#solely to manipulate him into continuing to work.

[oldtestleper]

i wonder if it all Has To Do With Gemma actually. like i thought for a minute lumon was effectively just using her reanimated body as a prop to induce an unresolvable misery in outie mark so he would keep coming back to work (because for some reason his mystery work is so important and hes the best at it...) but she "died" before he started working on the severed floor. so they collected her body, faked her death, and started testing severance or some aspect of severance on her, and then they either headhunted mark, or he applied to work at lumon and genuinely volunteered for severance, and then he became the most important boy whose work must continue--but either way gemma's death and severance came first. she was abducted by lumon before she was made into an instrument of lumon's manipulation of mark, such that the manipulation couldn't have been the purpose of her abduction. unless the car accident was somehow staged in order to induce a grief in mark so profound that lumon anticipated he would be able to be guided to pursue severance because for some reason they thought this college professor was that important to their work and there was no other way they could get him. but that just seems convoluted you know. occams razor what does lumon WANT. employees that you can do anything to and who have no context for your demands or sense of their own personal rights and dignity and never expect to leave perhaps?

[lokidjarin-7567]

Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?

Erik Lehnsherr x Reader x Charles Xavier After joining the First Class of Professor X’s school with your brother Hank, you realised you have a connection with two of the mutants there, and that they might also have a connection to each other… fem!reader, M/F/M, 18+ MDNI 6.2k words EDIT: I'm super proud of this one, maybe my favourite thing I've written! Thanks for all the love on it so far <3 TTPD Contents | General Masterlist | AO3

“It’s not going to happen, Charles.” You muttered, frustrated, putting all of your energy into stopping him from walking towards you, but only managing to stop his hand.

“You need to go to that place between…” He started to explain.

“Anger and serenity, I know, I know. I’m not Erik, its not working.” He sighed, moving his hand to his forehead.

“May I?”

“Sure, go ahead.” There was nothing he would see in there that he hadn’t before.

You realised early in your friendship that there wasn’t a lot of point hiding anything from him. You were never sure when he was reading your thoughts, only when he spoke to you without moving his lips, or when he would find a memory like he was doing now. You saw a few flash through your mind, recent ones. The relief when Hank had told you that there were others like you and him. The anger when Shaw had killed Darwin in front of your eyes just a few days ago. The moment your mother found out there was something different about Hank, and kicked him out, so you followed him. Your brother’s mutation was significantly more obvious than your’s, but you left with him regardless. He had always been more than family; he was your best friend, your true and sole confidant, your lifeline. Following your train of thought, Charles managed to find a memory synonymous to that - the day you found out about his mutation. The way he cried and broke down, explained the science to you to try and ensure you understood it, but you didn’t need him to. You whispered his name softly, and told him to wave at you. The perplexed look on his face, but you insisted so he did. Then you stopped his hand dead in its tracks. The shock and relief on his face, the hug you shared, the tears you both shed. It was a joyous memory, peaceful.

You wiped a tear from the corner of your eye and Charles did the same, releasing you from the memory and now you were back in the bunker underneath his family’s house, watching as he nodded to you.

“Now try again.” He moved to the other side of the bunker again, and you concentrated hard, reaching your hand out towards him and trying to stop his slow walk towards you. You were technically telekinetic, but only when the other object was moving. The lighter the object, and the faster it was moving, the easier it was to control. And generally, you would just have been able to stop it. You knew that you could move things as well once you had control over them - you had done it once, the day you had gotten your powers, but never since. And if it took that level of trauma to do it again, you hoped you never would.

“You’re moving too slowly!” You exclaimed, huffing in frustration.

“Ok, ok fine. Maybe we need to stop thinking of your powers as telekinesis.” You frowned, confused. Controlling objects was telekinesis. “Just trust me here for a moment…” Of course I trust you, you saved my life and continue to daily. “Close your eyes.” You took a deep breath, closing your eyes tightly. His voice appeared in your head, a soft whisper that immediately put you at ease.

Telekinesis is about creating movement, but you can manipulate movement. And do that, you need to be able to sense the movement around you. I can’t manipulate or read someones mind without being able to sense it, even if I can see the person. It might be the same with you. I’m standing still but I’m going to move soon - keep your eyes closed and see if you can sense me.

You focussed, reaching out into the black space and it took a few seconds, but you could feel him moving. Slowly, his image formed in your mind. You could see the way he was moving: the large, over dramatic steps he was taking, the emphatic hand wave, and you smiled. You reached out to him with even more concentration, but you surprised yourself with how easy it was to stop him in his tracks, cementing his feet to the floor so he almost fell over.

“Holy shit, Charles, you’re a genius.” You opened your eyes, releasing him and seeing the grin that had spread across his face. It was contagious, your own smile growing.

“I know I know, but we’re not done yet, you have a lot more in you…” He was pacing, thinking, and high on the adrenaline, you reached out to stop him, to play with your powers, only to find… you couldn’t. You couldn’t sense his movement. You could see him, but there was nothing else.

“I can’t…” you muttered, continuing to try as hard as you could, but nothing. He frowned, and you heard his voice softly inside your head.

Close your eyes again.

You did, and sure enough, there he was, his movement growing clearer in your mind by the second. You opened your eyes, and it was gone, the tangibility somehow lost when you could actually see him.

“Ok, ok, let’s try this…” He looked around for something, then settled on his tie, pulling it from his collar in a swift motion and striding over to you, making you blush. “We can use this as a blindfold?” He asked, and you nodded, allowing him to press the soft fabric across your closed eyes, the world going black as he tied it in a gentle knot. The difference was instant. It was as though you could physically see him still, a soft, golden glow outlining his body and his movements. Every single detail was highlighted to you.

“Try standing still?” He did, stopping dead in his tracks, but you could still see him - every miniscule shiver across his skin, the rising and falling of his chest with his breaths, the slight tremble in his fingers. “Charles…” you muttered, “I can see everything.”

“What do you mean everything?”

“Look for yourself.” You watched as he raised his hand to his temple, and you saw the subtle changes in his face as it shifted from confused to shocked, a grin spreading.

“That’s incredible. Is it easier to stop movement now as well?” You smiled, instantly halting his arm in the air as he tried to return it to his side. He laughed aloud. “You’re amazing.”

“I know.” You shrugged, letting him go, hands reaching up to remove your makeshift blindfold when you felt something move across the room. Without thinking, you reached back towards it, spinning around just in time to see the door you just felt opening slam shut.

“What the fuck?” You heard an annoyed voice from the other side of the closed door, and you laughed in disbelief. You’d done it.

“Oh my God, did you see that?” You span back to Charles, smiling uncontrollably.

“Yes I did, my dear. Yes I did.” You squealed with joy, running over to give him a hug, which he readily returned. You still had your blindfold on, and you could feel his heart beating when you were this close, even the blood rushing through his veins.

“Thank you.” You whispered in his ear, and he moved back, holding your head in his hands.

“This was all you.” The moment was broken, though, by the door opening again, although slightly cautiously this time. It was Erik - you could see it was him by his movements, and the shape of his body.

“Did you just close the door on me? And why are you blindfolded?” He paused, confusion etched across his face, followed by an almost knowing smirk. “Am I interrupting something?”

“Jesus, no…” Charles piped up quickly, heart rate skyrocketing as he moved across the room to Erik, putting distance between you and him. “We’ve found a way to…”

“I closed the door with my power!” You interrupted, excited, but he did not have the same reaction as Charles did. He actually had no reaction at all.

“So… you can, what, control your power better when you’re blindfolded?” You nodded.

He cocked his head, then he stretched out his arm, and you presumed it was to see if you were telling the truth, but before you could open your mouth to tell him he’d moved, you felt something moving quickly towards you. It was your keys, and you stopped them in midair, before pulling them safely into your hand.

“Hey, that could’ve taken my eye out!” He just laughed.

“There’s a lot more where that came from.”

You often wondered about how your life would have turned out without this place. You hadn’t exactly been here long, but it had already transformed you into someone better, more powerful, more in control. You spent the day with Charles and Erik, getting to grips with your newfound power, figuring out how to use it fully, and that you should keep things on you that you could throw and move to your advantage in the field like Erik did. You felt like you could actually be helpful to them now. And only just in time. Tomorrow was going to be a big day.

You finally got back to your room, laying down almost straight away, your feet aching from the long day. It was a beautiful house, and you would always be grateful to Charles for allowing you to stay, even if it only ended up being for a short while. You didn’t have anywhere else to go, after all.

You closed your eyes, grabbing the small, metal orbs Erik had given you from your pocket, and throwing them in the air, grabbing them with your power as they visualised. You smiled, remembering just a few hours ago when he gave them to you. The way your hands had grazed, his gaze as intense as it always was. The way he had encouraged you as you practiced, and been harsh when you made a mistake.

You had to be careful with your thoughts when you were around Charles. Guarded. There were a lot of things you thought about that you never wanted him to know.

He was one of those things. Erik was the other.

You couldn’t help it; they were both so attractive in different ways. Charles was soft and kind, a smile that could warm you from the inside out and a charm that could make you do anything he asked, no mutation needed. Erik was the opposite, harsh and damaged, cold in his mannerisms, but there was a concern to him that he tried to hide. He always failed, doing everything and more to protect the mutants around him. To fight for them. And to make sure you fought for them too.

“That wasn’t good enough.” You remember a moment from your day when he nearly shouted, frustrated that you had only stopped a flying chunk of metal he had flung at you rather than moving it as well.

“I’m not used to this, Erik.”

“So? We all had to learn to control our powers quick, you aren’t special.” You huffed, clenching your fists as Charles let out a soft, warning whisper of his name, but he carried on. “You can do more than that. I don’t care when or how you got your powers, but even if you got them yesterday, you would be doing a hell of a lot better than you are right now.” While he was talking, you were steadily getting angrier, and halfway through a sentence you noticed a new piece of metal hurtling towards you. You flicked it away without any effort, hearing it smash against the wall and falling to the ground, noticing that the white hot rage had sharpened your vision. He continued to throw more and more object at you, and you continued to retaliate, not realising you were moving towards him until he started to move backwards. He reached the wall, and threw a knife in a last ditch effort. Charles cried out in warning, but you didn’t need it, pulling the knife straight into your hand and holding it to Erik’s neck.

“You have no fucking clue what I’ve gone through to get this power.” You were close enough to feel the shuddering breath he let out, and you could see the way he clenched his jaw, his eyes scanning your face meticulously, as though you couldn’t see every minuscule movement he made through your blindfold.

