worst possible moment of his life - living off Bee's couch and posting his mum's fairy tales on some random sites only to be ignored by everyone except one random person simply called A. This is a story about how both of our main protagonists get over the ghosts of their pasts, learn to work together and maybe - just maybe - fall in love in the process. Not to mention that all of the characters that we love (hate - looking at you, Gabe) make an appearance.

The Infernal Bodyguard by Santillatron (M)

Alistair Zira Fell is a popular author. Loved by everyone he meets. Well, almost everyone. Someone is trying to hurt him, and right now, he needs a bodyguard. Anthony J. Crowley is the best, although he doesn't work with celebrities. He has three rules. He never gets too close, never stays once the job is done, and Never Gets Involved. But this isn't a thriller. This, is a love story.

- Mod D

[stitchedcosmos]

Abt the Orcatstra stuff

TLDR: I've looked through their posts as well as others and I can't find any proof they did anything wrong. Orca making NSFW art, saying they don't like a ship and blocking people who like that ship is completely normal and you shouldn't take it personally.

Long ver:

People in the DSAF fandom (mainly Tumblr) are freaking out about a take Orcatstra made on shipping Jack with Harry, Jake and/or Rodger, allegedly harassing people who ship them, one case being running a 14/15-year-old off the website and making NSFW art, mainly gore.

About the ship: I think Orcatstra's take is completely understandable. "Oh but the phone can leave" and "Oh but he treats them well in the Good ending" doesn't matter. At the end of the day, whether he treats them well or not is completely irrelevant. Jack can choose at any time whether they live or die. When he fires them, they get murdered. He has power over them and that is a power imbalance that a lot of people are going to be uncomfortable with. In cases like Dave, Matt, Steven or Henry, if things don't go well between the two, they have the ability to leave with no fear of something bad happening to them. The phones on the other hand, could get fired (die) if they're not on Jack's good side with just a simple phone call. Even if they left, they literally mention Afton Robotics hunting down escaped phone guys and a simple phone call telling AR one's gone rouge is all it takes. Doing this after getting pissed off by them or whatever, is completely in character for Jack to do (especially legacy). People bring up that Jack treats them well in the good ending but how about all the other routes? Especially in the Legacy routes, Jack treats them like shit and actively uses this power imbalance against them on multiple occasions. People bring up Davesport as a retort to this, bringing up how utterly devoted Dave can be, but Dave when treated like this usually fights back or distances himself away from him, neither is something the phones can do without fear of getting killed. At the end of the day, it all comes down to how you headcanon Jack to act, but the power imbalance is definitely enough to put a lot of people off. Also, as a POC myself, I don't think them saying it felt like "Owner x Slave" to them, was racist.

About the blocking: Blocking people is something people are allowed to do for whatever reason they like. If someone posts content you don't like, the normal response most people have is to block them. Whether you feel the block is "deserved" or not, doesn't matter. Hell, sometimes I block people over a single post or comment they make because I simply disagree with it so much. Blocking people is completely okay under literally any circumstance.

About harassment: I have found no proof of this. Seriously. I've looked through multiple people's accounts, including Orca's and have found nothing. I'm even seeing people ask for proof and being told the person has none. the dsaf confessions account keeps getting brought up as proof of someone who got harassed but looking at both their posts and Orca's, from what I've seen, no harassment happened. From what I can tell, all of this is a complete misunderstanding where Orca talking about not liking the account got interpreted as Orca bullying them. If they don't like them and want to post about not liking them, they have the right to do that.

Edit: Just remembered this so I’ll quickly add it now, people are shouting at orca 4 “harassing a minor” but they’re a minor themselves.

About NSFW: They're allowed to draw it. DSAF is an NSFW series and therefore has A LOT of NSFW topics, subjects, scenes and characters in it. If someone wants to draw that, they have the right to. If you don't like it, block them. Some people are saying they should tag their gore art and while I personally agree with that, if they don't want to, they have every right not to. It's their blog and if you don't like it, just block them and move on. "But what if a child sees it" on Tumblr, you can only see what you search up or are personally interested in, a child shouldn't be looking at DSAF-related content in the first place because, again, it is an NSFW series.

Overall, my thoughts on the matter are... *drum roll*

It's not that serious and the block button is free. If you don't like someone, what they're doing, what they're posting, block them. It's that simple and getting blocked doesn't mean anything. This situation, as well as others like it, are making me fear that most of you aren't old enough to even know what DSAF is, let alone be in the fandom.

[damnfandomproblems]

Anon from the post on 5796 that said

"People keep calling minors evil puritans just for being uncomfortable with NSFW."

I get people are saying to filter tags. I really do and have. But it still pops up on my timeline here on tumblr cause all muting does is just censor the post and say "this post contains [filtered tag]" so no matter what I do it will still appear on my timeline.

And as for the discord server thing. My friends said they wanted to make it an opt in channel for NSFW. One that requires a role to get into. But as a mod of the server, I would still see it anyways. Just muting it would not keep me from being able to access it which is why I was against the notion. And on top of that, I was uncomfortable with the idea of NSFW being allowed on the server even if I wouldn't be seeing it. Cause what if people use the NSFW channel to talk bad about me when I am not looking?

So my friends had said they could remove me as a mod since I was a minor and shouldn't have a position of power. That was triggering to me, so I went offline to take a breather and then go back to being banned? When they had said they would have my back? What kind of people do that? It was MY idea to make the server in the first place, yet I get treated like the monster.

THIS is why I don't think adults should be allowed in fandom spaces cause they actively do things to push out minors.

Posting as a response to a previous problem.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

One For The Road [5]

Cecil Dennis x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | requestinfo• ko-fi •

Series Masterlist

Summary: Staying over with Cecil is all going well until a surprise guest turns up.

A/N: More huge thank yous to @thexsanctuaryx for beta reading <3 and dealing with all my NonsenseTM.

Warnings: sleepy sex, p in v sex, cream pie, fingering, reader has a job where they work on Friday - but not on weekends, THERE BE SOME ERM ANGST COMING, I'M SORRY, swearing, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 1893

It’s about 5am when you wake up in Cecil’s bed. He’s sprawled out on his back, his left arm hanging off the side while his right hand is resting gently on your forearm. He looks so peaceful, dead to the world and angelic with how his curls fan out against the pillows. 

The fact that it’s Friday, and you have work in a few hours annoys you to no end. Really you should be getting up, heading back to yours to eat and shower and change, but all you want to do is stay in the comfort of blankets with him just a little while longer. 

You sigh and get out of bed. 

You grab your phone from the side table and head to the bathroom and close the door softly, not that you think you’d wake Cecil, he seems like a pretty deep sleeper, but you want to be on the safe side just in case.

You call your work, knowing no one will be in yet, a little spark of glee growing in your chest. You leave a voicemail, saying you’ve had a family emergency in the night and won’t be able to make it in today.

Getting fucked so hard you might have seen god was an emergency, right? 

Besides, this was the first time you’ve ever called to say you weren’t coming in. You deserved today off as a little treat. Before you head back you make sure you’ve turned your morning alarms off.

Cecil mumbles in his sleep as you get back into bed, turning onto his side and curling up next to you. He nuzzles your neck as he lets out a contented sigh and you quickly fall back to sleep in his embrace. 

.

There’s a syrupy warmth against your neck, a soft gliding touch on your hip. You keep your eyes closed for a minute, vaguely aware that you’re still half dreaming. 

And then Cecil’s hitched breathing works its way into your foggy head. 

He moans lightly, trying to stay quiet and failing as he sucks and kisses your skin, running his lips over your jaw as he presses his chest to your back and ruts his weeping cock against the swell of your ass. 

He murmurs your name as you stir and lean into him, whining as you rock back. 

“So-sorry,” he mutters, his voice thick with sleep and arousal. “I just got so…” He gasps softly, moaning into your neck, “I was dreaming about you and…” 

He swallows, the sound echoing in your ear as he squeezes your hip, guiding your movements for a second before he trails his fingers around and slips to the heat between your legs.

He groans loudly at the wetness he finds, shivers as he presses firmer, drags the tips of his fingers through your folds before he circles your clit in tight soft circles. 

“Shit,” you reach behind you and grab at him, sinking your fingers into his thick curls at the back of his head. 

He whines, gasping and moaning happily, “Oh, is that good?” He shudders, practically begging you to praise him. “You’re so wet,” he buries his face into your shoulder for a second to gather himself, “You really like me, don’t you?” The little whimper at the end breaks your heart. 

“Of course, I like you, dummy,” you breathe hard, hooking your leg over his hip so he’s got easier access. 

He sobs in bliss as he ruts against you harder, sinking two of his thick fingers inside as he rubs your clit like he’s playing guitar. 

Your back arches as he caresses your walls, a high-pitched whine breaking past your lips. “Cecil, fuck.” 

He moans after every stroke, the sounds of your pleasure making him lightheaded and dizzy. Weight settles low in his stomach, his cock practically buzzing from length to tip. 

