#light and dark ch 3

[solasan]

🎵 two clerics chillin' on a cliff's-edge, five feet apart because their divine moms hate each other and they are gay 🎵

[galedekarios]

[vargaslovinghours]

Fandom: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac (But really Vargas lol) Rating: Teen and up Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

What, exactly, did Scriabin take from Edgar when they separated?

My first multichapter fic for Vargas! :D Yay!

(Pls read Ch. 1 first - Ch. 2 is also recommended, but as long as you're caught up on the first, you're good to go!)

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Side B

What the fuck.

"It's, it's possible that if, maybe whatever happened earlier, whatever caused all that blood and for us to be knocked unconscious-"

What the fuck.

"-and if I suffered a head injury, then maybe-"

No. That's enough.

Scriabin pushed away from the closet door he'd defensively pressed himself up against and put his hands on Edgar's shoulders, which quieted him. He looked at him expectantly, with eyes that Scriabin somehow only just now realized were casually guarded, curious, uncertain in a way that denoted inexperience. That was so messed up, that was completely wrong. Edgar should've been on guard, absolutely, but only because he knew exactly what Scriabin was capable of. He really didn't want to look at him right now if this was what he was going to be seeing instead.

He spun him quickly and pushed him out the door before he could protest. He got one last look at those wide, confused eyes before he slammed the door behind him, bracing it shut with both hands for good measure.

What. The fuck. His head came forward, making a dull thud as his forehead connected with the door. He doesn't remember me? His fingers curled on the door. What does he mean he doesn't remember me?! How could he not know me?! One hand pushed through his hair; his scalp tingled and that was so weird, he felt it and it was so weird- We literally just- He literally just-! As if pulling him screaming into life wasn't bad enough, now he had decided to play some sick prank!

This can't be true. It's just like him to try and make jokes at the worst possible time, he has no tact.

There was a timid knock on the other side of the door. Scriabin jumped as it resonated through his skull, his elbow, pressed to the door with his hand buried in his hair, set his jaw. Then silence.

If he was really trying to get back in, clear things up, say he was only kidding, he'd actually try.

Nothing.

Scriabin's blood was ice as he went over it again. The way he'd said his name. The vacant look in his eyes as he said it, like his mouth knew its shape but none of the meaning. No fear, no realization, nothing that really felt like Edgar, just sound, just noise.

Maybe he really had-

Oh god. His knees gave out, and his arms had no practice at holding him upright, not yet. His hand slid down the door, his other hand guarding his head as his hair fluffed against the grain.

How could he do this

This is all his fault

Stupid, idiotic

He can't do this to me

I can't believe him

I can't believe this

How dare he leave me alone like this

Thoughts spiralling, and all he could do was hold himself down, press his fingers into the back of his neck, force his chest to his knees and maybe he wouldn't immolate under it all. He was shaking, from tension or fear he couldn't tell, his mind too hazardous and loud to cut through it all. He was shaking, dizzy, and if he moved, letting go would surely kill him.

He can't do this to me.

He breathed. And breathed. And swallowed. Eyes closed, heart pounding, sure. Confusion and dismay, whatever. Pain. Fine. So be it.

This isn't like me. A hand untethered from his vice grip in his hair, and he stayed attached to the floor. It connected with the carpet below him and became a new lifeline. He pushed up and away into a limp sit, arms already burning slightly from holding himself up after all that. He shook his head mildly. This isn't who I'm going to be in life. His body, this fear response be damned, he was in control now.

Regroup. Let's- a mental pause, barely a quarter of a second long as he turned the word in his head. Let's pretend it's all true- what does that mean?

He flopped over, leaned upright with his back against the door, heels of his fists pushed down into the carpet to scootch closer. Moving was so awkward still, very unfitting.

He was acting normal. Well, Edgar's baseline for "normal" had changed considerably, so maybe put an asterisk on that. Not that he was ever normal to begin with, but normal-for-Edgar, -ish. That means he has to have some memory.

Scriabin held out a hand, arm slung over his knee, one finger held out. He had recognized his glasses. One. The apartment. Two. Which key to use. Three. He had said Todd's name. Four.

His stuff can be discounted, he's had all that for a while. Back down to one. The kid is a new fixture. Which means he remembers the last couple months at least. He shook his head and brought his hand up to comb through his hair. Well...it's fuzzy for me, so it probably is for him, too. Scriabin remembered everything in as much clarity as the last couple months allowed, there was no way Edgar would know more even if he had all his memories.

Speaking of which, Scriabin could remember everything. He flipped through; the last two months and bringing Todd in, Edgar's parting words to Johnny, his and Devi's conversation - he grit his teeth - and further back, everything along the way, all the way back. False dreams, shared childhoods, everything that was once Edgar's alone, he still remembered it. Nothing was out of place which made it all the more strange!

This is so fucking weird, if I remember everything, then why would he-

He stopped short. His purported purpose had been to replace Edgar. Take him over completely. If he bought into the conceit for a moment, just to play in the space... He was alive now. That was not as intended; it shouldn't even have been possible.

Did he...give me his memories? Like, all the way? Not just to borrow, to shape him, give him legitimacy - he was alive now. His own person. Separate, embodied, and whole. Was this the price of life?

That's stupid. But possible, he couldn't discount. If this - he brought his hands up and looked down at them, watched himself touch his own chest and felt it beneath his coat, shirt, the nerves firing as his slid his fingers up himself - if this was possible, then...

He continued for a moment, curious and reverant, all of him new and privately exciting, to exist and to touch, to feel, smell, see, all of it clear and fresh and penetrated deeply into his mind, as if a layer of film had been lifted from his senses. The moment passed as the memories, unbidden but important, cluttered in around him again.

There were still a lot of questions, and most of them couldn't be answered without Edgar, ugh. If getting anything out of him before had been like pulling teeth, he was very sobered to think about how it might be now. Depending on how much Edgar remembered, maybe he could start piecing things together.

Did he do it on purpose? Did he know this would happen? There's no way he would have been willing to if he had- But he couldn't ask him things like that. Even if he did remember, admitting something like that...

He was just spinning his wheels at this point. Better to gather what he could from the man himself. He looked up, preparing to stand.

Ah-

The room was still in something of a state.

Edgar would be annoying, or at least distracted by trying to pick up the clothes and uncarefully unpacked items strewn about the floor from Scriabin's very successful excavation of his old glasses. The clutter would have to go if he wanted his full attention.

He grumbled as he pushed off the door to pick up the first few things. First day of life and I'm already his maid. Figures. He's always needed me to clean up after him.

Silence.

Somehow it only just hit him. Thinking alone in the late hours, planning things behind Edgar's back, it was nothing new. But a barb unsunk into his mental flesh was left out in the wide emptiness, poised to stab whoever happened upon it next, and he was the only one here.

He felt very small all of a sudden, and he didn't like it at all.

His eyes blankly scanned the room, looking for nothing, until they settled on the toy at Edgar's bedside. His toy.

He dropped the items he'd bundled into his arms and made his way over. He picked up the small simulacrum, turned it over in his hands once, and stared at it.

He wouldn't know this. Not really. He brushed a thumb up and over the little mouth, the contours of its small face. Retroactively, I've never been this at all.

I'm no one to him.

Does this mean we can start over? The thought struck him like lightning, freezing his heart in his chest. He was fixed solid, staring down at the small figure in his hands.

Before he could even think, he'd already thrown it through the open closet door, landing noisily in the box he'd dug through with a clatter. He grabbed up the fallen clothes and items and stuffed them back in the box, burying the toy in mundane detritus, then closed the cardboard flaps and slammed the door of the closet for good measure.

His breath was laboured and he glared, like wishing it gone would make the closet itself disappear.

Answers. He needed answers, more than anything.

He ripped the door open, and there was Edgar who looked up, staring dumbly back at him and carrying the clothes he'd shed earlier over his arm. Something in his mind clicked over, and he didn't think about it.

"Alright," he caught his breath for half a second, "what do you remember?"

Edgar just kept on staring, mouth open, eyes unconfident behind weak glasses. Scriabin huffed irritably, I don't have time for this, and moved towards him, arm outstretched.

"Come on." Edgar gave a small startled sound behind him as he grabbed his collar and dragged him through the doorway. He threw him across the room, not bothering to watch his arc as he closed the door behind him. The bed was that way, he'd be fine.

When he turned back, Edgar had managed to catch himself, though already halfway on the bed. Scriabin stood with his back to the door, feet planted and he crossed his arms. No more speculating around impossibilities, tangible and present as they might be, it was time for a proper interrogation. It was at least preferable to-

Edgar made a face at him and scooted back, offering a seat next to him on the bed. Equal footing briefly flashed through his mind and while he wouldn't consider it ideal, nothing today was really going his way. He sighed, then made his way over and sat across from Edgar, who was eyeing him with a certain degree of caution. At least the feeling was mutual.

"Spill." He re-crossed his arms and leaned towards Edgar. "What do you know?"

Edgar hesitated, apparently thinking, his hands laced and fingers agitatedly if quietly rubbing the backs of his hands.

"I want to verify some things first."

Scriabin snorted dismissively. Where had Edgar's overly-trusting nature gone? A serial killer, well he's an honoured guest, but Scriabin? He didn't even distrust him for the right reasons.

He gestured with an open hand, Go ahead, then tucked his arm back in.

"Todd's last name?"

Pfsh. At least it was proof enough that anything Edgar knew, Scriabin did as well. As expected.

"Casil. His stupid bear's called Shmee in case you forgot that too." Edgar shook his head. No he hadn't? If only he could just check!

"Do you know our phone number?" Obviously he did, so he rattled it off quickly, Edgar nodding in turn. He flipped his hair in time with the last digit, careful to keep his eyes covered. It was a bit of a timid attempt, being the first in this body, which was a minor blessing he supposed.

Edgar mulled over what he'd given him for a moment, then a moment longer, then a moment even longer. His eyes searched absently, gazing down into his own hand, his other on his chin, lightly thumbing his goatee. He was focused on names and numbers, but those were child's play compared to everything, everything Scriabin still wanted to know. It was frustrating on a visceral level, watching him struggle with such simple innocuous nothings while the most important person in his life was sitting right in front of him.

He was supposed to be the most important.

It was frustrating.

"You really don't remember anything, do you?" He didn't hide the sneer as it shaped his voice - odd the way his body just did that now, did things without him actively thinking them into being. Even things like the little waver that made its way in that he pushed back down and under. He was frustrated, angry, tired - any emotionality could be attributed to those, nothing else.

Edgar didn't answer, just kept his gaze locked to his face. That was almost worse. Watching him fumble through things, it wasn't fun, but at least he wasn't trying to pry. He could see him try to look past his bangs, and the fact that he didn't know better...

Scriabin looked away for a moment, then thought better of it. Best defense is a good offense.

He reached for Edgar's face, for those damn scars, ever-present reminders. Edgar shied away, not wanting to be touched suddenly by someone he didn't know. As if Scriabin had ever cared about that.

Well, things were different now. Maybe he didn't really want to touch him anyway. Not yet.

"Do you remember these...?" Instead he framed his face with his hands less than an inch from his skin, and even there he could feel the heat coming off him. Edgar reached for his face, looking away from Scriabin as he touched the angry red marks. He winced minutely, then glanced back at Scriabin, searching him, his expression guarded again. Scriabin could hear his own pulse in his ears.

"...Johnny?"

"Fuck." Fuck! "Of course you'd remember him but not me." God damn it! It wasn't right, it wasn't fair, just because Johnny came first by a hair's breadth, just because he wasn't in Edgar's head, with Edgar's fucked up little obsession with the murderous stick figure- It limited what he could get away with too, if he remembered that far back. Absolutely nothing was going in his favour.

"I'm sorry..." He sounded genuinely remorseful, and it stuck in his throat. Disgusting. "So you know Johnny, too."

"Unfortunately." Scriabin tucked his chin to his chest, arms crossed again in close proximity. This sucks. Edgar just kept rambling, unaware as ever. His excuses held this time at least, one point in his favour, no points for bringing his annoying habits with him despite everything.

"I don't think I've seen him for a couple months now? Everything's awfully..." He gave a vague gesture and Scriabin uncurled slightly. He was giving him room to contribute. He shook his head.

"You haven't."

"Have you?"

He returned to his tight coil of sulking. Not like he was keen to meet up and chat, but he couldn't explain why he hadn't had the opportunity to either.

"I remember he called, too."

"Ugh," barely above breath. Enough about Johnny! Again, Edgar continued obliviously.

"Although I don't really recall what we talked about, not for a while..."

Of course not. I took over for half of those.

He perked a bit, and Edgar focused more on him, patiently setting his hands in his lap.

"You know."

He could play this to his advantage. Give Johnny some well-deserved karmic justice for fucking him over so many times. It was almost better that Edgar didn't know - Scriabin had been trying to get him away from Johnny all this time, and if he really had forgotten everything, not just the moments when Scriabin took over but every moment they had shared, then that meant it coincided almost perfectly with his first meeting with Johnny. Blank spot after blank spot after blank spot, all lined up immediately after getting his face slashed.

He could work with that.

"It's probably trauma." Edgar startled and his hand shot to his temple, lightly touching his hair.

"Like, head trauma?" Scriabing almost laughed. Yeah, probably that too. But that wouldn't help his case.

"No." He leaned in, taking a more intimate, secretive tone. "Think about it. When did things start getting fuzzy?" If he was right on this - which of course he was, but not being able to verify, not being able to see that he was right, it was disconcerting - but if he was, Edgar's memories of Scriabin should start with that first fateful encounter, give or take. A bit of reframing here, a touch of implication there... It probably wasn't even an outright lie; if Edgar's memory were perfect after experiencing everything Johnny had put them through, that would be some kind of twisted miracle.

His only real concern was their "childhood" - how much had Scriabin pulled with him? Would that throw off his story? But that was so far back, there was no way Scriabin or Johnny could be implicated in that. As long as Edgar didn't bring it up before he thought his way around it...

Edgar stayed quiet for a long while. His eyes raced behind closed eyelids, searching, scanning, retracing - Scriabin could almost see the moments where he hesitated, stopped and went back, then starting recollecting again. He wished he could see it for real, watch him unfold himself, touch those memories again, hold up his own in contrast. Even just hear Edgar's thoughts as they went by, feel the emotions he felt. But he couldn't, so he just stared as unblinkingly as this new body would allow, just watched as Edgar went over everything on his own.

He finally opened his eyes, staring back into Scriabin's though he was sure they were still hidden. He felt naked and awkward and Edgar still hadn't said anything. If he could just see like he was supposed to, or if Edgar would just tell him, he wouldn't have to ask. I have to do everything around here.

"It was after you met him, wasn't it?"

"You think it's...mental trauma?" An unspoken 'yes.' Relief flooded him, and he pushed ahead.

"Edgar. He stabbed you." Edgar gripped his shoulder, his eyes closing again and he looked to be in pain. That was a very effective reminder at least. "Do you even know why?" He shook his head and spoke throught half-grit teeth.

"I must have made him mad, but I don't remember-" Of course not, I did that.

"Your mind is trying to protect you." Not. But one of us has to with your inexhaustable deathwish. Scriabin reached out to touch him properly, but Edgar pulled away. He didn't follow, still not yet. Play up the pity. "He messed you up so bad," with a curl in his tone, an I told you so that barely made it to words even privately; how long had he been holding that in? "Surely you must've felt like you wanted, you needed to get away from him, that he wasn't good for you, that you-" He'd told him so many times, some it must have stuck, some of it had to have-

"Then-!" Edgar's eyes shot open, wide and desperate with an edge of disbelief. A strangled gasp escaped him, half-choking him as he tried to speak. "Then why can't I remember you?!"

He almost began rolling off the cuff, but really, he still didn't know for sure. And it definitely wasn't like he could tell the truth even if he wanted to; who, who hadn't lived it, would believe him? Edgar certainly wouldn't, not with his lack of imagination. He had to dress this up, weave a narrative that was plausible, had the perfect mix of truth and falsehood to stand up to scrutiny.

Huh. Ironic.

"I..." No. Some of this was Edgar's fault too. "We...argued."

"Argued?"

"I... Mng." He wanted to aim for some kind of levity, but his throat had tightened on him. He just wanted to tell this stupid inside joke and not have it affect him, not have it mean anything, and here he was getting emotional? He'd say it and fucking mean it. "It's not like I'm in your head, so-" spat out in a rush, there, he'd said it. Haha, isn't that so funny. He swallowed harshly, pushing down everything he felt into his stomach acid. He was in control. He was fine. This didn't shake him. "I can't know for sure," another humourless laugh inside, "but I was against your relationship with Johnny. Maybe you shut me out so you could keep seeing him with no pushback."

It certainly wasn't outside the realm of possibilities of what Edgar would do to avoid taking Scriabin's extremely basic advice about fraternizing with serial killers. How many times had he been ignored up to this point, only to culminate in the ultimate 'I don't know what you're talking about.' Pfeh. I bet he wishes he'd thought of this sooner. It did nothing for his painfully stuttered pulse.

"You know, I've been trying to convince you to stop going back to him for a while, but, well..." He waved his hand at Edgar's hand still death gripped into his shoulder, and Edgar averted his eyes guiltily. At least he showed some remorse. Better than his nigh constant apologia.

He stayed quiet a moment longer, and just before Scriabin made to fill the silence again, Edgar struck him with an intense look.

"What are you to me?" Ugh. Of course. There was not a single good answer for that. Even if he told him everything- no, especially if he told him everything, there was no way Edgar would believe him. But coming up with a convincing lie on the spot, when they were so clearly something to each other - even he needed time to come up with something workable. How could he have ever prepared for a situation like this? It was never meant to happen, so many things were never meant to happen!

He continued at Scriabin's silence. "You know Nny," Ugh! Even his awful nickname. "And Todd. And...me." He couldn't refute it, so he nodded tightly. "Do you live here?"

Technically he had, and technically he hadn't. Still, going forward, it would be easier to let Edgar assume that he did. It wasn't like he had anywhere else to go at the moment anyway.

"Yes."

"Are we..." He searched him, looked him over as much as he could and he wasn't subtle about it. If only Scriabin had his proper glasses, he'd let him look as much he wanted, behold his spectacle! As it was, he just felt self-conscious and it was very unbefitting. "...family?"

The baggage on that. He did not feel like opening that particular can of worms in either of their current states. He turned his head and flipped through any number of halfway decent ways to phrase it until he hit on something Edgar would remember. Better not to contradict for now.

"You told Johnny you have no family when you met."

"That's true..." Edgar blinked, processing. "Wait, did I tell you that?" Scriabin startled. Even after he'd accounted for his memory! Of course he had to pick his story apart now, he never knew when to leave well enough alone.

"When you-" No, he had to be involved. "When we bandaged your face."

Edgar mulled on that for a few seconds, taking on a thoughtful pose. "I only remember being alone."

"You don't remember me at all. What do you want from me?" He huffed.

"No, sorry, you're right."

"Thank you." He was right!

Where had Edgar expected him to be? There was something weird about how he'd said it. He filed the thought away for later.

"So, if you've been living here, where..." Edgar looked around the room, then back to Scriabin. "Where have you been sleeping? Todd's already on the couch..."

Scriabin couldn't help as a smile sprung to his face. If he was going to present him with such a perfect opportunity, well, he'd better take it. He even had the decency to look nervous in response! This was too good.

"Would you believe me if I said right here, in bed?" He again tucked his chin, playfully this time, his hair falling further in his eyes. Even through the dark tangles he could make out Edgar's face immediately bristling with heat.

Ooh. That's such a fetching shade on you, my dear.

"But-! I, I haven't been sleeping on the floor!" He was visibly sweating!

"Correct." His smile grew. This was too easy, and he needed an easy win right about now.

"W-" He leaned forward on his legs, though refused to get any closer. When he spoke it was a harsh whisper. "Why...?"

Scriabin shrugged easily, not bothering to reign in his smile in the least. "I mean, where else, right?" He leaned in since Edgar refused to, and oh. He was blushing all the way up to his scalp. Hilarious. "You certainly didn't seem to mind." He couldn't hold back the slightly musical tone or his eyebrows inclination to move on their own. His body knew what he was getting at, and he could see it only increased Edgar's fluster. All the better.

"Well I do now!" Edgar darted up and away, stumbling in his hasty retreat. "If you'll excuse me!" though he was already practically in the hallway by the time he said it. What a display, and Scriabin's laugh was loud and natural.

Finally, something positive. He'd managed to fumble his way through, not his best work in lying or manipulation, but he'd set some important groundwork. He'd gotten some answers, and he could start to shape some more believable stories around them.

The biggest hurdles were Johnny and Devi. As long as Edgar didn't meet with them too soon - or well, at all would be preferable, but he doubted he could just keep him locked up, as much as the idea appealed to him. There were so many things that were possible now, things that he had the ability to do, given the right circumstances... All of that in due time. For now he had a yarn to spin.

He listened as Edgar fumbled in the hall, the sheer sound of cloth being pulled and folded over an arm barely perceptable. Was he really going to try to sleep on what little was left over? Maybe he'd give up once he realized the pickings were thin and beg Scriabin to let him sleep with him. Hah.

While he was out, Scriabin made his way over to the pajamas drawer. They were all old and soft, even just to his hand. They'd do for now, until he could get his own. It wasn't like he hadn't worn all this before anyway.

By the time he'd finished dressing, his clothes discarded on the opposite side of the bed to where Edgar had set up his little nest, Edgar had finally gotten himself a set of pajamas. He wondered for a moment if he'd dress with Scriabin in the room again, though maybe his intense stare drove him off. Who could say. He patted the bed with a wide grin when he returned and was dutifully ignored. He settled down to the side, and Scriabin laid on his arms to look down at him.

"Ugh, lame."

"I don't-"

"Yeah, whatever." He'd heard it all before. At least he could literally look down on him like this. He folded his hands and leaned just a bit further, looking him over. A desire he hadn't realized he had surfaced in the dark and quiet. "Give me your hand."

"Sorry?" Scriabin held out his hand expectantly.

"I used to hear your heart beat every day." Edgar looked at him incredulously, but Scriabin was unperturbed. "Let me hear it again."

He hesitated but eventually slowly offered his arm. "...Okay."

He pulled his arm up and placed his thumb against his wrist. He felt a strange mismatch - where he'd been expecting one heartbeat, there were two. He covered his surprise, near shock at the realization that of course he had his own body now, by pulling harder on Edgar's arm, directing him up to his ear.

"Wh-"

"Shh." Quietly. He had wanted this, wanted this body, this separation, this freedom for so long, and now... He spoke quietly, his voice betraying nothing. "I'm listening."

Edgar's pulse was erratic, but he hardly paid attention to it. His own fingers on Edgar's skin, warm and pliant, and Edgar's fingers twitching in his hair, he could feel it, he was trying not to touch him- This hesitation was killing him, every jerky movement away not from fear of what Scriabin could do to him, just uncertainty, like he was still a stranger- He pressed him harder to his head, and he could feel goosebumps under his fingers. He wanted to just hold him there until all the memories they'd shared poured back through him, into his blood, into his breath.

Where are you?

But he replied in that same uncertain, guarded tone that indicated he didn't know, not really.

"C...can I have my arm back now?"

He pushed him away. "Fine." Edgar curled his hand protectively against his chest, and he noticed he rubbed it slightly, he probably hadn't even realized.

He mumbled out a harried "Good night," and it was almost enough to make Scriabin smile. Almost. He could still affect him but this wasn't enough, it wasn't right.

He laid his head on the pillow, not bothering to pull his arm up over the side of the bed. If he twitched in the night and touched Edgar, well, that could mean anything. Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he did it on purpose. Plausible deniability was one of his greatest assets.

As it was, he was just tired. Maybe he didn't pull it back because he hated the thought of sleeping alone, pushed out and forgotten, and hated it more that he was even thinking something like that. How pathetic. He didn't need anyone, especially not Edgar.

But he was tired. Not in his right mind.

Does this mean we can start over...?

The thought echoed and died, and he slept.

[kbwrites]

The Lord's Favorite CH.3

Synopsis: “And there you were, lying underneath the terrifying king, a man of immense power and ruthless intent, who would watch the world burn on a whim.”

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⚝content: trueform!Sukuna x f! reader, nsfw, mild language, voyeurism, sukuna has two cocks, pure smut, gentle sukuna

⚝wc: 2.2k

⚝a/n: please the messages I’ve been getting from this series have been so unhinged?? I love it

“I believe your presence is precisely what I crave.”

And you swear your brain ceases to function. When you regain awareness, you find yourself against the black silken sheets of Ryomen Sukuna’s enormous bed. The air is thick with the scent of incense, and the dim light from flickering candles casts long shadows across the room. And there you were, lying underneath the terrifying king, a man of immense power and ruthless intent, who would watch the world burn on a whim.

He looks down at you, two of his strong arms gripping your hips, the rough pads of his fingers digging painfully into your flesh. Your gaze flickers down to his body, taking in the sight of his rippling muscles, flexing with each subtle movement. His broad chest rises and falls at a steady pace, a stark contrast to the thunderous beating of your own heart. His crimson eyes hold a possessiveness, the gaze of a predator stalking its prey, intense and unyielding.

Ryomen Sukuna was alreadyterrifying fully clothed, but his naked form elicited a different fear in you altogether. Two thick cocks stood proud and eager. You try to take in every detail, thick veins running up the sides, flushed angry red tips dripping pre-cum down his monstrous shaft. Your breath catches in your throat, all of your saliva drying up as you force a swallow. His lips curl into a smile that sends shivers down your spine. He lowers his head to your ear, his breath searingly hot against your skin.

“You are aware I do not like waiting.” He growls.

“W… what would you like me to do My Lord?” The uncertainty in your tone is evident. He pulls back slightly, his gaze piercing through you with a mixture of disbelief and dark amusement.

Yes, you were younger than the other women in the castle, most of whom had come to serve after being widowed or hardened by life. But he assumed you’d had some knowledge. He had no need for concubines with no experience, anyone else who would dare enter his chambers without it would be swiftly dealt with. ‘Training pets’ was of no interest to him. But he couldn’t seem to ignore the way his cocks twitched at the thought of being the one who would ruin you. With a swift, almost effortless motion, his four powerful arms shift your position. Within the span of a heartbeat, he flips you over so that you find yourself straddling him, the change in position startlingly abrupt.

You’re momentarily paralyzed, a jolt of panic surging through you. What exactly were you supposed to do now? Theoretically, you knew what was expected, the steps that were supposed to follow, but… how?