“I know it was bad enough that you didn’t want to use your gifts for a long time.” You felt as though the wind had been knocked from your lungs, and you stepped back, dropping the knife to the floor with a clatter, making your way back across the room.

“Again.”

How you got your powers was a memory even Charles hadn’t seen. You had never let him. Some subconscious part of you protected it viciously; the first time he had even tried, your mutation had taken over, gripping the only thing you could sense moving and stopping it. That thing just so happened to be his heart.

He hadn’t gone near that memory since.

And neither had you.

You should be trying to get some rest. You had a big day tomorrow. You were going after Shaw. Saving the world. Letting Erik get his revenge on that bastard. It was going to be difficult. You just hoped you could be helpful in spite of everything.

It was no use though. You were unable to think about anything else, so you got up and ventured out to find Hank. You just wanted to check if he'd incorporated the blindfold into your suit, and maybe to get some reassurance from your big brother, but as you wandered through the expansive house, you noticed an unusual quietness. Glancing at a clock, you realised it was later than you'd thought—you should definitely be resting too. But as you were passing the main study, you heard voices and paused, listening for Hank.

Hank isn’t here, but you can come in.

Your heart lurched, although you couldn’t tell if it was from surprise, or an involuntary reaction to his smooth voice. Concentrate, you scolded yourself, opening the door. Both Charles and Erik were sitting in the study in big, leather arm chairs, chess board in front of them and glasses of whiskey nestled in their hands. God, you needed one right now.

“Help yourself.” He said aloud, and you laughed to yourself quietly.

“It still takes me by surprise when you do that.” You moved over to the cabinet, pouring yourself a generous amount, before turning around to see another chair being moved to where they were sitting, Erik’s hand outstretched towards its metal feet. He set it down opposite their’s, and you sat gratefully, tucking your legs up and taking a sip.

“How are you feeling about tomorrow?” Charles asked, his voice strong and earnest. You frowned.

“Why do you ever ask questions when you could just see it?”

Would you really rather I was in here all the time?

“No of course not.” He already was. You took another sip. “And I’m terrified.”

“You don’t have to come, you know.” It was Erik this time. He spoke quietly, eyes never leaving the chess board.

“I want to.” You said it with finality, hoping to convey a confidence you certainly didn’t feel, but they both seemed to accept it.

“Your progress has been incredible today; you’re going to be a big help out there.” You smiled at the words but still not fully believing them, having another drink and averting your eyes to the chessboard.

“Do you want to play?” Erik asked, and you shook your head.

“No, thank you, I think I’ll watch if that’s ok.” Maybe they didn’t want you here. “Unless that would be crashing your evening, I don’t want to be a nuisance…”

“Never.” He muttered, moving one of his pawns. You smiled, settling further into the chair.

It was at times like this that you wished you had Charles’ power. They had been playing for a while now, and you wanted to know what they were thinking, their plans for the game. You tried to guess, but your chess knowledge was rusty at best, and you kept getting distracted. You hadn’t moved in the last 30 minutes - only once before that to get another drink - and they didn’t speak much when they played, so your mind wandered. Naturally. And it didn’t help that the thing your mind had been wandering to this past week was sat in front of you.

You watched as Erik’s hand gracefully moved a piece across the board from afar, the steel-tipped bishop gliding with ease, then returning to his thigh. His legs were spread slightly, hand resting on each while he continued to look at the board, shuffling slightly in his seat, his hips moving up and forwards and hands sliding further down them and you couldn’t help but think about…

Charles said your name, and you cleared your throat.

“Hmm?” You really hoped he hadn’t been in your head then.

“Weren’t you looking for Hank earlier?”

“Oh… yes I was but it can wait until tomorrow, it wasn’t important.” He’s telling you to leave. “Unless you wanted some space, sorry I totally crashed your night…”

“I promise you aren’t, darling, I just wanted to check you hadn’t forgotten something important.” Darling. He used nicknames a lot, maybe it was a British thing, but it still made your heart flutter every time.

“Thank you.” You smiled quietly as Erik stood up, offering another drink. You accepted, his hand grazing yours as he took the glass from it, fireworks dancing across your skin.

What should I do next?

His voice called out in your head, and you smiled lightly, knowing he didn’t need your help but wanting to include you nonetheless, probably after hearing you mind racing with thoughts of being an annoyance.

Bishop to F6.

I was thinking the same thing.

Erik returned, almost making you jump as the glass was placed back in your hand. Charles moved exactly as you had said as soon as Erik had sat down, and he paused, looking at the board intently, fingers running around the rim of his glass. Jesus, was he doing this on purpose? You twisted in your chair under the guise of getting comfortable to face towards Charles, but he was no better. He was stretched out, his legs wide, hand resting on his chin, shirt sleeves pushed up to the elbows. Fucking hell. It was barely anything, they were literally just sitting down, concentrating on their game, relaxing before what was bound to be a difficult day, but your mind couldn’t stop running away with itself. And to be fair to you, you were tipsy, stressed, and currently sitting in a room with two men who you happened to find insanely attractive. Of course you were going to have some thoughts. You couldn’t help it. About what they might be like. You figure Erik would be a little rougher, domineering, but Charles would talk to you, praise you. Use his powers to know exactly what you needed, to make you feel good…

His power.

Fuck.

You needed to get out of here before you just about died of embarrassment, and you could feel yourself blushing even though he showed no sign of knowing. If there was even a chance he knew, you needed to run, to leave, to literally never show your face here again. You downed your drink, a slight sting settling in the back of your throat.

“I should probably get going,” you croaked, barely managing to talk through sheer shame, “try and get some sleep before tomorrow. Thank you for the drink.” You had moved to stand, feet hitting the floor, but Charles held out a hand to you in a gesture to stop.

“Just one second…” He muttered, looking at Erik intensely. He wasn’t saying anything, but they held eye contact and you realised that he must be talking to him. Oh dear God. There was no expression on either of their faces, so unreadable it made you feel slightly insane. Oh God he saw it. What would he even think of you? Then, without warning, Charles stood up. You thought he might be going to get a drink, but he stopped behind you, and after an excruciating moment, his hands fell to your shoulders. You sighed and fell into them as he started to squeeze lightly, working the muscles that were there in a way that felt so good it was hard not to moan, so you hummed in contentment instead.

“I know it’s been a long day… maybe we can help you relax a little.” We? At that point, Erik stood up, expression still completely unreadable, and placed his fingers gently under your chin, lifting it to meet his eyes. His beautiful fucking eyes.

“Does that sound ok?” He whispered, and you practically melted.

"Yes, God, yes," you breathed. Erik closed the gap before you could finish, his lips capturing yours hungrily as his hand found your thigh. He pulled away, leaving you breathless, but before you could recover, he tilted your head back with a gentle grip on your chin. Charles' lips met yours, tender and exploratory. As he kissed you, his fingers traced soft circles on your collarbone. You sensed Erik's intense gaze, then felt his lips brush your neck—a fleeting touch, gentle yet promising more. You gasped into Charles' mouth, overwhelmed by their dual attention.

“My room’s closest.”

You made it there without bumping into anyone, a true blessing considering your hand in Charles’ and the strong grip Erik had on your hips the whole way. You had barely closed the door before he was on you again, lips on your neck and shoulder, hips grinding up against your ass, and something else too. You noticed Charles was standing just away from the two of you, watching intently with an expression close to disbelief. You smiled at him warmly, pulling him closer just as Erik lightly nipped your shoulder in a way that made you whimper. You reached back, running your nails in his hair, before pulling him towards Charles. They both smiled softly, lips meeting as you stayed in between them, both of their bodies pressed up against you. You took the opportunity to undo a few of Charles’ shirt buttons, and planting a couple of delicate kisses to the top of his chest. You felt giddy with arousal, mind completely taken away from the stress of the whatever was to come the following day, hands taking their time to explore his chest and further down as you continued to undo his buttons, his shirt falling open as you pulled him closer still, pressing his skin to yours.

Let me know if you want us to stop. There is no pressure here, sweetheart, just whatever you want.

You nodded, watching as Charles pulled back from Erik. His eyes scanned your face for any sign of discomfort, though he could surely sense the pleasure coursing through your mind — and they'd barely touched you yet. You hummed contentedly as Erik's hands found the hem of your tank top, pulling it off while Charles' fingers trailed down your arms, grasping your hands and guiding you towards the bed. Shimmying out of your sweatpants, you sat down and kicked them off, then shuffled further up the bed. You leaned back on your elbows, hoping to entice them to join you, but they remained standing, their eyes raking over every inch of you. Suddenly self-conscious, you realised that, apart from Charles' open shirt, they were both still fully clothed, while you lay before them in just your underwear. You would have to change that..

You closed your eyes tight, focusing on them. Charles must’ve heard your thoughts, and he was removing his shirt now, moving to his belt, but Erik just stood, watching you both. He looked so calm, but you could see his rapid, heaving breaths, and the desperation that was growing in his trousers. His breathing was just enough movement for you to latch on to, reaching out and starting to pull up the hem of his top, and he smirked, a grin spreading as he lifted his arms to help you, and you discarded the black material across the room. You blinked your eyes open slowly, and after a small pause where Charles glanced at him, presumably communicating where they were going to be, and finally got a good look at him before he knelt down before the bed, grabbing your hips and pulling you towards him, making you squeal.

"God, you're beautiful," he murmured, planting kisses up your thighs as his fingertips hooked under your pants, pulling them off. You sat up slightly as Charles moved behind you, resting your back against his chest. He grasped your jaw, turning your head to kiss him. "And this is quite a view…" You blushed, giggling, as Erik settled between your legs, his hands gripping your ass and angling you for access.

"So is this," Charles whispered, his hands finding your bra clasp as Erik's kisses inched closer to your aching core.

"Fuck, Erik…" you whimpered, your hand darting to his hair as his tongue delved into your folds, his hot mouth enveloping you with a groan. Your bra discarded, hands immediately cupped and kneaded your chest, making your head roll back, eyes fluttering closed with sheer bliss. Charles's lips found your neck, nipping the sensitive skin behind your ear and eliciting a soft moan.

"He thinks you taste divine, darling," Charles whispered, and you smiled, already panting as the pressure in your core built. "He does think you could be a little louder, though…" As if on cue, Erik's hands left your ass—one arm pinning you to the bed by your hips, the other at your entrance. Before you knew it, he was pushing two fingers inside you. You groaned, still holding back slightly, acutely aware of the house full of people.