You move your head, licking into his mouth with a whimper and long, lazy stroke of your tongue. 

He presses closer, trying to blend your bodies together through pure strength of will as he keeps pumping his fingers in and out of you, pushing you higher and higher to your peak.

You swear, your thighs start to shake and muscles tense. “Cecil,” normally you’d hate how desperate you sound, how needy, but now you couldn’t care less. “You, you get tested regularly right?” 

It takes him a moment to answer, but his movements don’t falter, his body too far gone to even pause. “Yeah, yeah, got to, to give blood, and, ohhh shit, I don’t, I don’t, I’ve never done it without a condom on and-”

You don’t think you can wait, you want him inside, want both of you connected as deeply as possible. It’s stopping you from thinking straight. 

You angle yourself, pressing your pussy firmly against his length and he groans, his eyes rolling back. “I’m on birth control, I, you could just-”

Cecil doesn’t need to be told twice, he notches himself at your entrance and bucks his hips forward softly, slipping in smooth and deep. 

You cry out as he stretches you, his girth simultaneously soothing that deep ache as well as adding fuel to the fire. 

His own cries harmonise with yours as you push back against him, pulling him further inside. 

“Baby, baby,” he groans, bucking lightly to work himself in, still toying with your clit as he bottoms out. “Oh god, shit, fuck, taking me so well,” he whines. “Ah- ah- feels so good.” He thrusts into you roughly, biting hard at his bottom lip until he feels you tense and writhe. “There? There?” 

You nod, hardly able to speak as pleasure rushes up through you and blinds you to anything but bliss. 

“Gonna make me cum,” he whines, tears in his eyes, “Gonna- gonna make me fill you up, shit,” he rocks with you, hitting devastatingly inside in time with the paralysing strokes of his fingers. “Never been bareback before,” his voice rises in pitch to almost breaking point. 

You don’t know why, but that’s what sets you off. Your orgasm hits you out of nowhere, pulling you down as you cry out his name in a breathless scream. 

Cecil gasps, tenses as you flutter and squeeze his cock. He comes a second later, pressing his chest as close to your back as physically possible as your walls milk him dry. 

You both breathe hard, sweaty as you recover, your hearts beating in sync. 

He kisses your neck lightly. “Thank you.” 

You chuckle with how sweet he sounds, “You don’t have to thank me silly.” 

“I know.” He grins, “But manners.” 

You laugh and turn your head to kiss his cheek. “Was that okay?”

He nods, pulling a face, “Was that okay? You just fucked my brains out, of course it was okay.” 

He kisses your lips, smiling and then suddenly pulls back, horror on his face, “Shit, it’s Friday? What time is it? You got work! Oh fuck, I’m so sorry, I-”

“Cec, Cec, Cec,” you pat his hair until he focuses on you and you give him a cheeky smile. “I called in, said I couldn’t come in today.”

He stares at you dumbfounded for a moment, before his eyes light up. “You did?” 

You nod.

He squeals in joy and kisses all over your face rapidly. 

You wriggle, giggling. “Stop, stop, stop, you’re gonna fall out and make a mess on your sheets.” 

He snorts but snuggles closer, managing to keep his softening cock inside. “I don’t care.” 

“I do.” You laugh.

“Okay, I care then.” He squeezes you in a tight hug. “I’m so happy. We can hang out today… if you want?” 

“I want.” 

He grins widely. 

“I was thinking we could go to mine? Hang out all weekend.” 

You’ve never seen him look so happy. 

“Three day weekend!” He giggles, “But you can kick me out if you get fed up with me-”

“Shh.” You kiss him. 

“Okay.” He pauses, and then wriggles his eyebrows at you, “I have a plan, I make pancakes, we eat. We go to yours, we fuck on every surface in your house in every position we can get in, we eat, we watch some porn, we fuck some more and repeat?” 

You laugh loudly, loving his shameless smile. “Sounds great.” 

He punches the air with his fist. “Three day wee- oh shit,” he grabs at his cock, giggling as he slips out of you and lunges for the tissues. 

.

Cecil makes pancakes as you have a quick shower. He’d offered to find you something to wear, but you’d opted to just put on your pyjamas as you’d only be in the car and then back to your home. 

As you’re drying yourself you hear the doorbell and knocking. Harry must have forgotten his keys. 

A little worm of anxiety wriggles in your chest. It was obvious that you had stayed the night, there was no way around that. But, as you think on it, you realise pleasantly that you don’t mind. It would be kind of nice for Harry to know. 

Cecil’s phone buzzes from the bedroom and there’s more knocking. Harry definitely forgot his keys. 

You smile as you hear Cecil go to the door. 

It quickly disappears when you hear the yelling. 

You dress quickly, and rush downstairs, stopping at the last step. 

There’s a lady screaming at Cecil as she stands just in the doorway. He looks lost, panicked as he stares blankly at her. 

“You should be ready! What the fuck Cecil?! It’s literally the first appointment, you fucking said you’d support me!”

“I, I, Danielle, what? What are you doing here?”

He barely gets the words out before she cuts him off. “Oh, you think you can just fucking get away with it? Throw me out like trash? I’ll take you to court!”

“Danielle, that’s not what I meant-”

“You’re paying every fucking cent for this baby!”

“Dan-”

“And don’t you think!” She stops, her line of sight suddenly landing on you. You swallow. “Who the fuck is this?” 

Cecil whips around, his eyes large and panicked, a baby deer in a forest seeing a hunter for the first time. The look he gives you hurts, the pinch of pain on his forehead. The shininess to his eyes. 

“I…” He starts.

“Already trying to knock up someone else Cecil?” Danielle screams, the volume of it hurting your head.

“No!” He says quickly, “Danielle, I thought you told me the 20th? It’s the 12th, otherwise-”

“You’re so full of shit!” She steps forward and for a sickening second you think she’s going to hit him. 

Cecil flinches back, but instead, Danielle looks at you.

When she speaks it’s quieter, though not by much. “I don’t know who the fuck you are, but Cecil is my baby’s,” she grabs her stomach for emphasis, “father and he’s coming with me to this appointment.” 

You nod. 

She nods back, staring at you for a second before she grabs Cecil by the arm.

He turns to you, dread squeezing his heart, “I didn’t- I’m sorry- this- I should have- please,” Danielle pulls him out of the house as he gazes beseechingly at you. 

The door slamming closed breaks you out of your stupor. 

And then the weight settles on your heart as all your thoughts come rushing forward at once.

Thank you for reading!

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[aerodaltonimperial]

okay, i am GENUINELY not trying to be patronizing or condescending right now, but the amount of pearl-clutching and freaking out that's happened in the past six months or so about the wrestlers you write about finding your fic has been quite high, and VERY GENUINELY, if you are one of the people panicking: how did you not factor this in as a possibility in the first place? i'm being serious. how did you, when you sat down to write about real people, not think that those very real people with internet connections and a metric fuckton of boring travel time were not going to find fanfics about themselves if they wanted to?

we are in an age where fanfiction is mainstream. back in 2000, when i was in high school, you didn't talk about that shit, but now? people are reccing fanfics on tiktok videos. publishing has figured out that writers here put out good stuff and are repackaging it for profit. ao3 is a hugo award winning fanfiction archive. y'all. it's out there. it's all out there. this is a fan space. it's still our space. you can't stop them from ending up here, but that's on them, not us. if you're freaking out, then maybe this isn't something you want to be doing. i'm being very serious. if this is causing you panic, you probably should not be part of this in the year 2024. but, like, i would bet a fairly substantial amount of money that at least 50% of them are well aware of what their number one pairing on ao3 is.

they're already here. they already know. they have always known lol. i'm, like, 75% sure i've had lines lifted from fics before, and honestly, that's not a panic moment, that's a fuck yeah i really nailed that moment. you're not doing anything wrong. this is a fan space. as long as you aren't putting it in front of them and they came here on their own? besties, you're good. you're great. it's fine. i'm being serious, please stop panicking. you gotta roll with it if you're gonna be here. you gotta assume that, at any point, someone involved could find what you're writing. genuinely, if you are not comfortable with that, then you're gonna have to just keep your fics to some google docs you share with a few friends. i know that not everyone has had a red alert level 5 the call is coming from inside the house moment, but it's one of those things. it comes with the territory.

we gotta stop freaking out every month lol. take the acknowledgements and laugh about them. it's fun when they give shout-outs! they know what's cookin'. it's cute that they keep an eye on fandom and what's hitting with us. don't put it in their faces, don't tag them on social media with it, just keep doin' what you're doin' here in the fan space and having a nice time. i promise you'll be okay.

[thosewickedlovelies]

Crossroads | Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: You set out with the intention of selling your soul to the devil. What if, instead, you can make a deal with someone else?

Tags: none YET. GN!Reader. not an age gap fic.