༺═────────────═༻

On occasion, you found yourself wide awake during the night, the sound of the bed frame creaking and exaggerated moans muffled through the door connecting your room to Sukuna’s. Of course, Curiosity, that dangerous and ever-present impulse, got the better of you—and you innocently pressed your ear to the door. And of course, your eyes found their way to a convenient crack in the dark mahogany.

‘You should be ashamed, spying on your king’

You cursed yourself as you watched him. He laid on the bed, a woman—who you’d seen enter his chambers multiple times was bouncing up and down on his length. Crying out as her hands rested atop his broad chest. Two arms guided her hips and the other two rested behind his head. Her loud moans of pleasure, a stark contrast between his low grunts. Your hand clasps over your mouth, suppressing your gasps as your own hand reached under your nightgown.

The sounds of skin slapping, squelching, and the woman’s theatrical wails acted as cover to your own quiet moans. As it continues Ryomen's head suddenly turns to the side, eye locking directly onto the door. A menacing smile spreads across his lips. Your blood runs cold as you make direct eye contact with your lord.

You cease your movements, tiptoeing back to your bed. Squeezing your thighs together, to desperately cool the unbearable heat.

“My…. lord… what are you looking at?” She gasps in between thrusts. You only hear a slap before covering your ears and praying it was just coincidence his eyes fell on that part of the room.

And from his lack of mention, you thought you had gotten away with it.

༺═────────────═༻

And now you sit between his two muscular legs, the same way you saw that woman do. Staring down his two thick members. A shaky hand wraps around one, unable to grip him fully. A soft moan escapes his lips as you feel his cock twitch under your touch. You begin to pump slowly, your movements hesitant. 

“Don’t..act so coy, I know you’ve seen this before.” And your heart drops in your stomach. You search for an excuse, a denial, but they all die in your throat. He only grins in response, looking at you through half-lidded eyes. One arm reaches behind your head, gently pushing your face mere inches away from his throbbing length. Your eyes flicker up to him then back down to his angry red tip, after a deep shaky breath you gather some spit in your mouth allowing it to flow onto him. He groans at the sensation, hand gripping your hair tightly. 

You loll your tongue out, smearing the spit and pre-cum around his tip. Your other hand wraps around as well. Sukuna growls as your mouth engulfs him, tongue swirling around his head. He pushes your head down slowly, your mouth stretching at his size. Tears well up in your eyes as he hits the back of your esophagus, sinful gagging noises emanate from your throat. He hums amused.

“This view suits you…” He chuckles lowly as his hands guide your head up and down his shaft. He sets the pace, before letting go of your head. You look up at him through your fluttering eyelashes, the tears pooling in your eyes. Sukuna lies against the plush pillow, hands giving attention to his aching second cock. His breath hitches as his hips buck up, his length pushing even deeper into your throat. A sudden feeling of choking causes you to come up for air, coughing as oxygen finally enters your lungs again. A wave of embarrassment washes over you. 

How pathetic you must look to your king, not even able to provide him with pleasure.

Ryomen grabs your waist, pulling you back under him. His eyes, darken as he pushes his body closer to you. A low thunderous rumble reverberates from his throat as his spit-soaked length finds friction against your stomach. You feel your own arousal pool between your legs as you are overwhelmed with a dangerous mix of fear and desire.

His lips capture yours in a rough kiss, sharp teeth baring down on your bottom lip as his tongue explores your mouth. Your soft moans are swallowed by him as his strong hands roam your naked body. He parts from the kiss, a trail of spit still connecting you two. He looks upon your panting form, without a second thought diving into your neck nipping and sucking at the delicate skin. Two hands grope your breasts, rolling the swollen buds between his fingers. He squeezes gently as you whimper under him, moving his mouth to encircle your nipple. The heat between your core nearing unbearable.

“My.. lord… p-please..” You cry out, his teeth graze your nipple, a warning. He huffs against your skin.

“Do not rush me, woman.” His mouth moves to your other breast. Staring up at the high, ornately decorated ceiling of Ryomen’s chambers, you find yourself drifting into a daze. Suddenly coming to when you feel a rough hand reach between your wet folds. Sukuna purrs lowly, gathering your slick between his fingers. Your gaze meets his once more, you desperately squirm against his hand.

“Already so eager… surely you realize you’ll break if I try to fuck you.” His voice laced with playful menace as his fingers tease your entrance. Your vision hazes as you look up at your king, your bruised lips part taking in shaky breaths in anticipation.

One thick finger enters, pumping into you slowly as you feel your whole body turn to jelly. Sukuna chuckles darkly as you writhe under him, he adds another thick digit giving you just a second to adjust to the slight stretch. You feel a pressure building in your abdomen, similar to the one you felt the night you spied on your king.

“You’re close, aren’t you… How disappointing it's just from my fingers.” He coos bringing his other hand to your throbbing clit. He speeds up his ministrations, slipping in a third finger to bring you closer to the edge. A slight curve upwards is all it takes for your sinful walls to clench around his fingers, your back arches as you are delivered to a place you’ve never been before. The unfamiliar feeling of orgasm, the pleasure of release washes over your body.

Ryomen removes his fingers from you, watching as your hole flutters around nothing, he brings the slick-coated fingers to his mouth, tongue darting out to taste the fruits of his labor. You catch your breath as you feel his weight pushing you deeper into the sheets. His crimson eyes bore holes in your soul as he looks down at you with pure hunger in his gaze. One of his cocks rubs between your folds, gathering your arousal. A flash of hesitation crosses your face.

“I do not expect you to take both your first time.” He attempts reassurance. His cockhead rubs up and down, kissing your clit before pushing into your hole. 

He growls as he slowly enters you, feeling the warmth of your walls enveloping him. You wince at the stretch, tears pricking your eyes. His hand reaches to cup your face, thumb wiping away the tears as they fall. He hushes your cries with a gentleness previously unknown to him.

“Relax little one… I hnng am going as slow as possible.” He moans as more of his length is surrounded by you. The way your warm walls clench around his thick cock makes his eyes roll, you were so tight, a temptress made to bring him to his knees. A vision of utter seduction. Buried deep in your pussy, you could ask anything and surely he’d grant every one of your desires. “You.. fucking minx.” He curses as his tip kisses your cervix.

Your hands claw at his chiseled chest as you feel him reach the depths of your cavern. 

“Lord Sukuna! T’much!” Your words come out jumbled and slurred as he begins to thrust into you. His pace slow, painfully so. His face etched with utter concentration as he tries to control his urge to split you open. With each long stroke, you feel every vein as he drags along your walls. Feeling deliciously full as King Sukuna pumps purposefully into your cunt.

“F…Faster please my lord..” You whisper shamelessly, his eyebrow quirks up in amusement.

“You dare…order your king?” He sneers, picking up the pace anyway. His hips stutter as he feels your cunt squeeze around him. Sukuna pulls you up to him, now resting on his heels as his two strong arms hold your back and the others hold your hips in place. Your arms snake around his neck supporting yourself as he pistons into you.

His thrusts become less rhythmic as he nears his breaking point. He grunts louder, his breath quickening.

“You belong to me… fuck… you hear me woman?  All mine. Mineminemine...” He groans and babbles as he delivers one last thrust, his cock twitching as he paints your walls with his hot sticky seed. Your back arches in his hold as you reach your climax. He watches as your body convulses, melting like putty into his hands. He lowers you back onto the mattress, watching as your chest heaves. He slides his cock out of you, still semi-hard now covered in a mixture of your slick and his cum.

You take in the sight above you: his slightly damp pink hair, tattooed arms now bearing tiny welts from your scratches. And the look on his face—his red eyes nearly black from arousal. Gods, you wished you could take a picture, a snapshot burned into your brain for eternity.

He sinks into the space next to you, catching his breath. You are quiet for a moment, mind still reeling from the events that just transpired. Should you stay? Were you meant to just up and leave after? Unease coils in your chest as you sit up, gathering yourself for the short walk to your room before you hear his voice again.

“ Where do you think you’re going?” His voice laced with a hint of annoyance. You glance over your shoulder to see him propped up on one of his hands, his gaze dark.

“I thought you’d want me to—”

“You will stay. You will… sleep here with me.” he commands softly, his grip firm yet gentle as he pulls you onto his broad chest. Your ear presses against his pectoral, the strong, steady beat of his heart thrumming through you like a soothing lullaby. You look up at him, his eyes are closed as he rests his hand atop your head. 

“Sleep…” he murmurs, his voice a deep, husky whisper before his soft snores soon rumble in his chest. You close your eyes as well, drifting off as you lay on the man who’d watch the world burn… for you.

taglist (I added who I could, some blogs were unable to be tagged!! FULL NOW IM SORRY) @quinnyundertow @devastyle @bokuatsubro @alt-her @novembersavior @twinkyjohnson @allthestarsarecloserrrrrrr @bubb13gumb1tch @kalulakunundrum @flowerpot113 @caratinluv @koyukilove @memers666 @saikilover7878 @smolbeanzzz @byul9158 @shadava @bellinghambby22 @pastelbunnelby @jvg02 @ohmykwonsoonyoung @goldenglow149 @imnotabot28 @s1urpjuic3 @nctislifue @szired @mold-ed @fuyuji-ii @samisfunky @junni-berry @call-memissbrightside @wil10wthetree @iamthehybrid @poemzcheng @00frenchfries00 @greentea-ellie @worldean @klutzylaena @heyheyheyggg @hillmiaxoxo @lashaemorow @kuudere-raia @didielly @thejujvtsupost @malazloje @dumplings4life0520 @kum1ko-chan @paprikaquinn @damnshorty @dumbmi

[dollgxtz]

His Watchful Eye Pt. 5

Word Count: 11.6k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How could you have been so naive?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I promised them a girl.”

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

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

Promised them a girl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"By who?" he demands harshly.

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

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

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

The metal handle of the hatch begins to turn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were going to harvest your organs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You trusted him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thought what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was time to accept this.

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

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

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

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

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

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of tearing plastic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The seconds stretch unbearably long.

But the pain never comes.

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

"Is that anyway to talk to a lady?"

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

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

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

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

Then you see him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mephisto.

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

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

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

He knew. He always knew where you were.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You look at him, your voice cold and unwavering.

“Go to hell, Reese.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[oddinary4bts]

Chasing Cars | ch 16 (jjk)

☆summary: when your brother goes to study on a semester abroad, your life collides with his best friend Jeon Jungkook, who's coincidentally your roommate. Will you survive the collision, or will you crumble into dust?

☆pairings: brother's best friend!Jungkook x younger sister!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, this chapter contains mature content)

☆genre: forbidden love?au, college!au, slice of life!au, smut, angst (as usual a lot of it), fluff

☆warnings: cursing, mentions of Taehyung punching Jungkook, alcohol, explicit content: car sex, hickey, oral sex (female receiving), begging, fingering, praising, jerking off, big dick!Jungkook, unprotected sex (please don't be stupid)

☆word count: 8.9k

☆a/n: almost done :( i hope you guys love this chapter, it makes me very soft :') thank you to @moonleeai beta-ing, you're the best <3

☆series masterpost

☆add yourself to the taglist here!

☆☆☆☆☆

If I lay here If I just lay here Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol

☆☆☆☆☆

Monday, October 14th

You wake up slowly, soft snores by your ear rousing you from your slumber. You’re confused for a time, not recognizing the scene, but the second your eyes lay on Jungkook, everything comes back.

The fear, the hurrying back home, the tears and the confessions. Everything comes back with stark clarity, and you smile as you peek towards Jungkook. 

He’s sleeping on his side, facing you, his hand resting on your stomach. His lips are slightly parted, and it soon becomes evident that he is the source of the snoring as he takes a deep breath, letting it out as a rumble through his chest. It’s adorable, and your heart melts at the sight, filling with warmth for him.

But unfortunately you woke up for a reason, and that reason is because you need to go to the bathroom. So you carefully remove Jungkook’s hand from your stomach, and he slightly frowns, his mouth closing. You’re afraid you’ve woken him up, but the snoring resumes a few seconds later, and you reach into the space between you, gently pushing a strand of his hair back from his face. You lean forward, pressing a soft kiss on his forehead, lips lingering on his skin for a few seconds before you pull away, sliding out from underneath the covers to get up. 

The floor is cold under your feet, and you shiver, searching the dark room for a shirt to put on. You find one of Jungkook’s t-shirts, and you immediately put it on, shivering some more once you’re half-dressed, the shirt more like a dress on you.

You tiptoe out of Jungkook’s room, gently shutting the door behind you. The orange light from the neon light outside in the street illuminates the living room, guiding your steps to the bathroom. But light filters from underneath the door, and you freeze in the middle of the room when the door opens, revealing Taehyung.

He takes in the sight of you, clenching his jaw as he turns off the light from the bathroom. You just stare at him for a few seconds, your nails digging into your palms at the reminder of the anger you harbour for him.

“Everything okay in there?” he asks.

You roll your eyes. “Yeah. No thanks to you.”

“Y/n…”

“Are you done in there?” you query, taking a few steps forward as you motion to the bathroom.

“Y/n, I’m sorry.”

The apology falls flat, and you stop, folding your arms on your chest. “I just want to go to the bathroom.”

He gauges you for a time, holding your gaze, and then he steps to the side. “Jungkook and I talked,” he admits. “We’re good. That’s why he came back.”

“Good for you,” you let out as you walk the rest of the way to the bathroom.

Taehyung stops you from closing the door, slapping his hand on it. “I really am sorry,” he insists. “I was pissed at him, not at you.”

“You should not have been pissed at any of us, Taehyung,” you seethe through your teeth. “I’m an adult. I am allowed to do what I want to do. What was so wrong with it?”

“Jungkook is…” he trails off. “Was the kind of guy that would just hurt girls. I didn’t want that for you.”

“It was none of your business,” you say. 

He sighs. “I would have just appreciated it if you guys told me before.” He pauses, his arm falling at his side, but you don’t move to close the door just yet. “I kind of knew. I had my suspicions all semester, and then in Paris too.” He takes a deep breath, glancing towards his bedroom. “I really would have just liked that you guys tell me. Now I just feel blindsided.”

You clench your jaw, shutting your eyes. “Taehyung. You have nothing to do with my relationships. We did not have to tell you shit, and you were not blindsided. You had nothing to do with us.”

“He’s my best friend, and you’re my sister,” Taehyung says. “I’m not saying I should have been involved in the relationship, Y/n. I just wish you’d trusted me and told me.”

You slowly shake your head. “It’s not like you gave me any reasons to trust you, Tae. You told him to not touch me.”

Taehyung snorts. “That didn’t stop him. Pretty sure it just spurred him on.”

For a moment, you just stand there, your gaze widening. You see that Taehyung is trying his hardest, but you’re not ready to forgive him. You don’t even know if you want to forgive him - he came very close to ruining everything between you and Jungkook, and you don’t think you can forgive him for it.

“Seriously, I’m sorry,” Taehyung adds after a few seconds, his baritone voice barely over a whisper. “I fucked up. But we laughed about the fact I punched him so, I guess we’re good?”

You’ll never understand guys. If you were Jungkook, you would hate Taehyung for the rest of your life. But you reckon maybe you should take a page out of Jungkook’s book.

“I don’t think he’s upset with you,” you carefully reply.

Taehyung nods, sensing that you probably don’t want to speak about it anymore. So he says, “I hope you guys manage to fix things. I’ve never seen Jungkook so distressed about someone before.”

“I think there’s a lot that you don’t know about him,” you say.

There’s a lot you don’t know yourself, too.

“Ah, that’s fine,” Taehyung says, shrugging his shoulders. 

Guys and their friendships indeed.

“M’kay,” you let out. “I… I’ll go now.”

Taehyung nods again. “Sounds good. Sorry again.”

“Stop apologizing, you’re getting on my nerves.”

He snorts. “There’s my sister.”

He moves to ruffle your hair, and you push him away as he laughs. “Good night, Tae.”

“Good night, Y/n.”

And though you don’t think you’ve forgiven your brother yet, you feel a little lighter when you go back to bed, Jungkook pulling you back into his embrace with a soft sigh.

Friday, October 18th

You’re anxious. You don’t know why - it’s just Jungkook, but this will be your first real date, and there’s something about it that renders you anxious, palms sweaty as you check your makeup for the thousandth time in the mirror, making sure that it’s perfect.

Your friends were relieved when you told them what happened last Sunday. When you explained the misunderstanding, and that you and Jungkook were good now. You could have cried saying it. Jungkook and I are good now. 

You never would have believed yourself if you’d said you’d end up with Jungkook, months ago. Hell, you recall the Incident - it was the first step into the madness that falling for Jungkook was, but now you feel as sane as ever.

Jungkook is your sanity, as much as he’s your insanity.

But yes, your friends were all happy for you. Even Yoongi, though he did complain that he was the last one standing in the single zone. You don’t think he’ll be there for much longer. You see how the reception guy has been eyeing Yoongi up, and you know Yoongi just needs a push in the right direction. 

You take a deep breath, letting it out slowly as you straighten. Your makeup is perfect - Ria helped, though she left twenty minutes ago, as she had a date with Seokjin to get to. 

She’d screamed when she’d seen your Yves St-Laurent dress. You felt like it was fitting to wear it tonight, considering that Jungkook bought it for you. It fits you just as well as it did then, making you feel like a princess once again. But it does nothing for the nerves in your stomach - you think you need to see Jungkook for that to be solved.

“Okay,” you whisper, grabbing your purse and your phone. 

Jungkook texted you three minutes ago to tell you he was ready, and to meet him in the living room. You’d thought it was funny, but right now, as your hand reaches for the doorknob, you wonder if you should tell him you’re sick.

You’ve never been this anxious about a date before.

“Shit,” you curse under your breath.

“Y/n?” Jungkook says on the other side of your door, and you let out a startled shriek. “Everything okay?”

“Yes!” you quickly reply. “Yes, sorry, I’m almost ready.”

“Okay.”

You take a deep breath, amassing whatever courage you can find, and then you finally open the door.

Jungkook looks beautiful. He’s dressed in black dress pants, with just a white linen dress shirt that he’s tucked in the pants. It’s rolled around his forearms, revealing the ink on his right arm. He’s styled his hair for the occasion too, revealing more forehead than you’re used to seeing with him, and you’re hit with the musky scent of his cologne a second later.

Most of all, your eyes catch in the huge colourful bouquet of flowers he’s holding.

“Oh,” you let out. “You didn’t have to get me flowers.”

He shrugs. “I wanted to. But I couldn’t decide which colour you’d want, so I told them to put a little bit of everything.”

“Kook…”

He grins. “I hope you like it.”

You can’t help the smile curving your lips. “I love it.”

You grab the flowers, inhaling their fragrance as Jungkook just looks at you, his grin falling into a much smaller lovesick smile.

“You look beautiful,” he compliments you, and a light blush takes over your cheeks as you eye him up and down.

“So do you.”

He smirks. “Ready?”

You nod, though you raise the bouquet. “I should probably put this in water.”

You do so, heading towards the kitchen to find a glass big enough to put the flowers in it. You indeed do not own a vase, and Jungkook pouts and apologizes for it.

You kiss his cheek to reassure him, and then you carry the flowers back to your room, putting them on your desk. A second later, you’re back in the hall in front of the door, and Taehyung and Ariane wave goodbye as Jungkook grabs your hand.

“We’ll see you losers later!” you say, and Taehyung laughs.

“Don’t have too much fun,” he replies.

Jungkook laughs, saying, “Fuck off, Tae.”

You grab a coat from the closet - the weather has grown colder in the last few days, and though Jungkook is driving you to the restaurant he chose, you don’t want to get sick around your midterms. Jungkook puts a coat on too, and a second later you’re walking outside, the wind catching in the lapels of your coat. You shiver, hurrying down the stairs.

“Shit, it’s cold,” you grumble.

Jungkook kisses your forehead, and suddenly it feels like the warmest summer day.

“Let’s hurry then,” he says, and you hold hands as you walk to his car, which fortunately isn’t parked too far.

You blast the heat the second the engine purrs to life, and Jungkook laughs next to you, his hand finding your thigh. You chat about everything and nothing as he drives you to the restaurant, and he drops you right in front of the doors despite the fact that he needs to go park further away. You complain about it, saying that you’re fine to walk with him, but the stern look he sends you makes you pout, though you obey and slide outside of the car to walk into the restaurant. 

It’s fancy. You’d expected it to be fancy, but you didn’t think it would be fancy fancy. There’s a huge crystal candelabra hanging from the ceiling in the hall, the lights catching in the crystal and reflecting the multiple facets. The walls are covered in red tapestry, and fake dark wood columns climb the walls as if they’re holding up the ceiling.  It’s beautiful, extravagant, and though you feel out of place, you know that you’re okay.

You belong anywhere in the world where Jungkook is, and tonight, it’s at this restaurant. 

Jungkook meets you in the lobby a few minutes later, cheeks red from the cold wind outside. His hair is slightly ruffled, a lone strand having escaped from the confines of his hairstyle, and you immediately reach up to push it back.

“Thanks,” Jungkook says, tugging you close to kiss your cheek. “Let’s go.”

You walk up to the desk, behind which the hostess has been waiting for you. She smiles at the two of you, and then leads you to the table that Jungkook reserved for the evening.

The restaurant proper is just as beautiful as the hall, with its dim lights that hint at a romantic ambiance. Candles adorn the center of every table, on top of white tablecloths lined with gold. You’re pretty sure the glasses on the table are also made of crystal, but you don’t focus on them long enough to tell as Jungkook helps you out of your coat, draping it over the chair he’s pulled for you.

“You’re such a gentleman,” you tease as he walks around the table and sits in front of you.

“Esmeralda raised me well,” he answers.

You furrow your brows in question. “Esmeralda?”

He smiles gently. “My nanny.”

Oh.

He hasn’t told you much about her, but you know he cared for her a lot. It shows in the way his eyes dip to the table, and in the deep breath that he takes, heaviness settling on him.

“I’m sure she was a wonderful woman,” you gently say.

He nods, meeting your gaze again. “She was the best. She would have loved you.”

You’re not sure about that statement, but it makes butterflies take flight in your stomach all the same. 

“I would have loved her, too.”

Jungkook’s smile grows bigger as the heaviness lifts, and he looks at you with the sparkles in his doe eyes that you’ve come to love so much through the months.

Before you can speak more, you’re handed menus for drinks. Jungkook suggests a bottle of red wine, and you accept the offer, trusting him more than you to know what to drink at a place like this. As the waitress takes the order, you glance around to the other couples, fast in intimate conversations all around you. Jazz music is playing over hidden speakers just loud enough so that you can’t hear the people around you, and it really makes for an intimate ambiance, like maybe it’s just you and Jungkook in the restaurant tonight.

“You like it?” Jungkook asks when the waitress leaves.

“Like it?” you repeat.

“The restaurant.”

You nod, scanning the place with your gaze once more, before setting your eyes on him. “Yes. It seems really fancy though.”

“I can’t treat my girl?”

Your mouth falls open as your heart starts racing in your chest. “Your girl?”

He grins. “Are you not my girl?”

You’re blushing. You’re blushing like crazy, yet you can’t help the small happy dance that takes over you. Indeed, you squirm on your chair, smiling wide as Jungkook chuckles softly.

“That’s right, I’m your girl,” you reply. “And you’re my boy.”

He scrunches up his nose. “That makes it sound like I’m a baby.”

“Are you not?” you tease.

He rolls his eyes, though the amusement that paints his features tells you that he isn’t annoyed in the slightest.  “We should choose what to eat.”

He’s right, and so you grab a menu to choose what you want. A few minutes later, when the waitress returns with the wine bottle, Jungkook lets you taste it despite your lack of knowledge of wine. You judge it good enough, nodding wisely as Jungkook snorts in front of you. You throw him a warning glare, though it’s more teasing than anything, and then you both order your meals along with an appetizer of beef tartare to share. 

The conversation is easy after that, while you share a first glass of wine. It truly is a good wine - it’s a lot sweeter than you expected it to be, and you enjoy the taste of it as Jungkook tells you stories from his childhood.

By the time the beef tartare arrives, the conversation has shifted to what you did during the summer.

“I’m jealous,” Jungkook says when you tell him about the camping trip with Taehyung and your mother. “I’ve never gone camping.”

Your gaze widens. “You haven’t?”

He eats a piece of tartare, nodding his head. “Never.”

“Let’s go next summer!” you say. “You can tag along on our trip. I’m sure my mom wouldn’t mind.”

He smiles, eyes sparkling. “As long as I get to share a tent with you.”

“Obviously,” you say, chuckling. “But you’ll have to behave.”

“Hey, I always behave!”

You both laugh, though Jungkook’s features grow somber a few seconds later, his laughter fading. 

“Everything okay?”

He shrugs, lips jutting out in a small pout. “Your summer sounds like it was a lot more fun than mine.”

You purse your lips, reaching across the table to grab his hand. You gently squeeze his fingers, and he meets your gaze, offering you a quick smile that barely meets his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you gently say.

“Not your fault,” he reassures you. “It was just a lot of sudden responsibilities and… navigating it all when thinking that I lost you was hard, you know?”

“I can imagine,” you whisper.

“But it’s okay,” he says, but he doesn’t sound convinced. “Taking over the US branch of JJS is scary, but I know it’s the right thing to do.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. “My parents finally deem me worthy enough to talk to.” He pauses, sighing deeply. “So that’s something, no?”

Your heart breaks for him, for the kid who always wanted his parents’ approval but never got it.

“I guess it is,” you agree. Your thumb glides on the back of his hand. “I’m sorry they treated you like that growing up. You didn’t deserve it.”

“Ah it’s okay,” he says. His fingers grip your hand tighter. “I mentioned to you that I go to therapy, right?”

You nod. “Yeah, you did.”

“It’s really helped with that,” he admits, and he offers you a small, vulnerable smile. “With a lot of things actually.”

You smile softly. “I’m glad it did, Kook. You deserve the healing.”

He pats your hand, letting go of your fingers to jab his fork in a piece of tartare. “Have some of it,” he says, raising the fork towards you.

You eat the tartare, the taste melting in your mouth. “It’s so good,” you say once you swallow.

He nods, taking another piece. “I came here a lot last year,” he admits. “Alone.”

“Why alone?” you ask, tilting your head to the side. 

“Because most of my friends wouldn’t be able to afford it,” he points out. “And then, none of them knew that I am…” he trails off, but you don’t need him to complete the sentence to understand. 

“I knew,” you remind him.

He tilts his head to the side, cocking an eyebrow. “I think you would have had an aneurysm if I’d asked you out on a date in public then.”