Don’t be shy, I can make sure no one can hear you.

As his voice echoed in your mind, Erik's fingers inside you curled upward, hitting that sweet spot that made you melt. Simultaneously, Charles' fingers found your nipples, pinching and rolling them in a deliciously painful way that drew a guttural noise from your throat. The sound was loud and raw, tearing through your body just like the building pleasure was. Erik's tongue continued its relentless assault on your clit, never pausing. You writhed on the bed, so close to the edge it almost hurt, your moans and whines filling the room.

“Oh God… fuck I think I’m going to…” You felt Erik groan against you, and you looked down at him, seeing him peering up at you through half lidded eyes, lust on his face evident and a realisation hit you then. One of the most powerful men in the world was on his knees in front of you, and behind you was the other, lips planted on your neck, their sole purpose being to give you pleasure. It was enough to send you over the edge.

Your back arched, pressing further into Charles as a low, reverberating groan was pulled from your throat, riding out the waves with his mouth still between your thighs, and you couldn’t stop your hips from grinding into him. He finally realised you when you were done, shaking and quivering on the bed, slowly removing his fingers from you.

“You should really have a taste, Charles.” He muttered, moving up onto the bed and crawling over you to reach him, presenting his fingers to his mouth. You watch in awe as Charles took them into his mouth gratefully, sucking them clean as Erik watched, a dark look entering his eyes.

“You were right…” he muttered, hands moving to your hair and pushing it from your face as he kissed you gently. “Divine.” You hummed into his mouth and kissed him harder, tasting yourself on his tongue, which made that all too familiar ache build up in your core once again.

“Look at that…” you heard Erik start talking, alongside the sound of his belt buckle undoing, “she’s needy already.” You released Charles lips, sitting up slightly to grab a hold of Erik’s waistband, undoing the button and fly quickly and frantically, revealing the huge tent in his boxers.

“Looks like I’m not the only one…” you whispered, moving into a seated position on your knees as your hands ran gently across his bulge, seeing his hips move towards you instinctively, begging for more even though the rest of his body language said otherwise. “I can help with that.” His eyes darkened, and you wondered where he would want to be, but Charles was one step ahead of you.

He wants your mouth, darling. You smiled, guiding him back to the headboard with a gentle push on his chest, your fingers tracing the contours of his muscles before letting him get comfortable. Meanwhile, you turned your attention to Charles, putting on a show as you kissed him again, but deeper this time, your tongue taking its time to explore his mouth. Your hands deftly worked at his trousers while his roamed the lower half of your body, all eager grasps and breathless pants against your lips. You loved seeing him come undone beneath your touch, his raw desire palpable, and yours was evident by the slick forming between your thighs.

"Turn around for me, sweetheart." Erik's gruff voice rang out behind you. You obliged, settling on your knees to see a beautiful sight. He had finally taken off his trousers and boxers, and you paused to drink him in. Relaxed against the headboard, legs spread wide, his posture screamed dominance, accentuated by the small smirk playing on his lips as he watched you. Your gaze wandered down, taking in his toned body, strong arms, and down to the happy trail leading to the thing you wanted most. He was hard—painfully so, it seemed—and he stroked himself languidly while waiting for you. And he was big, bigger than you expected, and you swallowed hard at the thought of him, of how he would feel….

Charles had also stripped down completely, and he moved right behind you on the bed, hips pressed to your ass, and his erection pressed against your back.

“Come here…” Erik said, leaning forward and pulling you close by the back of your neck and smashing his lips into yours. You could feel Charles behind you, pulling your hips back and setting you up for him, his hands kneading your ass in a way that made you moan into Erik’s mouth.

Are you safe?

On the pill, I’m all yours. Erik released you from his lips and sat back, giving Charles a small nod and using the hand on your neck to keep your head up and facing him.

“Eyes on me, babygirl.” You nodded, eyes widening and a moan escaping your lips as you felt Charles press up against your entrance, fully sheathing himself in one swift motion.

“Fuck, darling, you feel so good.” He groaned, breathing ragged.

"God, so do you," you whispered, breathless as you adjusted to his size. Your eyes remained locked on Erik's, whose expression darkened as he stroked himself faster. Charles pulled out slowly, taking his time, before thrusting back into you forcefully, his hips colliding with yours. You moaned and whimpered as he set a rhythm, his hands roaming through your hair and up and down your back, murmuring praises and curses. You had finally caught your breath, and you knew it was time someone else got a little attention, so you lowered your head. Your tongue swirled around Erik's cock as his hand gripped your hair tightly. You took him into your mouth, managing just over half before pulling back, one hand moving to his base, the other steadying you on the bed. Matching Charles' pace, you bobbed up and down, drawing a growl of satisfaction from Erik that made your cunt clench, eliciting similar sounds from the man behind you. He pulled you into him by your hips, each thrust pure bliss, and you knew another climax was imminent if he just...

The telepath clearly sensed your thoughts, his hand reaching around to find your clit with precision. He rubbed tight circles in perfect rhythm, building the pressure once more. You could only moan weakly around the cock deep in your throat.

"She's close, Erik. I want to hear her," Charles said breathlessly. You could tell he was nearing his peak too as Erik lifted you off him by your hair, gripping tightly.

"Are you going to come for him, sweetheart?" Erik asked, his low tone making you whimper.

"Fuck... so close... I—" Your words dissolved into a moan as your orgasm overwhelmed you. Your eyes fluttered closed, and your head rolled into Erik's hands. Your body melted into blissful jelly, your core pulsing around Charles, and he followed shortly after, his hips faltering as he pressed deep into you. With a groan in your ear, he filled you, then bit your shoulder as you both rode out the waves of pleasure together.

You were a shuddering mess by the time he was done, barely holding yourself up as he pulled out of you with a deep sigh. He pressed soft kisses down your spine as Erik lifted your head up, lust etched on his face.

“You still up for me, sweetheart?” His fingers ran across your lips and cheek, and you nodded, still breathless.

I’m going to clean up, can I leave you two to it?You heard Charles in your head, and you sent over a yes, turning your head to kiss him goodbye.

“Shall I clean you up before I go, darling?” He asked, clearly having asked Erik the same thing, before standing and moving over to him, kissing him deeply.

“I think we’ll be ok.” Erik muttered, a mischievous look on his face. You smiled, forcing your weary legs to move towards him. He held you up by your hips as you heard the bathroom door close, a quick have fun thrown into your head. You kissed him softly, tenderly as you sank onto him, a sweet, low growl filling your mouth as your hips met his—a surprisingly easy feat despite his size thanks to what had been left behind by Charles. Your legs trembled, worn out, but you pressed your body close to Erik's, draping your head over his shoulder as he guided your movements with his hands. It was intimate - hands tangled in hair, soft, short breaths mingling with deep, grinding strokes that quickly brought you to the edge yet again. Panting and whining in his ear, you tried to tell him how close you were, but the sensation overtook you before you could form the words. Your nails dug into his back as pleasure washed over you. He whispered your name in a dark, husky tone, and then he was coming too, deep inside you. Somehow, he ground even deeper as you managed to lift your head just enough to kiss him.

You both stayed like that for a moment, catching your breath, bodies intertwined. Erik's hands traced lazy patterns on your back, sending shivers down your spine. As your heartbeat slowly returned to normal, you lifted your head to meet his gaze, finding a mix of satisfaction and tenderness in his eyes. With a soft smile, he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering on your cheek. You wanted to stay like this forever, feeling his heartbeat against your chest, but the moment was broken by the shower turning off. You blushed, climbing off him slowly, slumping next to him on the bed, feeling empty without him inside of you. You knew you would have to go and clean up soon, but you felt so comfortable with his arm draped around you, you didn’t want to move. He pulled the blanket from the bottom of the bed up, draping it over you as you waited for Charles, your eyes fluttering closed peacefully.

“Well, this is nice sight.” You smiled, opening your eyes to see him in the doorway to the bathroom, wet hair hanging over his face and towel wrapped around his waist.

“This is a pretty nice view from here too.” You replied. “Can I…?”

“Go ahead.” Erik muttered, planting one last kiss on your lips as you headed to the bathroom. You had just closed the door when you heard the bed creak, and they started talking.

“We got lucky with her, didn’t we?” Charles muttered, and you heard Erik sigh.

“Yes, I think we did.”

[dollgxtz]

His Watchful Eye Pt. 4

Word Count: 11.9k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, noncon, dubcon, drugging, kidnapping, obedience training, forced breeding, forced pregnancy, stalking, pet names like kitten, sweetie, pretty, ownership, manipulation, attempted rape, xavier appears

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

AN: Bit of a late upload for you night owls and a nice surprise for my early risers! Someone tell me to stop making the chapters longer, thank you LOL. This chapter was a lot of fun to write and I hope you guys enjoy! This is on AO3 as usual! :D

"So… uh, what’s your dog’s name?" you asked, trying to keep up the conversation and maybe get him to reveal more. Your voice was casual, but inside, your nerves were on high alert. "Dog? What dog?" he said absentmindedly, his eyes still glued to the window. His response was automatic, dismissive, as if he hadn’t even registered the question. "You...said that noise earlier was your dog? Right?"

Read Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3 Pt.5

Xavier drummed his fingers rhythmically on the glass counter, each tap growing more impatient as the seconds stretched on. His eyes darted around the cluttered store, scanning the shelves filled with everything from worn-out sneakers to high-end dress shoes. The store clerk had disappeared into the back room several minutes ago, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Xavier wasn't entirely sure what he was hoping to find here.

He had strolled in with nothing more than a photo of a shoe print—a faint clue at best—but it felt more productive than sitting idly by, doing nothing while the answers to your disappearance slipped further out of reach. At least this was action, however uncertain.

Was this even a tangible way to find you? Was he grasping at straws, wasting precious time on a hopeless lead?

And the most haunting question of all—were you even still alive?

Xavier squeezed his eyes shut, as if closing them tightly enough could block out the flood of dark thoughts threatening to overwhelm him. He couldn’t afford to let his mind go there, not now. Pushing the fear and uncertainty away, he tried to focus on the faint glimmer of hope that had brought him here in the first place. Anything was better than surrendering to despair.

"This is all I could find on it. It's certainly a unique pair," the shop clerk continued, offering a slight smile. "I'm not as technologically advanced as most shops around here, so sorry to disappoint. But, may I ask—why come to my little shop instead of one of those fancy places downtown?"