Words: 2,297

Note: Hiii friends. I was not expecting this piece to grab me the way it did, but I guess the vibes tickled my brain in a way I needed. This was fully inspired by this moodboard by @almostfoxglove. I haven'y fully decided where this story will go, but I think I will end up writing more for it, so. lol enjoy! 🙏🏼💗

Masterlist

It was a dark and stormy night.

When else would you expect to meet the devil at a crossroads?

—

Dark clouds roiled overhead, dulling the light as far as the eye could see. It wasn’t strictly night time- it had been closer to late afternoon when you set off- but the weather had quickly taken an ominous turn. The wind whipped past in bursts, pushing and tugging at you in away that somehow felt mocking. The air smelled electric, full of danger and promise and the dust of the desolate way you walked.

You didn’t know what to expect.

You knew what people told you to expect, of course. A creature uncanny of eye, with a personality as persuasive as a siren song. A bag of tricks and twisting words the likes of which a mere mortal could never hope to compete with. Nobody you’d been able to find had actually met him, though.

The devil, that is.

It wasn’t a stylistic exaggeration. There was no other reason you’d be walking this unmarked road, the pavement growing more worn and cracked the longer you walked. Legend said to set your feet to the most deserted road you could find, with whiskey in your pocket and the devil in your thoughts. The rest would take care of itself.

So far, the legends rang true. The longer you walked, the more the trappings of civilization had fallen away. No lane markings, no road signs, not even the specter of a gas station sign in the distance. Even the scrubby roadside vegetation had vanished- nothing was visible beyond the brown dust all around the faded black strip you walked upon.

The appearance of a stop sign smacked you in the face like…well, like a stop sign. In the jaundiced atmosphere, the vivid red of it was jarring. Lurid. A splash of blood against the dull surroundings. Those four authoritative letters were almost bright enough to keep your attention from the crossroads beyond.

Almost.

A gray intersection in the featureless yellow landscape. X marks the spot.

Your shoes scuffing against the pavement was the only sound.

In the dead center of the intersection, you halted. The wind rose again, howling to a pitch like a summoning whistle; just as quickly it dropped to the stillness of bated breath. The sound and the silence jangled some long-dormant human instinct within you. Your ragged breaths sounded unnaturally loud. You spun in a slow circle, squinting to the h. The sound and the silence jangled some long-dormant instinct in you. Your breath echoed in your ears. You spun in a slow circle, squinting to the horizon of all four roads to be sure there was no mysterious figure approaching in the distance. Finally you straightened, your hands on your hips. Where the fuck is the-

“Well, well, well. What have we here?”

–

A voice all but purred from behind you. The words were draped in a deep southern drawl; honestly, that should have been the one thing you did expect. 

That same instinct warned you to turn around slowly. Just beyond the stop sign, a figure was sauntering into view. His hands were in the pockets of well-worn jeans. Work boots cushioned his swaggering gait; across a broad set of shoulders, a utilitarian button-down stretched. He could have been any blue-collar man you’d ever met.

It was the eyes that gave him away.

Brimstone and pyrite, ageless and knowing- with something impish around the edges. 

It was in the tilt of his head, in the creases fanning out from his eyes, as he smiled his way toward you. The hair on the back of your neck stood up.

“Are you- who I’m looking for?” Somehow it didn’t seem like a good idea to outright accuse him of being who you suspected.

He came to a halt once he crossed into the intersection. His smile didn’t falter. “That depends. Who’re you looking for?”

Your heart beat fast. “Someone to make a deal with.”

His smile broadened. “The devil.”

You nodded.

–

“Do you have my gift?”

Does he mean…You withdrew the bottle you’d carried all this way. 

Whiskey in your pocket, indeed. His eyes lit on the bottle with satisfaction, and an unholy shiver licked past you at being even tangentially connected to this being’s pleasure.

He conjured up two glass tumblers and poured a measure for each of you. For all your uncertainty preceding this meeting, seeing his anticipation of this experience just like any other man…your tongue loosened. “If you can summon glasses, couldn’t you also summon the whiskey?”

He’s examining the contents of his glass, swirling the liquid and studying the color. “I could. But then some might forget to bring me a gift. Then we wouldn’t be able to negotiate, and you would have wasted this whole journey.” He waved an arm to indicate your surroundings. “So it’s really me doin’ us both a favor by choosing my own birthday present.” 

He lifted the glass to his nose and took a long sniff. “Besides, I can’t summon what I don’t know. I’m inclined to be a little nicer to folk who bring me something original.” The glass finally touched his lips. He took a slow (showy, you think) sip, rolling the liquid around his mouth and, eventually, swallowed. Even the act of swallowing didn’t seem to conclude his tasting- he smacked his mouth softly, processing the finish.

Finally, he looked at his glass, then at you, in disbelief. “Well, I’ll be damned. That’s some quality shit.”

"Original enough?”

"I'd say so.” He inclined his head to you in a gesture of approval.

He gave the impression of lounging then, of somehow leaning back and spreading out although there was nothing but air around him- until all at once there was something, and he was settled into one of two chairs set at a small round table, none of which had existed half a second before.

Your mouth went dry. The glass you held felt cold and heavy against your suddenly sweaty fingers.

The man gave you a disarming grin. 

He nodded toward the untouched drink in your hand. “Why don’t you try yours, and then we can get down to business?”

You looked down at your glass, the liquid the same color as the desertous land all around. “Do we both have to drink before we can strike a deal?”

The man lifted a brow. “That would be interesting, wouldn’t it?”

A nonanswer. Nothing less than what you should have anticipated. He wasn’t a man, after all. For all intents and purposes, the creature before you was the devil. 

You wondered if that narrative wasn’t a bit overdramatic. Was that really always the scenario? Human strikes deal with non-human entity- and then spins the story out of proportion when they can’t hold up their end of the bargain?

The part of your brain musing on human nature and mythology felt very separate from the part controlling your body as you sat down at the table. Everything seemed to have the surreal quality of a dream. The whiskey seared on its way down your throat.

The devil’s eyes smoldered with amber fire. 

Leaning forward, he placed his elbows on the table and folded his hands. “So. What can I do for you?”

You told him your tale. You glossed over the most tragic details, thinking to save yourself some embarrassment if at all possible. To the devil’s credit, he appeared to listen. For all the stories of human folly he must have heard in his endless lifetime, he kept his eyes on you as you spoke and reacted in all the right places, his mouth twitching or his eyes narrowing in turn.

That same errant part of your brain turned its attention to the devil’s looks. Did he appear the same way to everyone? This wasn’t an imitation of any real-life person, you were certain. You’d remember meeting someone like this. His hair was a deep gray threaded with silver, full of curls and swoops. Though older, he seemed to ooze strength and virility. He was unfairly appealing, you decided. It had to be a calculated decision on his part. 

When you finished, he sat back in his chair. Took a sip of his whiskey. “So, what,” he said, “precisely, do you want from me?” 

He leveled his gilded stare at you.

You shivered. No amount of beauty could detract from the aura of power that emanated from him. While not overtly compelling you to any specific action, it called to something in you- it made you want to confess your wishes, declare your wants with relish.

You ran your finger over the carven edges of the decoration on your glass. “What’s your name?”

He paused with his glass halfway to the table. “My name ain’t worth your soul, honey.” His glass hit the table with a definitive thunk, but the look on his face was gentler. A wry smile.

“That’s not what I meant.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “I’m just trying to be polite. Do you have a name?”

“What makes you think my name isn’t Lucifer?” His teeth flashed in a wicked grin.

Despite the cacophony of butterfly wings in your belly, you kept your face impassive, only lifting your eyebrows.

His grin gradually faded. Something guarded replaced it as he seemed to assess you, eventually coming to a decision. “Once upon a time, I went by Joel.”

“Joel,” you repeated. “That’s an odd nickname for ‘Lucifer Morningstar’.”

He snorted. “Well, I ain’t Lucifer Morningstar, so that’d be why.”

The world tipped beneath you. “You’re…not?” Blood roared in your ears. If this…being wasn’t the devil, then who had you just poured out your life story to?

He was quick to pick up on your rising panic. “Whoa, hey, easy now. I’m here in his place, see? He can only be in so many places at once. Plus, these kinds of deal are sorta small fry to him nowadays. I’m one of his…representatives, you might say.”

“...Oh.” Your breathing slowly began to steady. Okay. That was fine. This Joel clearly had some kind of power, given his summoning of the glasses and the table. You were prepared to bet it was eldritch, too, judging by the current (but not constant) sulfurous yellow of his eyes. Maybe you’d get him to put your deal in writing. And have him be sue-able by human courts. Yeah. That would be fine.

Across the table, Joel was eyeing you. “You all right?”

Adrenaline had left a chill in your veins, but you shook it off. “I didn’t know it worked like that,” you said.

“No reason you should.” Joel shrugged. He sat back in his chair, but concern still lurked in his gaze where it rested on you.