“Jungkook!” you let out, though the second he starts laughing, you can’t help but join too. Because he’s right - you would have never risked being in public with him like this, not when it could get to Taehyung’s ears somehow.

You finish the tartare, sipping on the wine as it goes. Jungkook asks you about your plans for the rest of college, for your future as a medical student, and you tell him that you and Nabi are planning to take the same route, if possible.

“You girls are inseparable,” he teases.

“We are,” you say, nodding your head. He chuckles, though he immediately listens as you continue, “What about you though? What’s the plan when college finishes?”

He’s in his last year after all.

“My father wants me to do an MBA at Harvard or NYU,” Jungkook admits. “And though I don’t really feel like studying at one of those universities, I already said I would.” He sighs, his shoulders slumping forward a little, the perfect picture of defeat. “I wish I could just stay here.” He meets your gaze. “With you.”

You wish he could stay, too.

“It would be awesome,” you agree. “But you have to plan your future too! We’re not even… fully dating yet?” You say it like a question, and he pouts, a frown overtaking his features. “You know what I mean. I don’t want to be the thing keeping you from doing what needs to be done for your career, you know?”

“Yeah, no, I get it,” he reassures you, the frown vanishing. “Don’t worry. I could always drive down here on the weekend.”

“Or I drive up!” you suggest. “Besides, how long is an MBA? Maybe I can try applying to NYU for med school and meet you there.”

“I might do full-time or accelerated,” Jungkook admits. “So…”

He’s interrupted as the waitress stops next to you to steal the empty appetizer plate away. You watch how she eyes him up, and you can’t help but grab his hand. He squeezes yours, a knowing smile on his lips as he looks down at the table.

“You always get jealous easily?” he teases when she’s gone.

You glare at him, choosing to ignore his comment. “You were saying?”

He laughs, but he recovers quickly, saying, “So I would probably be done by the time you start med school.” 

Right.

“Well then I’ll come live with you while I study there!” you suggest. “So we’ll just be separated for two years.”

Jungkook winces. “I’ll still drive down here every weekend. I don’t think I’ll be able to stand my family for longer than a few days at a time.”

As much as you understand him, it still pains you to hear so. Because, how can’t they see just how amazing Jungkook is? 

“I’m sorry…” you let out.

“Don’t be,” he reassures you, squeezing your hand again where it rests on the table. “I just don’t want to be away from you.”

It’s cheesy, but there’s also underlying pain in there. You can’t blame him - the months away from him have been some of the hardest of your life for you too. You’ve been overcompensating since Sunday, spending practically every second together, but you don’t mind.

It’s healing, oh so healing, and you just want to bask in it while you can. Though you don’t think he’s going to be ripped away from you, you can’t help the fear that still creeps at the back of your mind when you don’t pay attention.

Your main dishes arrive, and you smile at the sight of how small the dish is - plenty enough for you, but you already know Jungkook will eat some more when you get home later. The conversation is lighter while you eat, filled with stories about your classes and that midterm you’re convinced you failed last week. Jungkook reassures you, and the rest of the dinner goes by so quickly it feels like a car passing by at a hundred miles per hour. You want it to last - but soon enough you’ve eaten dinner, and the wine bottle is empty, your mind buzzing from all the alcohol you ingested, which is obviously more than Jungkook considering he has to drive.

You’re pouting. You know you are, and Jungkook chuckles at the sight.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

You nod, though your pout intensifies. “I can’t believe our first date is almost over.”

He smiles, his eyes sparkling like a thousand stars. “We’ll have plenty of other dates,” he promises. “Besides, you’re the one who said you have to study tomorrow.”

“I’m boring, aren’t I?” you say, scrunching up your nose.

You do have three midterms next week though.

“Nah, you’re cute,” Jungkook replies, winking at you. “Studying hard is hot.”

“Is it though?” you say, laughing.

He nods forcefully. “If it’s you doing it? Totally.”

Another laugh tumbles from your lips, interrupted by the waitress as she stops by the table with the cheque. Jungkook pays, making sure you don’t see the bill, and you then get up, putting your coats on to slowly head to the world outside.

It’s drizzling now, and you pull the hood of your coat on your head, following Jungkook as he leads you, his large hand firmly wrapped around your small one. You look up at him when he glances over his shoulder, melting at the sight of the dimpled smile on his lips.

“You look adorable,” he says.

“So do you.”

He narrows his gaze. “Thanks?”

You snort, tugging on his hand so that he faces you. “It was a compliment.”

He pulls you closer, hands settling on your waist. The drizzle tickles your face as you look up, your hands resting on his chest, and for a moment it’s like the world is slowing down, allowing you a glimpse of an infinity of you and him. The wind blows, and the hood of your coat falls, your hair dancing around your head. Jungkook gently pushes a strand of it behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek.

Despite the cold, you feel like you’re in your own summerland, and your lips part as Jungkook’s thumb teases your lower lip.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes.

“Kook…”

You’re alone in the world. Tonight is just about you and him, like you’re the main characters in the story, and the second the drizzle turns into rain, Jungkook presses his lips on yours. You sigh softly, kissing him back as he tugs you so close you feel the full hardness of his body against you. Your arms sneak around his neck, holding him tight, and he kisses you like you have all of the time in the universe.

Because now you do. Now you do, and it’s liberating in the softest of ways. It’s you and him, swimming in the gentle rain, holding each other closer because you can, and you want to, and no one can ever take it away from you anymore.

“I really love you, you know?” Jungkook says after he pulls away, resting his forehead against yours. “I think I was waiting for you my whole life.”

“Jungkook…” you breathe out. 

“I’m serious,” he insists. “You make me happy. More than you can even imagine.” He pecks your forehead, pulling away just enough to meet your gaze. “And I’ve been dying to kiss you all evening so…”

You can barely hold your smile in. “I get a kiss on the first date?” 

He smirks. “You can get a lot more if you want to, peach.”

Though the rain is cold, and your hair is slowly getting wet, and your makeup is surely getting ruined, your blood heats up in your veins. “Oh?”

“If you want to, of course,” he adds, voice low. “Unless you don’t fuck on the first date.”

You chuckle, rolling your eyes. “Of course I don’t.”

Jungkook steps back, letting go of you. “Well, then I won’t push you.”

He starts walking away, and you laugh as you follow him, quickly grabbing his hand again. You reach his car thirty seconds later, and Jungkook opens the door for you. You climb in, and he shuts the door behind you before walking around the car to get in the driver’s seat.

“Thank you for tonight,” he says when the car purrs to life. He throws you a quick glance filled with indescribable softness. “I really had fun.”

“Me too, Kook,” you whisper.

His hand finds your thigh once he’s finally driving down the street, heading to your shared home. “I hope I didn’t disappoint.”

You wonder if it’s a hint of insecurity in his voice, or if he’s just teasing you. Still, you reply, “You could never.”

You don’t want him to ever feel insecure when it comes to you. Not when his very soul is the reason why your heart beats in your chest.

“My parents would highly disagree.”

There’s a silence as your mouth falls open, and Jungkook throws you a look before bursting out laughing. 

“It’s a joke, peach,” he says, squeezing your thigh. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Jungkook,” you let out. “That was…”

“Funny?” he provides.

You snort. “No.”

“You laughed.”

You glare at him, slowly shaking your head. “I didn’t.”

There’s a prolonged silence, and he chuckles, patting your thigh. “I swear it’s okay,” he says. “It really was just a joke.”

“I just think it’s…” you trail off, shrugging your shoulders. “Sad?”

He toys with his piercings, throwing you a quick glance. “I guess it is. But therapy has been helping.”

“I’m proud of you,” you whisper.

Jungkook freezes next to you, and you know the words have hit him right in his chest. Has anyone ever told him before?

“I really am,” you add. “I know therapy can be hard but look at you!”

Even in the orange neon light of the street lights, you can see Jungkook’s cheeks tinting with pink. His waterline shines silver, unshed tears swimming in his gaze, and he gulps, letting out a small chuckle.

“Thank you,” he says once he’s mastered his emotions. “You are…”

“The best?” you suggest when he doesn’t finish his sentence.

He laughs a hearty, happy giggle that makes everything in you shine, like maybe a star was born in your chest. “Yes,” he agrees, nodding his head wisely. “Definitely the best.” 

You fall silent for the remainder of the ride, though you keep playing with Jungkook’s fingers where his hand rests on your thigh. He’s wearing rings, and you spin the one around his index mindlessly, eyes cast on the world outside the window.

You near your apartment, and you notice the lights are on in the living room, a sign that Taehyung and Ariane are probably still there. To your surprise, Jungkook doesn’t slow down, and you glance at him, brows furrowed.

“Are we not going home?” you ask.

He looks at you just long enough to wink, then settles his gaze back on the road. “You really think I’d let the evening end so early on our first date?”

Gosh.

Warmth swarms into your heart as it beats softly in your chest, and you slightly shake your head, rolling your eyes playfully. “Alright then. Where are we going?”

He grips your hand, raising it to his lips so that he can press a feathersoft kiss on your knuckles. “It’s a surprise.” You narrow your eyes as if glaring at him, earning a soft laugh from him. “You really are adorable.”

“And you are fucking cheesy.”

You laugh in unison as he nods his head yes. “Guilty,” he says when the laughter recedes.

The rain hasn’t slowed down since you reached his car, only increasing as Jungkook drives and drives up until you’re out of town, and you think tonight might be perfect after all. Because you’re with him, and it’s freeing, like maybe you were stuck in a cage for months before tonight.

The feeling grows tenfold when you reach your destination, the top of a hill overlooking the city. Through the rain lashing the windshield, the city seems to be a sparkling jewel where it sprawls down in the valley. It’s beautiful in a calming, ethereal way, and your eyes slide to Jungkook.

“How did you find this place?” you ask him as he turns the engine of the car off.

He unbuckles his seat belt, turning so that he can lean his back against the door and look at you. “When I was searching for a place to sleep when Tae asked me to leave,” he admits. “I drove around for most of the night and stumbled upon this place.”

The memory of pain jabs deep in your chest, but a deep breath soothes it away.  

“I’m sorry Tae kicked you out,” you whisper as you look outside.

He shrugs. “It’s okay. I came back on the Saturday,” he admits. “Slept in my car on Thursday, then at Jimin’s and then Tae texted me to come home.”

You nod, glancing at him. “How did that go?”

“It went a lot better than I thought it would,” Jungkook answers. “Mostly Tae said he wished we’d told him before, and that though he was a little… disgusted that you and I had sex, he just wants us to be happy.”

You snort. “Disgusted?”

Jungkook nods, and he lets out a small laugh. “I mean… Can you blame him? You’re his little sister, I highly doubt he wants to think about you having sex. Like… Do you want to imagine him with Ariane?”

The second the image pops into your mind you scrunch up your nose in disgust, punching Jungkook in the shoulder. “Ew.”

“See? You get it.”

You chuckle, and then you look outside again. The windows are already fogging up a little, distorting the lights from the city even more.

“You wanted to ask me questions the other day?” Jungkook says.

You furrow your brows. “Huh?”

“Last Sunday,” he explains. “When we…” He motions between the two of you as if that explains anything. “You said you wanted to know everything about me, and I said I’d answer all of your questions.”

“Oh right.” You ponder for a time, gazing out the window, and then ask, “What’s your favourite colour?”

He smiles, eyes sparkling, and then sets his gaze on the city too. “Black. You?”

“Black is not a colour,” you point out. “But I’ll let it slide. Mine’s green.”

“You’d look fantastic in green.”

Your cheeks burn, and you look at him again. “Favourite animal?”

“Dogs.”

You grin. “Me too.”

Jungkook grabs your hand, and presses a soft kiss on your knuckles. “Then we will get a dog together.”

“And a cat?”

He chuckles “You want a cat too?”

You sigh, reminiscing about the cat you had growing up because your mother was too busy to get a dog like you and Taehyung wanted.

“Why not?” you say. “That way the dog would always have a friend around.”

“Why not two dogs?” he suggests.

You smile. “Deal.”

You go back and forth like this for a while, sharing everything from your favourite food to your favourite movie, though the questions slowly get more personal. When you ask him what his favourite childhood memory is, Jungkook tenses, yet he replies his Disney trip with Esmeralda and Junghyun. Yours is the first camping trip you’d taken with your mother and Taehyung.

“I’m serious,” Jungkook says after you finish telling him the story of how you’d burned all your marshmallows that first night. “I’m coming with you guys next summer.”

“You are,” you agree, nodding forcefully. “My mom will love you.”

He smirks. “Of course she will, I’m the whole package.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, even though you fully agree with him. 

There’s a silence, as you both shift your attention towards the world outside. The windows are completely fogged up now, and the sound of the rain on the roof of the car creates a gentle melody, one that’s been accompanying the conversation as it goes. 

You glance at Jungkook. You’re not surprised that his eyes trail to you a second later - big doe eyes filled with all the stars in your universe. Especially as he smiles. It starts deep behind his pupils, then cascades down his face to stretch his lips in a blinding smile that eclipses all those you’ve seen before.

And you wonder, has he truly smiled since he lost you that May night? Or is that his first true smile, the one not of the moon passing in front of the sun, but of the moment the sun shines through after the passing? Because his smile is truly blinding, like he wasn’t really smiling all night. And maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he was still stuck in the shadows of the months apart, of the void between the stars in the night sky after you’d lost each other.

But he isn’t stuck in those shadows, in that void anymore. He isn’t, and you reach for him, reach for his soul and heart. He meets you halfway there, with a gentle sigh that fans over your features as your eyes flutter close and your lips brush his. The kiss is softer than a flower’s petal, the kiss is love shared and earned and longing and the perspective of a bright future, if you so dare to take it. 

The kiss fills you with love for this man sitting next to you. For this man that kissed you for the first time on Valentine’s Day, stealing your heart from your chest then. It’s not scary - you know he’ll take care of your heart till the sun sets on your last day.

He’ll take care of your heart until the sun rises on your first heaven. Though perhaps this is your first heaven. Perhaps it starts with him, and leads into infinity. You think it would make sense - it always was about you and Jeon Jungkook after all.

When the kiss ends and you sit back in your seat to hold his gaze, Jungkook smiles again. Just as soft, just as gentle, like the rising sun in the summer. It holds promises of you and him, and you love him.

You love Jeon Jungkook more than you’ve ever loved anything in this world.

“Do you want to head home?” Jungkook suggests a little while later, after you’ve gone back to looking at the jewel of a city down below.

You sigh, checking the time on your phone. It’s half past ten, and though you do have to study tomorrow, you don’t feel like leaving just yet. Not when your heart beats for him like it does, slowly filling with unquenchable desire, with a thirst for him that only he can help with. So, instead of accepting the offer, you turn to face Jungkook, smiling softly.

“Not really,” you say. You glance at the back seat, your smile turning into a devilish smirk. “Remember when I sucked you in your car?”

He follows your gaze to the backseat. “Yes?”

“Have you ever fucked anyone on that backseat?”

The silence that follows fills with tension, with barely concealed lust, and Jungkook lets out a low chuckle.

“No,” he replies. “Why? Got anything in mind?”

“I kind of really want to ride you right now.”

You’re not exactly in the mood. You know you’ll get there easily - it’s mostly just that this place feels like a safe haven, like a retreat from the whole universe where you and Jungkook can just get lost for a while. You want to take advantage of it, to live in it until it’s time to return to your normal life, to Taehyung and Ariane and studying.

“Shit peach,” Jungkook lets out, voice dark and husky. “Say less.”

You laugh, though you immediately squeeze between the front seats to get to the back. Jungkook, much larger than you, doesn’t fit, and he grumbles as he gets out of the car, only to climb with you in the back.

“Good thing the windows are all fogged up, mmh?” he says as you lean against the door opposite him, legs spread open to create room for him to get close to you. 

You bite at your lower lip. “You don’t want people to see us?”

His eyes darken, if that’s even possible. “Oh peach. Don’t you remember how I wanted all of New York to see just how good I fuck you?”

Your blood heats up in your veins, shooting down your body until it warms up your core. “Oh, I remember,” you whisper, breathless as Jungkook pushes your dress higher on your body, revealing your dragon tattoo first, which he gently traces with a finger, and then the black, lacy thong you’re wearing.

“So, so hot,” Jungkook praises.

He leans in, his lips ghosting yours, though he diverts at the last second, aiming for your neck instead. You tilt your head to the side, letting out a breathy sound as he finds the sweet spot under your ear. He sucks on it lightly, teeth teasing it, and then pulls away just enough to meet your gaze.

“Just, before we go too far,” he says, and there’s a hint of clarity in his dark eyes, of sanity you know he’s about to lose. “I don’t have any condoms.”

You smirk. “Guess that means you’ll have to fill me up.”

“Fuck.”

Before you can truly register what happened, Jungkook crashes his mouth on yours, ravishing a languid kiss that has your mind spinning. You fight against the buttons of his dress shirt, and when you think you’ll lose it Jungkook pulls away to help.

Soon the shirt is off, revealing Jungkook’s perfect body, though the dim light from the city down below doesn’t allow you to see his hard-earned muscles in all their glory.

“You’re keeping the dress,” Jungkook says as he plays with the hem between his thumb and forefinger. “I want to ruin you in it.”

You’d argue if you were able to produce a single sane thought, but right now, all you want is him, and if he wants the dress on, you’ll keep it on.

“The panties can go though,” he says, and he lets go of your dress to press a finger on your core. You’re already getting wet, so you’re not surprised when he hisses, and then brings his finger to his mouth. “You know what?” he says after he’s sucked on his finger. “I think it’s time for dessert.”

Though the car isn’t that big, Jungkook manages to move back enough so that he can lower his face between your thighs. He kisses his way down, sucking a hickey on the inside of your right thigh that makes you moan softly.

You lose a hand in his hair, the other finding leverage on the back of the passenger’s seat next to you as Jungkook nears your pussy. He doesn’t go for it though, instead pressing a light kiss on your clit through the fabric of your thong, and then he moves to your other thigh.

“Don’t tease,” you whine, though he still sucks a hickey on the soft skin of your inner left thigh.

“Why?” he asks, his lips moving against your skin as he licks at the hickey.

“I want you.”

“Oh, peach, I promise you’ll have all of me soon.” 

The words make you see stars, or maybe that’s because he’s pulled your panties to the side with one hand, revealing your glistening pussy to him. He blows on it, and your eyes flutter shut as your hips try to rise towards the sensation, though Jungkook holds you down.

“Be patient for me, peach,” he warns. He bites at the inside of your thigh, hard enough to slightly hurt. “I’ve been thinking about what you taste like all week.”

You haven’t had sex again since last Sunday. In the moment, you hadn’t cared that Taehyung was home, but you both were too embarrassed to fuck again since then. It’s been haunting you, evidently so, considering you’ve slept tangled up with him every night. More than once you’d felt his arousal against you, and resisting was the hardest thing you’ve ever done.

Perhaps it’s contributing to your impatience tonight. 

“Yeah?” you let out in a breathy sound.

Jungkook teases your clit with the tip of his tongue. “Yeah,” he answers. “I’ve been thinking of how you come undone on my tongue.” He sucks on your clit next, before adding, “How you always come so good on my dick too.”

You’re going to die tonight, aren’t you? He’s about to destroy you, and you don’t even care. 

You want it so bad you think you might die if he doesn’t give it to you.

“Kook…”

“Yeah?” He raises his head from between your legs, kissing your thigh. 

“Please touch me,” you beg.

“Where?” he asks. He kisses your thigh again. “Here?” He grabs your wrist, bringing your hand to his mouth so that he can kiss the back of it. “Here?” He moves up your body and captures your lips in a quick kiss that still leaves your mind spinning. “Or here?”

“I want your tongue on me,” you breathe out against his mouth.

“But where, peach?” he teases. “You’ll have to be more precise.”

“Eat me out, Kook.” You moan softly as one of his fingers teases your entrance. “Please eat me out.”

“Oh I will,” he says like a promise, and then he pushes his finger in up to the first knuckle. “I will,” he repeats against your lips, and then he’s going down your body again as he slowly pushes his finger deeper inside of you. 

He arches it, searches for your g-spot, and lets out a low chuckle as you squirm the second he finds it, trying to fuck yourself on him.

“Patience,” he teases, and he pulls his finger almost all the way out before pushing in again.

You moan softly, resting your head against the door. This time you resist moving though, and Jungkook answers by diving his face between your legs again, his tongue circling around your clit once. He does it again when you return your hand to his hair, and this time you hold his head in place, keeping him from pulling away. He laughs against you, which sends vibrations deep inside your core, and then he finally gives in to your desire, sucking on your clit hard as his finger starts fucking you at a steady rhythm.

He’s good to you. He’s always been - far too good - and tonight is no different. No, tonight you think he might even be better, like the months apart only served to enhance the desire and passion you share. Because even though you’ve had sex twice in the last week and a half, tonight feels new, in all the ways that matter.

Tonight feels like your soul might fuse with his, and for the first time since the very beginning of your relationship with Jeon Jungkook, you jump in feet first.

Jungkook’s mouth works on you, his tongue alternating with pressing circles and licking at your clit, the pressure he applies slowly increasing as time goes by. Soon, he’s able to add a second finger inside of you, and though your walls clench hard around his digits, he works the muscle loose.

So much so that, by the time your orgasm is nearing the horizon of your conscience, he’s able to push a third finger in. You’re wet, soaked and dripping, and your pussy makes squelching sounds as he fingers you in time with the ministrations of his tongue on you. You’ve been moaning softly this whole time, though now that you’re split wide open the sounds grow higher pitched.

“You’ll come for me, mmh?” Jungkook says against your pussy. He laps you up, drinking your juices. “I want you to fucking scream my name when you come, okay?”

You don’t know why it undoes you. It just does, and a second later you’re indeed moaning his name, your orgasm slamming into you. It shakes you to your core, and your walls clench hard around Jungkook’s fingers, though he pushes to keep them inside of you. His tongue keeps moving on your clit as you come, milking your orgasm in the most sinful way, and the waves of the climax wash over you, again and again and again until all that’s left of you is a breathy mess.

Jungkook kneels back on his heels, wiping his chin clean with the back of his clean hand. He licks the fingers he’s been fucking you with clean, and you watch through half-lidded eyes as ecstasy invades your bloodstream, blowing your pupils wide.

“You’re always such a good girl for me,” Jungkook praises as he caresses your thighs next. 

“Fuck, Kook,” you let out, and it’s whiny, almost embarrassingly so.

“I know.” He caresses up and down your thighs another time. “Think you can take my dick now?”

You gulp, your throat dried out by all the moaning you’ve been doing. “Yes, please.”

He pats your thighs approvingly, taking your panties off for you. He then undresses himself, awkwardly so with the size of his car, yet soon enough his dick is freed. It slaps against his abdomen, standing hard and tall and leaking precum, so enticing to you that you think you might be going crazy for this man. You immediately reach for Jungkook’s dick, grabbing him so that you can jerk him off.

He’s steel hard under your touch, his dick twitching as you stroke up, your thumb teasing his slit. You work your way down then, smearing the precum on him, and then move up again. You watch what you’re doing like you’re entranced, and you think maybe you are.

Jungkook’s dick has that effect on you, after all.

Jungkook lets you jerk him off for a few seconds, grunting softly as you spit in your hand to lubricate his tip. He soon grows impatient though, and he stops you with a hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to ride me?” he asks, voice so low it’s almost gravelly. “I want to feel your pussy on my cock, peach.”

You smirk through the haze encasing your brain, and you straddle his lap, holding yourself up on his shoulders. “Yeah?” you say, circling your hips on his dick, your juices dripping all over him.

His eyes flutter shut, and you lean forward to suck on his lip piercings. He grunts, his hands flying to your waist so that he can guide your motions, forcing you into a back-and-forth motion that rubs his dick on your oversensitive clit in just the right way.

“Fuck,” you moan, your face falling in his neck.

He forces you back, then forth. “That feels good?” he asks.

“Everything always feels good with you,” you reply.

“Damn right.” He kisses the side of your face, and you meet his gaze just long enough for him to be able to capture your mouth in a languid kiss. You taste yourself on him, and it only turns you on further, until you move up enough to be able to grab the base of his dick and align him with your entrance.

You lower yourself on him slowly, your mouth never disconnecting from his. He grunts against your lips, and you swallow every sound, up until his dick is fully sheathed in you, pushing against your cervix.

“Fuck you feel good,” he groans, and he leans his head back against the car seat. 

It reveals his neck to you, and you lean in to lick at the column of his throat, your lips closing around his Adam’s apple as you suck softly. His grip on your waist tightens, before shifting to your hips, and he lifts you up, slamming you back down a second later.

You see stars. You fucking see stars, and your mouth falls open as you moan unabashedly loud. It spurs Jungkook into action, and he lifts you enough so that he can ram his hips into you, his dick splitting you open again and again until all you can think of is the space where your bodies are connected. Jungkook lets go of your hips on one side, grabbing a handful of your dress so that he can push it up, revealing the space between you, and his cock inside of you.

He slows down, grunting softly as you moan his name, and then he entirely stops. 

“You look so pretty on my dick, you know?” he says, and he pushes up once, before pulling almost all the way out. “You feel so, so good too.” He fucks you a few times, eyes fluttering shut as he takes in the feeling. “I just want to fuck you constantly.”

“Please do it,” you reply, and a second later he’s pulling you flush against his chest, and then he’s fucking you hard and quick, your moans and heavy breaths filling the car into a pornographic song. The rain on the roof soothes the edges of the sinful sounds, and the dim light of the city paints it all in a scene of passion and shared love, and whispered confessions when Jungkook comes a few minutes later.

“I fucking love you,” he says, face hidden in your neck. “Shit peach, I am so in love with you.”

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the wild beats of your heart, and then you say, “Me too, Jungkook. From now on until the end.”

You don’t even know what you mean by the end. You think you mean grey hair and years and years of being with him - you almost can see it. You can see yourself going in the night with him, falling asleep on his chest eternally. Or maybe him on your chest, like that scene from The Notebook that always rips your heart from your chest.

Yes, you think if you and Jungkook are to end one day, it’ll be at the end of a very long road, and tonight you know you are ready for every single second of it.

The most beautiful part is, you know Jungkook is ready for it, too. From now on until the end.

Prev | Next

☆☆☆☆☆

can't believe there's just one chapter left :') did you guys like this one? I feel like we all deserved the healing after all the pain these two went through :') let me know what you think!