Xavier took the pamphlet, glancing over the information quickly before shifting his gaze back to the clerk. "Well," he began, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, "I heard you were the kind of guy who could identify a pair of shoes just by its print."

The clerk chuckled softly, his weathered face creasing with the effort. "You've been a great help, actually," Xavier added, sliding the pamphlet into his jacket pocket with a nod of appreciation.

The clerk gave an approving nod, the lines of his face softening in quiet satisfaction before he turned his back again, settling into the familiar rhythm of his work. Xavier headed toward the door, the faint creak of floorboards beneath his boots echoing through the small, dimly lit shop. His hand hovered over the door handle, but just as his fingers brushed the cool metal, a nagging thought rooted him in place. He paused, heart pounding slightly as the question formed in his mind.

He turned back, the weight of uncertainty pulling at his voice. "Say... you wouldn’t happen to know where this shoe was originally made, would you?"

The clerk stopped, mid-motion, his hands faltering over a pile of worn soles. The question seemed to hang in the air, drawing out a moment of silence as the man stared down, his brow furrowing. It was clear he hadn’t thought about it in some time. Xavier felt a flicker of hope, unsure if it would lead him anywhere, but desperately clinging to the possibility.

The clerk finally turned, his face thoughtful, his voice quieter now. "Yeah..." he said slowly, as if pulling the memory from a fog. "Last I saw of that shoe, it came from a company based in the... er, N1—no, wait..." His brow furrowed deeper as he worked to piece it together. "N109 Zone. Yeah, that’s the one."

His words hung in the air, carrying a weight Xavier couldn’t ignore. The clerk’s tone wasn’t just casual recollection—it was tinged with something more, like the memory of that particular shoe stirred something deeper. Xavier felt the knot of tension in his chest tighten.

Xavier felt his breath catch in his throat. N109 Zone. The name alone sent a chill down his spine. He had heard plenty about that place—mostly rumors, but enough to know that it was a dangerous, lawless sector. Few dared to go there unless they had no other choice, and even fewer came back with stories worth telling. It was a no-man’s-land, a forgotten corner of land where control was lost long ago. The kind of place where people disappeared without a trace.

His mind raced, piecing it together. If the shoe had come from there... Did that mean you were there too? His stomach churned at the thought. The faint hope he had clung to started to blur with the creeping dread of what fate could have fallen upon you in the N109 Zone.

"You’re sure about that?" he asked, his voice betraying the slight anxiety creeping in around the edges. The clerk glanced up from his work, noticing the shift in Xavier’s tone.

"Yeah," the clerk said, more firmly this time. "I’m sure. That shoe—rare brand—hard to forget. The company folded years ago, but they used to operate out of the N109 Zone. Only place I’ve ever seen them sold."

Xavier swallowed hard, the words sinking deep. If the shoe came from N109, it could be a clue—a dangerous one, but still the only lead he had. He felt the urgency building inside him, a gnawing sense that time was running out, but also the undeniable question of what he might find if he went there.

Could you really be in a place like that? His mind struggled to fill in the gaps, but there were too many unknowns. Were you okay?

"I...appreciate your help," Xavier muttered, his voice thick with tension. He clenched and unclenched his fist, trying to steady his breathing.

"You're not actually thinking of going there, are you?" the store clerk asked, his voice edged with disbelief as he raised an eyebrow. He leaned slightly forward over the counter, studying Xavier with a mixture of concern and amusement. "No offense, but a pretty fella like you doesn’t exactly look like the type who could survive in a place like that. Not really worth the hassle for a pair of shoes don't you think?"

Xavier paused, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He didn’t turn around immediately, letting the weight of the clerk’s words linger for a moment. Finally, he glanced back over his shoulder, his expression calm, almost casual. "I'll be fine," he said, his voice steady, though the tension in his body remained. "I've dealt with much worse."

The clerk blinked, surprised by Xavier's calm demeanor, but said nothing more.

Xavier turned to face the door once again, his hand resting on the handle as he prepared to step out into the cold streets. "Thanks again," he added, his tone carrying a finality that didn’t invite more questions.

Without waiting for a response, he pushed open the door and walked out, leaving the shop behind. His heart pounded a little harder now, not just from the looming threat of the N109 Zone, but from the resolve building inside him. There was no turning back now.

He had a tangible clue—a real, solid lead to your whereabouts. For the first time in weeks, the haze of uncertainty lifted ever so slightly. But now that he knew you were possibly in one of the most dangerous areas anyone could imagine, time was no longer on his side. Every second that ticked by felt heavier, pulling him deeper into the urgency of the situation. The N109 Zone wasn’t just dangerous; it was a place where people vanished, a place where hope died. He had no time to waste, but rushing in blindly would be suicide. He needed a plan.

Stepping into the cold evening air, Xavier pulled the pamphlet from his jacket pocket, its crinkled edges soft from being handled. His eyes scanned over the contents carefully. Make and model—simple enough, not much help now. A detailed diagram of the shoe—useful for recognition, maybe, but not a lifeline. Then his eyes caught something else—a faint address printed near the top. It was partially worn, barely legible, but there.

His heart skipped a beat. An address? Could this be where the shoe was made? Or where it was sold? Either way, it was another piece of the puzzle, and right now, it was the closest thing to a breadcrumb trail he had. He squinted at the faded letters, trying to make out every detail.

If this address was in the N109 Zone, it could lead him right into the heart of the danger. But it could also lead him to you.

His mind raced. First, he needed to confirm the location. Then he needed a plan—something better than just walking straight into the N109 Zone and hoping for the best.

Pulling out his hunter’s watch, Xavier quickly scanned the address printed on the pamphlet. The small device whirred to life, its holographic screen flickering as it worked to process the faint, worn-out text. A soft ding echoed in the quiet street as it started searching for the location. Xavier watched the screen intently, his heart pounding with a mixture of hope and apprehension.

The map on the watch blinked, the dot moving erratically across an unmarked, shadowy area. It drifted back and forth, as though even the advanced technology in his hands was confused, struggling to pin down an exact location. Xavier frowned, watching the dot jitter across the screen. His stomach tightened with frustration. Was the address too old? Was it leading him nowhere?

Just when he thought the device might give up entirely, the dot paused. The holographic screen flickered once more, and with a soft chime, it glowed green in confirmation. The hunter's watch had finally locked on to a spot. Xavier stared at it, a sinking feeling settling in his gut. The place it had marked was deep within N109 Zone, tucked away in the heart of the most dangerous, uncharted part of the city.

He exhaled slowly, his mind running through a million possibilities. The watch’s confirmation meant something tangible, something real—but what waited for him there? He couldn’t shake the thought that this could be a trap, a place where the trail might lead to nothing, or worse, to more danger than he could anticipate. But it was also the only clue he had to your whereabouts.

Xavier closed his hand around the watch, feeling its faint warmth through his fingers. He knew what he had to do, but the enormity of it settled on his shoulders. This wasn’t just a simple lead anymore—it was a beacon, calling him into the depths of the N109 Zone. And whatever waited for him there, he would face it.

Because finding you was all that mattered.

As Xavier made his way through the still, empty streets back to his apartment, the first hints of dawn began to creep over the horizon, casting a faint, orange glow across the sky. His mind was already racing, formulating a plan. Gear, weapons,—he’d need everything ready before venturing into the N109 Zone.

But just as he turned the corner, his phone rang, the sharp sound cutting through the early morning quiet. Xavier stopped, his brow furrowing as he fished the phone out of his pocket. It was a jarring sound—no one should be calling him at this early hour.

He glanced at the screen, squinting in confusion. The number was unknown, unfamiliar. His immediate thought was Captain Jenna—she was the only one who’d be up this early, possibly reaching out with new intel—but this wasn’t her number.

He hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen. Unknown number. His instincts screamed caution. In his line of work, random calls at odd hours rarely led to anything good. The number could belong to anyone—a lead, a warning, or worse, a trap.

But then again, it could be something important—something connected to you. He couldn't ignore the possibility.

Should he answer? The phone rang again, and with each buzz, the knot of uncertainty in his stomach tightened. Whoever it was, they wanted to reach him badly enough to call at this ungodly hour.

With a deep breath, Xavier made a decision and swiped to answer the call. "Hello?" His voice was guarded, careful.

For a moment, all Xavier could hear was silence, a thick void that made his pulse quicken. Then, suddenly, the sound of crackling static filled his ears, distorting the line. He frowned, his grip tightening on the phone. The static grew louder, chaotic, until it was abruptly interrupted by a voice—scared, desperate, and unmistakably familiar.

"Xavier? Is that you??"

His heart nearly stopped.

You kept running until your legs gave out, your breath ragged and chest burning, but you couldn’t stop. Not yet. An hour ago, you had been trapped, bound in your captor's suffocating bedroom, that thick invisible leash tightening around your neck with each passing day, stealing your hope, your strength. Every second felt like eternity in that room, but somehow, with some luck of a power outage of all things, you’d broken out of your cage. You’d ran—bolted into the cold night without looking back.

And now, you were almost free.

But “freedom” wasn’t what you had imagined. The streets stretched out before you, bleak and lifeless. It felt wrong. There was no joy in the air, no welcoming breeze to assure you of safety—only the gnawing sense that you had escaped one cage just to enter another. You recalled something Sylus, your captor, had mentioned in passing.

"Its always 'night' here", he'd said with a small smile, and now you truly realized he hadn’t been lying.

Darkness swallowed the entire area, a thick, unnatural veil over everything. Even though your eyes had adjusted to the lack of light, the eerie, half-flickering streetlights cast only dim pools of sickly yellow across the cracked pavement. The shadows loomed, stretching too far, hiding too much. You shivered, not just from the cold but from the haunting silence that wrapped around you.

The air itself felt thick, as if it was suffocating under the weight of secrets too dark, too dangerous to be spoken aloud. Each alley you passed felt like it was watching you, whispering silent threats from the shadows. Exhaustion clung to your limbs, and you had finally stopped, collapsing onto a broken bench under one of the few flickering streetlights that still worked. The cold metal dug into your skin, but you barely noticed. You were too busy trying to catch your breath, to steady your thoughts.

Where do you go now? You scanned your surroundings again, looking for anything that could offer direction, but the streets were as desolate as before. The same cracked pavement, the same looming shadows. No signs. No people. Just an eerie quiet.

A fleeting thought entered your mind—maybe there’s a train station nearby? The idea seemed almost laughable. Would it even take you to Linkon? And would you even make it to a station without getting caught?