“So. Small fry, huh? Not sure how I feel about my soul being so devalued.” You crossed your arms over your chest.

The corner of his mouth ticked. “I could arrange a meetin’ for you if you want. You could take your feedback directly to the big man himself.” He sat back in his chair, imitating your petulant posture.

His suggestion took the bluster out of you. Face someone even more uncanny than Joel? With feedback? Oh, no.

“I’ll think about it,” you sniffed. 

His mouth curved up further.

“Is…is the price always the soul?”

Joel eyed you contemplatively, up and down. “Not always. Depends on the ask. Depends on the bargainer.” He winked.

“On the representative,” you clarified.

“Mmhm.” He waited, watching you think with a citrine shimmer to those otherworldly eyes. The minute changes in your facial expression seemed to fascinate him, his gaze flitting from your eyes to your brow to your mouth.

It wasn’t helping your thought process.

What precisely did you want from him? You thought you’d known, when you assumed you’d be bargaining with Lucifer himself, and for your soul. When the price had been your soul, you’d had an accordingly-sized ask. But if you could bargain him down…

“What if I need more time to decide on my ask? What if…meeting you has changed things?”

His head tilted, gaze sharpening. “Oh?”

“Maybe…we could meet again to negotiate further?”

“Extend our working relationship?” Joel smirked, but there was an undercurrent of wariness in it. You could see the gears in his mind turning as he assessed you, his eyes taking on a darker glimmer.

“Tell you what.” He stood, and your body went on alert. “I’ll come up and meet with you three more times. After that, you can tell me what you want, and we’ll make a deal.

“Well...another deal.” Joel smirked again, but this time there was no reading what lay behind it, his golden eyes hard and glittering. He held out a hand. 

You stood with your arm only half-extended. Your heart rate was picking up again. “If I decided that I didn’t want to make a deal, would there be a punishment?”

Joel stared at you, his eyes narrowing. At last he said, “A price. My time ain’t free, you know.”

Before you could stammer out another question he rolled his eyes. “It wouldn’t be your soul.”

He re-extended his hand. He lifted a single, expectant brow.

The desert wind tickled your face. There was nothing supernatural about it now- it was just a breeze, the same air that had cooled and comforted you your whole life. 

You breathed it in. Then you placed your hand in the devil’s, and he squeezed it tight.

A slow smile spread across Joel’s face. “Pleasure doin’ business with you.”

The wind kicked up abruptly, and for a second you feared. The gale dashed sand across your eyes and brought a strange smell to your nose. When it cleared, and your vision with it, everything- the table, the whiskey, the crossroads, Joel himself- was gone.

Thanks for reading! 💗

Masterlist

[anna-the-undertaker]

Redemption

Part 2 of Failure

I wrote this while half asleep... i make no promises that this will be of good quality.

tags: @obeymelucigirlie @anfasith

The House of Lamentation was unnervingly quiet in the days following MC’s departure. Even Mammon’s usual complaints had faded, replaced by a tense silence as the brothers struggled to come to terms with what had happened. MC had left, gone without a word, leaving them to face the weight of their own failure.

Lucifer, as always, was the first to break the silence. "We need to go to Diavolo," he said sharply, standing before the others. His voice, though calm, carried the edge of frustration.

Mammon groaned, already exasperated. "Diavolo already told us no, Lucifer. What’s the point of goin' back to him?"

Lucifer’s gaze hardened. "The point is that the exchange program is in jeopardy. If we don’t resolve this, it reflects poorly on Diavolo and everything he’s trying to accomplish. That’s unacceptable."

Satan crossed his arms, eyeing Lucifer with a raised brow. "Of course you’d make it about Diavolo," he scoffed. "As if it’s not our failure that caused this in the first place."

Asmo leaned back, flipping his hair out of his face. "He’s right, though. We did mess up. But leave it to Lucifer to focus on saving Diavolo’s reputation instead of admitting we all screwed up."

Levi huffed from his corner, his eyes still glued to the floor. "Yeah, because it’s not like we’re the ones who pushed MC away or anything," he said sarcastically. "Why admit that when you can just blame it on the need to save face for the program?"

Lucifer’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue. His loyalty to Diavolo was unwavering, and while the others were right about their collective failure, the bigger picture was what mattered most to him. "This isn’t just about us," he said, his voice tight. "It’s about maintaining the integrity of the exchange program and Diavolo’s goals. We have to fix this."

"Sure," Mammon snorted. "’Cause that’s what matters, right? Not the fact that we treated MC like shit."

Beel, quiet as ever, finally spoke, his deep voice cutting through the tension. "We didn’t think MC would just leave like that. But if they didn’t wait, it’s because we gave them no reason to."

Lucifer glanced at Beel, his expression softening just slightly. "I know we failed them. But if we don’t resolve this, Diavolo’s entire vision is at risk. We owe it to him—and to MC—to make things right."

Satan let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. "Fine, let’s go to Diavolo. But don't pretend this is just about protecting Diavolo’s reputation. You need to acknowledge that we failed MC. We can’t keep avoiding that."

Lucifer didn’t respond, but the tension in his stance remained. He knew they were right—on some level, he had to admit their failure was personal. But he couldn’t let the exchange program fall apart because of their mistakes. They had to make things right, for both MC and Diavolo.

When they arrived at the castle, the atmosphere was tense. Diavolo stood before them, his expression stern, a stark contrast to his usual warmth.

“What is it you want?” Diavolo asked, his tone steady but his eyes narrowing slightly. “I thought I made myself clear the last time we spoke.”

Lucifer stepped forward, his gaze unwavering. “We want to go to the human world and bring MC back.”

Diavolo’s expression hardened. “No.”

The rejection was swift, but none of the brothers moved. Lucifer squared his shoulders. “You gave us one task, and we failed it. But we can’t just leave things as they are. MC didn’t deserve the way we treated them. We can fix this, but only if you give us the chance.”

Diavolo’s eyes flickered, but his voice remained firm. “And why should I believe you won’t fail again?”

Mammon, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, spoke up. “Because we ain’t the same idiots we were when they first came here. We get it now. We messed up big time, and MC’s the one who paid the price. But we can make things right.”

Levi fidgeted nervously before chiming in. “We… we didn’t realize how much we hurt them. But we’re not asking for an easy way out. We just want to explain. To show them that things can be different.”

Asmo, for once not focused on himself, added, “They deserve to know that they matter. That we care. We didn’t show it before, but we will now.”

Satan’s voice was steady, but there was a hint of frustration in his tone. “We understand that we have to respect their decision. But we can’t just leave it like this without at least trying.”

Beel’s deep voice was the last to cut through the tension. “We owe them more than an apology. We owe them a choice.”

Diavolo remained silent, his gaze sweeping over each of the brothers. There was no arrogance in their voices, no bravado. They were genuinely remorseful, determined to make amends. But the weight of their failure still lingered heavily between them.

“You realize,” Diavolo began slowly, his voice thoughtful, “that this isn’t just about saying sorry. If I allow this, you will have only one chance.”

Lucifer nodded firmly. “We understand.”

Diavolo watched them closely, his gaze sharp. “Whatever happens, you will live with the consequences. If MC agrees to return, you will respect every boundary, every condition they set. No arguments. No excuses. And if MC says no, you will never reach out to them again. You will let them live their life, free of interference from the Devildom. Can you accept that?”

Another pause, then the brothers spoke almost in unison. “Yes.”

Diavolo sighed, his expression softening, though there was still a hint of wariness in his eyes. “Very well. I’ll grant you permission to go to the human world and speak with them. But remember this—this is your last chance. Whatever MC decides, you must honor it. Do I make myself clear?”

Lucifer nodded.

Diavolo looked at each of them again, his gaze lingering on Lucifer for a moment longer before he nodded. “Then go."

With Diavolo’s permission granted, the brothers turned to leave. They had one chance. One last opportunity to make things right with MC. Whatever happened next, they knew they would have to face it head-on.

And this time, they wouldn’t fail.

The journey to the human world felt strange, foreign even to those accustomed to traveling between realms.

They stood together in awkward silence, the unfamiliarity of the human realm unsettling for even the most composed of them. Lucifer led the group, his expression as unreadable as ever, but the tension in his shoulders was clear. This wasn’t about comfort—this was about obligation. He had made it clear to Diavolo, and to his brothers, that they were here to fix their failure.

The air felt heavier as they approached MC’s neighborhood. The houses were neat and quiet, each one blending into the next, a far cry from the towering grandeur of the Devildom. There was no magic here, no signs of the supernatural, only the mundanity of the human world. It was a stark reminder of how far MC had truly come to be with them—and how easily they had pushed them away.

“Doesn’t feel like they’d be expectin’ us,” Mammon muttered under his breath, his eyes flicking nervously from one house to the next.

“They’re not,” Satan replied curtly, his hands shoved into his pockets. “But they’ll have to hear us out.”