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

[swordsandholly]

Fancy

Ch 3: The Wheels of Fate Started to Turn

Previous | Next | Ao3

MDNI

Vampire!Poly 141 x Fem!Plus Size!Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: A permanent darkness rests over the city. You’ve lived here your whole life - in the slums, just another human to be pushed and pulled at the whims of the vampires that run it. Another human made to bleed and crawl their way through a meager life.

Maybe, just maybe, a meeting by happenstance will change your fate for the better.

You feel sick when you wake. Muscles weak and body shaky. It takes more effort than you would like to peel your eyes open. You haven’t sat under a UV lamp in a while and it’s starting to show. The cocoon of sheets feels so good you don’t want to get up, to peel yourself away from them.

You realize Johnny and Kyle are gone as you sit up, all alone in the center of the massive bed. The room feels darker without them, somehow. Emptier. You roll over to climb off the bed, interrupted by the sound of paper crinkling under you. You feel around the mattress only to find a thick envelope with ‘Fancy’ neatly written across the front. As you open it, your breath catches in your throat at the contents. It’s nearly double what they said they’d pay. More than you could have ever hoped for. It makes your hands shake to hold that much money all at once. Once the shock wears off, a folded up piece of paper catches your eye.

Hey lovie,

Sorry to take off without saying goodbye. Had some business to attend to. Figured we should let you sleep. Hope you won’t be too mad ;)

We left a little extra for spending the night. Nothing like cuddling up next to a soft, warm lady.

Let’s do it again soon.

Kyle + Johnny

The handwriting changes to a messy scrawl that you have to squint to make out.

P.S. You look bonnie in my shirt. Gonnae be thinking about that all day. Feel free to take it with you.

P.S.S. I want it back unwashed.

You can’t help but snicker to yourself. Damn dirty dog.

You have no reason to deny him, though. So you slip the t-shirt on over your dress as you get ready to leave. The dress feels far too constrictive for the early morning. This is why you don’t do nights - walking out looking like a mess in the itchy day old clothes. You give up looking for your panties which seem to have evaporated, not too keen on putting them back on anyway.

Before you can tip-toe your way out to the front door, you find yourself pausing. The kitchen light is on, illuminating a figure working over the stove. Curiosity gets the better of you and you circle around the counter to see John sorting ingredients in nothing but a loose pair of sweatpants. Strong, nicely hairy chest on full display.

And they call you and slut.

“Good morning.” He flashes you a bright smile. Of course he noticed you. He probably smelled you before he even heard you leave the bedroom.

“Sorry… I, uh, didn’t mean to intrude.” You mumble awkwardly.

“No, no. I was hoping you’d stop f’me. My boys treat you alright?” He eyes your shirt.

Being asked that a second time throws you off. Why the hell do they care so much? “They did.”

“Good. Good.” He smiles warmly. “I’ll make you some breakfast.”

You scoff. “You? No offense but I’d rather take my chances with the nearest dumpster.”

“Contrary to popular belief, some of us remember how to cook.”

You glance at the half-dozen cart of eggs and perfectly fresh vegetables neatly arranged across the counter. “And you just happened to have human food on hand?”

He pauses. “…I may have had some delivered.”

John turns back to the stove, muttering something under his breath about ‘too smart for her own damn good.��

You pad over beside him to look down at the food, staring at the spread. You point at some red thing you don’t recognize. “What is that?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “The tomato?”

“Tomatoes are purple.” You poke it. “And more squishy.”

You meet his eye and for a brief moment, you think you see pity. Something sad swirling in the blue of his irises. He schools his face back to neutral before you can be sure you saw anything at all.

“Well, hopefully you trust an old codger like me to make you a half-decent omelette.”

You snort, leaning back on the kitchen island. “I’ve got nothing to lose.”

You both lapse into silence. He does seem to know what he’s doing - carefully chopping the vegetables and carefully folding the omelette in the pan. Maybe he had a human wife at some point or something. Most likely. That’s not uncommon, especially back in the 21st century. Practically a trend. You tilt your head as you watch him move, brow furrowed. He’s so weird.

What could you have said to them to make them treat you like this? You’re almost afraid to know - that block of time so buried in the recesses of your mind there’s no hope of ever recovering it. That doesn’t mean you haven’t tried since that day, but you know we’ll enough that it never works. You don’t have a single guess as to what it could have been.

Maybe you didn’t say anything. Maybe they’re just weirdly tunnel visioned. Vamps do that often enough - hone in on a target of affection. For any reason from looking like a dead loved one or they just have an enticing scent. Except they’re not usually this… nice. Normally they’d just drain the object of their affection and be done with it. Not ask them to sleep over for the night and cook them breakfast in the morning.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when a plate is set in front of you. It looks… perfect. At least you assume that’s what a good omelette looks like. Nicely golden. It looks alien. Food from another world - another time. You glance up at John as he watches you expectantly. It won’t hurt to entertain him, you suppose. Even if it does end up being shit. You cut a small bite, tentatively bringing it to you your lips. You brace for something awful.

Except it’s incredible. Perfectly cooked and seasoned. You can’t help but let out a content little hum before practically scarfing it down. You haven’t had food like this in… ever, actually. Neither this fresh or well made.

“So you like it?” John smiles.

You nod happily with a mouth full of food before remembering where you are. Steeling yourself and slowing down, returning to the more reserved persona. “It’s good.”

John huffs out a laugh, turning his back to you to clean up. “I’ll drive you home when you’re finished.”

You pause mid bite. “Oh, no, I can take the train-“

“Do you really want t’walk all the way to the depot in those heels?” John cocks an brow, blue eyes dragging from your face, over your body and down your legs. There’s a slow burning intensity in the movement that sends a shiver down your spine.

You stare at him for a moment, uncertain of what to do. The last thing you need is to owe a vampire for anything. They’ll take your debts to the grave. It happened with your neighbor once - you learned early on to be wary of any offer made by one of them. Never make a deal with one of the devils.

“You won’t be indebted for it.” John chuckles as if he can read your damn mind. Maybe he can.

You chew your lip. It’s at least an hour walk to the metro station from here. You don’t want him to see where you live, though. It will ruin the illusion. Images flash through your mind of the craggily walls of your apartment building. The syringes that line the sidewalk. There’s that massive blood stain on the front steps they still haven’t cleaned up after five years.

But then you meet his eyes. They’re so sincere. So bright. Whatever that tug is in your chest that keeps giving into them pulls again. It’s unraveling you, making you insane. Surely that’s it, you’re finally going insane.

“Okay.” It comes out weaker than you’d like.

John grins a though you gave him the greatest gift in history. It makes your face hot - leaves you shifting awkwardly. You’re not used to that much emotion carved into their marble features. This coven is too expressive. It’s putting you on edge, leaving you with your guard up. Against what, though? What’s the point? Shouldn’t you be happy and play into their more excitable nature?

It’s too unfamiliar. Too otherworldly to see human emotion on their god like features.

A cool finger hooks under your chin, lifting your face to meet John’s gaze. “You think too much.”

You scoff and tear your face away from his hand. Thinking keeps you alive. The girls that don’t think don’t survive past their teens. You have to be smart to stay alive here. To even have a hope of keeping up with creatures who contain centuries of knowledge and experience. Who are so far ahead in the race the best you can do is limp along in the dust.

A valet pulls the car around. John changed into jeans and half zip sweater. You would die before admitting to the small bit of disappointment at him donning a shirt. You expect the black SUV from the night before to pull up. Instead, you’re met with a basic sedan. It’s still nice - obviously new. The seats are a soft, well cared for leather.

“So is this what you do? Invite prostitutes over for omlettes and tea and then drive them home?” You blurt as John starts the car. That itch to dissect their thought processes continues to plague the back of your mind.

“Tea?” He repeats, a brow raised.

“Simon made me tea last night.”

John laughs. “Kyle really did fuck your throat raw, then?”

You whirl on him, eyes wide.

“Don’t act so surprised. Johnny can’t keep his mouth shut to save his life. Said you took it beautifully.” John sighs. “Bit jealous I didn’t get to watch the show. A good cigar and whiskey in hand? The perfect night, I think. Might have to recreate it…”

That last bit sounds more for him than for you.

You shouldn’t blush. You’ve been doing this long enough that there’s no reason to blush anymore. You have no right to be flustered over something as simple as sex. It’s the way he says it, you think. The way desire drips from every syllable as though he’s never said anything more true in his immortal life.

You just hide behind a huff and look out the window. “You’re all very weird, you know that?”

“Are we, now?” John rests his elbow on the door and his head on his hand. He weaves through the chaotic city roads expertly.

“You’re too…” You wrinkle your nose, pausing. The word gets lost on your tongue.

“Human?”

“If you say so.”

John chuckles. “You’re just as weird, you know that?”

“I am not weird!” You snap indignantly.

“If you say so.”

You have to do a double take when he pulls up to your apartment. Is it really that fast by car? What was that, ten minutes? The train is a nearly twenty minute ride with two fifteen minute walks. The walk is nearly three hours - two if you take the back way.

“Everythin’ alright?” He asks, voice dropping to a low drawl. You shake your head to clear it, pulling your respirator out of your coat.

“Don’t you need a-“ You stop when you meet John’s deadpan expression. “Oh, right.”

“Appreciate the concern, love.” He chuckles. It’s a surprisingly warm sound.

You reach for the door, respirator in hand and at the ready. You pause when John lays a hand lightly on your shoulder. Turning back, your eyes meeting his. There’s that storm again. The one he looked at you with before. Something roiling underneath the surface.

“Fancy?”

“Yes?”

“Before you go.” John leans forward. “C’mere.”

You assume he wants a kiss. It wouldn’t surprise you - a little thank you for the ride. Frankly, you should have thought of it first. Instead, he ducks his head to the side at the last moment. His hand tangles gently but firmly in your hair to pull your head to the side, leaving your neck craned and exposed. You freeze. Fear takes over - your heart rate immediately spiking. Your hands fist his coat, pushing as hard as you can against the unmoving mountain that is his body.

“John-“ Your voice cracks. “Please don’t-“

“Need t’ make sure you’re safe…” He mumbles.

A fang catches your skin. You freeze.

It drags across your neck, down the arch of your artery. You suck in a hear breath, the skin not quite breaking under the touch. Before you can speak or begin pushing again or even try to get out of the car, he bites down. A yelp escapes you as his teeth slowly sink in - only through the top most layer of skin. Not enough to puncture the artery or even for his other teeth to bite into your skin.

Your whole body shakes. “What’re you-“

John shushes you as he pulls away, eyes locked on the cut he made on your neck. You can feel the wet blood beginning to drip down your neck. His hand stays in your hair, holding you in place. The blue of his irises seems somehow brighter, pupils so narrowed they don’t look to be more than pinpricks. After a few beats he seems satisfied, letting your hair go and sitting back in his seat.

“Just a precaution, love.”The vampire looks you over, eyes suddenly painfully soft again. “Take care of yourself.”

Your eyes flick between his. A cold, rushing fear pumps through your veins. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish before you finally come to your senses, taking the chance to dash out of the car and toward your apartment. Fight or flight pushing away any ability to ask what the fuck that was. By the time you turn around to check behind you, John is far down the street.

You rush to your bathroom mirror, tossing your respirator to the ground as soon as you’re in your front door. It’s not deep. He didn’t even lick up after himself - a thin trail of blood pooling around your clavicle before continuing down. It wasn’t about drinking. You hiss as your fingers lightly test the tender skin.

What the fuck?

He’s a vampire. At the end of the day that’s all he is. No facial expressions or ability to cook will undo that he’s a different creature entirely. Was that what this is about? Reminding you what they are? The power they have? You wouldn’t put it past one of them, the sick fucks. What kind of fool were you to think they’re at all different.

After a shower and finally changing into some pajamas (minus a certain vampire’s tshirt that he will not be getting back) you go to grab your lamp. It doesn’t take long to set up the UV light, just dragging it out of storage and setting up the shade above it so that the rays concentrate downward onto your skin. You slowly sink to the ground. Exhaustion clings to your bones. They feel brittle and heavy simultaneously.

You sigh, curling up under the warm light like a cat. You have to be smart about how long you stay under it - the damn thing runs up the electricity bill like nothing else. Plus, too long under it can cause serious skin damage. As much as you’d rather go without, you’ve seen what happens to those that do.

You half heartedly re-count out the envelope of money, still feeling overwhelmed at the sheer amount of it. At the whole situation at hand. You realize quickly enough that despite having the money to do almost anything you don’t actually… know what to do. Despite the plan being to save up and get out of the slums you never really planned for what to do once you were out of the slums.

The realization that you never truly believed you could do it, even unconsciously, is a little heartbreaking.

Do you keep working at the club? Hope that these clients like you enough to keep up with your new lifestyle? Pray that they enjoy fucking you for long enough to save up? Do you even want to see them after what John just did? Do you look for another job? There isn’t much you can get when the whole of your resume is stamped with WHORE in bright red letters.

With a low groan you slump back on the floor and throw your arm over your eyes. Everything is so fucked. You’re lost in it and it’s all fucked.

Normally, you would avoid information about the people that come in and out of your club. They’re looking for discretion, after all. A place to hide away from the dealings of life. A fantasy. If you were smart, you’d stick with that habit. Especially when it comes to the ones that literally compel you to forget their business.

John just lost the right to any discretion after that stunt in the car.

You open up your shitty laptop that requires five hail mary’s to start. It greets you with the top headlines of the day, all just as enjoyable as you’d expect.

UNKNOWN SUBSTANCE FOUND IN FOUR MORE JANE DOES

NEW DRUG CYTH TAKING THE UNDERGROUND MARKETS BY STORM

CORPSE FOUND WITH BLOOD LEAKING FROM PORES

You close them out, for your own sanity, and type John’s name into the search bar. A few things come up - some company called One-Four-One with the most nothing description about what kind of company they are. They “develop products and services” - aka they’re a shell for shady bullshit. They’re listed as the benefactor for some lower city charities and given responsibility for several mergers and buy-outs in the upper city. All the things you’d expect from a corporation.

It’s too clean, though. You’ve been living in the underbelly long enough to know what a front looks like. Not that you’re surprised. Every vampire corporation is a cover for a million other little inner workings you will never be privy to.

The only pictures of John are a few from press reports. His imposing figure standing behind some ugly podium with a logo hastily plastered across the front. He has a commanding air about him behind all those microphones - like a preacher or a politician. Fitting.

Johnny and Kyle have a far more risqué library. Images with models and other beautiful women. The kinds of things you’d expect from young, playboy vampires stretching over the past century at least, according to the archive dates. The boys aren’t the focus of the images - it’s all paparazzi for the women - but they’re in them nonetheless. How the hell did Johnny manage to squeeze into a pair of leather pants like that?

Simon doesn’t even seem to exist. A total ghost. No matter how deep you go you can’t find a trace of him. You manage to get all the way back to the 1990s in the archive and still come up with jack shit.

You’re left with more questions than answers and a distinct understanding that you shouldn’t ask any of them. You knew that already, though, and you have no plans to let John Price close enough to speak to you anytime soon.

You didn’t realize you fell asleep up until you wake, alarm blaring in your ear that it’s time to get up and go to work. It never ends. You still feel so fucking tired, body heavy and eyes stinging. A haze settles over your mind as you fall into your constant routine. Makeup, hair, dress, respirator on, walk, train, respirator off, walk.

Your locker in the back room fights you, forcing you to practically break it open. Just another thing to leave you feeling angry and useless.

“I heard they got Red.” The girl beside you whispers. She’s mousy, new. A gossiper. She even tried to talk to you, at least before she found out that you apparently steal clients.

The girl she’s speaking to side eyes her. “What do you mean got ‘er?”

“With that new drug - Cyth or whatever.”

“Cyth isn’t real. It’s just people making up shit to cover up what the vamps are doing. As if we don’t already know.”

“But what about-“ You don’t hear the rest of what she says, her voice drowning out as you leave the back room.

Time seems to crawl by at the club without the men. You hate it. Not just the slowness of the day but the fact that they’ve had that effect on you. That these creatures you barley know have invaded your thoughts. Wormed themselves into the nooks and crannies of your psyche. Marked you - however temporarily that may be.

The patrons avoid your eyes. You serve their drinks, and where they would normally make a salacious remark or grab onto you they just offer a huffy thanks and ignore you. The tips are garbage, even the other serving girls notice and begin to basically steal your tables. It has to be the bite.

Why, though? Plenty of serving girls have fresh bite marks and they aren’t getting reactions like that. You can count four on the main floor right now.

At least once the day is over, it’s over. You can go home and hide away. Be angry in peace. Maybe make a plan for what to do. Maybe you can leave the city you and your friends talked about as teens. Except they’re all dead now and you’re pretty sure there isn’t anything outside of the dome anymore. At least not anything you could get to.

The other girls don’t walk with you to the metro anymore. The streets are never truly empty in the main city. There’s no real day or night. It’s only the places humans inhabit that become abandoned during the “night.” As you exit the lower city station, the streets empty out. It’s just you, footsteps echoing off buildings. The smog in the air only makes it darker - even harder to navigate.

Until a second pair of footsteps appears, fast and growing louder by the second. Before you can even begin to run or check behind you a force slams into you, sending you tumbling down onto harsh concrete and into an alley.

You’re cornered. There’s nowhere to go. Before you can grapple for your garlic spray the vampire has your wrists in his hand, pulling you up to dangle in front of him. The backs of your hands and arms scrape against the rough brick of the building he’s pinned you too. It hurts, cutting deep into your skin under the pressure of his strength.

The thing hisses, ripping off the neck guard attached to your respirator. The whole thing goes clattering to the ground. You choke on the poison air, lungs immediately rejecting it.

You tip your eyes to the obstructed sky. Of course it would end this way. It’s the end for you all, isn’t it? Just another body in an alley. Another free apartment for people to fight over. Another headline for people to frown at on the train. You wonder if they would use your name or just leave you as another Jane Doe.

What do the real stars look like, anyway?

He takes a long inhale and freezes in place. You can barely make out wide, frenzied eyes. A hood blocks any of his other features. His breath hastens, chest heaving against yours. What the hell is he waiting for?

Suddenly he reels backward, hissing and spitting. Muttering words you don’t understand. It drops you so suddenly that you collapse to the ground. Unable to gain any footing, still coughing and choking.

“What-“ You’re not even sure why you want to ask it a question. Before you can at all the thing runs away down the alley. Your hand travels up to your neck.

The bite.

A coughing fit sends you doubling over and you blearing grope around the ground for your respirator. At least it didn’t get smashed, you sigh in relief - clipping it back around your face and neck.

Your hands shake and you turn, staring up at that massive skyscraper hanging above the city. It’s taunting you. You feel like you can almost see John staring down at you, toying with you. An anger flares in your body so hot you almost feel as thought you’ve caught fire. He wants to fuck with you? To make you feel weak? To try to lay some sort of claim?

Fine. You can play ball.

A/N: John “you don’t need to know what’s going on, love, just do what I say” Price and Miss “don’t fuck with my independence” Fancy

I don’t love this chapter but I gotta get plot moving and grooving.

[roosterr]

white flag ✹ ch 3

note: (･ω･)

pairing: ghost x gn!reader

wc: 3.5k

no use of y/n reader's callsign is 'stingray'

summary: the 141 goes on your first mission since the fire, and you're forced to face your fear head on. when you fall short and ghost has to save you, your already fragile relationship seems to fall apart at the seams.

warnings: canon-typical violence, angst, pyrophobia, panic attacks, hurt/minimal comfort, argruments, ghost is mean again, reader has a little breakdown

ao3

【prev】 || 【next】

you can do this.

you can do this.

the mantra plays on repeat in your head as you stare holes into the opposite wall of the helo. you can do this, despite the objective being to demolish an enemy facility, which almost certainly meant that there would be fire, which you were certainly not afraid of.

you had to do this because nobody knew, and they couldn't find out. what kind of soldier is afraid of fire? considering all the things you've done, it should be trivial; you've stared down the barrel of a gun more times than you can remember, had a knife to your throat the same amount, and yet the simple thought of being near a fire has your heart beating out of control.

ghost's figure passing in front of you snaps you out of your thoughts, illuminated by the red lights as he stops at the edge of the ramp. the night behind him is foreboding, no stars to be seen and the wind cold against your skin as it rushes into the back of the helo.

"bravo team," his gruff voice cuts through the noise of the wind and the blades, "let's move."

you look across to where soap sits, exchanging a brief nod before you both stand and dutifully follow after your lieutenant. clutching your rifle to your chest with one hand, you use the other to lower the night-vision goggles over your eyes, casting an uneasy green glow over the environment. you keep yourself low as you follow after ghost and soap, making your way quickly to the cover of the treeline.

the facility you were here to demolish was between the three of you and the site gaz and the captain had landed at. the plan was to sweep from opposite sides of the building, planting charges as you go and regrouping in the middle – preferably with minimal enemy interference, but you were expecting them to put up a fight.

ideally, you could be out of the building and far enough away before the charges go off, and your phobia wouldn't be an issue; but that's only if luck was on your side, and lately it's been feeling like it's decidedly not.

your rifle is wedged into the crook of your shoulder as you follow behind soap, listening intently for any signs of movement other than the three of you. goosebumps prickle at your skin even under the many layers of your gear – caused by the temperature or your nerves, you're not sure.

ghost raises his hand in a gesture for you to stop, crouching just before the break in the trees. you follow suit and so does soap, gazing up at the building looming in front of you, a dark shadow against the night sky.

"bravo's in position," ghost says, keeping his voice low, "waitin' on you, alpha."

the radio stays silent. you roll your shoulders to release some of the tension, but you only breath a small sigh of relief when you hear price's voice cut through the static a moment later.

"solid copy," the captain responds, "had some company, let's get this done before they find the bodies."

"affirm. out here." ghost's monotone reply ends the correspondence, and he gestures once more to continue. you make sure to stay low and keep your head on swivel as the three of you creep closer to the large warehouse.

thankfully, you don't run into much trouble as you make your way inside; there's a few stragglers around the perimeter, but they're expertly dispatched with very little commotion.

your entrance is a lone side door, pried open as quietly as possible for the three of you to rush into. you make sure there aren't any hostiles waiting in the shadows before you head towards the support pillars along the centre of the room.

you secure the explosive to the base of the pillar, listening for the faint beep as you arm it, and stand back up to watch as ghost and soap do the same. with the first three charges set, ghost nods at the two of you, a silent affirmation to keep moving forward.

you fall into place behind soap again, the barely-there crunch of gravel under your boots is the only sound as you weave through the warehouse.

passing through another doorway into a smaller room, you fall into place next to ghost as soap takes his other side, the three of you beelining for the load-bearing wall to the north.

you arm the final set of charges with precision, turning to ghost and nodding at his signal to push forward again. the next room was where you'd regroup with gaz and price before heading to the exfil site.

as you're about to round the corner after them, you hear a noise from behind, the way you'd come in. you turn on your heel and raise your gun to look through the sights at where the sound came from, but you don't see any movement as you scan the area.

an uneasy feeling settles in your stomach, but you don't get to voice your concerns to the others before you're thrown to the ground but the force of an explosion.

you're momentarily blinded by your night vision goggles when you pry your eyes open, the heat from the fire washing over you as you push yourself up and stumble backwards a few steps. shoving the goggles away from your eyes, you blink the disorientation away and whip your head around, searching for your teammates. 

you breathe a shaky sigh of relief when you find them brushing themselves off and mostly unharmed; ghost and soap were helping each other up, and gaz was running towards you from the other end of the room while price fired at an unknown threat beyond where you could see.

the panic only sets in when you realise that they're on one side of the fire, and you're alone on the other.

"you've gotta jump through!" gaz shouts to you, his concerned face just about visible through the licks of orange flames between you.

your chest is tight, simply drawing a breath feels like wading through white water, and all of a sudden you're back in your room with black smoke filling your lungs.

"for fucks sake, sting!" a gruff shout echoes around you, but your mind is too foggy to register the words.

the heat on your face is far too much, the sound of your teammates shouting and the blood in your ears, the flickering light if the fire, its all

too

much.

even as you stumble backwards and fall on your arse your gaze is transfixed on the blaze in front of you, it feels impossible to tear your eyes away.

as you feel yourself completely succumbing to your panic, a dark figure cuts through the wall of flame and comes barrelling towards you, his features indistinguishable from the shadows at the corners of your eyes.

you feel him grab the strap on the back of your vest, and he roughly pulls you up to stand on your feet. the stark white of the skull mask fills your vision, tearing your focus away from the flames.

"get up, sergeant!" he growls, and in the back of your mind you register that it's ghost grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you. "move!"

his hand goes to the strap again and before you can protest he's pulling you along with him, shielding you from the fire as he shoves you through to the other side. 

the sprint back to the helo is a misty blur; one moment you're being dragged along with a knife shoved into your hand, the next you're leaning back against the metal siding and kyle is holding an oxygen mask to your face with an upsettingly worried expression.

you want to cry, but the tears don't come no matter how much you will them to.

ghost doesn't even look at you. he passes by where you're slumped next to gaz, heading straight to the cockpit without so much as a glance. your heart sinks to your stomach as you watch him go, knowing any attempt to talk to him would be futile.

the flight home is unbearably quiet, aside from the sound of the engines and your laboured breathing. eventually the tension leaves your shoulders and you're left with a bone-deep exhaustion that you know you'll be feeling for days after this is done.

when you finally land, ghost is the first down the ramp, again without a hint of acknowledgement to the rest of you. soap jogs to catch up with him as you follow them out, keeping his voice low as he tries to reason with the lieutenant.

they stop a little ways down the runway, and you take the opportunity to catch up to him. johnny shoots you an apprehensive look as you draw a deep, shaky breath, but before you can get a single word out, ghost whips around to face you. 

"what the fuck was that!?" he spits, meeting your eyes with a glare so frantically venomous it sends a twinge of pain through your heart.

"i– i'm sorry, i don't know wh–" you sputter, desperate to explain yourself, but he cuts you off.

"i don't want excuses, sergeant!" he growls, gesturing angrily with his arms as he takes a step closer to you. "you can't just freeze like that in the field!"

"plea–"

"why?!" he's shouting at you now, invading your personal space. "what the fuck happened out there?!" he gets closer again, and all you can see is pure emotion in his eyes, something so raw you can't name it. "you could've died, for fucks sake! we all could've died!"

"ghost, c'mon…" soap places a gentle hand on his shoulder, an attempt to calm him that goes entirely unnoticed as ghost brushes him off. you try to take a step back and put some space between you, but he follows to stay uncomfortably close.