You shook your head, mentally cursing yourself for the thought. Hitchhiking was another idea that crossed your mind—no way, you scolded yourself, brushing off the notion as quickly as it came. You probably couldn't trust anyone here. Not in a place like this. Here, trusting a stranger was as reckless as running blind into the dark.

But what other choice did you have? You couldn’t stay still for long; resting too much would make you an easy target. With a deep, shuddering breath, you forced yourself to stand again. Your legs trembled beneath you, but you kept moving, hoping—praying—you’d find someone who wasn’t out to harm you. Something that could help guide you out of this nightmare. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of fear pressing harder on your chest.

As your bare feet dragged across the cracked concrete, the desperation gnawed at you more fiercely. You were lost—physically and mentally. Each street looked the same, the darkness playing tricks on your eyes. Panic swelled in your throat. How long could you keep going like this? How much longer could you walk before your legs gave out? Before someone found you?

Your breaths came quicker, shallow with fear. You needed a way out, but the deeper you walked into the N109 Zone, the more it felt like the place was swallowing you whole. You were running out of time. Running out of hope.

And then finally, as if the cruel universe had decided to grant you another fleeting moment of mercy, you saw it—a faint glow of lights in the distance. Squinting, you could just make out a corner store, its soft, artificial light spilling onto the cracked sidewalk. A few people were loitering outside, giving the place a rare sense of life. A tired-looking woman clutched her child's hand tightly, and a man stood by, lazily smoking a cigar, his eyes scanning the street in disinterest. A couple of others hovered nearby, exchanging quiet words under the dim streetlight.

You couldn't believe your eyes. A store? Here? In the N109 Zone? It seemed almost surreal, like it had been plucked from another world and dropped into this forgotten wasteland. But it made sense in a grim way. Even in a place like this, people have to eat. Make a living.

With a rush of desperate energy, you hurried toward the store, your bare feet slapping against the cold pavement. The people outside cast looks in your direction, but don't say anything. You stopped just short of the entrance, glancing down at yourself for the first time. You must look insane. A nightgown hung loosely around your body, dirty and torn at the edges. No shoes. No socks. Your hair was tangled and wild from the running. The sight of yourself made you wince in embarrassment, but there was no time to care about that now.

Pushing the door open, you were greeted by a dimly lit but surprisingly ordinary scene. The inside of the corner store looked like any other—aisles of candy, snacks, cheap knick knacks and toys stacked high. It was a stark contrast to the dangerous, shadowy streets just outside. But one sight caught your attention above all: the food.

Your stomach growled loudly, twisting with hunger. You hadn’t eaten since the chicken dinner Sylus had provided before your “outburst.” You hadn't been able to finish it, and now the exhaustion from running had made the hunger almost unbearable. Your mouth watered at the thought of eating, but there was one major problem—you had no gold.

Your heart sank as you stared at the rows of candy bars and instant noodles. How were you going to get anything?

Anxiously, you shuffled toward the front counter, your nerves jangling with every step. When you reached it, you hesitated for a moment, staring at the small bell. With trembling fingers, you tapped it.

A disheveled-looking man, his hair sticking out in uneven tufts, glanced up from behind the counter. He had been glued to his phone, and the interruption clearly annoyed him. His eyes landed on you, and for a brief second, he just stared, taking in your disarrayed appearance before rolling his eyes in annoyance.

"Can I...help you?" he asked, dragging out the words as if the very act of speaking was a burden.

You swallowed hard, trying to find the right words, but your mind raced with too many conflicting emotions—fear, embarrassment, hunger. What could you even say?

"I've been kidnapped," you blurt out, your voice shaky and desperate. You opened your mouth to explain further, to tell him everything—how you had escaped, how you were on the run, how you needed help—but before you could get another word out, the man snorted.

"Yeah, I've heard that one before," he said dismissively, leaning back on his chair with an exaggerated sigh. "Who hasn't been kidnapped at least once around here?"

His casual tone hit you like a slap. The raw urgency in your voice was met with nothing but apathy. Your heart sank. He wasn’t going to take you seriously. You were just another story in a place like this, another desperate face with nowhere to go. You stood there, frozen, trying to comprehend how someone could be so indifferent to your situation.

You swallowed hard, fighting back the frustration welling up inside you. "Please, I'm serious. I just need—"

"Look," the man interrupted, cutting you off again, his eyes barely lifting from his phone. "You want something, buy it. Otherwise, move along. I’m not here for charity cases."

You glanced at the counter, the rows of candy, snacks, and drinks just inches away, knowing you had nothing to pay with. Desperation clawed at your insides. You were exhausted, starving, and running out of options.

"I don't have any gold... do you ha-have a phone?" you asked again, your voice trembling as you blinked back the hot tears threatening to spill. How could someone be so indifferent to the obvious suffering staring him in the face?

"Broken," he said flatly, still not bothering to look up from his phone. His disinterest was like a physical blow. "And… gold? What are you, some Linkcunt citizen?"

The venom in his words hit you like a slap, and for a moment, you were too stunned to respond. Linkcunt citizen? The insult was harsh, dripping with disdain, and it sent a sudden wave of anger rushing through you.

"Yes, I’m from Linkon," you correct, the frustration and fear bubbling over into your voice. "What’s with the attitude? What did I do to you? I'm asking for help!"

He finally looked up, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, but it wasn’t friendly. It was mocking.

"What did you do? Nothing. That’s the problem. Linkon folk come down here thinking they’re better than everyone, tossing around their fancy gold and expecting the world to hand them everything." He shook his head, his expression a mix of amusement and contempt.

"You want help? Then you’d better figure out how things work around here real fast, princess. No one's gonna hand you anything for free."

You felt your fists clench at his words, the anger mixing with a deeper sense of helplessness. You hadn’t asked to be here. You hadn’t asked for any of this. And yet, standing in this grimy corner store in the depths of the N109 Zone, it was clear that no one cared about your suffering. Not here. You weren’t in Linkon anymore.

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to calm down, swallowing the anger rising in your throat. Getting into a fight with this clerk wouldn’t help you, not now. But the bitterness of his words lingered, and you realized just how alone you truly were in this place.

Silently, you turned your back to the greasy man behind the counter, his words still echoing in your mind as you began to walk up and down the aisles. Every step felt heavier than the last, the weight of hunger, thirst, and sheer exhaustion pulling at you. Your stomach growled, gnawing at your insides, reminding you just how long it had been since you'd eaten.

But something else gnawed at you too—something that made your skin crawl with discomfort. You hadn't changed your pad for hours, and now the sticky, damp feeling clung uncomfortably between your legs. The sudden realization hit you, a wave of disgust washing over you as you winced.

Swallowing hard, you glanced over toward the feminine hygiene aisle. Rows of necessities lined the shelves—pads, tampons, basic supplies—just out of reach. You stared at them, your stomach twisting in knots. It wasn't just food you needed now. You couldn’t go on like this.

But you had no credit cards. No way to purchase anything. Nothing.

Your eyes flicked back toward the front of the store, where the disinterested clerk sat, still engrossed in his phone. He wasn’t paying attention to you. He didn’t care. Nobody here did.

You felt a knot tighten in your throat as the harsh reality of the situation settled in. You had to steal. There was no other choice. You hated the thought of it—hated how low it made you feel—but survival wasn’t a matter of pride. Not here. Not now.

Your fingers trembled as you looked back at the shelves. You knew what you had to do.

The clerk still wasn’t paying attention, his face lit by the glow of his phone. His indifference might be your only saving grace. You could do this—quickly, quietly, and then you’d be gone.

With shaky hands you reach for a plastic bag that had fallen on the ground. The bag felt like a shield, something to hide the weight of what you were about to do. You didn’t think twice as you moved toward the feminine hygiene aisle, knowing you couldn’t walk any further in your current state. You reached for a pack of pads, your movements slow and deliberate. Your heart pounded in your chest, loud enough that it felt like the entire store could hear it.

Next, you hurried down the snack aisle, grabbing a few protein bars, a small bag of chips, and a bottle of water, all of which disappeared into the bag as your pulse raced in your ears.

You glanced toward the counter, your body tense with anxiety. The clerk still hadn’t looked up, completely absorbed in his phone. The faint, unmistakable sound of pornography drifted from his speakers, making your stomach churn in disgust. You twisted your face, feeling a wave of revulsion wash over you, but you couldn’t afford to stop now.

He was utterly oblivious to your frantic movements, his attention locked on the screen, but that didn't ease the gnawing sensation in your gut. Every step felt like you were tiptoeing across a minefield, a ticking clock counting down to disaster. Even though he wasn’t watching, you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone—or something—was.

With the bag now heavy in your hands, you made your way toward the exit, each step carefully measured, your breath shallow as you fought to keep calm. The distance between you and the door seemed endless, as if every inch stretched into miles. But finally, your trembling hand closed around the cold metal of the handle.

Your heart raced as you crossed the threshold, bracing yourself for the inevitable—a shrill, deafening alarm that would shatter the silence and expose your crime to the world. You waited for it, your breath caught in your throat, ready to bolt at the first sound.

But nothing came.

No alarm. No piercing siren. The only thing you could hear was the frantic beating of your own heart as the door swung shut behind you with a quiet click.

For a moment, you stood there, frozen in place, not daring to move. The cool night air brushed against your skin, grounding you in the eerie quiet. The world outside the store felt impossibly still. It took a few seconds for your brain to register that you had made it out—unseen, unheard.

You swallowed hard, keeping your head down as you hurried past the few patrons lingering near the store. Their eyes followed your every step, and you could feel their gazes crawling over you, judging, curious. Did they happen to care, or did you just look that insane?

The woman with the child pulled her daughter closer as you passed, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. The man smoking his cigar gave you a long, leering stare, as if trying to figure out what your story was. The others whispered quietly among themselves, but you couldn’t make out the words, nor did you want to. You kept walking, willing yourself to be invisible, but the tension in the air made your skin prickle.

Once you were a safe distance away from the store, you ducked down an empty alley, the shadows wrapping around you like a cloak. The world outside was still bleak, the flickering streetlights casting only the faintest glow, but here in the quiet, you finally had a moment to breathe.

You found a relatively clean spot, tucked behind an old dumpster, and set the bag down beside you. Your hands shook as you reached into the bag for the pack of pads. The discomfort and itch between your legs had grown unbearable, and the relief of changing, even in such a grim place, was something you couldn't put off any longer.

Quickly, you adjusted yourself, wincing at the feeling of the old pad peeling away. You worked fast, knowing you couldn’t linger here for long. Once you were done, you felt a small sense of relief—at least one problem had been solved.