Levi was silent, his anxiety apparent in the way his eyes darted to every unfamiliar detail. He wasn’t sure how they were supposed to approach this. What if MC just slammed the door in their faces?

Beel’s gaze was fixed on the house as they approached it, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “We need to make this right,” he said quietly, though it was more to himself than anyone else.

Lucifer didn’t respond, but his pace didn’t falter. His mind was focused, sharp. This wasn’t about personal feelings—this was about salvaging the exchange program, Diavolo’s vision. But the closer they got to MC’s home, the more the weight of their earlier failure pressed on him.

They reached MC’s house, a modest home nestled in the middle of the street. It was so normal, so human. It was hard to believe that the person they had failed lived here, in a place so different from the Devildom. The brothers exchanged uncertain glances, but Lucifer’s expression remained as stoic as ever.

Lucifer stepped up to the door and knocked, the sound loud in the quiet of the neighborhood. There was a pause, and for a moment, it seemed like the door wouldn’t open at all.

But then it did.

MC stood in the doorway, eyes wide with surprise. They blinked, clearly shocked to see the brothers standing on their doorstep. For a moment, they said nothing, their expression caught somewhere between confusion and disbelief.

“Lucifer?” MC finally spoke, their voice cautious. They glanced past him at the rest of the brothers, their confusion deepening. “What are you all doing here?”

They didn’t step back, didn’t invite the brothers in. Instead, they remained frozen, their body language tense, as if they didn’t know whether to retreat or demand an explanation.

Lucifer cleared his throat, his voice calm and measured, though there was a slight edge to it. “We’ve come to speak with you.”

MC frowned, clearly taken aback. “Why?” Their tone wasn’t angry, but there was a guardedness in it, a wariness that hadn’t been there before.

“We need to make things right,” Lucifer said, his words deliberate. “We owe you an apology."

MC crossed their arms, their brow furrowing. “You came all the way to the human world just to apologize?”

Lucifer met their gaze evenly. “Yes.”

MC blinked again, clearly not expecting that answer. They stayed in the doorway, not moving, their confusion evident. “I don’t understand. Why now? You didn’t care before.”

The question hung in the air, and the brothers exchanged glances, each one feeling the weight of MC’s words. They were right. They hadn’t cared—or at least, they hadn’t shown it. Now, they were faced with the consequences of that neglect.

Satan spoke first, his voice steady. “We didn’t realize how badly we handled things until it was too late.”

Levi shifted awkwardly, his fingers fidgeting. “We… we thought you’d be okay. That we didn’t need to do anything different.”

Mammon scratched the back of his neck, his usual bravado nowhere to be found. “We screwed up, alright? We know that now.”

MC’s gaze flicked between the brothers, clearly still confused. “But why does it matter to you now? You never gave me a reason to think it did.”

Asmo stepped forward, his usual charm subdued. “It’s not just about us. You deserved better than how we treated you.”

Beel nodded slightly, his deep voice quiet. “We need to fix this. If you’ll let us.”

Lucifer, his voice as calm, added, “We’re here to offer you the choice. You don’t have to decide now. But we’d like to explain… if you’re willing to listen.”

MC stood in silence for a moment, their eyes scanning the group. They still looked uncertain, confused. They had left the Devildom for a reason, and now the same people who had driven them away were standing on their doorstep, asking for a chance.

Lucifer didn’t press further, his gaze steady but not demanding. “We’ll only take as much time as you allow. The decision is yours.”

MC remained rooted in place, unsure whether to let them in or turn them away.

MC sighed heavily, the weight of the situation evident in their expression. They stepped aside, opening the door wider. "One chance. That’s all you’re getting," they said, voice low but firm. "But I’m not promising anything."

The brothers exchanged glances, a mix of tension and uncertainty passing between them. One by one, they followed MC inside, stepping into the human world in a way that felt far too personal, far too grounded. This wasn’t the vast halls of the Devildom or the intimidating presence of Diavolo’s castle. This was MC’s home—ordinary, familiar, and completely foreign to them.

As they entered, they couldn’t help but look around, taking in the details of MC’s space. The house was warm and lived-in, with a simplicity that contrasted sharply with the dark elegance of the Devildom. Personal items were scattered about—photographs on shelves, books stacked on a coffee table, the faint smell of something homemade lingering in the air. It was a place of comfort, a stark reminder of everything MC had left behind when they were dragged to the Devildom.

Their gazes softened for a moment as they looked around, taking in the humanity of it all. It was a world they didn’t understand, a world that MC had been forced to leave behind. And now they were standing in the middle of it, unwelcome guests in a place that clearly wasn’t theirs.

"Follow me," MC said, leading them through the house to the living room.

The brothers shuffled in awkwardly, unsure of where to stand or what to say. The living room was modest, with a worn couch and a few comfortable chairs. MC gestured toward the seating. "Sit wherever," they said, making their way to a large, well-worn armchair in the corner of the room—their favorite spot.

The brothers hesitated for a moment before taking seats. Mammon flopped onto the couch, trying to mask his unease. Levi nervously perched on the edge of a chair, his fingers fidgeting with his sleeves. Asmo crossed his legs delicately, still glancing around the room. Beel, as large as he was, tried to make himself smaller in one of the armchairs, while Satan leaned back against the wall, arms crossed.

Lucifer, ever the leader, remained standing, though his posture was more measured now. After a brief silence, he nodded to the others. “We owe you an explanation.”

Mammon was the first to speak. He scratched the back of his neck. "Look, I didn’t mean anythin’ by the stuff I said back in the Devildom. You’re not useless. I just… I didn’t think about how it sounded." He glanced at MC, guilt flickering across his face. "I’m sorry for all the times I treated ya like a burden. That wasn’t fair."

Levi shifted in his seat, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn’t mean to shut you out. I just… I didn’t know how to deal with it, you being a human and all. It felt… weird. But it wasn’t because I hated you or anything. I just didn’t know what to do."

Satan, his arms still crossed, spoke next, his voice calm but measured. "I was too focused on my own pursuits to notice how you were feeling. I treated you like an afterthought because I assumed you’d adapt. That was my mistake."

Asmo leaned forward slightly, his usual charm dimmed. "I thought I was helping, you know? Giving you tips, telling you how to look your best. But I guess I never really thought about what you needed, not just what I thought you should be."

Beel, quiet as always, spoke softly. "I didn’t think about how my indifference affected you. I didn’t realize you felt so out of place because of it. I’m sorry I made you feel like you didn’t matter... and that I didn't step in even though I saw they way my brothers treated you."

Finally, Lucifer stepped forward, his gaze steady as he addressed MC directly. "We failed you. I failed you. We were tasked with making you feel welcome in the Devildom, and we did the opposite. But I’m asking you now to return to the Devildom and take part in the exchange program again. This time, things will be different. You have my word that your boundaries will be respected, and your needs will be considered. The choice is yours."

MC stared at them, their expression unreadable for a moment. Then, slowly, the tension that had been simmering beneath the surface began to rise. Their hands clenched the arms of the chair, and their breathing became heavier.

"You think this is that simple?" MC’s voice was tight, their body rigid with restrained emotion. “You think you can just come here, apologize, and ask me to go back like nothing happened?”

The brothers exchanged uneasy glances, sensing the shift in MC’s tone.

“You don’t get it, do you?" MC’s voice grew louder, their frustration bubbling to the surface. "I was trying so hard. I was trying to adapt to everything, to be understanding, to keep up with whatever the hell was happening. But none of you cared. None of you bothered to see how hard it was for me.”

Their eyes welled up with tears, but their anger didn’t waver. "I stepped up, even though I had no idea what the fuck was going on! I was thrown into a world I didn’t understand, and you treated me like I was beneath you because I’m human."

Levi shifted uncomfortably, his guilt written across his face.

"You all ignored the fact that I’m human. Do you even realize what that means?" MC’s voice cracked with anger and hurt. "The human world is nothing like the Devildom. We don’t have magic. We don’t have super strength. Everything you guys take for granted? We don’t have that. All the dangers I was exposed to, all the things I saw? I only knew about that stuff from works of fiction!"

The brother's expressions tightened, but they remained silent, letting MC speak.

"I didn’t ask for any of it!" MC continued, their voice rising. "And all I expected—all I wanted—was some support. But even that was too much for you."

Tears streamed down their face as they yelled, their emotions finally spilling over. "You treated me like I was nothing. Like I didn’t matter. And you didn’t even realize it!"

MC’s breath came in shaky gasps as they continued, their voice rising again. "You never thought about what it was like for me, did you? To be ripped out of my world, thrown into yours without a choice. You have no idea what that felt like. The fear, the confusion…"

Their eyes flickered to Lucifer, their tone sharp. "Lucifer, you were supposed to guide me, to make sure I was okay. But all you did was push me harder. You kept demanding more, expecting me to be perfect, like I was supposed to just know how everything worked. You never stopped to think that maybe I couldn’t keep up because I had no idea what I was doing!"