"what then, eh? what if i hadn't been there to come to the rescue?!" he's so close you can feel the heat radiating from him, see the reflection of your distraught expression in his dark eyes. "i can't babysit you every time we go on a mission, sergeant!"

…babysit? is that really what he thought of you?

the words feel like a knife in your chest.

he glowers at you with such intensity you have to squeeze you eyes shut to escape it – and as a desperate attempt to hold back the flood of tears threatening to spill over.

a heavy silence falls over you, more tense than you've ever felt it.

he stares at you, looking straight past you and into your soul, his eyes so intense it makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. over ghost's shoulder, you see price stalking towards the two of you, a stern look creasing his face.

"simon, that's enough!" price commands, grabbing his elbow and pulling him roughly away from you.

now that you have room to breathe, you allow your eyes fall to your boots, but it's no use, the tears have already started rolling down your cheeks. you cover your face with a hand and brush past ghost and the captain, 

"sting–" gaz calls out to you as you march into the building, but you can't face any of them right now – you need to be alone, there's too many eyes on you, it makes your skin crawl.

they know now.

they know you're afraid of fire, there's no way price won't bench you after this. you nearly jeopardised the entire mission – in fact, if it hadn't been for ghost, you probably wouldn't have made it out in one piece.

there's no way he would ever forgive you for such a monumental fuck up.

your vision is foggy through the tears, but the urge to get away is all you need as you push through door after door. you do your best to ignore the stares the other soldiers give you when you rush past them.

their eyes follow you as you go, you feel them burning into your skin, and it only serves to make you feel even worse about the whole ordeal. it was only a matter of time until what happened reaches the rumour mill, and you're not sure you'd be able to stop yourself if one of them decides to bring it up to you.

there has to be somewhere you can go where they won't find you, somewhere you can escape.

in your haste to get away, you end up following wherever your subconscious leads you. you come back to your senses outside again, on the turf behind one of the many buildings on base.

your legs give out and you collapse into the grass, knocking your head against the wall with how hard you throw yourself down. sobs wrack your body as you dig the heels of your palms into your eyes, a desperate attempt to block out the world around you that only leaves your vision scattered.

you fucked up – badly. you're not sure how you're going to recover from the utter humiliation of it all.

if ghost hated you before, you were certain he loathed you now.

to him, this was just another entry on the long list of your mistakes. but to you, not only were you a failure of a soldier, you'd also managed to ruin whatever progress you'd made with getting him to trust you. you don't think you've ever heard ghost so pissed. sure, he's yelled at you before, but to experience such unfiltered anger, it came as a shock to you, as well as the others it seemed.

the sound of footsteps from your right prompts you to hide your face in your hands again. whoever it is, you don't want them to see you like this.

"sting," price's voice calls out to you, as soft as the captain can manage. a small part of you is disappointed it wasn't ghost, coming to apologise, but you know that would never happen. he said it himself, he has no desire to babysit you.

that's all you were to him; a burden, thrust upon him against his wishes, someone he was obligated to look after despite how much of a chore it was.

you just wish you hadn't been so naively optimistic as to assume that he would ever come around to you. that he would ever change.

your spiralling thoughts only make the tears fall even harder. price approaches, you hear rustle of fabric as he sits himself next to you.

a heavy arm rests over your shoulders, the weight of it comforting in an odd way. "it's alright, you're alright." price murmurs.

a moment passes before you lift your head, watching him from the corner of your eye.

"i'm sorry…" your voice is strained, hoarse from the tears and your exhaustion.

he shakes his head. "no need to apologise." he responds, giving your shoulder an affirming pat. you sniffle, fixing him with a questioning look.

"but… i fucked up," you reply, your confusion obvious; you'd expected him to be pissed like ghost, his nonchalance was certainly unexpected. "and we almost died because of me…"

"but we didn't," with the arm around your shoulders he gives you a gentle shake, "the mission was a success, wasn't it?"

"i… yeah?"

"then you got nothin' to be sorry for, have you? people get hurt, that's par for the course, sting." he moves his hand to ruffle your hair, giving you a reassuring smile. "so you can stop with the waterworks an'all,"

you huff, a half-hearted attempt at a laugh, and wipe your eyes with the sleeves of your jacket.

"come on mate, let's get you checked out, yeah?" price stands, grabbing one of your arms and pulling you up with him.

you don't talk on the way to the infirmary, trailing behind him feeling wholly like a child having been scolded. you felt pathetic, and you're glad you have the captain's massive frame to hide yourself behind.

one step through the doors and you're bombarded by the smell of antiseptics and artificial air freshener. the nurse greets you, her placid voice and the gentle hand that guides you to one of the many beds causing your muscles to go rigid.

the captain stands with you, arms crossed over his chest and out of the way of the nurse as she checks you over and runs various checks. you do your best to stay calm, but the cold, clinical environment has a distressing effect on you.

the door opens and shuts behind you. the warning look on price's face tells you exactly who came in. the thick tension is back in the air in an instant

"you–" ghost begins, but you interrupt before he can get another word out.

"i know. i fucking get it, alright?" you snap, rubbing your already bloodshot eyes in exasperation. "you don't have to keep goin' on." your voice gets weaker, a betrayal of how you really feel about his outburst.

heartache.

"i just…" ghost goes to speak again, but price shakes his head at him in a wordless exchange.

he doesn't try again. the door swings open and shut again with his exit.

somehow, your heart aches even more.

the nurse clears you with no major injuries, just scrapes and bruises – nothing you weren't used to. some of your gear was a little singed from the fire, but you'd managed to escape without any burns.

it appeared lady luck had a sense of humour.

you still don't say a word as price leads the way to his office. there's a few people milling around in the corridors, their eyes on you feeling like needles in your skin. you keep your head down and try not to think about the talk you're about to have.

you hear laughter, and lift your head to see that there's a group of three recruits standing against the wall up ahead. the one who appears to be the ringleader watches you approach, snickering with his buddies in a way that has your eyes narrowing. you can tell he's up to something even before he moves, sharing a look with his friends.

has has a lighter in his hand. he waits until you're right in front of him before he ignites it and shoves it in your face, laughing obnoxiously when you flinch away from the gesture.

"ooh, scared, are ya?" his voice is high pitched and infuriatingly mocking. you slap his hand holding the lighter out of your face, and the two recruits behind him laugh at you as well, nudging each other like they're funny.

it makes your blood boil.

the condescending looks, the way they clearly think they're above you, the highschool bully attitude – you just see red.

grabbing him harshly by the front of his jacket, you shove him up against the wall with such aggression it shakes the picture frames.

"shut up–" you seethe, allowing every ounce of pent up frustration and anger and desperation to bleed into your voice, "shut the fuck up!" you pull him back and slam him back into the wall. you find a great deal of satisfaction in the sound his head makes when it collides with the wall.

his friends have stopped laughing, in fact you can't hear anything except the blood rushing in your ears as you repeatedly hit his head against the brick, over and over again.

too much,

it's all too. much.

you're yanked away from him, but your eyes stay locked on the way he clutches the back of his head and shuffles back from you like a dog with its tail between its legs.

it was almost cathartic, you would've smiled, if not for price turning you to face him with a hand on your shoulder. you blink back to your senses, but you can't find it in yourself to feel bad. he had it coming.

"my office. now." his face is hard as he addresses you, looking to the recruits with a similarly displeased look. "and i'll be back for you."

by the hand on your shoulder you're guided away from the wide-eyed recruits, your head still feeling light with the anger the recruit evoked from you.

you're not used to feeling so helpless; the whole situation is frustrating enough, but the feeling of not being able to do anything just makes it all the more infuriating.

you shouldn't have lashed out like that, but it's all been building to a point and it was bound to blow up in your face sooner or later. the last couple of weeks, your struggles with ghost and the fact that you'd fucked it all up again, the general stress of the job – you should've seen this coming, really.

it feels like you're all the way back at square one, and you don't have it in you to try anymore.

taglist: @sofasoap , @siilvan , @mockerycrow , @i-love-ghost , @projectdreamwalker , @achelois-is-here , @adamsloverboyy , @thatchickwiththecamera , @chickensandwich69 , @batmanunicorns523 , @tiny-kasper , @dezibou , @pampeop , @cumbermovels , @goth-boi-atlas , @berryjuicyy , @guiltgoreglory , @postmodernrevolutionist , @untoldshortsofthefandoms , @delilah-grimes , @sunflowerqueen1416 , @luvssemma , @ghostslittlegf , @imonmykneessir , @kenz-ee , @eistro-phobia , @rzmarona , @alanalanalanalanalanna , @cathnoneofyourbusiness , @madsothree , @geisterfvhrer , @lazyninjaphilosopher , @aliilium , @koi-feish , @chaoticgoblindev , @clear-your-mind-and-dream , @thrivig-n-jiving , @lesterous , @glitterypirateduck , @slu77ym4nw415ts , @livelaugh-light , @trulylavendedarling , @stateofcatatonia , @rivalriotrenegade

if your name is crossed out, i can't tag you for whatever reason, sorry! ༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ

[naomihatake]

In search of freedom (Ch. 1)

1. They're bad news

Chapter 1 ; Chapter 2

⠀⠀⠀⠀She's been searching for freedom her entire life and everytime she thought it was laying right in front of her eyes, she was mistaken. She was running around the East Blue, seeking herself and her dreams, meeting people she never forgot. No matter how much she traveled, she could only catch a glimpse of peace before realizing everything would crumble at her feet.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Maybe it was destiny that brought her on that ship with three strangers — foolishly, that's what she tried to believe when the moon shined beautifully and hope settled in her chest, squeezed by the same ribcage where feelings were blooming.

Pairing: female!reader x OPLA Zoro Roronoa. This chapter follows the events of the first episode.

Warnings for this chapter: physical violence (fights), mentions of deaths, fluff, some cursing, mentions of tarot and palm readings

Word count: 3,6k

Theme song: “Loreley” by Blackmore's Night (click on the link)

A/N: This is the first part of a fanfiction I was thinking of since first watching One Piece Live Action. I started the anime too and I'm around episode 64 already. I'm using the OPLA course of action for now and I have no idea for an ending, but enough scenarios to write and share. I don't know how far this will go, but I'll have fun writing it and considering how much I like Zoro (born anime and LA), I'm using both of them as inspiration. Sorry for the lack of interaction between reader and Zoro, but I promise things will change.

The reader will be referred to as "Witch" especially in the next chapter, because I have no intentions of using "Y/N". There will be more information revealed about her past and abilities in the next chapter.

I'm open for comments and opinions <3

"Excuse me," she smiled sweetly while swaying away from someone who was standing right in front of her and a table she had to serve for. "Here," she carefully let the plates down.

She received a large smile coming from the young man with dark curls and a straw hat hanging around his neck. His pink haired companion seemed very shy, barely glancing at her before looking back at his plate, thanking in a small voice.

The tavern buzzed with a peaceful energy in the late hours of morning, the big windows letting the warm rays of sun in, lighting up the place. There were men sitting at a few tables, no sign of any other woman except for her and the very owner of that place, who just finished cooking something — were those cookies? It smelled divine.

Her dress fluttered around her knees as she moved away from their table to take other orders, a strand of her hair falling against her cheek after running around for so long. When she finally stopped in her tracks by the bar, intense eyes searched for anyone else who might've needed something. Lucky for her, she could finally breathe for a few seconds, resting her hips against the bar.

However, her eyes fell on the tall figure who just chugged down his throat a shot of alcohol. His green hair made her frown to herself, looking away before she could get caught ogling some stranger. After a few seconds, she looked at him again, this time at the three swords resting against his hip.

Three swords? What can someone do with three swords?

Everyone probably had the same question whenever they saw him for the first time. However, he felt somehow familiar, as if she's heard of someone like that before. A pirate? No, wait, a pirate hunter? The owner told her of so many things and so many people it was impossible to remember each one of them, but she was pretty sure she mentioned some pirate hunter only a few days ago.

Her thought process was interrupted when a man with blonde hair and suit walked by in front of her. Considering the men dressed in white uniforms who entered with him, they must be marines and he was probably their superior — he was walking like he owned the entire port.

She held back from rolling her eyes in annoyance. Her thoughts ran back to what her friend said about pirates last time, the way they argued back and forth about how pirates aren't good. However, she had her own reasons for claiming that not all pirates were ruthless monsters, without elaborating.

She flinched lightly when she heard the thud of a metal plate falling on the floor, snapping her head towards a little girl who was stuttering apologies to the blonde man. Her eyebrows were pulled together at his angry and loud voice mocking the child who had tears in her eyes, fear seeping through her very bones at the exaggerated reaction.

Apparently, they knocked into each other. Oh, there were two cookies on the floor. One of them got crushed under the man's foot.

She smoothly made her way by the side of the little girl, smiling at her as she crouched down to her level.

"Is everything alright, little one? Did you apologize?" the woman's hand squeezed the girl's shoulder warmly.

Rika's only response was a nod.

"Good job. It's alright, I'll help you clean up. Why don't you bring me a broom, hm?" she coaxed the girl with a gentle voice.

Once the girl walked away, she stood up straight again, arching her eyebrow questionably at the arrogant man by her side.

"Is there anything else I could help you with?"

"What, are you working here? If the answer's positive, then you better teach those stupid kids some manners," he huffed.

"You should teach yourself how to behave," she commented right back, her sharp gaze sizing him up and down.

"Take that back. Next time I won't be so nice," the blonde marine grinned.

Oh, and what an ugly grin it was on that fucker's face.

"You dropped my food," a low voice from behind interrupted.

The young woman turned her head towards the voice, confusion written on her face as she made a few steps back, out of his way. It was the green haired man she noticed earlier, now sitting on one of his knees on the cold floor.

Rika came back with a broom almost twice her size, the object quickly taken from her hold by the woman who smiled at her again. While they exchanged glances, the pirate hunter let himself down on one of his knees, taking some of the crushed cookie into his palm.

A sly smile tugged at the woman's lips. A pirate hunter or not, he had more dignity than a marine even in that kneeling position. She was more satisfied to see the little one smiling.

"Your turn," the green-haired man lowered his voice, a dark glare thrown at the astonished marine.

The pirate hunter raised back up and placed the metal plate on the bat, his intimidating height against the arrogant blonde monkey in front of him telling enough.

"Apologize to the girl," he demanded in a relaxed tone.

"Me? It was her fault for bumping into me. The lady should apologize for disrespecting me."

Apologize, my ass, she thought to herself, one step away from bursting out laughing. What did he take her for?

"Do you want a fight or what?" he drew his sword out, a knowing grin curled on his face. "I don't need three swords to fight."

The woman looked down at the little girl who was still by her side, ruffling her hair.

"Why don't you go to your mother, hm? And stay there until I call you back."

Her stern voice didn't give space for arguing; Rika complied, going to the kitchen.

She heard some muttering and next thing she knew, both of the men in front of her had drawn their swords out. Apparently, the green-haired one decided to advance closer to the marine, in an attempt to keep the fight away from the lady.

Hmph. Swordsmen and their unusual gentlemanly behavior.

Squeezing the broom in between her fingers, she moved away, furrowing her eyebrows in a scowl.

"No fights in here, you jerks!" she scoffed.

Expertly, while the other marines attacked one man — how unethical of them — and swords clashed against each other after sharp whistling noises, the woman swept away the cookies on the floor. She faked doing her own duties, like the good employee that she was, throwing careful glances at the fight happening right next to her. If she wasn't careful enough, she could get sliced in two.

"I advise you to get out of the way," she heard the swordsman's voice growling right after he threw a chair into three men, making them fall to the floor.

"You'll destroy the entire place if I do."

Right after saying those words, without anyone noticing in that damned agitation, with a quick movement of the broom, she made one of the marines trip.

Just like the idiots that they were.

"Oh my god, you should be more careful!" she placed a hand over her lips, fake surprise and fear coloring her features.

Who would believe such an innocent being was capable of such malicious actions?

With a strong creak followed by a thud, one marine was thrown into a table that turned the both of them upside down, groans filled with pain vibrating through the tavern.

She was right about them destroying the place.

However, the commotion didn't cause too much distress to the woman still moving the broom around, acting as if she had business with that newly found weapon. It might not be lethal, but she couldn't be spotted while she was intentionally making the marines' jobs harder. In the month she's been working there, she saw more than just one fight and used everything that she saw fit to stop it — be it a broom or a kitchen knife.

Now that she analyzed the fight better, it seemed like the pirate hunter barely even had to draw his sword out of its scabbard, at some point knocking someone's head into the bar. He used his raw strength and the objects surrounding him, thankfully without destroying any of them. The can he threw into another man's stomach seemed so effortless.

That must've hurt, though.

The blonde marine was quickly pulled by the back of his collar, back colliding with the bar, and an angry swordsman towering over him. She didn't hear anything nor paid attention anymore, eyes focused on the tavern that was ruined only half way through.

She sighed after watching both of the men walking out of there, biting her lower lip to hold back a fit of laughter at the marine who stumbled while being dragged by the bounty hunter.

"Why do men always fight in this tavern?" she talked to herself, raising one of the chairs and putting it back in place. "One day of peace is all I want in this port, only one day, and I can't get even that."

She sighed again, only for that long exhale to get stuck in her throat once her eyes fell on the table that was almost sitting in the opposite way rather than how it should be. Once she approached it, stepping by the marine who was trying to get up.

She would never help someone who had less dignity than a dog following some orders from a brainless monkey. Heck, even those animals were smarter.

Instead, she tried to move the table back in its place. Her fingers were so close to gripping at one side of the table before someone appeared at the opposite side. The young man with a straw hat and a square smile she served only a few minutes ago raised the table by himself, carefully arranging it until he was satisfied with its position.

"Thank you so much for the help," she smiled at him. "Be careful where you step, I think a glass also broke."

There were some shreds on the floor somewhere close to the table the young man sat at earlier.

"Thank you for your concern," he smiled just like the first time.

Gosh, has she ever seen such a beautiful soul? His eyes sparkled and the happiness suited him like it did to a little child who has no clue of the harsh world. However, he didn't seem phased or scared by what happened earlier — his hands weren't shaking at all and there was no fear lingering in his stare.

She turned to take the broom and came closer to his companion, who was sitting under the table. She bent her torso to give him a hand, helping him get back to his feet.

"Careful with the glass, check your hands," she warned again.

"I saw what you did there."

She turned towards the straw hat guy, blinking owlishly at him.

"I don't really get what you mean."

She started sweeping the shred of broken glass, not paying attention to the curious and insistent gaze she was receiving.

"You surely do. I'm Monkey D. Luffy and I'm gonna be King of the Pirates!"

Her eyes widened at the second part of his speech, snapping her head back at him. Without even realizing, her fingers were squeezing the broom quite harshly, fingertips going white.

"That's—" she started in a small voice, blinking like an idiot and staring at him.

She's heard that before. She's heard the same dream before and it brought so much suffering.

"That's dangerous," she finally got the courage to continue, still hesitant.

"You're brave for interfering with their fight."

Luffy looked into her eyes as if he could guess the thoughts running through her head, as if he could read her very soul, drinking in her features and reaction.

"You must've seen wrong," she let out a light chuckle, getting a grip on herself. "I'm just clumsy sometimes."

She was thankful she stopped herself from cussing out the Marines, because in less than a second after she finished her sentence, a few other men dressed in white uniforms appeared to help their comrades back to the base. She casted a skeptical eye at each one of them, like silent warnings.

They were pathetic, some of them still stumbling while trying to get up, their swords thrown around carelessly. After they all disappeared from her sight, her shoulders obviously relaxed again.

"I have to admit I hated each second of staying so much with these idiots around," she huffed quietly. "That spoiled child who takes advantage of his father's status was getting on my nerves."

"That's why you helped that swordsman, right?"

Luffy continued with his supposition, not letting go of what he thought he saw — it was the truth, but it would be dangerous to admit.

"I didn't help anyone, really. That was unintentional."

"Don't press it too much, Luffy," his companion's voice trembled.

"Koby, I know what I saw," Luffy pulled his lips into a straight line.

She resumed what she was doing, sweeping at the pieces of glass, seeing almost each one of them in the light seeping through the window.

"If you want to become King of the Pirates, I suppose you also want to get the One Piece, right?"

She was foolish. She was stupid for asking, for getting herself in such business that somehow always ended with too many deaths, with broken dreams. However, something was nagging in her gut. Deep down, it felt so right to ask.

"Yes! I need the Grand Line map for that and I intend on getting from the Marine Base here."

"You're insane, kid," her shoulders shook with her light laughter.

It was a sour sound.

She stopped, leaning her weight into the broom, looking down at the glass in front of her. She shouldn't help them. She should stay in her place if she wanted those young men to survive. What they were trying to do was basically suicide, they just didn't know. Koby seemed to be more fearful, hesitant and so, so shy. Luffy didn't say "us"; he said "I" — the pink-haired guy was not really part of the plan.

Against better judgment, she raised her head at him, promises sparkling in her eyes just like the shreds of glass.

"You can't just ask for that map and I hope you know that. What you want to get yourself into isn't just dangerous, it's like jumping into a suicide mission," her voice strained, pouring all of her hope in her next words: "However, I can help you get inside. Be careful, you have to make sure no one catches you."

"So I was right about you!" Luffy beamed.

"Right about what?"

"That you're brave."

Her lips opened, but no sound came from between them. It was pointless to deny it when he seemed so stubborn about what he saw and believed.

"I think this is a lot to say about someone who's helping you steal secret maps," the side of her mouth curled upwards.

Koby was left astonished. Stealing from the Marines was suicide.

"Listen here, kid," she lowered her voice, stepping closer to whisper. She set her gaze on Luffy's. "You have to get out of there alive, no matter what. Lie if you have to, but I have a feeling you're very bad at that, so be careful. That isn't a place to fool around in. You could get yourself killed in a blink. The Marines are very sneaky."

"There are good Marines and bad Marines," he shrugged. "Maybe I'll meet someone who's willing to help."

"I like your enthusiasm, but that unit base doesn't fit," she shook her head. "Both Captain Morgan and his son aren't the good kind of people."

She squeezed the broom in between her fingers again, an ugly feeling clawing at her throat. She didn't want a kid to die for following his dreams, but freedom was something she always craved.

"I'll tell you a way to get inside the base from underneath. You have to keep your lips sealed — I don't worry about myself, but about the owner and her daughter. I don't want word spreading around."

"You can count on me!" he placed his hand on his heart, as if he sealed the promise there. "Who are you? I want to know who's helping me."

Damned be his sincerity.

"I'll give you my name after you get out of there alive."

She smiled, eyes sparkling with delicious mischief.

"That is a promise. I'll be around the Marine Base and I'll tell you my name after I see you get out of there alive."

That seemed to stir something in Luffy's soul, inhaling with pride. A man of his word, indeed, just like she thought.

"Deal.

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈

Her name left the lips of a scolding mother, even if it wasn't her mom.

"I saw you." The second time she heard tthat same phrase in one day.

Annie patted the tip of her shoe against the floor repeatedly.

"I was just lucky enough not to get myself in trouble," she shrugged.

However, her eyes fell on the floor, guilty about getting caught like a deer in the light.

"You could've gotten yourself in big trouble!" the owner of the tavern raised her voice.

Rika pouted up at her mother, trying to sweeten her reaction.

"She just wanted to help, just like—"

"Rika," this time, the scolded one firmly spoke her name. "Don't take me as an idol. It's true that something could have happened."

The little girl shouldn't worry about such a bloody world just yet and she wanted to help it for as long as possible. Being stubborn was a death sentence, even if she would always get herself into trouble if it meant to stick to her principles.

She'd rather die on her feet than live on her knees.

"Just because this time everything was fine, it doesn't mean next time will be the same," Annie exhaled loudly, frowning.

"There won't be a next time," the young woman sank her chin in her chest. "I should leave these days. Soon enough, word will spread out about my tarot and palm readings. I don't want to cause you any more trouble."

"You little witch," the usual scolding was replaced with a warm nickname.

She raised her head again, struggling to smile. Leaving after she got attached always hurt.

"That man was Roronoa Zoro, wasn't it?" Annie asked, her body suddenly tensing.

"Most probably," she shrugged. "Three swords, three earrings. He put on quite a show, to be honest," the words were followed by a chuckle.

"I see the way your eyes are sparkling. Don't even think about getting into some conversation with such a troublesome person."

"What could do some adventure to a poor soul like me?" she teased.

"It could bring you six feet under."

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈

"I'm no witch, you idiots!" she struggled against the harsh grip the two men had on her arms.

She hissed when one of them sank his fingertips in her upper arms, glaring at him.

Shithead marines.

She continued writhing and struggling, stomping her feet into the ground in an awful attempt to stop them. She intended on keeping her promise after she helped the straw hat sneak into their base. She waited for as long as it was necessary after she gathered her things in a bag that hung around her shoulders. She was supposed to leave that place after she made sure the kid was alright and alive.

"God dammit!" she shouted. "How many times do I have to explain I'm not doing anything wrong?!"

"You're lying to people and receiving money, filthy witch. You're a thief," one of the men commented as they continued walking her away from the port.

"I didn't steal shit!" she snapped.

"Watch out!" she heard a familiar voice.

Instantly, she bent her torso down. The man on her right was punched in the face with so much force he released her grip on her and stumbled into the marine on her left, both of them now on the ground.

She didn't even get enough time to process what was happening, something curling around her waist carefully, but so fast. A yelp left her lips when she realized she was being lifted off the ground, turning her head towards the source.

It was the straw hat's arm. He ate a devil fruit, didn't he?

He was on a boat that was sailing a few meters away in the sea and she was being pulled towards him. She also recognized the pirate hunter from earlier and a woman with orange hair, both of them far too relaxed for what was happening.

That guy was made of rubber!

She recognized Koby who just got to his feet after she got past him, her feet finally touching something solid again. She blinked confused at the straw hat.

"You can't bring everyone that you like on this ship," the swordsman let out a hopeless sigh.

She busted out laughing like a maniac, the colorful and rich sound filling the air. Her shoulders shook and she had to place her hand over her stomach, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. Obviously, her reaction was met with an especially questionable look coming from the swordsman, who most probably thought he got on a ship with another insane human.

"You're insane, kid," she wiped the tears in her eyes with her fingers, still smiling widely.

She hasn't felt such relief in years.

"I guess I gotta fulfill a promise, right?"

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈

[noiriarti]

Just Practice: Anakin Skywalker x Reader (Modern Best Friends AU) Ch. 1

Summary: Anakin is your best friend, the one person you can't survive without, and you're about to go to different colleges. You bring up your worries about your inexperience and he offers to help.

NSFW!!!!!!!