Next, you pulled out the snacks. The hunger was still clawing at you, and the sight of the protein bars and chips made your stomach ache even more. Tearing into a protein bar, you ate quickly, barely tasting the food as you devoured it, desperate to fuel your exhausted body. The bottle of water came next, and you drank it down in large, gulping swallows.

For the first time since you had escaped, you felt a flicker of calm. It wasn’t much, and it wouldn’t last, but here in this dark corner, with food in your stomach and a small bit of comfort, you allowed yourself a brief moment to breathe.

But the quiet didn’t last. You knew you couldn’t stay hidden forever. You had to get moving at some point or Sylus would find you. This place was unforgiving, and survival demanded more than just temporary refuge.

Tucking the remaining items back into the bag, you sigh in satisfaction, glancing around to make sure no one had followed you. The streets were still empty. For now, you were alone. You had survived one more step in this nightmare, but you knew it wasn’t over yet.

Some time passes and you can slowly feel yourself falling asleep against the dumpster.

As you crouched in the dim alley, trying to fight off exhaustion and gather your thoughts, the sound of footsteps broke the silence. Slow, steady, and casual, accompanied by a faint, off-key whistling. You stiffened, instinctively pulling the bag closer to your chest.

The footsteps stopped just a few feet away, and then came the voice—low, cautious, but curious.

"Hey, you okay?"

You glanced up warily, your eyes landing on the figure standing at the mouth of the alley. He was tall, maybe in his mid-thirties, with shaggy, unkempt brown hair that fell just above his eyes. His clothes were worn—faded jeans and a jacket that had seen better days—but he didn’t look like the rough types you usually imagined when you thought of the N109 Zone. His posture was relaxed, hands tucked casually into his pockets, but his sharp, dark eyes were fixed on you, a flicker of concern—or maybe something else—dancing behind them.

His face was hard to read. He had a slight stubble covering his jaw, giving him a rugged, almost tired appearance. His lips quirked in what might’ve been a faint smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. There was something unsettling about the way he looked at you—like he was curious, but also sizing you up. Not in an aggressive way, but in a way that made you wonder why he’d stopped to talk to you at all.

"Are you... lost?" he asked, stepping forward slowly, the whistling tune dying in the air. His voice was softer now, almost as if he was trying to be gentle, but his presence made the space around you feel even smaller.

"What happened to your arm?"

You swallowed hard, trying your best to keep your gaze on him. You had honestly completely forgotten about the scar on you arm. As much as you wanted to explain, every instinct screamed to stay wary. This wasn’t a place where strangers helped out of kindness, and you knew better than to trust easily. But as exhausted and desperate as you were, you weren’t sure if you could afford to push away help, even from someone who might have their own agenda.

"I—I need help," you stammered, your voice shaky, barely managing to push the words past your tightening throat. Your body trembled, a mix of nerves and exhaustion leaving you on edge. You hugged the bag tighter to your chest, every muscle in your body tense. "But... don't come any closer just yet."

The man's eyes narrowed slightly, his expression shifting, though he made no move forward. He stayed where he was, his hands still in his pockets, the dim streetlight casting long shadows on his face. For a moment, there was silence, the air thick with tension as he watched you.

"Okay," he said finally, his voice calm and even, though the curiosity in his eyes never wavered. He tilted his head, taking in your ragged appearance with a deeper interest. "No problem. I’m not here to scare you. Just trying to figure out what you're doing out here all alone."

You bit your lip, unsure of how to respond. You needed help, but trust was a dangerous thing in a place like this. Still, you were running out of options. Your mind raced as you tried to decide what to say next.

You hesitated, your mind racing as you weighed the risks. Could you trust him? Telling the truth might make you vulnerable, but lying wouldn’t get you far either. You had to say something—anything—to explain why you were here.

"I was kidnapped," you said, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. Your voice wavered, a tremor of fear running through you as you spoke. "I escaped… I don’t know where I am. I just need to get somewhere safe and rest so I can get home later."

The man’s expression shifted slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. He studied you, eyes narrowing as if trying to assess whether or not you were telling the truth. His silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity, making your heart pound faster in your chest.

"You’re serious?" he finally asked, his tone more subdued now, almost disbelieving but not dismissive. He took a small step back, showing that he wasn’t going to invade your space. "You really got away from someone?"

You nodded, the tension in your body still coiled tight, waiting for his reaction. You couldn't tell if he believed you, but you hoped—desperately—that he wouldn’t press too hard or turn you away.

The man stared at you for a moment longer, his eyes scanning your face, as if trying to read the truth in your expression. Finally, he let out a slow breath, his posture softening just slightly.

"Alright," he said, his voice low but firm. "If you're telling the truth... then you’ve got bigger problems than just being lost."

He glanced around, checking the street behind him as if making sure no one else was nearby, then he looked back at you, his face more serious now. "You can’t stay out here. This place— the N109 Zone—it’s not somewhere you want to be wandering around alone, especially if someone’s looking for you."

You felt a shiver run down your spine. You already knew the N109 Zone was dangerous, but hearing it from him made it feel even more real.

"Look," he continued, his voice softening. "I’m not gonna hurt you. If you need help, I can take you somewhere safer. But you’ve gotta trust me, and you’ve gotta move quick. If they’re after you, it’s only a matter of time before they find you out here."

He waited, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to see if you’d accept his offer—or run.

You hesitated for a long moment, scanning the man’s face for any sign of deceit. His expression was calm, almost unnervingly so, but something about his demeanor made you feel that, for now, you didn’t have much of a choice. If he meant harm, he could’ve acted already. Swallowing hard, you nodded.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “I’ll come with you.”

He nodded in return, offering nothing more than a grunt of acknowledgment before turning and motioning for you to follow. "My place isn’t far. You can rest there, maybe clean up a bit. It’ll give you a few hours before you have to figure out what’s next."

You fell in step behind him, your bare feet quiet against the cracked pavement. The streets were eerily silent, save for the occasional distant hum of passing cars. You hugged the bag closer to your chest, still tense but too tired to think about running. As you walked through the dim streets, a question lingered in the back of your mind.

"I'm surprised you stopped to help me," you finally said, your voice tentative. "Most people here…they wouldn’t have even looked twice."

He glanced back at you, barely breaking stride, and shrugged. "I’ve seen worse things in this place. Trust me, a girl lost in an alley isn't the strangest thing I’ve come across." His tone was casual, almost detached, as if this was just another day in the chaotic world of the N109 Zone.

His nonchalance unnerved you. Why was he so calm? Your anxiety spiked for a moment, thoughts racing. Maybe you had made the wrong choice. Maybe he had his own agenda, like everyone else in this place. But then again, he hadn’t tried to harm you. If he wanted to, he would've done so. You weighed your options, feeling the tug of paranoia, but exhaustion and desperation had their hold. You pushed the doubt aside. For now, you decided to trust him, even if only for a few hours.

As you walked in silence, the two of you eventually came across something you hadn’t expected to see: an old, grimy phone booth, its glass cracked but still intact, standing at the edge of a corner. A relic from another time, long since forgotten by most.

Your heart skipped a beat. A phone. You might be able to call Xavier.

"Do you have any… uh, quarters?" you asked, your voice tight with desperation. You hadn’t thought about it before, but now it seemed obvious. Linkon City had long left behind the need for such old currency—everything there was digital, clean, modern. But here, in the N109 Zone, where everything felt stuck in time, of course they still used quarters. It made sense in this broken-down world.

He stopped, watching you for a moment before sighing. "Yeah, hang on." He fumbled in his pockets for a few seconds, fishing around with a slight look of annoyance. After a bit of clattering, he pulled out a few quarters, handing them over to you without a word.

Your hands trembled as you took them. This could be your chance—your lifeline. You stepped inside the booth, hoping that the old machine would still work, and stared at the dirty receiver.

You stared at the old rotary dial for a moment, panic rising in your chest. You tried to remember how it worked as you slipped the coins in the slot. It had been so long since you’d read about one of these—everything in Linkon was sleek, touch-based, connected by the web. But here, in this forgotten part of the world, you were holding a piece of the past. The process felt foreign, archaic.

Your mind raced, desperately trying to recall Xavier’s number. What was it? You racked your brain, images of his scribbled phone number from messages, fragments of conversations, all blurred together. The numbers danced in your head as you tried to piece them together.

Your heart pounded louder, matching the beat of the seconds slipping away. You were running out of time. With a trembling hand, you began dialing the numbers, trying to focus on every movement, praying you’d gotten it right.

The dial clicked as it spun back after each number, the mechanical sound unnervingly slow. The receiver crackled in your ear as the phone began to ring.

Please, Xavier... please pick up.

The ringing felt endless, each second a heavier weight pressing on your chest. You squeezed your eyes shut, gripping the receiver tight. The noise around you seemed to fade into the background as you waited, hoping, praying that on the other end of the line, he’d be there—ready to hear you, ready to help.

The phone rang again... and again.

Your breath caught in your throat, a prayer hanging on the edge of each ring.

"Hello?" A timid, cautious male voice came through the receiver, muffled by the crackling static, but it was unmistakable.

Relief crashed over you like a wave, and you nearly collapsed right there in the grimy phone booth, your knees buckling as the sound of Xavier's voice reached your ears. After everything—you finally had a connection to him. Tears welled up in your eyes, your breath shaky as you clutched the receiver tighter.

"Xavier!! Xavier, thank god!" you cried, your voice raw with desperation. "I don't even know where to start..."

But after your outburst, only silence greeted you. The line crackled, sputtering with age, the static drowning out whatever response might have come. Frustration surged through you as you gripped the receiver, shaking it in a vain attempt to clear the line. You banged the phone against the booth, biting back a sob as the interference persisted. This thing must be older than you thought. How could it fail you now?

Finally, the crackling stopped, leaving only a tense, quiet hum on the other end.

"Xavier? Is that you??" you asked, your voice trembling, barely holding back the panic. You couldn’t bear the thought of losing this fragile connection—this one thin lifeline.

The line crackled for a moment before Xavier’s voice came through, steady and calm, but with a layer of unmistakable relief.

"It’s you…," Xavier said, his voice soft but firm, as if he’d been holding onto hope for so long that hearing your voice felt like a lifeline. "I’m so glad you’re alive. Are you okay? Where are you?"

The sound of his voice sent another wave of emotion crashing over you. You sob, your body trembling with a mix of exhaustion and relief. For the first time in what felt like forever, you weren’t alone. He had been looking for you, and now, he was coming.