Lucifer’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, allowing MC’s words to cut through the air.

"I kept trying!" MC shouted, their voice cracking again. "I tried to understand all of you! I tried to accept you as you were because I thought… I thought maybe, just maybe, we could make this work. But none of you did that for me. None of you even bothered to try to understand or get to know me."

They took a shaky breath, their fists clenched at their sides. "You all treated me like I was less than you. Like I was just some... pest. Do you even realize how much that hurt?"

Their eyes flitted to Mammon, and their voice softened, though the pain was still raw. "We made a pact... I thought we could be friends, but instead, every day you called me a burden, Mammon, every day you called me useless, and I believed it."

Mammon shifted uncomfortably, his gaze lowering to the floor.

"And Levi…" MC’s voice cracked with hurt. "You made me feel like I was some kind of alien. I tried to get closer, to understand your hobbies, your games, your anime, but you didn’t want me there. You didn’t want me at all."

Levi swallowed hard, his fingers twitching nervously, but he remained silent.

"Satan…" MC shook their head, their voice trembling. "You acted like I was nothing more than an inconvenience. I tried to learn from you, to be better, but you couldn’t even be bothered to acknowledge me."

Satan’s face remained impassive, but there was a flicker of something behind his eyes—regret, perhaps, or guilt.

"Asmo…" MC’s gaze hardened. "You treated me like I was a toy. You never cared about what I was feeling, only how I looked."

Asmo bit his lip, his usual charm nowhere to be found.

"And Beel…" MC’s voice softened again, though the hurt was clear. "You never cared whether I was there or not. You never even saw me, not really."

Beel’s brow furrowed, his expression conflicted, but he stayed silent.

MC’s voice shook as they continued, the flood of emotions finally breaking through. "Do any of you have any idea what it was like for me? Did any of you stop to think, even for a second, what I was going through? I was terrified, overwhelmed, and completely lost, and none of you cared. You just went on with your lives like it didn’t matter."

Their chest heaved as they struggled to rein in their emotions, tears streaming down their face. "I didn’t ask to be dragged into the Devildom! You all brought me there! I was tossed into an ocean of unknowns and left to drown!"

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of MC’s words settling over the brothers like a lead blanket. Each of them sat in their guilt, forced to confront the truth they had ignored for far too long.

They took a deep breath, wiping the tears from their face. "I get it. You’re all different. Your personalities, your sins—they make you who you are. But it still hurt. And you never even noticed."

The room was thick with tension, the weight of MC’s words still hanging in the air. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the occasional shifting of one of the brothers. They could feel the storm of emotions brewing within MC, but none of them knew how to approach it.

It was Mammon, uncharacteristically quiet for most of the conversation, who finally broke the silence. His voice was softer than usual, hesitant. "Why didn’t ya wait? Why didn’t ya give us a chance to—"

"I did wait!" MC screamed, their voice cracking with the raw force of emotion. Their words sliced through the air, and the brothers stiffened, caught off guard by the intensity of the outburst. "I waited for days. I stayed at the castle, going back and forth in my head, wondering if I should stay in the Devildom or leave."

They took a shaky breath, the flood of emotions overwhelming them. "I was hoping—no, praying—that one of you would notice. That one of you would realize I was gone and do something. I thought maybe… maybe you’d text me, or call, or show up and ask where I was. But none of you did! Not a single one of you noticed I wasn’t there!"

Lucifer’s eyes darkened with a mix of guilt and frustration, but he didn’t speak. Neither did the others.

"I kept thinking that maybe I was just overwhelmed," MC continued, their voice trembling. "That maybe I needed time to clear my head, and someone—anyone—would realize I was gone. But you didn’t. None of you cared enough to ask where I was."

Their hands were clenched into fists at their sides, their anger spilling over. "Do you even know how long I waited before leaving? How long I sat in that castle, hoping that you’d notice?"

The brothers remained silent, each of them wrestling with their own guilt. MC’s eyes flickered between them, their breath coming in short bursts.

"How long did it take for you to realize I was gone?" MC asked, their voice cutting through the silence like a knife. Their gaze was sharp, demanding an answer. But none of the brothers spoke. Not a single one of them could bring themselves to say it.

The silence stretched on, heavy and suffocating. The truth was clear in their hesitation—it had taken far too long for them to realize MC had left.

MC let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow. "That’s what I thought."

Lucifer stood still, his usual composed demeanor fraying at the edges. He couldn’t meet MC’s eyes. The weight of their words, the sharp truth of how deeply they had been hurt, cut through him in a way he hadn’t expected.

“I failed you,” he finally said, his voice low but clear. There was no defensiveness, no attempt to explain away his actions. Just a cold admission of the truth. "My priority has always been the exchange program, ensuring it succeeded for Diavolo’s sake. I didn’t stop to think about the toll it was taking on you."

He took a breath, trying to maintain his composure, but the guilt was palpable. "I pushed you because I assumed you could adapt quickly. I expected you to adjust without fully understanding the strain I was placing on you. That was wrong. I should have noticed your absence, but I was too focused on everything else. On controlling the situation."

His fists clenched at his sides. The fact that he, the one who prided himself on being aware of every detail, had completely overlooked MC’s struggles stung his pride deeply. Yet, even now, he struggled to express anything beyond responsibility for the failure.

"I should have reached out. I should have ensured you were taken care of. That’s on me." His voice hardened, more with self-directed frustration than anything else. "But I can’t change the past. All I can do is offer my word that, if you return, things will be different. You’ll have the support you deserved from the start. I’ll make sure of it."

There was no grand apology, no emotional outpouring. This was Lucifer, after all. But in his own way, he was laying down the burden of perfection, admitting his faults, and offering what he could—a promise to do better.

Mammon shifted uncomfortably, the guilt weighing heavily on him as MC’s words echoed in his mind. He was used to deflecting, cracking jokes, or brushing things off, but this was different. The raw hurt in MC’s voice had stripped away his usual defenses, leaving him feeling exposed.

He finally spoke, his voice quieter than usual. "Look, I didn’t think—no, I know I didn’t think. I was stupid, alright? I didn’t mean half the stuff I said to ya, callin’ ya a burden and all that. I thought we were just messin’ around, y’know? But I see now that it wasn’t like that for you."

His hand rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit he couldn’t shake. "I didn’t notice you were gone ‘cause I wasn’t payin’ attention. I was too caught up in my own crap, thinkin’ you’d just be fine on your own. But ya weren’t, and I didn’t realize it until it was too late."

Mammon’s eyes flicked toward MC, the usual spark of confidence gone, replaced by a rare moment of sincerity. "I shoulda been there for ya. You’re my responsibility—I’m your first, after all and I was startin' to enjoy havin' ya around. And instead of bein’ there when ya needed me, I pushed ya away."

His voice softened, regret heavy in his words. "If I had just checked in, sent a stupid text, somethin'—maybe ya wouldn’t have left. But I didn’t, and that’s on me."

He took a deep breath, his usual bravado completely absent. "I’m sorry. I dunno how else to say it. I messed up big time, and I wanna fix it, if you’ll let me."

Mammon looked down at the floor, unable to meet MC’s eyes any longer, his usual cockiness replaced with genuine remorse.

Levi sat rigidly in his chair, his fingers twitching as he tried to form the right words. Anxiety clung to him, making it hard to even look up at MC. His usual self-deprecating thoughts were swirling in his mind, amplified by the heavy silence that followed Mammon’s apology.

"I... I didn’t know you felt that way," Levi stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I thought… I thought you didn’t really care about me. Like, why would you? I’m just some otaku, stuck in my room, not worth bothering with."

He tugged at his sleeves, fidgeting, the weight of guilt pressing down hard. "I—I kept calling you a normie, pushing you away, ‘cause… I didn’t know how to deal with you being around. I thought you’d never get me. Like, how could you understand me? So, I kept my distance. I didn’t want to let you in."

Levi finally glanced up at MC, his eyes filled with regret. "But that wasn’t fair. You… you tried. You were trying to get close, to understand me, and I didn’t let you. I didn’t see how much you were struggling. I was too wrapped up in my own insecurities to even notice you were gone. I should’ve noticed. I should’ve said something, but I just—"

He stopped, biting his lip, his gaze dropping back to the floor. "I screwed up. And the worst part is, I made you feel like you didn’t belong, like you didn’t matter. But you do. I… I’m sorry."

The silence that followed was deafening to Levi. He didn’t know if his words meant anything, but it was all he could offer now. The regret, the shame—it all churned in his gut, knowing he had failed to be a friend when MC needed one the most.

Satan stood with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. He had listened intently as each of his brothers spoke, but now that it was his turn, the weight of his own actions—or lack thereof—pressed on him. Unlike the others, Satan wasn’t one for emotional outbursts or long-winded apologies, but he knew MC deserved more than just silence.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he began, his tone measured, controlled. "I’ve always been more focused on my own interests. Books, knowledge, the pursuit of understanding… I’ve lived with the assumption that I didn’t need to involve myself in others’ lives unless it directly concerned me."