[Ch. 1], Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Bonus Chapter

Chapter 1: Kissing Practice

The August air was humid and thick, even though the sun had already set, and you could feel the sweat dripping down from your bike helmet to your forehead. You'd bet anything that the mosquitoes were out in full force, but you were speeding too fast on your bike to get caught by one of them. The hot wind whipped your face as you went downhill on the road toward your house, but you felt another breeze beside you. Your best friend, Anakin. He's a competitive little shit, has been since you were kids. Luckily, you're pretty competitive too. You pedaled faster, faster, faster, faster, jolting over the bumps where potholes were asphalted over and cracks in the road had worn deeper into the road. There's no sidewalk out here, just tall grass on either side of you.

Anakin let out an evil chuckle as he passed you, just barely, and you rolled your eyes and doubled down. He's gained on you, more than a little, and you thought you might just lose your bet. You looked to your right, trying to find a way to get just a little bit of an edge. When you turn right in a quarter of a mile, onto your street, you might gain just a half second on him. It could be enough to win. But as you looked at the street ahead of you, something caught your eye in the grass. Something moving.

You slammed down on the brakes, digging your worn sneakers into the ground as you skidded to a stop. You were planning to buy new ones next week, anyway. Anakin shot past you, racing ahead with a whoop of joy. He turned around to stick out his tongue at you, but saw you had stopped and were no longer focused on the road at all. He circled back to you, still panting from the race, and climbed off his bike to face you.

"What's up?" He turned to look at you, concerned and curious, but you were focused on something else entirely. In the tall grass, as the sun had set, fireflies had begun darting in between the stalks, peeking out slivers of their light. You hadn't realized how dark it had gotten on your way back from the gas station, but the stars were already out. It was a beautiful night, and you wished you could capture it, bottle it up and keep it on your shelf. A little slice of home, the last one you would have for a while. You vaguely registered that Anakin was saying something as you stared out at the fireflies, but you were just thinking about how you probably wouldn't see the stars like this, or fireflies at all, for a good while yet. The thought made your heart ache.

"Helloooo?" he singsonged, "Anyone there?" He waved a hand in front of your face, and you snapped out of it. You looked up at him, and he smiled that lopsided smile you knew like the back of your hand. 

"Hm? Oh, yeah. Just thinking," you replied somewhat absently.

"Well, let's get home, Socrates. These slurpees aren't getting any colder," he said, shaking the cup in his hand (Mountain Dew Freeze, his favorite) to make his point. 

"Fine, fine," you conceded, smirking. You saw your opportunity and got back on your bike. "Last one there has to do the dishes!" You put your foot on your pedal and pushed, getting your momentum started. He called out after you in protest as he scrambled onto his bike and tried to catch up, but it was too late. A quarter of a mile later, when you pulled into your street, and then turned onto your driveway, he was just a second behind you.

"No fair!! You cheater!" He yelled as you unclipped your helmet and did a little victory dance. You both dropped your bikes in the grass next to the driveway with a slightly concerning thump, then headed up the stairs to the front door. You opened the screen door with a creak--you should remind your parents to oil that hinge, you thought--then unlocked the front door. 

The AC hit your damp and sweaty faces with a delightful cool breeze, and you sighed in joy. Cold. Cold. Nice. Ani had always hated the heat, as did you. You were both winter kids, and your favorite activity was sledding. You'd been best friends since winter of third grade, when he and his mom had moved from Texas to your small Minnesota town, into the house right next door. Your moms became fast friends from the moment they were introduced, and Shmi's job as the school nurse meant she could drop you off and pick you up. Initially, you weren't sure what to think of him. He was a tiny little guy, way shorter than you, with freckles exploding all over his face. But then he smiled that lopsided grin of his which made his eyes crinkle, told you his name was Ani, and asked if there were any good hills around for sledding. Later, on the way back from school, he asked in a tiny voice if you'd go with him. Who were you to say no?

Your whole friendship was built with snow crusted on the tops of your boots and melted into your mittens. At the end of January in sixth grade, you had both spent the winter building up a pile of snow and digging out the inside to make a snow clubhouse (read: cave). The cold air burned the inside of your throats as you panted after the manual labor of digging for hours, but it was finally done. Once you had crawled through the entrance and sat on the hard snow, enveloped by the packed ice all around you, he looked you straight in your eyes and told you "our future house should be made of snow". Like he didn't change your life with that one little word. Our.

But you were just friends. Your heart would flutter sometimes, but it was all ignorable until tenth grade. After your birthday dinner with your family (which included Shmi and Ani, obviously), he slipped you a little box. When you opened it, the most silver necklace with a snowflake pendant winked out at you. Shmi told you later that it wasn't just silver, it was white gold, and incredibly expensive. That he had been saving up for a whole year to buy it for you. His gentle hands clasped it into place behind your neck, and you shivered when he put them on your shoulders. There, he said, perfect.

It wasn't so easy to ignore after that, but you managed. Through the summers working together at the park, the semesters in the same classes, and the afternoons playing games and doing homework, you got profoundly skilled at crushing your feelings deep, deep down.

And then Padme came along. And the idea of someone else seeing Ani's baby photos, or being loved by his mom, or kissing him absolutely killed you. Because you were friends. But that was all over now. It was just the two of you, as normal.

Now, you were both about to leave town, at least until Thanksgiving. One last family dinner, he said when he suggested it. When you both walked into your house, Shmi called out that dinner was on the table in two minutes, so you sucked up the rest of your slurpees so quickly your stomach got queasy.

The finality of it all almost escaped you. The little glances your parents cast to one another. Anakin's favorite mashed potatoes. Cake for dessert. The details were all whispering This is the end. Enjoy it while you can. Ani could tell something was off, too, and you kept shooting glances at one another. He tried to make you smile by bumping his legs into yours with a grin, like he did when you were little, but it didn't help. Once dinner was done, the adults went to have coffee in the living room, leaving Anakin to do the dishes. You dashed up to your room as soon as you could, trying to hold onto what little time you had left.

Half an hour later, the lamp by your bed cast a warm glow over the room, and you could hear the crickets through the window. You were laying on bed reading a book--some YA novel where you weren't really processing what was happening. Apocalypse? Love triangle?--when Ani finished the dishes and burst in. He didn't knock, of course. There wasn't any energy left in you to complain. You knew you'd miss him bursting into your room unannounced next week, and the week after that, and the week after. Would that longing ever fade?

"Well, I finished the dishes. You cheater," he joked as he sat down on the bed next to you. You sat up, your body complaining from your race earlier, and stuck your tongue out at him. You didn't have it in you to say more. The two of you sat in silence, his face turning slightly more concerned as he watched you stare off into space.

"You good? You've been off all night," he commented, bumping his shoulder against yours. You threw him a half-hearted smile as you fumbled with your snowflake pendant.

"Fine, yeah. Just... Tomorrow is a lot." You didn't want to tell him the truth, that you couldn't imagine your life without him in it, and that moving somewhere completely different would shatter your heart, so you didn't.

Anakin finally cracked a smile, and you wondered when the last time you had seen him not smile was. That lopsided grin practically never left his face, and it was infectious to see. "So you're scared, huh?" 

Always teasing you. But there was an undercurrent of sincerity there, buried deep. When you were younger, you had worried about if he'd still be your friend when others came around, and maybe he'd like them more than he liked you, but he stayed loyal to you. Even when Tommy Masterson in seventh grade said you were probably a bedwetter, Anakin not-so-subtly started a rumor that Tommy peed himself when he got too excited. (Granted, that rumor only gained traction because Anakin had splashed the kid's pants with apple juice after gym. And punched him. But you didn't hear about that until last year.)

"Yeah, I guess. Everything will be different and, well--making friends isn't super easy. I mean, real friends. Like you," you said. Anakin responded with just a thoughtful hmm, while his eyes, usually clear blue, were dark and stormy in the lamplight. His smile had faded just a bit, and he was looking downward. For a second, you thought he was looking at your lips with that intense look, but you shook the thought away. Friends. 

"I just, I don't know. I'm also worried about, well, oh fuck this is awkward to say out loud, dating, I guess?" You hadn't confessed that to anyone else. Anakin was silent, still boring into you with that look in his eye. The words came out like a river, filling in every gap of the silence between you. You kept messing with the snowflake pendant, like you always did when you were nervous. "I wish I had dated someone in high school. I haven't even kissed anyone, other than Alex in fucking freshman year during spin the bottle, so it wasn't even real, and I only went on a date with that one guy last year but we didn't even hold hands--what kind of cute college guy will want someone who hasn't even gotten to second base or hasn't actually kissed someone for real? I'm still a virgin. Am I just--" Anakin cut off your rambling with a soft "hey," and you expected him to say something else, but he just sat, silent.

"Sorry," you said, awkwardly. God, that was so cringe of you. You hated hearing about it when Anakin told you about his first kiss, and the first time he had gone a bit further with his girlfriend in sophomore year. Padme was so nice and cool and great, but you couldn't shake the unease in the pit of your stomach when you saw them holding hands. Or kissing. Or cuddling on the couch at a party. It was just being protective. That's what best friends do. Right? The other option was unthinkable.

"I could help," he said simply, like it wasn't anything serious. The words sat between you, the air heavy with his implication. Hope nestled in your chest, but you pushed it away. He probably meant he could set you up with one of the guys on the soccer team. He did claim that Isaiah had a crush on you, but the kid ate his own boogers until high school. Gross.

"I'm not going to date Isaiah. Or Kevin," you added. Kevin was even worse. You expected Anakin to laugh, dismiss the whole idea, but he kept that intense look in his eyes.

"What? Those losers? Nah... No, I mean, I could help you. We could... practice," he let out a tiny laugh, and your face fell, so he rushed to add, "Sorry. It's just. Feels funny to say. But I'm serious. We could. If you wanted." The breath left your chest. This isn't happening. It can't be. Then why were you deliriously happy? Why did you want nothing more than to lean over and kiss him? You searched his face for some tell that this was all some bit that he'd tease you for. Some joke that he took too far. But all you found was sincerity and earnestness. He wanted this. He was literally offering it. His suggestion sat between you, curling into your stomach and sending it churning and fluttering. Was he actually giving you butterflies? But if you kissed him, you'd ruin everything you had for years. You were going to say no. No. No. 

But why did that answer break your heart?

Shit. You had taken too long. You could see him crawling back into his shell, about to make some joke about how you had cooties or something, when you blurted out your answer. 

"Yes. I mean--sure. I need the practice, right?" You cringed. Real smooth. His eyes widened, and he smiled--a genuine smile, no teasing in it, just affection. You could still sense that intensity rolling off him like waves. 

"Okay," he said. This time, there wasn't any hiding the way his gaze flitted down to your lips. Anakin scooched closer to you with an awkward "um" as he tried to figure out how to navigate kissing his best friend. He suddenly wished there was a handbook, or a guide to tell him how to make this not awkward even though he wanted it so badly.

When his hand, still soft and warm from washing the dishes, his fingers wrinkled from the water, came up to touch your cheek, you had to suppress a surprised jump. Oh, God. This was real. His face was coming closer. This was happening. Holy fuck holy fuck holyfuckholyfuckholyfuckholyfuck

Then his lips met yours and your brain imploded. This was Anakin and you. You and Anakin. And holy fuck it felt so good. The rhythm of kissing was new to you--before, you'd only pecked Alex, and that was once, in front of half the graduating class. This was completely different. And terrifying. Anakin's mouth moved against you, and you gradually tried to mimic his movements. You felt his lips part just a bit wider, and, in your enthusiasm, you bumped your teeth together. Hard. Anakin grunted in pain, and, then, suddenly, he pulled away. Fuck. Was this it? Was that all you would get?

"OhmyGodareyouokay?" You blurted, your hands shooting up to cup his cheeks. He laughed heartily, his eyes twinkling.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Looks like you needed the practice, though," he said as he cackled. Heat rushed into your cheeks, and you were sure you were as red as a tomato. You smacked his shoulder a few times, and then a few more times for good measure. 

"Asshole!" He was still smirking, but he was leaning back in. You hadn't scared him off, and you thanked every god you could think of. Soon, his lips were back on yours, and your heart rate went back into the triple digits. This time, his hand came up to the small of your back, pulling you in closer, so that your thighs were pressed up against each other.

As he kissed you again, you swore you grew ten times as many nerve endings in your lips. The kisses started out slow and soft, like they were the first time, but soon they grew hungry. Soon, you felt his tongue poke out and tease your lip, which produced an embarrassing whimper from you. He'd probably make fun of you later, and you couldn't care less. His free hand grabbed your legs by the knee and hoisted them up over his, so that you were nearly in his lap. The way your lips felt against each other was nothing short of sinful. If this is what kissing everyone felt like, you had been seriously missing out. However, you got the sense that this was something special. Guilt creeped into your thoughts. This was different for you than it was for him. Though you'd been denying it, you reasoned you probably had feelings for him. (You were actually utterly head-over-heels for him, but that wasn't something you were prepared to admit yet). Either way, you felt for a second like you were taking advantage of the situation. But he had offered, so you kissed him even harder to make the thoughts go away. God, his mouth felt good.

The kisses that had been hungry before were ravenous at this point, sloppy and drunk on each other. His warm, strong hand on your legs pulled you even closer, so that you were completely sitting on him, but the angle was a bit weird. You pulled away, just for a second, and he sloppily trailed kisses down your jaw and neck. You moaned loudly, not able to hide your response to the feeling of his tongue on your neck, teasing you in little circles in between kisses. You hitched one of your legs over him and straddled him. If he was going to escalate, so were you.

Now that you were on his lap, you had to lean down to kiss him, holding his face in your hands. His smooth cheek was feverish under your touch, and he was kissing you even more desperately than he was before, if that was even possible. You felt something on your thigh and--oh.

Oh. He was hard. Fuck, that was something else. You felt yourself getting even wetter, begging for some sort of touch. Fuck it. You took the risk, and you lowered your clothed pussy onto him. He wasn't just hard, he was rock hard. And big. When he felt your weight on him, he groaned into your mouth, not daring to break the kiss. You pulled away, just to make sure you weren't crossing some sort of poorly defined line. As if you guys had laid this out in detail beforehand.

"Is this okay?" You half-whispered, half-panted into his mouth. He mumbled a series of 'yes's and nodded fervently, going straight back to kissing you with his hands on your hips. Tentatively, you rolled your hips against him, and he grunted as he kept kissing you. The friction was perfect, finally giving you some relief. He was driving you absolutely insane. You kept grinding your hips, chasing the feeling. You ran your fingers through his hair and tugged gently, and his hips twitched up to you. You could feel his hands helping you grind into him, and soon enough he was thrusting up in time with you. The sounds flowed out of you freely now, little whimpers and gasps that matched his groans.

Then someone was knocking at the door, and you ripped yourself away from him. It was Shmi.

"Ani? We should go home now, still a lot of packing to do!" He looked up at you with wide eyes, caught red-handed. Anakin was panting, heavily, barely capable of putting together a sentence.

"Coming!" He called back, though his voice faltered. As you both looked at each other, his boyish grin reappeared, and you both burst out laughing. What the fuck just happened? He helped you get off him and sit back down on your bed. His tall, lean frame leaned over you, putting your foreheads together as your laughter trailed off.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said in a low voice, before kissing you one more time. This kiss was different. There wasn't urgency, or horniness, just a gentle sweetness to it. It was more painful than all your other kisses combined. You nodded, not able to say a single word, as he left the room. 

You could hear him going down the stairs, and greeting your parents. You just sat there, frozen, like your world hadn't just changed in the last half hour. And the funny part? You weren't even thinking about moving away anymore.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list!

[latenightdaydreams]

will there ever be an update to the trucker konig series?

Yes! Thank you all so much for being so patient with me!

Trucker!König x Stranded!Reader Part 5 (fem)

Part 1, 2, 3, 4

Final Part

MDNI🔞

Master List

🚫Massive Triggers for self harm.🚫

>cw: fem/afab, pregnancy, self harm, cptsd, breastmilk

2.6k word count

🚚

Tag list: @vivasab0tage, @teddy2510, @nexthyperfix, @nachofriess, @mariapallett, @prettystrangething, @smolduck126, @vampie-com, @sagedbelladonna

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Now you’re eight months pregnant. The reality that you might have this baby with König weighs heavily on you. His paranoia has gotten so much worse since seeing the flier. He’s blacked out all the windows in the bedroom. Day in and day out, you sit in darkness other than a single lamp. He doesn’t let you leave the top floor of the house anymore, and you spend most of your days in the bedroom. Dark circles have formed under your eyes and your body has grown weaker.

This morning, König comes in and removes your restraints, bringing you to his bathroom. He turns on the shower and pulls your stained night gown over your head.  His hand goes to your breast instantly and squeezes some milk out. A smile crosses his lips as he leans in and latches to you, squeezing your breast while he sucks.

The sweet milk filling his mouth make his moan, his cock getting hard in his pants. “I’m going to have to keep you pregnant. I can’t go without this.” His lips wrap back around your nipple and sucks.

König pulls his head back with a pop, milk still spraying from your nipples. He wipes his face before opening the shower curtains and gesturing you to enter.

“Clean yourself well. The doctors coming and I want him to see how well I keep you.”

Once in the shower you roll your eyes. König times you on how long you can take in here, so you quickly wash your body. He doesn’t allow you time to enjoy it. When you step out, he has to be the one to dry you before picking you back up and bringing you to the bed room. On the bed was a beautiful lavender maternity shirt and a pair of maternity leggings. König puts you down on your feet for you to get dressed.

“You look so beautiful, Maus. Our baby boy will be here sooner than you think.” König’s voice was cheerful. His eyes scanned your pregnant body up and down like a hungry wolf.

Your tired eyes meet his, you give him a weak smile. Once dressed, you look at yourself in the full-length mirror. The person you see staring back at you isn’t someone you recognize. You look as if you’re wasting away, the large parasite inside of you transforming your body into one you don’t recognize. The light in your eyes is gone, leaving behind an empty dead stare. Mirrors have become your enemy.

König walks up behind you and hugs you, his hands caressing your large swollen belly. His touch sends chills up your spine. You just want to be free.

“Remember to smile.” He whispers in your ear.

Just then, there was a knock on the door. König gives you a look, as if you should be on your best behavior, before turning and going downstairs to open the door. You walk over to the bed and lay down. His bed is much nicer than the one he has for you in your room.

“Mom is in here.” König says opening his bedroom door and in came the man with him. König has never told you his name, but to just call him doctor.

“How are you doing, y/n?” The doctor asks as he sets up his equipment on the dresser near the bed.

“I’ve been well.” You smile cheerfully and look at König to make sure you’re doing well.

“Good. Have you been feeling a lot of activity?”

The doctor sits on a chair next to your bed and lifts your shirt. He squeezes out blue gel on your stomach, placing the ultrasound transducer on to your stomach and spreads the gel around.

“Yes. He’s very active.” You watch the doctor's every move.

On the small screen you can see the shape of your baby. Usually, a mother would love to see this, but you can’t bear to look at the screen. König’s blue eyes were gleaming with happiness as the doctor checked the baby; all he does is tell you how long he’s waited to be a dad.

The doctor pulls away and König hands you a towel to wipe your stomach off with. They spoke about the due date approaching and my birth plan. At home, only König and the doctor. You lower your shirt but stay laying in his bed.

With a hand extended, the doctor comes over to say goodbye to you. “I’ll see you again in a few weeks. Hopefully, the baby will be ready to come.”

“Yes! That would be very good.” König interjects and kisses your forehead. “I’m going to walk him out, Maus. I’ll be back.”

König left you alone in the room. You just lie there relaxing. It feels nice to be in a comfortable bed, no restraints. No restraints…

Thoughts flood your mind when you decide that this is the exact moment you’ve been waiting for. You’re too weak to get up and run away, but you still have one option for escape. Planting your feet firmly on the ground, you pull your body up from the bed. The room is peaceful. The walls were a deep blue with the bright sun coming in through the windows.

You walk up to the window and open in, breathing in the fresh air you’ve been missing the past few months. The sun hits your skin, closing your eyes and letting the breeze blow over your face. Tears forming in your eyes as you open them. Thoughts of the family you left back home flood your mind, you’ll never see them again.

Without closing the window, you walk away and leave his room. Your steps are quiet, making sure König can’t hear you. You walk to the top of the staircase, looking to the left you can see into the nursery. A stuffed wolf is sitting on the rocking chair. Your gaze lingers on it before you close your eyes and let yourself fall forward.

König hears a loud crashing sound. Panic consumes his body as he turns and runs from the kitchen. At the bottom of the staircase, he sees you, face down and blood surrounding your body. Tears form in König’s eye as he kneels in front of you and touches your pulse. You’re still alive.

“You have to take her to the hospital.” The doctor said, König knew he was right.

You wake up, bright lights consume your vision. The sound of machines beeping and a hand on your arm fully wakes you up. The cold hand causes you to jump, looking over to see a woman wearing green scrubs. Her brown hair in a ponytail with a neutral look on her face.

“How are you feeling sweetie?” She was fluent in your native language. “I’m nurse Lena. I’ve been taking care of you.”

“My head hurts…” Your voice sounds strained.

“Yeah, it sounds like you had quite the fall.”

“She did, she scared me so much. I’m thankful that she and my boy are okay.” König’s voice cuts in as you feel his hand on your knee.

The look on your face alerts the nurse. Instantly, your eyes widen and your bottom lip begins to tremble. Your heart rate begins to speed and the monitors pick it up. Lena looks from you to König.

“Good thing your husband was there to find you in time.”

You look straight ahead and don’t say anything. Lena studies your face, the way you seem to dissociate. She sees the bruises on your wrist and ankles, bite marks on your neck and arms. She covers you with a blanket and hands you the remote to call for a nurse or turn the lights on and off before leaving you alone with König.

Once alone you can feel the tension in the room change drastically. König’s eyes bore into you, anger bubbling to the surface.

“What the fuck was that about?!” He snaps.

You look over to him and freeze, the anger in his eye is worse than when you ran away. There is nothing you can say that would make this any better. You know once you get back into his hands, you’re going to be in trouble.

“You could have killed my fucking son!” His voice booms louder than he meant for it to. It took everything in him to not strike you right now.

Tears begin to burn your eyes as you frown. “I’m sorry.”

König walks closer to you and puts his finger in your face. “You’re going to fucking regret this. I’ll make sure you can’t ever get up and walk again.” His voice is a terrifying, low growl.

Before he can continue, Lena walks back in. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave for this test. Only doctors and nurses can be in the room to remain sterile.”

König looked suspicious of her words, but bent down to kiss your cheek, whispering in your ear, “Don’t say a word.”

“I love you Liebling.” He squeezes your hand once more before walking away.

His heart is in his stomach as he leaves. Once through the doors, he sees hospital security waiting. Calmy, giving them kind smiles as he keeps walking past them. König isn’t stupid. He is aware of what is about to happen.

Without a second, though, König keeps walking. He gets to the elevator and presses for the garage. Looking at him, you wouldn’t guess he was panicking on the inside. It felt as if everything was crashing around him. His perfect wife, his son, his online audience, all gone. He has to start over again.

Once in the garage, he rushes to his car, dropping his cell phone on the ground and stomping it before getting into the car and speeding out. Tears swell in his eyes as he realizes he will never see his son.

“FUCK!” He shouts and punches the passenger's headrest out of anger.

In the room, Lena sits with you and looks into your eyes. “Are you safe?”

A wide frown appears across your face as tears stream from your eyes. You shake your head no.

“Is that man really your husband?”

“No.” Your voice shakes as you try to hold back sobs.

“Do you need help?”

“Please, yes. Please.” You grab your hair, pulling at it, as you sob. A huge mix of emotions overwhelms you as you realize you did it. You’re really safe.

Lena hugs you and tries to soothe you by rubbing your back. You wrap your arms around her, clinging to her for dear life. As much as she tries, there is no holding back the immense amount of sympathy she feels for you and cries with you.

“You’re safe now. I promise.” Lena’s voice cracks.

The door opens and security walks inside. They heard the sobs through the door. Lena turns her head to face them and nods to confirm her suspicions. They quickly talk on the radio to raise the alarm to not let the tall man with scars on his face leave. A guard stands at your door as others search for him.

“A social worker and police will come to talk to you, okay?” Lena pulls back and wipes her tears away.

“I don’t want this baby.”

Her eyes drop to your stomach and she nods. “We can set up an adoption plan for after birth.”

Hours pass when cops along with the social worker come walking into the room. Their faces are serious. One cop with hazel eyes and brown hair sits in front of you. He looks at you, looking at all the bite marks and bruises on your body. In his hand is a manila folder filled with paperwork. Finally, he speaks.

“I’m Officer Hauser. I’m here to ask you a few things to better help you. Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

He pulls out a photo from the folder and it’s of König’s truck. Your heart sinks as you just look at the photo. Your heart rate is picking up. The social worker walks over to you and offers you her hand to hold for support.

“Do you recognize this truck?”

“Y-yes.”

Officer Hauser nods and pulls out another photo of König, but in a military uniform.

“Is this the man that was here with you?”

“Yes.” You can feel the woman’s hand squeeze yours.

“You’re doing great.” She whispers to you.

“We believe you were one of multiple victims of an ex KorTac Colonel named Alexander J. König.” Officer Hauser speaks up. “He was said to have been KIA, but it appears that is false.”

“Did- did you arrest him?” The look in your eyes is so hopeful.

The officer clears his throat and looks from you to the social worker. He is trying to think of a way to say this.

“We haven’t been able to locate him. He’s disappeared. Every country has eyes out looking for him. We will find him. I promise.”

When you heard that every country was looking for him, you felt confident that he would be caught soon. Days passed, weeks, months; still no word on where König is. Labor and delivery went smoothly. Lena the nurse came in on her day off to support you through the labor and passing the child over to the social worker. You did what is best for you both.

It’s now been ten years since the whole ordeal with König. You’ve been in therapy, went back to school, met the love of your life, and settled down. It feels like a whole different life now. That person that was held captive is gone. You’re truly healing deep down inside.

Today is a warm day with a cooling breeze. You sit outside and close your eyes, taking in deep breaths. For a moment, you were your younger self standing by the window and taking what you thought would be your last breath of fresh air. A wave of anxiety crushes you and you begin to breath heavily. Thoughts of the son you gave up, he would be ten this year.

Just as your thoughts begin to spiral, you jump, feeling a hand on your shoulder. You look up to see your partner, Sam. They look down at you with a worried look in their eyes. One of their hands comes up and caresses the side of your face.

“Are you okay babe?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Sam crouches down in front of you, grabbing your hand to hold. “Talk to me.”