"Xavier…I was kidnapped," you sobbed, the words finally breaking free, the fear and terror of the last few days pouring out. "I escaped. I’m cold, hurt and scared..."

His response was immediate, his tone both calming and steady, as if he was trying to comfort you even from miles away. "I’m here now. I’ve got you. Just breathe, okay? I’m coming for you. I just need a better idea of where you are."

You took a shaky breath, trying to keep it together, but the tears threatened to spill over. "I don’t know where exactly… all I know is I’m in the N109 Zone. I found a phone booth near a corner store. Everything around here looks abandoned."

There was a brief pause on the other end as Xavier processed the information. "Alright," he said firmly. "Stay there, I'll try and track the location of the phone booth. I’m on my way. Just… hold on a little longer, okay?"

"I—" you hesitated for a moment, glancing back toward the man who had helped you. "I actually found a really nice man. He’s letting me rest at his place. He hasn’t hurt me at all, so don’t worry. He says his place isn’t far from here. I’ll come back to the phone and give you the details after I see it."

Xavier’s voice tightened slightly, the concern clear. "I don’t like the sound of that. Just… be careful. I’m coming as fast as I can. Don’t take any unnecessary risks, alright? If anything feels wrong, leave. Fight like hell if you need to."

"I will," you whispered, gripping the receiver tightly. "Just hurry, please."

"I promise I’m coming," Xavier said, his voice steady but laced with urgency. He paused, just for a second, before continuing. "One more thing though—do you remember who took you? I’ll need a name, in case…in case I don't find you when I arrive. I don’t want to lose you again."

Your heart raced as memories of your captor flashed in your mind. "Yeah! His name is S—"

"Your time is up. Please enter more quarters for an additional 3 minutes," the automated voice cut in sharply, drowning out your words.

Panic surged through you. The call had abruptly ended, the receiver in your hand now silent except for the monotonous prompt asking for more coins. You frantically searched your pockets, but you had no more quarters.

"Your time is up. Please enter more quarters for—"

You screamed, the frustration boiling over as you kicked the phone, the clanging metal reverberating through the phone booth. Your hand gripped the receiver so tightly your knuckles lost circulation, and with a final surge of anger, you thrashed against the booth, the tears you’d been holding back now streaming down your face.

"Xavier!?" you yelled into the dead line, your voice cracking with desperation. He had to hear you. He had to. But all that came through was the cold, indifferent tone of the automated voice, endlessly repeating its demand for more quarters, as if mocking your panic.

You slammed the receiver down, the booth suddenly feeling too small, too suffocating. Every second that ticked by was a second lost, a moment Xavier might not know who had taken you, might not know how to find you.

With a deep, shaky breath, you stepped out of the booth, blinking away the tears.

"Do...you have any more quarters?" you ask, more tears threatening to spill from your face at any moment now.

The man outside the phone booth shifted awkwardly and shook his head, his eyes flickering between you and the dark street. He had watched you from the moment you’d rushed into the booth, but now, as you sobbed, his discomfort was clear. He took a slow step forward, clearing his throat, but didn’t say anything at first, unsure of what to do.

"You, uh... you okay?" he asked finally, his voice soft but uneasy. He scratched the back of his neck, glancing around as if he wasn’t used to being in such an emotional situation.

You wiped at your eyes, trying to calm your breathing, but the tears kept coming. The overwhelming frustration of losing the connection with Xavier left you feeling exposed and helpless. You didn’t know what to say to the man, couldn’t find the words to explain the weight of everything crashing down on you at once.

He hesitated, then sighed, taking another step closer. "Look, uh… if it’s about the call, I’m sure your guy’s coming. Sounds like he cares. You just... you know, gotta hang in there. We’ll get to my place soon, and you can rest."

His words, though clumsy, were an attempt at comfort. But even as he tried to reassure you, his uncertainty showed in the way he avoided your gaze, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to handle someone breaking down in front of him.

You sniffed, nodding slightly, feeling drained from the outburst. "Yeah… yeah, I’ll be fine," you muttered, wiping your face with the sleeve of your nightgown, though you weren’t sure you believed it.

The two of you resumed walking, your steps slow and heavy as you sniffled, trying to hold back the tears that still threatened to spill. The man walked beside you, his hands shoved into his pockets, glancing at you now and then with an awkwardness that was hard to miss. He wasn’t saying much, just occasionally looking around as if he wished there was something more he could do, but he seemed completely out of his depth when it came to comforting anyone, let alone a woman on the verge of breaking down.

"You’ll, uh, feel better once we get there," he mumbled, his voice low and sheepish. "It’s not much, but at least you can get some sleep. Maybe eat something."

You nodded, biting your lip as you fought to compose yourself, trying not to let your emotions overwhelm you again. The air between you felt thick, filled with unspoken words and awkward tension. He kept glancing at you as if he wanted to say something more, but each time, he swallowed the words, guiding you quietly through the darkened streets.

The city around you was eerily quiet, the desolation of the N109 Zone even more pronounced in the silence. The flickering streetlights barely illuminated your path, casting long shadows that stretched across the cracked pavement. You hugged your arms close to your body, your mind still reeling from the failed call, but you focused on just putting one foot in front of the other.

The man cleared his throat, his voice hesitant. "I’m… not really good at this kind of thing, you know," he admitted, his tone awkward, almost apologetic. "But you’ll be safe. I’ll make sure of it."

You nodded again, not trusting yourself to speak. His words were clumsy, but there was a strange sincerity in them. Despite his unease, it seemed like he really was trying to help, even if he didn’t quite know how to do it.

As the silence stretched on, the weight of everything hanging between you, you glanced at him through the dim light. His awkwardness, his uncertainty—it was all so clear. But despite everything, he had helped you. He had taken you in when you had nowhere else to go. Given you the last of his quarters. You swallowed, trying to ground yourself in the moment.

"I didn’t catch your name, by the way," you said softly, your voice still a little shaky.

He blinked, as if surprised you’d asked. His steps slowed for a moment before he gave a small, awkward shrug. "Oh, uh, yeah. I guess I didn’t say." He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes darting to the ground as he seemed to search for the right words. "It’s Reese," he finally muttered. "Not much of a name, but it’s mine."

You offered a small, tired smile, your voice soft. "Reese… thanks for helping me. I don’t know what I would’ve done if—" You stopped yourself, the weight of your situation pressing on your chest again.

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye and gave a sheepish nod. "Yeah, well… I’m no hero. Just didn’t seem right to leave you out there. Not in a place like this."

As the two of you walked in silence, Reese cleared his throat, glancing over at you with a bit more confidence than before. "So… what’s your name? Figured if we’re gonna be walking together, I should know who I’m helping."

You hesitated, your heart racing slightly. Trust wasn’t something you could afford so easily, not here, not now. Despite his awkward attempts to help, you weren’t ready to give him your real name. Better to be cautious, you reminded yourself. You forced a small smile, trying to keep your voice steady.

"It’s...Mephisto," you said, the lie rolling off your tongue before you could second-guess it. You had vaguely remembered Sylus calling out the name to someone from outside the door, to who you weren't sure. One of his men probably.

Reese nodded, seemingly taking your answer at face value, no suspicion in his expression. "Alright," he said, giving a half-smile. "Nice to meet you Miss Mephisto, despite the strange name."

You nodded back, feeling the weight of the lie settle inside you. It wasn’t much, but it gave you a small layer of protection—just in case. You still didn’t know Reese’s full intentions, and trust here could be a dangerous thing.

"Nice to meet you too, Reese," you replied softly, glancing around the darkened street.

After what felt like an eternity of walking through the dark, desolate streets of the N109 Zone, you and Reese finally reached his place. The house stood at the end of a narrow alley, tucked between two crumbling, abandoned buildings. It wasn’t much to look at—dingy, with peeling paint and windows that seemed to have long lost their clarity. The front door sagged slightly on its hinges, the wood scuffed and weathered, as if it had seen better days a long time ago.

Reese unlocked the door with a bit of effort, pushing it open with a low creak. Inside, the air was stale but warm, a stark contrast to the cold outside. The place was small, cluttered, and dimly lit by a single overhead bulb. The furnishings were old, mismatched, and worn—a threadbare couch sat in the corner, covered in a faded blanket. The walls were bare except for a few crooked picture frames, and the carpet looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years. Still, despite its grimy appearance, there was a strange sense of comfort to the place, like someone had lived here for a long time and had made it home in their own way.

"You can sit over there if you want," Reese said, motioning to the couch. "It’s not much, but it’s better than the streets."

You nodded, stepping inside cautiously. Your eyes scanned the room, taking in the details—the scuffed coffee table with a few empty bottles on it, the stack of old magazines piled up against one wall. It didn’t scream danger, but you couldn’t shake the wary feeling settling in the pit of your stomach. Something about the whole situation made you uneasy. Maybe it was the dim lighting, the smell of old dust, or just the lingering doubt about trusting someone so easily in a place like this.

Still, exhaustion weighed heavily on your body, and the promise of rest—any rest—was too tempting to ignore. You sat down on the couch, the worn cushions sinking under you, and pulled the bag of pads closer to your chest. Reese seemed harmless enough, but you reminded yourself to stay on guard. You weren’t out of danger yet.

Reese busied himself, tossing a few items around to clear space, but the house remained eerily quiet.

As you settled into the couch, trying to make yourself as comfortable as possible, a sudden noise from the backyard broke the uneasy silence. It was faint, but distinct—a thud, followed by the faint sound of something shuffling or dragging. Your heart leapt, and you sat up a little straighter, your eyes darting toward the back of the house.

“What was that?” you asked, your voice tense as you turned to look at Reese.

He froze for a split second, the calm, awkward demeanor you’d come to expect from him faltering. His eyes widened slightly, and he gave a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh, that?" he said, his voice higher than usual. "It’s just… my dog. Yeah, he’s in the shed out back. I forgot to mention him earlier."

You watched him closely, feeling the tension spike in the room. There was something off about the way he said it, the quickness in his tone as if he were scrambling to come up with an explanation.

"Your dog?" you repeated, trying to keep your voice steady, though doubt gnawed at the back of your mind.

"Yeah," he said, nodding a bit too enthusiastically. "He’s old, doesn’t like people much, so I keep him out there. No big deal."

His words didn’t do much to settle your nerves. You stared at him for a moment longer, weighing his response, trying to decide if he was telling the truth. The uneasy feeling from earlier returned, stronger this time, creeping up your spine.