He met MC’s eyes for the first time, his usual calm replaced with a tinge of regret. "I treated you like you didn’t exist. I didn’t see you struggling because, frankly, I didn’t care enough to look."

Satan paused, his voice tightening with frustration. "I should have known better. I’m not a fool. I’m aware of how difficult it must have been for you, adjusting to the Devildom, dealing with us. But I ignored it. I let my own indifference and arrogance blind me to what was happening right in front of me."

He took a slow breath, his jaw clenched slightly. "I didn’t notice when you left because, in my mind, you were just another part of the background. But I realize now how wrong that was. I should have paid attention. I should have acknowledged your presence, your struggles, from the very start."

Satan’s voice softened, though it remained steady. "You deserved better than how I treated you. I can’t change the way I acted, but I can promise that, if you give us another chance, things will be different. I’ll be better."

There was no dramatic flair in his words, no false humility. It was simply the truth as he saw it—a cold admission of how deeply he had failed to live up to his own standards.

Asmo shifted in his seat, his usual charm and carefree attitude nowhere to be found. The guilt was evident in his eyes, but beneath it, there was a hint of confusion. He wasn’t used to feeling like this—uncertain, unsure of how to fix what had been broken.

"Darling," Asmo began softly, his voice lacking its usual flirtatious lilt, "I… I didn’t realize how much I was hurting you."

He folded his hands in his lap, fidgeting slightly, a stark contrast to his usual self-assured posture. "I thought… well, I thought I was helping. You know? I mean, I love helping people express themselves. I thought if I gave you advice, helped you look your best, it would make things easier for you in the Devildom."

He paused, biting his lip as he tried to find the right words. "But I get it now. I wasn’t thinking about what you wanted. I was just focused on what I thought you needed. I treated you like you were just some kind of project—something to dress up, to show off."

Asmo’s eyes softened, and he leaned forward slightly, his voice quieter now. "I didn’t care about what you were going through. I didn’t stop to think about how you felt, how overwhelmed you must’ve been."

He looked down at his hands, his fingers twirling a ring absently. "I should’ve noticed. I should’ve been there for you—not as someone trying to change you, but as someone who cared about you. The real you. And I’m sorry I didn’t see that sooner."

For once, Asmo seemed lost for words. His usual self-confidence had been stripped away, leaving behind something more vulnerable. "I just… I want you to know that I do care. I always did, in my own way. I just went about it the wrong way."

Beel sat quietly, his large hands resting on his knees as he processed everything MC had said. His usual calm, almost stoic demeanor had given way to a sense of heaviness that weighed on him in a way that even food couldn’t distract him from. He looked down, his brow furrowed, trying to find the right words to explain what he was feeling.

"I didn’t notice you were gone," Beel said, his voice deep and quiet. "And I should have. I’m sorry."

He shifted in his seat, his gaze still focused on the floor. "I’ve always been focused on my hunger, on making sure I didn’t lose control. And because of that, I didn’t pay attention to how you were feeling. I didn’t think about how hard things were for you."

Beel’s eyes flicked up to meet MC’s, the sincerity in his voice clear. "I didn’t mean to make you feel invisible. I just… I didn’t know how to be there for you. I figured as long as I wasn’t hurting you, it didn’t matter if I wasn’t around. But I was wrong."

He took a breath, his hands clenching slightly in frustration with himself. "I should have noticed you were struggling. I should have made sure you were okay. But I didn't."

There was a pause as Beel collected his thoughts, trying to put into words the regret he felt. "I’m sorry for the times I made you feel like you didn’t belong. I didn’t see how much it hurt you, but I see it now. And if you give us a chance, I’ll make sure you don’t feel that way again."

Beel’s expression was somber, his usual calmness replaced with a quiet guilt that weighed heavily on him. He wasn’t one for grand speeches, but in this moment, his words carried the weight of his sincerity.

MC’s hands trembled slightly as they wiped their eyes, their voice still raw from the intensity of their outburst. The confessions and apologies from each brother had hit them hard, but there was still a part of them that remained guarded. They looked at the brothers, one by one, searching their faces for something—anything—to prove that their words were more than just an attempt to ease their own guilt.

"Do you really mean it?" MC asked, their voice quieter now but still carrying a sharp edge of vulnerability. "All of you? Are you really sorry, or are you just saying this because you feel guilty?"

The brothers exchanged glances, the weight of the question pressing down on them. It wasn’t just an apology MC needed—it was proof that they could trust the brothers again.

Lucifer spoke first, his voice steady and firm. "I meant every word. We’ve failed you, and I won’t deny that. But I wouldn’t ask you to return if I didn’t believe we could make things right this time."

Mammon nodded quickly, his hands fidgeting nervously. "Yeah, we ain’t just sayin’ it to make ourselves feel better. I messed up, but I ain’t gonna let that happen again. I promise, MC."

Levi swallowed hard, still battling his anxiety. "I… I mean it too. I don’t want to push you away anymore. I’ll try harder to let you in."

Satan uncrossed his arms, his expression more thoughtful. "I don’t make promises lightly. But if I say I’ll do better, I will. You have my word."

Asmo leaned forward, his voice softer than usual. "I really do care, darling. I may not have shown it the right way before, but I’ll do better. I promise."

Beel, as straightforward as ever, added quietly, "I’m sorry for everything. I’ll try to be more aware of you, of what you need. You deserve that."

MC looked down for a moment, their mind racing. They had every right to walk away, to tell the brothers it was too late, that the damage was done. But something deep inside them—something that had longed for connection, for understanding—pushed them to speak again.

"I’ll come back," MC said slowly, their voice still shaky, "but only if things change. I’m not asking all of you to suddenly like me or be my best friend, but I need you to try. To at least get to know me on some level. I want to feel like I belong, and that won’t happen unless you put in some effort."

The brothers were silent, listening closely as MC continued. "I need you to be more understanding, more supportive. I’ve been doing this on my own, and I can’t come back if it’s going to be like that again. I need to know that you’ll try—that you’ll actually make an effort this time."

The weight of MC’s decision hung in the air, but for the first time since the conversation began, a sense of relief settled over the room. The brothers exchanged glances, the unspoken understanding that this was their second chance—the one they couldn’t afford to waste.

Lucifer stepped forward slightly, his voice steady but softer than before. "We’ll return to the Devildom together. You have my word, things will be different."

Mammon flashed a small grin, though there was still a hint of nervousness in his expression. "Yeah, this time, we’ve got your back, promise. Ya won’t regret comin’ back with us."

Levi nodded quickly, still fidgeting. "I’ll... I’ll try to be better. We’ll make sure you don’t feel alone this time."

Satan gave a brief nod, his voice as firm as ever. "We’ll make the Devildom feel like a place you belong. It won’t be like before."

Asmo, flashing his usual charming smile, added, "This time, darling, we’ll show you that you're welcome. I’ll make sure of it."

Beel simply nodded, his deep voice reassuring. "We’ll look out for you, like we should have from the start."

MC felt the heaviness in their chest lift slightly. There was still a lot of work to be done—trust to rebuild, feelings to unpack—but maybe this time, it could work. They gave a small nod, their voice steady but cautious. "Alright. Let’s go back. Together."

The brothers seemed to relax, the tension in the room dissolving just a little. Lucifer gestured toward the door, his usual authoritative air returning. "Then let’s not waste any more time."

With that, they left MC’s house, stepping back into the human world’s fading light. The transition back to the Devildom felt different this time, the air buzzing with a mix of uncertainty and determination.

As they stood together in front of the portal, the brothers and MC exchanged one last glance. It wasn’t just a return to the Devildom—it was the beginning of a new chapter. One built on mutual effort, understanding, and, most importantly, the chance to do things right.

Together, they stepped through the portal, leaving the human world behind. The familiar sights of the Devildom greeted them on the other side, but this time, the tension that once filled the space between them had begun to fade.

This time, they returned as something more—something closer to what MC and the brother's had always needed.

[crxzytogether]

Lol I wanna address this even tho nobody asked because I’m mad. Like ship whoever you want as yk this person said but leave it out of our tag-💀 my problems more with the fact that they tagged byler for this post than what they said but yk since they tagged us might as well respond.