“I just…I had almost, like, a flash back…to—” Your voice trembles.

“You don’t have to say it, I know.” Their thumb caresses your hand. “You’re here with me. You’re safe. Remember that.”

“I got a letter in the mail today.” Your voice comes out as a whisper.

“Yeah? What was it?” Sam tilts their head.

“They found König.” Your eyes meet theirs. Sam's mouth drops open from surprise.

“How do you feel?”

“It feels like I can finally relax. Well, it did. I have to go back and testify. I have to see him again.”

“Oh, y/n.” Sam grabs you and holds you in a tight hug. “You’ve got this. I’ll be with you every part of the way.”

“Thank you.”

Six months later, you sit in front of a courtroom. Your eyes meet his familiar pale blue eyes. König scowls, looking at you with immense rage. You look back, showing no fear. He is nothing but a pathetic broken man who will die alone. Everything he did to you did not break you. You’re still here- thriving, all despite König.

[your-bestamericangirl]

Midnight Love || ch. 3 - white ferrari

Paige Bueckers x Uconnwbb!reader

previous: ch.2 - golden || next: .4 - april || masterlist

a/n: not proofread sorry baes <3

now playing: slow dancing in the dark by joji

She was sat on her bed, the passing clouds cast fleeting shadows over her room, enveloping her in a familiar wave of frustration. Throughout (Y/n)'s life, there had been countless instances where she wished she could freeze time, if only for a moment. In her experience, time never seemed to align in her favour; nothing ever happened at the 'right time,' and she often had to work tirelessly to make things happen. Unfortunately, her life hadn't witnessed any miracles yet, and there seemed to be no signs of any on the horizon to rescue her.

Currently, the clock displayed 5:47 PM.

A river of clothing continued to spill out of (Y/n)’s wardrobe, forming several piles scattered across her floor. Various textures and colours now adorned every crevice of her room. What started as simple 'yes,' 'no,' and 'maybe' piles quickly multiplied into categories like 'yes-if-the-weather-stays-nice' or 'maybe-but-it-would-look-better-if-my-hair-was-up'. Defeated, (Y/n) slumped from her bed to the floor. Choosing an outfit wasn’t a decision to be taken lightly in this context.

5:50 PM

Now would’ve been the perfect moment for her first miracle.

As she stared at the chaotic array of clothing before her, she couldn't help but feel a sense of unease creeping in. It wasn't just the prospect of selecting the right outfit; it was the nagging uncertainty about the evening itself, looming on the horizon like an unanswered question. After all, it wasn't like she was getting dressed up for media day, it was just the rest of the team. She found herself second-guessing the decision to go at all. With a heavy sigh, (Y/n) pushed herself off the floor, resolving to make a decision one way or another. As she stood there amidst the scattered clothes, (Y/n) tried to rack her brain for what had compelled her to agree to this outing in the first place.

***That morning

"And good Lord, right then and there, I wished I could’ve just gotten killed earlier on when I was in that shark tank because my mom appeared, mad as hell, and was ready to slap the shit outta me-”

Absentmindedly, (Y/n) hummed in agreement as her eyes scanned the fully stocked shelves. The aroma of freshly baked bread from the nearby bakery section wafted through the air, making (Y/n)'s stomach growl in protest at its emptiness. For the past four aisles, KK had been recounting her so-called horrifying dream from the night before, all from inside their shopping cart. While the first 30 seconds had been captivating, (Y/n) soon realized that KK was far from done. This dream had been so 'emotionally and mentally impactful' that KK felt compelled to act out her car chase scene, resulting in her abandoning the cart. After the fateful crash, the two found themselves with a worker trailing them from behind, ready to intervene with KK’s boisterous antics if needed.

The restock of the week was greatly needed. With the pantry, kitchen, and fruit bowl left with nothing but dust, both girls’ moods had increasingly deteriorated from the day before. As KK continued to recount her experience, (Y/n) was left with the task of finding what they needed. “Mhmm, sounds traumatic speaking of that. What else do we need?”

KK gave her a look. “Yeah, it was. Thank you for your consideration.”

 “Always for you. But you didn’t answer my question—what else do we need?”

Realizing that KK couldn’t wring out any more sympathy from (Y/n), she shifted her focus from recounting her painful nightmare to recalling the items on the grocery list she conveniently left at home—a detail she kept from the older girl.

“Uh, okay damn. I think like… meat?” 

The cart suddenly jerked to a halt, catching KK off guard. She lurched forward, instinctively steadying herself on the shopping cart. The harsh fluorescent lighting overhead felt too intense for the early morning, casting stark shadows across the aisles. 

KK turned around to face her roommate, ready to berate her for the sudden maneuver. However, the words of distaste dissolved on her tongue as she beheld (Y/n)'s expression. The older girl stood before her, eyes closed, brows furrowed in the middle, teetering between disbelief and strained patience. KK would be grateful to come out of this conversation unscathed.

(Y/n)'s tone was short, “KK.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

With a deep inhale, (Y/n) gripped the shopping cart, her fingers tightening around the metal handle as she suppressed the urge to vent her frustration. Swallowing back all the profanities that came to mind, she managed a strained smile. 

“What type of meat?”

“You know, like, bruschetta… maybe some bacon-”

“Maybe?” (Y/n) raised an eyebrow, her patience waning.

KK chuckled, the sound bouncing off the fluorescent-lit aisles. “Nah, just kidding. We definitely need bacon. And also… Oh shit… Ice?”

(Y/n) blinked, the abrupt shift in conversation catching her off guard. “...Ice? KK, are you good? Because last time I checked, you were the one who brought up meat in the first place.”

In response, KK stood up from her position in the shopping cart, the metal rattling as she shifted her weight. “No look, it’s Ice.”

Following KK’s gaze, she then spotted Ice Brady in the next aisle. The 6’3 forward struggled to fit numerous bags of chips into her shopping basket, her arms stretched to their limits.

With a resigned sigh, (Y/n) began to maneuver the cart containing KK towards Ice's location. The wheels squeaked in protest against the linoleum floor, the rhythmic sound echoing in the bustling store. Despite her being a D1 athlete, she found herself growing weary of playing the role of chauffeur for her friend. Yet, as she glanced at KK’s expectant expression, she knew there was no escaping it.

“Ice Brady," KK sang, her arms outstretched in a theatrical gesture as the cart rolled to a stop. The spectacle drew the attention of nearby shoppers, who paused to witness the unfolding scene, transfixed by the unexpected drama. "Would you care for some assistance today?"

Ice, caught off guard by the flamboyant greeting, turned her attention from the bags of chips to KK's infectious smile. Amusement danced in her eyes as she surveyed the scene before her. With a nod of acknowledgment to (Y/n), who was still navigating the cart into a suitable parking spot, Ice responded, "I mean, if you hopped out of the cart, I could put my stuff in, but I wouldn’t want to trouble your highness."

“Oh!” KK’s hands came together in childish glee, pleased by Ice’s answer, “How considerate of you, but it's alright, I’ve been feeling courteous today.”

“So now you’re feeling ‘courteous’?” (Y/n) deadpanned as she made her way around the shopping cart across from Ice. As KK made her stellar attempt to climb out of the cart gracefully, (Y/n) stood behind her to help lift her out, “I’ve literally been pushing you around all morning, babes.” 

She then made her way over toward ice to give assistance with the various chip bags enough to feed a family for christmas dinner. 

“So,” KK started her smile towards Ice, selectively choosing to ignore her roommate’s comment “what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

“Y’know, working had to feed the kids, and all that. You guys sure eat a lot” 

“Wait,” KK gaped, “This is all for us?”

“Have you checked the group chat?” Ice questioned. In fact, they had not. Though she had been added days prior, (Y/n) had decided to keep her distance from that group chat. The two girls turned to look at each other, proceeded by KK quickly checking her phone.

Soon enough, her eyes ignited from within. “Hell yeah, party time,” she sang.

“K, you’re being dramatic, it’s literally just the team,” Ice laughed.

“Theres a hangout tonight?” (Y/n) questioned, her stomach forming knots at the thought of being in a room with all of the UConn Women’s Basketball team.

“Yup, everyone, including you two, are coming over."

(Y/n) glanced between KK and Ice, her expression shifting to one of mild apprehension. "Do I have a choice?" she asked, her voice laced with a hint of resignation.

Both KK and Ice exchanged a knowing look before simultaneously replying, "Nope."

6:15 pm

During her first official collegiate-level game freshman year, (Y/n) led her team to a resounding victory, later that night earning her the coveted title of 'The People’s Princess' of the NCAA.

Beneath the blaring lights of the stadium, (Y/n) was radiant. It was a moment she had long envisioned, the culmination of years of relentless dedication and unwavering determination. With her eyes gleaming and her words flowing with confidence, she effortlessly captivated the reporter and everyone in attendance. Her presence seemed to cast a spell over the crowd, drawing them in with her infectious smile and undeniable talent.

In the weeks that followed, (Y/n)'s reputation soared to new heights. However, amidst the high, a subtle unease began to gnaw at her. She quickly realized that the pedestal on which she had been placed came with its own set of challenges.

Despite her remarkable achievements on the court, she found herself confined by the weight of expectations. The public's perception of her became increasingly polarized, with praise often overshadowed by harsh criticism. She was both celebrated and scrutinized for her gentle demeanour, her commanding presence, and even her choice of attire.

The constant contrast between adoration and disdain left her feeling unsettled, she was constantly walking on a tightrope between two worlds. Over time, she became acutely aware of the need to separate her on-court persona from her everyday life, a process that had equally drained but benefited her.

Yet, as she immersed herself deeper into the complexities of her newfound fame, (Y/n) couldn't shake the nagging feeling that appearance had become everything.  In a world where perception was predominant, she grappled with the notion that her worth was measured not by her character or accomplishments, but by the image she projected to the world.

All this to say that unfortunately, (Y/n) had been second-guessing tonight’s event over and over again.  Only two individuals had truly seen beyond the facade she meticulously maintained: KK and, in a distant past, Paige.

As (Y/n)'s life flashed before her eyes, her gaze fixed on the door before her, its weathered surface worn by years of use. The soft hum of chatter from beyond the door drifted through the air, mingling with the faint scent of pizza and anticipation that hung in the hallway. Each groove in the wood seemed to whisper secrets, a silent witness to her inner turmoil.

She took a deep breath, her fingers tracing the edges of the doorframe. The cool touch of the wood against her skin sent a shiver down her spine, a tangible reminder of the reality awaiting her on the other side. What would they think of her? Did she look presentable enough? Doubts gnawed at her confidence, threatening to unravel the facade she had carefully constructed.

With a steadying exhale, (Y/n) pushed open the door, crossing the threshold into the unknown. The soft click of the latch echoed in her ears, signaling her descent into the realm of uncertainty.

The scene unfolded before her, intimate and genuine, a tapestry woven with the bonds of teammates. The UConn Women’s Basketball team occupied every corner of Ice’s condo, their laughter mingling with the warmth of the confined space. Despite the inviting atmosphere, (Y/n) couldn’t shake the feeling of being an intruder in this vibrant gathering.

With each step forward, (Y/n) sensed the weight of her decision. The events of this evening would undoubtedly shape her relationship with the team for the rest of the year.

Luckily, no one had noticed her entrance yet. As (Y/n) scanned the room, she searched for KK among the multitude of bodies, most of them towering over her. Despite her efforts, KK remained elusive. Frustration etched her features as uncertainty gnawed at her. She caught her reflection in a nearby mirror, regarding herself with unease.

With a sigh, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. Lost in her inner turmoil, (Y/n) failed to notice the door behind her slowly swinging open.

As the door swung shut, the breeze proceeded to cause a shift among her hair. Shoving away all distractions, (Y/n) straightened her back, took a deep breath and prepared for her next step further into the house.

“You gonna move? Or do you need help, princess?” Paige's voice cut through the air, shattering (Y/n)'s concentration. All prior thoughts dissolved from her mind at those words, her focus instantly shifting to the unexpected encounter with Paige.

Despite the familiarity of seeing Paige's face plastered on banners around UConn, the proximity still rattled her. She had thought she'd grown accustomed to it, but the reality of facing Paige in person was an entirely different experience.

She had an image to maintain, (Y/n) wouldn’t shy away at simple words anymore.

With a subtle steeling of her resolve, she turned to face the taller girl, meeting Paige's gaze head-on. Though she found herself looking up at Paige, she refused to give any ground in their exchange.

The tension between them crackled in the air, each word laden with unspoken history and unresolved emotions. (Y/n)'s jaw tightened, but she refused to let Paige see any hint of vulnerability. She squared her shoulders and held Paige's gaze with unwavering determination.

"No need for assistance, thanks," (Y/n) replied evenly, her voice betraying none of the turmoil swirling inside her. "I can handle myself just fine."

Paige chuckled, taking a step closer to her. "Of course you can, Your Highness," she quipped, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "But it wouldn't hurt to let someone lend a hand every now and then."

(Y/n) bristled at the implication but forced herself to remain composed. "I'll keep that in mind," she replied curtly, stepping aside to let Paige pass.

Paige's lips quirked into a knowing smirk, but she didn't press the issue further. 

While Paige moved past her, (Y/n) couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that lingered in the air. Despite her best efforts to maintain her facade of confidence, there was a vulnerability in her interactions with Paige that she couldn't seem to shake.

As (Y/n) made her way further into the room, she found herself enveloped in a warm atmosphere. Smiles greeted her from every direction, genuine and welcoming, easing the tension that had knotted in her stomach.

“Damn, girl, I was just about to check if you had been kidnapped! What took you so long.” Exclaimed KK as she searched every inch of (Y/n). The younger girl’s gaze soon turned towards Paige suspiciously suddenly recounting the day prior, eyes snapping back and fourth. But then quieter KK added, “Hm, okay, I see, I see…”

A chorus of laughter bubbled up around them at KK’s dramatic statement, the sound infectious and light-hearted. (Y/n) couldn't help but smile in response, the weight of earlier uncertainties melting away in the warmth of their acceptance.

Any lingering tension between them dissipated in the face of the group's genuine warmth, replaced by a sense of belonging and shared purpose.

After making her rounds, (Y/n) went to sit by the couch, where a mini circle had formed as the team watched Azzi and Aubrey in their death match of Mario Cart. The room was filled with the rhythmic clicking of controllers and the occasional whoops and groans as players navigated their virtual karts through the colourful tracks. Azzi and Aubrey were locked in intense concentration, their eyes glued to the screen as they jostled for the lead. The competitive banter between them added to the lively atmosphere, punctuated by bursts of laughter and playful teasing from the rest of the team. (Y/n) leaned back, taking in the scene with a contented smile.

As the night progressed, (Y/n) found herself settling in, enjoying the easy connection of the team. Their genuine willingness to engage with her put her at ease, dispelling any lingering apprehension. After wrapping up a conversation with Ashlyn about her cats back at home, (Y/n) decided to take a brief respite. She excused herself and made her way to the kitchen, feeling a headache creeping in as result of the loud atmosphere. 

The cool touch of the glass along her fingers was well welcomed as (Y/n) took a sip of water. From her position in the kitchen, she had a comforting view of the apartment. As her gaze swept from Azzi and Aubrey fighting about wins and losses, to KK and Aaliyah filming their third tiktok of the night, her eyes landed on Paige. 

Obviously, people change as they grow up. Physically, Paige was taller. Her dark blond roots peaked out like a halo. But, the space between them seemed to grow as well. 

With a sigh, she turned to grab another sip of water. The kitchen, bathed in the soft glow of overhead lights, hummed with activity. The tiled floor gleamed underfoot, a testament to the cleanliness maintained in the shared space.

Unfortunately, right as she turned, she bumped into the one and only Nika Muhl.

“Oh, shit,” (Y/n) jumped, the water in her glass sloshing dangerously close to the brim.

Before she could react, the collision resulted in the water spilling on Nika, the droplets now flowing from Nika’s shirt onto the tiles below. (Y/n)'s heart sank at the sight

“I’m so sorry, let me help you,” she stammered, scrambling for a nearby towel, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Nika waved off (Y/n)'s apology with a chuckle, her easygoing demeanour putting her at ease. "Don’t worry about it, (Y/n). Accidents happen." Nika took the towel she offered and dabbed at her shirt, trying to contain the spill.

(Y/n) winced, feeling guilty. "I didn't mean to, I was just lost in thought."

Nika leaned against the counter, a small smile playing on her lips. "No harm done. Do you want to talk about whatever was on your mind?"

(Y/n) hesitated, not wanting to burden Nika with her concerns. But Nika's warm gaze encouraged her to speak up. "Yeah, I'm just trying to find my place with the team, you know? Sometimes it feels like I'm still the new kid."

Nika nodded in understanding, crossing her arms casually. "I get that. But trust me, (Y/n), you fit right in. Everyone likes you."

(Y/n) felt a warmth spread through her chest at Nika's words, and she couldn't help but blush. "Thanks, Nika. That means a lot."

Nika chuckled, nudging (Y/n) playfully. "Hey, don't mention it. And you know what? Even Paige couldn't stop talking about how excited she was when she found out you were joining."

(Y/n)'s eyes widened in surprise at the mention of Paige. "Really?"

Nika nodded, a knowing smile on her face. "Yep, really. It seems you’re quite the People’s Princess, (Y/n)."

Feeling a mix of emotions, (Y/n) leaned against the counter beside Nika, both of them watching the group outside the kitchen enjoying themselves. The sounds of laughter and chatter filled the air, creating a comforting backdrop to their conversation.

 However, (Y/n)'s attention was soon drawn to the sight of everyone getting up and preparing to leave. "Where is everyone going?" she asked, confusion evident in her voice.

Nika followed her gaze, her expression turning playful. "I guess it’s about that time now.” Nika then stood up to trail the team out of the apartment. “Team tradition."

Now playing: white ferrari by frank ocean

The night enveloped the surroundings in a tranquil embrace, casting a serene aura over the playground. The soft glow of the moon and stars illuminated the path ahead, casting gentle shadows on the playground equipment.

Amidst the laughter of her companions, (Y/n) found herself immersed in the peaceful ambiance of the night. As she followed behind the group, she couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over her. The cool night air brushed against her skin, carrying with it the faint scent of freshly cut grass and distant city lights.

With each step, (Y/n) felt a weight lifting from her shoulders, replaced by a quiet sense of serenity. She took in the sight of her newfound teammates friends ahead, their silhouettes dancing against the night sky, and allowed herself to be relax the moment, grateful for the new joys she would encounter with this team.

As they made their way onto the playground, the flash of red and blue metal bars pierced the air, bringing back memories of a time when playing D1 basketball was just a distant dream.

Following close behind, (Y/n) ended her destination at a swing set that shone silver and gold against the night sky. The chains groaned in response of her weight, their link rattling together, forming a melody long forgotten. As her world slowly swung on an axis, (Y/n) couldn’t help but finally be at ease. 

As (Y/n) allowed herself to sink into the comforting rhythm of the swing, she became aware of a presence nearby. Glancing over her shoulder, she spotted Paige making her way towards the swing set, her silhouette cutting through the darkness like a shadow. Despite the tension that often lingered between them, there was something oddly comforting about Paige's proximity in that moment. With a silent invitation, (Y/n) watched as Paige settled onto the swing beside her, the chains creaking softly in protest under their combined weight.

For a moment, there was only the soft whip of the wind that passed by (Y/n)’s ears, occasionally broken by the rattling chains and the laughter that drifted from the playground. Though things between the two girls were complicated, (Y/n) missed their time together. 

With a sigh, her eyes searched the distant lights above. Her mind filled in the blanks and connected the dots of the stars in the skies. Unbeknownst to (Y/n), Paige had been doing the same since she arrived.

“Ursa Major,” Paige murmured, the name of the constellation unintentionally slipping from her lips.

At the sudden break in the comforting silence, (Y/n) glanced over to her, giving her full attention. 

"Is it still your favorite?" Paige asked, her voice soft with genuine curiosity, her gaze falling to the side to find (Y/n)’s surprised expression within the darkness.

“Yeah,” (Y/n) spoke softly, her mind filled with the countless nights they searched the sky together. An unexplainable wave of yearning and sadness washed over her senses, “it is.”

Paige then turned her attention back to the sky above, all while (Y/n) was still processing the fact that she remembered her favourite constellation.

“You still remember?” (Y/n) asked, the question slipping from her mind out to the world before she could stop herself.

Paige felt her blood rush scarlet. “Yeah, you know… how could I forget?”

Paige’s answer stunned her. She assumed that since they parted ways, Paige would’ve also tried to erase the memories from her mind. For (Y/n), it had been too much to remember.

Paige's response  lingered in the air, the weight of its meaning hanging heavy between them.

Paige hesitated, her gaze searching (Y/n)'s face for any sign of recognition. "Do you ever miss it?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

(Y/n)'s heart skipped a beat at the question, her mind racing as she struggled to find the right words. "Miss what?" she replied, her voice barely audible over the gentle rustle of leaves and the soft glow of the stars.

Paige's gaze softened. "Us," she admitted, her voice tinged with vulnerability.

A whirlwind of emotions swept through (Y/n) at Paige's question. Her chest tightened, and her breath caught in her throat. The weight of their shared history pressed down on her, threatening to overwhelm her fragile composure.

Yet, amid the turmoil of conflicting emotions, a flicker of longing ignited within her.

Everyday.

She wanted to respond.

I’ve never stopped missing us. 

She hadn’t expected such a question from Paige. Though she had been hoping, deep down, she knew that Paige might not have the same space for her in her world. After all, a sun doesn’t need a moon to survive.

Over time, their dynamic had shifted, revealing that (Y/n) relied more on Paige than the other way around. But those words brought into question whether (Y/n) had been wrong about them all along.

Her eyes swept to the side to meet Paige’s expectant gaze, her eyes reflecting the silver moonlight.

“Always.”

Neither Paige nor (Y/n) had been expecting the answer to be spoken. At the revelation, the corners of Paige’s lips curved into the slightest smile. 

As soon as the conversation started, silence drifted between them, The two girls drifted back into their quiet comfort. Only now, they both shared the same information. Possibilities of the upcoming sprung up into (Y/n)’s mind. Things would be different then she expected, but maybe that was a good thing.

(Deleted scene)

“Nah, Paige is occupied at the moment,” KK laughed, her voice carrying over the chatter of the group. With a deft swing from the monkey bars, she landed next to Aaliyah, where her phone was propped up to capture their talents. As they continued their antics, the live chat exploded with questions about (Y/n) after the idea of getting Paige on the stream was quickly shut down.

“Damn,” Aaliyah murmured, her eyes scanning the flood of messages, “y’all really love her, don’t you?”

A chorus of affirmative responses flooded the chat. Meanwhile, Azzi's voice cut through the background noise, calling both Aaliyah and KK over to witness her latest feat on the monkey bars. With a shared grin, the two girls left their spot, drawn by Azzi's infectious energy.

In the darkness of the night, the bottom right corner of the screen was illuminated just enough to make ou two silhouettes together on a swing set. The descovery sparked a flurry of speculation in the chat. Messages scrolled rapidly as viewers attempted to decipher the identities of the mysterious figures. Within moments, messages began pouring out as Paige and (Y/n) were finally identified.

(Y/n) and Paige: Sparks Fly on Live Stream

Fans were treated to an unexpected sight during teammate KK Arnold's recent live stream, as basketball stars (Y/n) (L/n) and Paige Bueckers made a joint appearance. Their presence together immediately set social media abuzz, with fans reigniting dating rumors that have followed the pair for years. Despite both athletes maintaining silence on the matter, the resurgence of speculation has divided fans, with some eagerly shipping the duo while others advocate for their privacy. As (Y/n) and Paige continue to focus on their careers, fans remain captivated by the possibility of a romantic connection between the two athletes.

a/n: yuhh chapter two done! sorry for the wait, it's been a tough week lmao! anyways, im begging you PLEASE LISTEN TO WHITE FERRARI WHILE READING THE NIGHT SCENE ITS SO GOOD

anyways, thanks for all the love and support you guys are the best, loving all the comments <333

also for future chapters, does anyone live in seattle? cuz mc is gonna be from there and i need a highschool that was good at basketball or just one in general. LOVE YALL SO MUCH SEE YOU NEXT TIME

taglist: @kenzie-luvzz , @juphey , @h34rtsformilli , @pinkandlilacroses , @i-bribri-i , @thatonemarvelfan03 , @girlokwhatever , @ihrtthotdads , @kc88888888 , @nfleditsrjustbetteridk , @imsobabygiirl , @vi0lentb3rry , @sejus-wife , @katemlk , @littlelesbianinternujung , @ktaerssoi , @evangelinexo , @c999sh

[psychic-pigeons]

hey if you write a pattern for the chilchuck amigurumi I will buy it instantly

ive gotten multiple asks about this, so ill just answer them all here in one go.

i wrote down everything while i was working on it, but i theres some stuff that i would do diffrently and i also didnt take a lot of process pics so it wont be a full proper pattern for those reasons, but ill add all that i have under the cut!

i dont want any compensation, but if you wanna do me a favor you can donate to esims for gaza, unrwa, any of these gefundme's, or another trusted charity of your choice.

now to the pattern! i would love to see the results of anyone making a squeakychuck, feel free to tag or dm me :)

the dimensions of this depend on the size of ur squeaker and yarn, i had a 4ish cm squeaker and somewhat thick 4/8 cotton yarn (kinda 6/8ish thickness). depending on ur yarn and squeaker u might need to follow a different pattern for the body.

if youre using a different body base pattern, the tunic and blouse pattern are pretty easily adjustable. ill add some notes for that at those sections of the pattern. ill also link some videos i used at relevant sections.

if theres an Action store near where u live, see pic below for the yarn i used for the skin, reddish brown, black and light brown. i got 3 of these but 2 packs was enough. the dark brown and creme were from my stash. i also got the squeaker from a donut dog toy from Action.

-

abreviations list (all in us terms):

mr = magic ring

sc = single crochet

hdc = half dubble crochet

slst = slipstitch

ch = chain

bobble = 5 double crochet in one stitch

4inc = 4 sc in one

4 inc = increase in the next four stitches

BLO = back loop only

FLO = front loop only

what you need:

-skin color of choice yarn

-creme/white yarn (normal for body, thin for blouse)

-greyish creme (for boot flaps)

-black yarn

-dark brown yarn

-light brown yarn

-reddish brown yarn

-green yarn

-4 tiny buttons (for arm joints)

-cardboard (for shoe sole

-3.5mm hook

-squeaker

-needlefelt needle

-stuffing

-stitchmarker (optional, i always mark the first stitch of the round)

-

once again disclaimer, this is not a propper pattern, this is just what i wrote down while i was crochetting. it may not nessecarily be the best way to do it. i wanted most clothes to be removable, but you have to partially disassemble the doll if you want to remove them. if you dont like how something looks or works ur free to do whatever you want. big fan of fucking around and finding out personally.

if you have any questions feel free to dm me, might take me a while to reply though.