Firstly, “ideas planted by your community”? Huh? Girl what- you mean our evidence? You mean our analysis and perceptions and ability to interpret what we’re watching beyond surface level? And honestly after season 4 even surface level melodramas not looking too good- Secondly, what harsh truths were brought up? The lies? Your perception of montauk? which idk sounds a lot like mike and wills relationship to me but to each their own… “they’ve been together since pretty much day one”, “they have a deep connection”, “four seasons of character development”?? Do I even need to explain? Who’s been together since day one? Right mike and will, in the beginning of episode 1 before any of the upside down shit even happens we’re shown that their relationship is different from their relationship with the other party members. A fact that’s proven time and time again throughout season 1 where we see how much more Mike is affected by Will’s disappearance(not tryna negate everybody else’s feelings or reactions but it’s clear that we’re supposed to notice Mike cares slightly more or in a different way). As for the deep connections? Season 2 shed scene ring a bell, the first one of Mike’s monologue that’s an attempt to help someone he cares about that actually works and is completely honest, deep connection boom. And that connections emphasized again in s4 with Will being able to encourage Mike and make him feel better and we already know why it’s special on Will’s side and their whole plot-line that season. Next, “four seasons of character development” im sorry what?, season 1 and season 3 maybe are the only seasons I’d consider they had that meanwhile season 4 I’d say they had character regression because tell me how Mike goes from being able to comfort El about her feeling like she’s a monster but then does a 180 not only unable to comfort her but also make her feel worse-(I’m talking about she didn’t look fine in case you didn’t catch that). Back to s1/s3, s1 where they were friends for the most part is the healthiest their relationship has ever been the entire show- like😭😭it literally just goes downhill from there. Season 2/season 3 their codependency I’m- and season 4 El feeling like she has to lie to Mike about her life and Mike unable to comfort her and also hiding his own interests from her. Like sure the bullying thing I get why she’d hide that maybe not really but El lies about so many things😭😭 she feels like she has to lie to keep up the relationship. THAT 👏 IS 👏 NOT 👏 HEALTHY 👏. Like maybe after they’ve both grown separately I’d consider it but as of now? No sir. Also let me remind you how El confronted Angela and asked her to help El keep up the pretence- SHE STILL DIDN’T FEEL SAFE OR COMFORTABLE ENOUGH TELL MIKE THE TRUTH. That’s not healthy for either of them. My byler agenda aside I still don’t think Mike and El should be together. Lastly, “the fact that Mileven IS endgame”, again I’m sorry what? Have you watched season 5? Have you read the scripts or been on set or talked to anybody working on st5 or work on st5 yourself? No? So then how is that a fact- it’s a prediction, an assumption but it’s not a fact. If after season 5 comes out and it did end up becoming true then you could use that phrase but as of now when you have no idea how season 5 is gonna go you can’t call that a fact. Also rip how are you so confident when Mike and Will are literally attached at the hip so far from what we have seen besides the rooftop convo and if that is enough to convince you then yikes- bc we’ve got like 10 of those to convince us so good luck watching season 5 and have a good day ig

[rena-lily]

Guysss I was thinking what if one day Epel invited Sebek back to Harveston just to hang out and Yuu and grim tag along. It’s just the 4 of them, and then when they get there Marja is just like yall should join the competition going on. Epel then remembers there was a talent show that happens around that time. Yuu being the good friend they are suggested that Epel and Sebek should join but they have no idea what to do.

Yuu suddenly suggests for them to sing as a duo. Sebek and Epel are just like ???what why??? And Yuu like No guys listen I know a good song yall can sing!!! And Yuu starts getting a manic look in there eyes and honestly Sebek and Epel are kinda scared to say no to them… Anyways the song ended up being a descendants song (maybe What’s my name???).

Marja desperately wants them to win because well they’re from harveston so THEY BETTER WIN! They happen to meet the Dwarves there again for some reason but this time Neige seems to be with them. Neige immediately recognizes Epel and is like OMGGG you’re Vil’s junior! And then he looks at Sebek and starts to introduce himself. Sebek is lowkey a bit put off by him but he continues to introduce himself as well before Epel pushes him along so they can practice(They cannot STAND RSA students and their little “we wAnT To MaKE EveryONe hapPY!” Ugh DISGUSTING imagine hanging out and being friends🤢)(they act as if they haven’t been laughing and having the best time)(They’re literally best friends🤞 the sooner they accept it, the better).

Anyways on the day of the competition Sebek and Epel manage to somehow beat Neige and his friends??? And they’re so DAMN HAPPY!!! LIKE EPEL IS JUST FULL ON SCREAMING AND TALKING IN HIS COUNTRY TONE WHILE SEBEK IS ALSO SO HAPPY>:3 Epel and Sebek start to hug eachother before they realized that they were acting like “friends” so they immediately separate despite still smiling. Marja and Yuu go over to congratulate them and Neige comes over too. Neige is genuinely so curious on who Sebek is and how he sang so good??? They all ended up taking a group picture with Neige and went back home.

Now what they didn’t know is that Yuu took a video of them and posted it on Magicam and the added picture posted Neige made them legit BLOW UP on magicam. Like everyone is wondering who they are and they’re legit blowing up everywhere! It got to the point where magicam temporarily shut down for a bit! Vil and Cater ended seeing the twos video and Cater is showing EVERYONE! He went to show Adeuce and those two are lowkey offended that Epel and Sebek didn’t tell them where they were going but hey they’re lowkey impressed by their performance! Vil legit dropped his cup from shock, Rook who was also there caught it and they both watched the video. Vil doesn’t even know what to say, obviously he was proud but did it have to be Neige who posted about him. ALSO Vil is completely impressed by Sebek( WHERE WAS HE WHEN VDC WAS HAPPENING???) Vill resolved that he was gonna give the potatoes lessons when they got back(yes Sebek too, he doesn’t care what Sebek thinks about it). Rook is also very impressed by Monsieur Crocodile and Cherry Apple’s performance and he just found his next target to observe!(In Harveston Sebek starts to sneeze vigorously and Epel run to get him earmuffs).

Eventually they got so popular that it spread all over the school. Now everyone’s talking about them. Cater goes to show Lilia and Kalim when he goes to music club and Lilia is genuinely jaw dropped, HE NEVER KNEW HIS STUDENT COULD SING???, and Cater starts asking why Lilia didn’t tell him that Sebek was so good and Lilia just can’t respond cause he didn’t know either???😭 anyways Lilia goes to show Silver and Malleus and they’re all like pointing at eachother and asking if eachother knew Sebek could sing?! They lowkey feel bad that they didn’t know… They ended up resolving that they’d talk and spend more time with Sebek when he came back.

But as the hour passes, more and more keep Sebek and Epel and start expressing their interest in them. Dia 3 are not happy about this(SEBEK IS TOO YOUNG TO DATE! HE NEEDS TO BE ATLEAST 200 y/o BEFORE HE EVEN TJINKS OF DATING)(Silver lowkey thinks they’re overreacting but he also doesn’t want Sebek to date so he agrees with them). At this rate they’re gonna have to beat everyone off with a stick(did Silver and malleus just hear Vil saying he was gonna steal Sebek???)(Suddenly it started thundering outside and Vil ran inside the school)(THERE IS NO WAY HIS GUARD(his brother figure) IS GONNA GET STOLEN AWAY FROM HIM!).

DESPITE THE AMOUNT OF CHAOS GOING ON BACK AT NRC AND ON THE JNTERNET, Epel and Sebek are back at Harveston unaware of the storm that was gonna hit them when they got back to NRC, oh well they’ll just enjoy their time rn!

Yuu is in the corner smirking evilly while laughing by themselves looking at their phone(Grim looks at the human concerned before just inching away from their servant and getting more phone, as long as it as nothing to do with him he’s fine).

LIKE CMON LOOK AT THEM!!! THEY EVEN HAVE MATCHING POSES!!! I NEED THEN TO HAVE MORE INTERACTIONS!!!

[bulbabutt]

you know why i dont care to get involved in fandom bs while watching a show live? cuz ill never forget how LOUD and ANNOYING people were watching steven universe when it aired.

i will never ever forget the person loudly yelling at everyone in the tag back in 2014 that this silhouette was an animation error and that "it had already been discussed and debunked" that garnet was a fusion

same shit happened with "rose is pink diamond" theory. this was the start of it. fucking the second we ever saw the idea of a pink diamond existing when there wasnt one anymore people were like "OH I WONDER" and then you had LOUD FUCKING PEOPLE complaining and debunking the theory as if they knew better. "NO cuz that would make rose the BAD GUY!" "no! that would make the story TOO COMPLEX!" dumbass shit.

it gives makorra bottles never popped in the end

but people will be always be loud and wrong all the fucking time and try and make you feel stupid for thinking maybe the writers have a plan and say theres no point to let yourself keep watching and learning more. i always think you should watch something until its done and see what the writers really wanted to say instead of shouting at other people on the internet for daring to be like "hey i wonder if--" or "this seems to me like--"

like sometimes people will look at things like THIS FUCKING OBVIOUS and scream that the artists just made a mistake. just cuz they didnt expect it. just cuz its not what they wanted the story to do when they thought about it in their heads.

a lot of times when theres a backlash to stuff its cuz shows dont go the way fandom spaces expected, and its less that the writing is bad than it is the fandom decides they know how a story will end by the time one season is out.

and i know youre all used to binge watching but not letting yourselves experience a story as it grows really hurts your brains sometimes. esp if you let a fandom ideology cloud your ability to experience an unravelling narrative.