-

SQUEAKY CHUCK PATTERN 3.5mm hook

head (skin)

r1: sc 6 in mr

r2: (inc) x6

r3: (sc 1, inc) x6

r4: (sc 2, inc) x6

r5: (sc3, inc) x6

r6: (sc4, inc) x6

r7: (sc 5, inc) x6

r8-15 : sc 42

r16: (sc 5, dec) x6

r17: (sc 4, dec) x6

r18: (sc3, dec) x6

r19: (sc2, dec) x6

r20: (sc 1, dec) x6

r21: sc 12

slst, fasten off

ears x2 (skin)

r1: sc6 in mc

r2: (inc) x6

r3: (sc, inc) x6

r4-6: sc 18

r7: dec 9. slst fatsen off.

Body - leg up (skin, black, thick creme)

start with skin

r1: ch 6, inc in 2nd from hook, sc 3, 4inc, sc 3, inc

r2: inc 2, sc 3, inc 4, sc 3, inc 2

r3: inc 3, sc 5, inc 6, sc 5, inc 3

r4: BLO sc in all

r5: sc 3, dec 2, sc 3, dec 2, sc 6, dec 2, sc 3, dec 2, sc 3

r6: sc 1, dec, sc 4, dec 6, sc 4, dec, sc 1.

r7: sc 6, dec 3, sc 6

stuff

-r8 dec, sc in all

change color to black [color change video]

r9-23: sc in all

1st leg: fasten off

2nd leg [joining legs video]:

r24: sc7, ch 1, sc join in 1st leg after last sc, sc13, sc1 in visible v loop of ch1, sc 7

r25: sc7, sc 1 in remaining v loop of ch1, sc21

r26-31: sc 28

r32: sc 7, change color to creme/white, slst 1, sc 20

r33-35: sc 29

r36: (sc 8, dec) x3

r37: (sc7, dec) x3

r38: (sc6, dec)x3

add squeaker

r39: sc21

r40: (sc 5, dec) x3

r41-42: sc18

r43: (sc 1, dec) x6

fasten off

Arms (skin, dark brown)

i made the arms movable with button joints, but after looking at some videos i discovered that what i did is not called a button joint and i dont have a video explaining it, so i hope this drawing helps.

the red bits are the buttons inside of the arms and body, and the thread (blue for clarity, i matched it w the skin) should be pulled tight and finished off with a double or tripple knot inside the body.

or you could just sew on the arms that also works. but wait with doing that until youve finished the blouse as the hands dont fit through the sleeves. i have a seperate section on assembly at the end of the pattern.

start with skin

r1:sc6 in mc

r2: inc x6

r3(sc, inc)x6

r4 : sc 18

change color to brown

r5: sc 18

1st arm r6: sc 3, bobble, sc 14.

2nd arm r6.2: sc 14, boble, sc 3

[i matched the top loop to the bobble color but i think it would look better if u didnt]

r7: sc 18

r8: (sc 4, dec)x3

r9: (sc 3, dec)x3

r10 sc12

color switch to skin (you might want to do this a round earlier, i didnt initially plan on making the gloves flared, and this color change part can sometimes be seen and look kinda weird)

r11-14: sc 12

r15: (sc4, dec)x2

r16-19 : sc 10

r20: (sc3, dec)x2

r21: sc8

insert button joint

r28: (sc2, dec)x2

slst, sew shut

glove flare (dark brown)

r1: ch 15, slst join LONG TAIL

r2: (sc4, inc)x3

r3: sc4, inc, sc8, inc, sc 4

r4: sc 2, slst fasten off

sew 2 rows below thumb bobble

boots (light brown, dark brown, greyish creme) [video]

these are removable but they dont go on easily, so you gotta patiently massage the feet in there.

start with light brown

ch 7, start in 2nd from hook:

r1: sc 5, 3inc, sc 4, inc

r2: inc, sc 4, inc 3, sc 4, inc 2

r3: inc, sc 5, hdc inc 7, sc 5, inc 2

r4: slst fasten off. sew in holes/tails, fray ends for flat gluejob. trace onto cardboard for sole.

switch color to dark brown

r1: BLO join slst, BLO sc in all

r2-3: sc in all

glue in sole

r4: sc 8, dec 5, sc 12

r5: sc 7, dec 4, sc 10

r6: sc7, dec2, sc 10

r7-10: sc in all

switch color to greyish creme

r11-12: sc in all

r13: slst, FLO sc in all

r14-16: sc all

slst fasten off

flip the greyish creme flap over.

blouse (thinner creme)

this is a standard raglan pattern, if you need the whole thing bigger/smaller you need to have more/less chains at the beginning. this change also carries over to the collar. the increases are evenly spaced for me, and unless your doll has a very broad chest this shouldnt have to change.

if the arms need more space you need to either add more rows to the r3-7 part and/or add more chains in r8 (this part should fit pretty sugg around the body)

i was experimenting a bit w using BLO to minimize the gap where the sleeve and body seperate (r8). it worked p good but you can ignore it if you dont understand it and just sc in all.

(edit: if this confuses you, understandable. I answered an ask abt it here but feel free to ask if its still unclear)

r1: ch24, slst join.

r2: (sc 5, inc) x4

r3-7: inc in first of previous inc. last row should have 10 sc between increases.

r8: sc5, blo sc 1, ch 5, blo sc join in 1st of next inc, sc 11, blo sc1, ch5, blo sc join in 1st st of next inc, sc 5

r9: sc6, blo sc 1, sc 5, blo sc1, sc11, blo sc 1, sc 5, blo sc 1, sc 6

r10-13: sc in all (36)

r14: (sc8, inc)x4

r15: sc in all (40)

slst finish off

Sleeve

r1: join mid armpit, slst ,sc2, sc in the leftover bits from the BLO stitches, sc 11, sc in leftover BLO bits, sc2

r2-6: sc in all

collar

join left-middle front, sc 7, inc, sc8, inc, sc 7. turn

r2: sc7, inc, sc 10, inc, sc 7. turn

r3: sc8, inc, sc 10, inc, sc 8. turn

cuffs

r1: join mid body-facing side, FLO sc 20

r2-4: sc 20, slst fatsen off

Tunic (red brown) [tunesian entrelac crochet]

if you want to make this bigger i recommend keeping the same square layout, but making the squares bigger. its a bit of measuring and math to figure it out.

the tunic is made in tunesian crochet and i dont really know what written patterns for that look like so i hope this makes sense.

for a single square:

r1: ch4, start in 2nd back bump from hook. pull up a loop from ever back bump. you should have 4 loops on your hook total. simplestitch in all

r2-4: simplestitch in all.

r5: slst in all. fasten off

for the slanted parts i did the decrease by pulling through the middle 2 loops in one go on the back pass

this is how the full thing should look, its worked from bottom left to top right.

sew together the shoulders together, then sew in all of the ends

:) good luck

tunesian crochet has a tendancy to curl, so if you used cotton i def recommend blocking it

i defined the grid a little bit with a dark brown pencil.

cowl (green)

BLO sc 7, repeat till desired lenght, then BLO slst join the last row to the first.

scalp undercut bit (dark brown)

r1: sc 6 in mr

r2: (inc) x6

r3: (sc 1, inc) x6

r4: (sc 2, inc) x6

r5: (sc3, inc) x6

r6: (sc 4, inc)x6

r7: sc36

sew on back of the head (recommend doing this before the ears and face, see end for more detailed assembly instructions)

hair (reddish brown) [hair video]

disclaimer, this is kind of a mess. the lenghts didnt line up the way i intended so i improvised by adding loose strands and spent a lot of time pinning every strand in place before glueing them down.

i used bison kit contact glue since its sturdy, transparant, flexible and waterproof. you can use hot glue as well, i just personally dont like it because its bulky.

r1: sc 21 in mc. join BLO slst

r2: ch 12, sc in 2nd from hook, gdc10, BLO slst join

r3: ch 12, sc in 2nd from hook, gdc10, BLO slst join

r4: ch13, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 11, BLO slst join

r5: ch13, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 11, BLO slst join

r6: ch 14, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 12, BLO slst join

r7: ch16, sc in 2nd form hook, hdc 14, BLO slst join

r8: ch 18, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 16, BLO slst join

r9: ch 18, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 16, BLO slst join

r10: ch 14, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 12, BLO slst join

r11: ch 12, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 10, BLO slst join

r12: ch 10, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 8, BLO slst join

from now on, join in the FLO's of previous round

r13: ch10, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 8, FLO slst join

r14: ch10, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 8 , FLO slst join

r15: ch12, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 10 , FLO slst join

r16: ch12, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 10 , FLO slst join

r17: ch14, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 12 , FLO slst join

r18: ch16, sc in 2nd form hook, hdc 14, FLO slst join

r19: ch 18, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 16, FLO slst join

r20: ch16, sc in 2nd form hook, hdc 14, FLO slst join

r21: ch14, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 12 , FLO slst join

1x ch 6, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 4

2x ch8, sc in 2nd from hook, hdc 6

2x ch 10, sc in 2nd from chain, hdc 8, slst in same, fasten off.

2x ch 12, sc in 2nd from chain, hdc 10, slst in same, fasten off.

3x ch14

pin all in place until it looks good, tie +glue loose strands first. then glue back pieces, crown, and lastly bangs/ top back layer. some of the lose strands go behind the ears, one is the left sideburn, and the rest is to cover up the crown. these pics are the best i can do as a guide, this was my first time doing this so i was struggling lol.

i didnt fully glue down the bangs and the top back layer bc i thought it would be fun if u could ruffle his hair, but my friend who i gave the plush to has significantly abused him (its been 2 days) and his hair is a mess so im gonna have to glue it down again lol. might as well do it all the first time if u plan on throwing him down the stairs or something.

Face

for eyes + eyebrows, embroider outline with dark brown, then needle felt [video] the inner parts w unraveled dark brown fluff. the dark brown i used was probably acrylic. cotton doesnt really work well for this.

Belt and pouch (dark brown)

the belt is a 3 strand basic friendship bracelet! [video]

sew together the ends and hide it with by sewing the pouch on top.

i didnt write down the pattern for the pouch, but from the top of my head its the same start as the squares for the tunic

r1-9: simple stitch in all

r10: simple stitch 1, decrease by putting your hook through 2 vertical bars when pulling up a loop, simple stitch edge 1.

r11: slst in all, finish with a long tail

use tail to sew together the sides, and sew the pouch onto the belt. use some yellow thread to make a button.

ASSEMBLY.

put on the blouse, put the arms in their place and finish the button joints.

put on the tunic, lace the sides with dark brown yarn, finish with a knot and hide the tails underneath the chest part of the tunic.

slide on the belt and boots.

sew the scalp undercut bit to the head

sew the ears to the head

tie + glue the loose hair strands behind the ears

glue the back of the hair

glue the back of the hair

glue the middle circle part of the hair

glue the top back layer and bangs

sew the head to the body

put on the cowl

i hope this is somewhat clear, feel free to dm me is you have questions.

enjoy your squeakychuck :D

[teriri-sayes]

Reactions to The Incomprehensible's Chapter 332

Brief summary: Cale and Alberu talks about the game. CH thinks about the ancient power he got from Syrem. Cotton invites Cale to the Demon Realm.

===========

Poor Alberu. He was trying to be calm and serious, but Cale kept doing things that drove him crazy. 😂😂😂 He also explained about the Eight Evils in the game, and how players have yet to defeat any of its mid-bosses.

BTW, I'll be calling the game as RPOG now, short for Raising my Precious Omnipotent God. This is to follow EAP's translation of "omnipotent god" rather than my own's "absolute god".

Alberu was hesitant about becoming a hero because he preferred the emperor route. However, On said that it would be to their advantage if Alberu was both the emperor and the hero. She also said some stuff about how this would help them crush their enemies, though Cale and Alberu were disturbed by her vicious-sounding words. 😂😂😂

With Neo gone, Eden Miru would become the next Great Dragon, the final boss of the 7th Evil. But Vicious Dark Bear would be the acting final boss for now, and he would hide Eden's existence, in case the hunters investigate Neo's death.

There was some stuff about the 1st Evil dungeon, and how it was suspected to be made of hunters too. Dark Bear had said that he stole the NPC registration device from there, before creating a copy that the 7th Evil dungeon was using now.

Light Alberu and Shadow Cale. That was the plan the two agreed on for the game world. Alberu would be the light, the hero who walked the royal road. Cale would be the shadow, the mastermind behind the scenes who would control the Eight Evils.

And they also plan to bring in their allies from multiple worlds because New World was their enemy's home turf. They would need all the help they could get. Oooh, so are we going to see HD in the game world too? 😍😍😍

CH seemed to have raised a red flag today. Remember the ancient power he got from Syrem called "Abandoning Your Life"? Because the game world was unaffected by the laws of the worlds and the Oath of Death of GoD, CH could use that ability now. In fact, it even appeared in his status window as a one-of-a-kind unique skill.

But how would the ability work as a skill in the game? Would he lose HP every time he uses the skill? The oath of death CH made to Cale to not use the ability does not work in the game world, so CH would not lose someone precious if he used it in the game.

And finally, CJS and LSH appeared after a few months! CJS was busy with Cotton, and they managed to set a meeting with Cotton's demon boss. LSH and the Past attribute dragon Zopf managed to find some clues in the basement of the God of Chaos's temple.

Thus, Cale's next destination was not Roan, Earth 3, or RPOG, but the Demon Realm... 😂😂😂 Ah yes, Alberu. You told Cale to return quickly just a few paragraphs ago, but Cale seems to be going on a detour... 🤣🤣🤣

Ending Remarks Cale is going to the Demon Realm next? 😂 I guess we'll finally meet the real CJG soon. But what about Cale's talk with the Molans? Is that going to be delayed again? 😑

[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.

[infamous-light]

You Belong to Me Ch. 5

Alcina Dimitrescu x F! Reader

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4

AO3: You Belong to Me

Summary: Lady Dimitrescu's obsession knows no bounds as she becomes increasingly possessive over you. Will you succumb to her dark embrace, or find a way to break free before it's too late?

Word Count: 2.5K

Warnings: Yandere, possessive/obsessive behavior

Grogginess clouded your senses as you gradually came to.

The world around you seemed hazy and unfocused, with shadows dancing at the edges of your vision. Every attempt to concentrate or bring clarity to your thoughts was met with a heavy fog that refused to lift, making it difficult to know where you were or how you got there.

You became acutely aware of the dryness in your mouth, each breath feeling like sandpaper against your parched throat. The inside of your cheeks felt rough and sticky, as if covered with a film of grit. Your tongue lay like a foreign object in your mouth, swollen and sluggish, coated in a bitter residue that you couldn't identify. It tasted like a combination of metal and something medicinal, a flavor that made you want to scrape your tongue against your teeth to remove it.

When you attempted to shift your position, you discovered that your limbs weren't being responsive. It was as if your body had forgotten how to obey your commands, each movement slow and half-hearted. Your muscles ached with a deep, persistent fatigue, and a strange tingling sensation spread from your fingers to your toes, like tiny pinpricks dancing just beneath your skin.

As you lay there, a faint awareness began to seep into your mind. The surroundings, though still blurred and indistinct, began to register as unfamiliar. The bed beneath you was far too grand, its dimensions larger and its surface plusher than what you were used to. You could feel the mattress giving way just enough to cradle your body comfortably. The sheets caressed your skin with an unfamiliar softness, a level of luxury that hinted at high quality and expense. Silk, you guessed, or perhaps some other exotic fabric that you had only read about. Above you, the ceiling stretched high into the air, adorned with golden filigree that caught the dim light from the nearby flickering candle.

Turning your head slightly, you caught sight of the heavy drapes framing the windows. The fabric was rich and velvety, its deep red color absorbing the faint light that filtered through. They were only partially drawn, allowing a sliver of the outside world to be visible. Through the gap, you could see the night sky, the moon casting a pale glow over the village.

And that's when reality struck you.

The room, the bed, the view of the village, and the high ceiling all combined into a sudden, shocking realization that sent a jolt through your body.

You were in Lady Dimitrescu’s bedchambers.

Why were you here?

You wracked your brain, trying to piece together the events that led to your current predicament but nothing would come forth. You needed to get out of here.

Summoning every ounce of strength, you attempted to push yourself up from the bed. Each muscle in your body protested, sending jolts of pain through your already exhausted frame. Your arms trembled as you forced them to lift your weight, and a sharp, stinging sensation shot through your back and shoulders. Just then, a tall figure materialized beside the bed. Lady Dimitrescu’s expression was unreadable as she gently but firmly pressed you back down onto the mattress.

“You should stay in bed.” Her tone was soothing, yet it held an edge that made it clear she expected to be obeyed.

Her gaze locked onto yours, piercing and intense, holding you captive. Then, a faint, almost predatory smile played on her lips, sending a shiver through you.

“You're not ready to be up just yet.”

Desperately, you tried to remember what happened, but your mind was a hazy mess. Each thought was slow to form and quick to dissipate like smoke in the wind. You knew something was wrong, that this weakness and disorientation wasn’t normal. Your head throbbed with the effort of trying to recall.

There.

Clinging to that fleeting moment of clarity, you concentrated on the last clear memory you had. It was like grasping at shadows, but gradually, the scene started to sharpen. You recalled sitting at a dining table, a drink in your hand. The memory was vivid for a moment – the cool glass in your grip, the clink of crystal as you took a sip, bright golden eyes meeting yours from across the table – and then it faded into darkness.

The image of those eyes lingered, a focal point in the swirling confusion of your thoughts, drawing you back to that pivotal moment.

“You...drugged me.” You managed to whisper, your voice barely audible and cracking with the effort.

Lady Dimitrescu's smile broadened, offering no immediate confirmation or denial.

With a grace and tenderness that belied her massive stature, she reached out to adjust the blanket draped over you. It was an unexpectedly nurturing gesture, one that contrasted sharply with her cruel nature.

“Why?” The question slipped from your lips, your voice barely more than a quiver in the silence.

You searched her eyes for answers, for any hint of her intentions, but found only a disconcerting calmness.

Lady Dimitrescu's gaze remained fixed on you, her smile unwavering and enigmatic as her left hand rested against the side of your face. The touch of her palm on your cheek was both soothing and chilling. The coolness of her skin was a stark contrast to the feverish warmth of your own.

“All in good time. For now, you should rest.” She said lowly.

You wanted to protest, to demand answers, however, your body refused to cooperate, the strength draining from your limbs as if sapped by an unseen force. The words died in your throat, replaced by a deep, consuming fatigue. Your eyelids grew heavier with each passing second, the room around you blurring into a comforting darkness. The effort to keep them open became a losing battle, the allure of sleep too strong to resist.

The drug's effects were unrelenting, pulling you under and you could do nothing but succumb to its relentless call.

***

The warmth of the sunlight streaming in through the tall windows roused you from a fitful sleep.

You blinked against the bright light, momentarily disoriented as your surroundings came into focus. As your awareness sharpened, you realized that something – or someone – was wrapped around you. The warmth against your back, the steady rise and fall of another's breath. It all pointed to one startling conclusion: you were enveloped in Lady Dimitrescu's arms. Her form was curled protectively around you, her body molded to yours in an intimate embrace.

Instinctively, you tried to wriggle free, your heart racing as adrenaline coursed through your veins. The sensation of her strong, unyielding arms holding you in place sent a jolt of panic through your system. You floundered, your movements frantic and desperate, but the attempt to break away only seemed to tighten her grip, her arms constricting around you with surprising strength.

“Please,” your voice was so weak. “L-Let go.”

Lady Dimitrescu stirred behind you, her presence shifting as she awoke more fully.

“Hush, darling, there's no need to fuss.” She murmured, her voice still thick with sleep but carrying a commanding tone that brooked no argument.

Her words did little to calm you. You struggled again but her grip was too strong, her fingers like iron bands around your arms. The sheer power she possessed was frightening, and the more you fought, the more futile your efforts seemed. It was as if she were effortlessly restraining a child. Lady Dimitrescu chuckled softly, the sound resonating deep within her chest and sending a vibration through your back.

“Shhh, pet,” she crooned, “You must learn to relax. If you don’t stop squirming, I won’t release you.”

Her words sent a shiver down your spine.

The situation felt surreal, like a bizarre dream from which you couldn't wake. Yet, the heat from her body pressed against yours and the firmness of her grip were undeniably real. Resignation crept in, and you stopped struggling, your muscles tensing as you braced yourself for whatever was to come.

“That's better,” Lady Dimitrescu purred, her voice taking on a saccharine sweetness that made your skin crawl. “See? It's not so bad, is it?”

The gentle brush of her lips against your earlobe and the warmth of her breath against your neck was unnerving. It felt invasive, a forced intimacy that left you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

“Now, let's enjoy the morning, shall we?”

***

Lady Dimitrescu sat regally in front of her vanity.

She was already dressed in her signature white dress, the fabric cascading around her like a waterfall of silk. She picked up her lipstick, a small tube of deep red, and applied the rich color to her lips with practiced precision. The crimson hue stood in stark contrast to her alabaster skin, highlighting her sharp, aristocratic features.

As she deftly traced the curves of her lips, perfecting the application, she caught movement from her bed in the reflection of her vanity mirror. Her eyes, sharp and observant, landed on you through the glass, and a small, amused smirk appeared on her lips.

“You’re awake, I see.” She commented casually.

She capped the lipstick and set it down on the vanity with a delicate touch. In one graceful motion, she rose from her seat, her dress flowing around her as she approached the side of the bed where you lay.

You gazed up at her hazily, blinking slowly as you tried to focus, your mind still foggy from sleep. Lady Dimitrescu made a cooing noise as she stared down at you, a sound that was both soothing and slightly mocking. She reached out and brushed your hair away from your forehead, her touch gentle.

“Don’t you look adorable like this.” She remarked.

There was a gleam in her eyes, a spark of satisfaction that suggested she enjoyed seeing you like this – helpless and at her mercy. The corners of her lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile before her expression changed into something inscrutable.

You couldn’t help but tremble as her gloved fingers moved from your forehead and traced down the curve of your jawline. Her touch was cool and calculated, sending goosebumps across your flesh. Her eyes scanned your face with an intensity that made your skin prickle. It felt as though she was dissecting every detail, analyzing and cataloging each feature.

She straightened up once more, her towering form casting a long shadow over you.

“I will have the staff prepare breakfast for you,” Lady Dimitrescu said tenderly. “I’ll be back shortly.”

With that, she turned and walked out of the bedroom.

The space suddenly felt colder and emptier.

All you could do was lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to recall more of your memories but the fog in your mind made it hard to grasp even the simplest of thoughts. Your brain felt like it was submerged in a thick, oppressive mist, where every attempt to form a coherent idea slipped away into the murk. It made everything that much harder and disjointed. You couldn’t remain like this. The longer you stayed motionless, the more the sense of urgency grew. You didn't want to stay in bed any longer; the idea of being confined felt suffocating, as if the bed itself was a trap holding you in a vice grip.

You forced your muscles to move, straining your arms and legs. The simple act of lifting an arm required immense concentration and willpower, each muscle fiber protesting the command. It felt like moving through thick syrup, every motion slow and difficult. The sheets clung to your body, adding to the resistance.

The moment you hit the floor, a sharp pain shot through your body. The initial impact left you momentarily breathless, and you gasped as the air was knocked out from your lungs. You lay there for a moment, gathering your strength, the chill seeping into your bones, before beginning to crawl across the hardwood floor.

Each movement was a challenge. Your arms felt like lead, barely able to support your weight, and your legs dragged uselessly behind you. The texture of the floor was unforgiving, pressing into your flesh, and you could feel the subtle grains and imperfections against your forearms. Every inch forward was a monumental effort, and your breath came in ragged gasps. Your lungs burned with the exertion, and sweat dripped down your face, stinging your eyes and blurring your vision.

The bedroom seemed to stretch endlessly before you.

Minutes felt like hours as you inched your way across the room, your body trembling with exhaustion. The cold, hard floor seemed to drain the last remnants of your strength with each painful shuffle forward. The door ahead seemed to taunt you, never getting any closer no matter how hard you tried. Just then, the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway, growing louder with each passing second. Panic flared up within you, but you were too tired to quicken your pace.

The door swung open and Lady Dimitrescu stepped inside. Her presence filled the doorway as she towered above you. She looked down at you with a mixture of disappointment and irritation, her lips curling into a frown. Her eyes, cold and piercing, bore into yours, making you feel even smaller and more insignificant.

“I should’ve expected this pathetic escape attempt.” She bit out with each word.

You felt a wave of helplessness wash over you, the fight draining from your limbs in an instant. With a resigned sigh of your own, you let your head rest on the floor, too exhausted to protest further.

Lady Dimitrescu walked over to you in a slow, deliberate stride. The sound of her heels clicking against the floor echoed throughout her bedchambers. Her shadow fell over you as she crouched down, scooping you up into her arms. The weight of her embrace was surprisingly gentle yet firm, cradling you as if you were something precious and delicate. As she carried you across the bedroom, you couldn't help but feel small and fragile in her grasp. Once Lady Dimitrescu reached the bedside, she laid you back on the mattress carefully, ensuring you were comfortable before letting go. She arranged the blankets around you with care, smoothing the covers with her hands. Her touch lingered slightly, as if reluctant to break the connection.

“I want you to stay in bed.” Lady Dimitrescu said firmly.

Frustration and exhaustion took over as tears began to well up in your eyes. God, you hated how vulnerable you were at this moment, the raw emotions bubbling to the surface despite your best efforts to contain them. Your vision blurred, and you tried to blink the tears away, but they only flowed more freely down your cheeks.

Lady Dimitrescu’s gaze softened slightly, her usually steely demeanor giving way to a moment of unexpected tenderness. She reached out, her hand large yet gentle, and wiped your tears away with her thumb.

“There’s no need to cry, darling,” she said, her voice low and reassuring. “Just rest.”

Her touch was oddly comforting, despite the circumstances that brought you here. Leaning in, she kissed your forehead, her lips cool against your clammy skin. The soft brush of her lips stirred a bittersweet ache within you, a mix of comfort and disdain.

You sobbed.