"Right," you muttered, still watching him carefully, but you decided not to push further. Not yet.

"Um... coffee?" Reese blurted out suddenly, his voice still laced with that nervous edge. He offered a forced smile, clearly trying to redirect the tension hanging thick in the air. He rubbed his hands together, glancing toward the small, cluttered kitchen. "I could make us some. Might help, you know, after everything you’ve been through."

You hesitated, still on edge from the strange noise outside and his quick, jittery explanation. Something didn’t feel right, but you weren’t sure if pushing him now would help or only make things worse. You forced a smile of your own, your mind still racing with questions.

"Sure," you said quietly, your voice flat as you tried to calm your nerves. "Coffee sounds good."

Reese nodded, too eagerly, and moved toward the kitchen, fumbling with an old coffee pot. The clattering of cups and the rush of water filled the silence, but your mind was still focused on that noise outside. A dog in the shed? It seemed like a weak excuse, but you didn’t know him well enough to push it.

You leaned back into the couch, the worn fabric sinking beneath you as your eyes drifted toward the back door. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, that maybe Reese wasn’t telling you everything. You forced yourself to take a deep breath, trying to keep calm. You were exhausted, but you couldn't let your guard down.

Reese finished brewing the coffee after a few moments, bringing it over to you in a green, cracked mug. You took it from him with a polite smile, setting it down on the coffee table untouched. The steam curled up from the cup, filling the small room with the faint scent of stale coffee. Reese sat across from you, sipping from his own mug, but you couldn’t help but notice how distracted he seemed.

He kept glancing toward the window, then back at his watch, over and over. Each time, his face tensed a little more, as though he were expecting something—or someone. Your wariness only grew.

What is he looking for?

The air felt thick with unspoken tension, and your mind raced, trying to piece together what was happening. You couldn’t shake the feeling that the noise in the backyard wasn’t as innocent as he’d made it sound.

"So…uh, what’s your dog’s name?" you asked, trying to keep up the conversation and maybe get him to reveal more. Your voice was casual, but inside, your nerves were on high alert.

"Dog? What dog?" Reese said absentmindedly, his eyes still glued to the window. His response was automatic, dismissive, as if he hadn’t even registered the question.

"You...said that noise earlier was your dog? Right?"

A few moments passed in uncomfortable silence, and then you saw it—realization hit him like a brick. His eyes widened as he turned to look at you, panic flickering across his face.

You sat up straighter, your heart starting to race. He’d lied. And now he knew you knew.

"Uh, I mean—" he stammered, his voice shaky, "I meant, uh, Rex. Yeah, his name’s Rex. Sorry, I’m just… distracted." He forced a weak smile, but the panic was still there, clear as day. He wasn’t fooling anyone.

You shifted uncomfortably, the tension in the room thickening with every second that passed after Reese's panicked slip. His eyes kept darting between you and the window, as if something outside demanded his attention. Your pulse quickened as the uneasy feeling deepened. Something wasn’t right, and you knew you had to get out of there.

"I should…go," you said, forcing a smile as you slowly stood up, trying to keep your voice casual. "Y'know... Xavier’s probably found the phone booth by now. I should go back and meet him."

Reese blinked, his expression tightening for a split second. The forced calm he'd been trying to maintain wavered as he set his mug down on the table a little too quickly, the clink of the ceramic against wood echoing in the silence. "Go? Already?" He scratched the back of his neck again, his voice strained. "I mean, it’s cold, and it’s not safe out there… Maybe you should wait a little longer."

You swallowed hard, feeling the anxiety rising in your chest. Every instinct told you to get out, but you had to keep your cool. "Thanks for the coffee and everything, but I don’t want Xavier to worry," you replied, taking a step toward the door. "I’ll be fine. I’ve been through worse, remember?"

Reese stood up as well, his movements stiff, like he was trying to decide whether to stop you. His gaze flickered toward the window again, and his voice dropped. "Yeah, I get it. But, uh… maybe just a few more minutes. You don’t want to be out there alone, do you?"

You glanced toward the door, your heart pounding in your chest. The unease that had been lurking beneath the surface now felt like a solid weight pressing down on you. Something was very wrong, and you needed to leave—now.

"No, I’m leaving. Thank you for everything, but I need to go," you said, your voice steady despite the panic bubbling under the surface. You tried to move past Reese, your eyes focused on the door, your heart pounding with the hope of reaching it before things got worse.

But then Reese stepped in front of you, his whole demeanor changing in an instant. "No," he said flatly, his voice suddenly devoid of the awkwardness and sheepishness he’d shown before. His tone was cold, almost emotionless, as he closed the distance between you with startling speed.

Before you could react, you felt it—the cold press of metal against your neck. Your breath caught in your throat, and your body froze as the unmistakable sensation of a gun pressed hard into your skin.

"You're not going anywhere," he hissed, his voice low and menacing. His earlier nervousness was completely gone, replaced by something dark and dangerous. "Sit back down."

Your heart raced, your mind scrambling for a way out, but all you could feel was the sharp edge of fear coursing through you. You swallowed hard, trying not to move too quickly, knowing that with one wrong step, things could spiral even further out of control.

"Reese… please," you whispered, barely able to keep your voice from shaking. "You don’t have to do this."

His eyes flickered with something—anger, desperation—but his grip on the gun didn’t waver. "Just sit down, and no one has to get hurt."

Your mind raced, searching for a way out, but for now, all you could do was comply and hope that Xavier was still coming for you.

"I promised them a girl..." Reese muttered, his voice trembling slightly, though the gun still pressed firmly against your neck as you looked up at him from the couch. He glanced away from you, his guilt briefly flickering in his eyes. "Then you just... happened to be there. Right place, wrong time, I guess. So...this is how it has to be."

His words hung in the air, cold and final.

"I’m sorry," he added, though there was no comfort in his apology—just a hollow attempt at easing his own conscience.

Your breath hitched as you tried to process his words, the full weight of the situation crushing down on you. He wasn’t just some awkward guy helping you out of kindness. He had been waiting for someone—anyone—to fill a promise. And you had walked right into it.

As you stood there, your heart pounding in your chest, the cold barrel of the gun pressed against your neck, the door creaked open. Another man stepped into the room. He was taller than Reese, with a thick, rough appearance—his face shadowed by the dim light. His eyes swept the room, landing on you, taking in the situation with a detached indifference.

"Is this the girl you promised?" the man asked, his voice low and gruff, as if he’d been through this kind of scene too many times to be surprised by it. His gaze shifted briefly to Reese, then back to you, narrowing with interest.

You felt a chill run down your spine as his question hung in the air.

Reese didn’t move the gun from your neck, but you could feel the tension in his body shift as he glanced over at the man, clearly nervous about his arrival. "Yeah, this is her," Reese replied, his voice tight. "I just… need a few more minutes to get her to cooperate."

The other man stepped closer, his boots heavy on the floor. His eyes raked over you, cold and calculating. "No time for that," he said flatly. "Get her in the basement. You know how this works, Reese."

Your pulse quickened, fear gripping you tighter as you looked from one man to the other, your mind spinning with panic. What were they planning? You needed to find a way out, and fast, before things escalated even further.

"You’re making a mistake," you said, your voice shaking despite your best efforts to stay calm. "Someone’s coming for me. If you don’t let me go, it’s going to get a lot worse for both of you."

As the weight of your words hung in the air, you weren’t even sure who you were referring to in that moment—Sylus, the man who had kidnapped you in the first place, or Xavier, the one coming to save you. Both names were tangled up in your desperation, your mind too frantic to distinguish between them. All you could do was hope that the threat would ring true, that it would be enough to make Reese think twice.

The taller man smirked, clearly unimpressed. "We’ll see about that," he muttered, turning his back toward the door to pull up the carpet, leaving you alone with Reese and the gun still pressed to your neck. You watch as a metal trap door with a handle is revealed to have been hidden under the carpet and you gasp.

Instinct kicked in, and without thinking, you twisted suddenly, using the brief distraction in Reese’s hesitation to try and break free. You shoved his arm away with everything you had, knocking the gun off balance. For a moment, you thought you had a chance, adrenaline flooding your body as you fought with all the strength you could muster.

"Let go of me!" you screamed, thrashing and kicking as hard as you could. Your elbow connected with Reese's side, and he let out a sharp grunt, but his grip tightened. His face twisted in a mixture of frustration and fear, and he fought back, grabbing your arm and wrenching you toward him.

"Stop it!" Reese growled, struggling to maintain control, but you weren’t going down without a fight. You kicked at his legs, but his hold on you only grew stronger.

The door to the basement creaked open, and before you could react, the taller man reappeared, grabbing you by the other arm. His grip was like iron, and between the two of them, they overpowered you. Your heart pounded as you screamed and clawed, your feet scraping against the floor, but the force of their combined strength was too much.

"No! Please—" you gasped, trying to twist free, but they dragged you toward the open door.

The tall man grunted with effort as they forced you toward the dark, looming stairwell. "Get her down there already," he growled, his tone sharp and impatient.

You struggled even harder, but your muscles were weakening, the adrenaline starting to fade as fear took over. They shoved you roughly down the narrow staircase, and you stumbled, catching yourself against the damp wall. The dimness of the basement swallowed you whole, the air cold and musty. You could feel the fear wrapping around you, tighter with each step they forced you to take.

The taller man was close behind, his heavy footsteps echoing in the cold, damp basement. You felt his rough hand grab the bottom of your nightgown, his fingers curling into the fabric. Panic surged through you as his cold hand snaked across your belly, the touch sending a shiver of disgust up your spine.

You screamed, thrashing wildly against his grip, but his strength overpowered you. The man leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "Wouldn't hurt to try her out before the boss gets here..." His voice was thick with lust, and his eyes gleamed with a hunger that turned your stomach.

His hand slid lower, his fingers beginning to snake inside your underwear. You could feel his hard on pressed against your backside. Fear and revulsion took over, and you knew you had to do something—anything—to stop him.

Thinking fast, you blurted out the first thing that came to your mind, your voice desperate and shaking. "I'm bleeding! I'm on my period!"

The words seemed to stop him in his tracks. His hand paused, the twisted hunger in his eyes faltering for a moment as confusion flickered across his face.

"You’re what?" he muttered, his brow furrowing. His grip loosened just slightly, enough for you to take a sharp breath, your heart still racing.

"I’m on my period," you repeated, your voice trembling. "It’s—it’s bad. You don’t want to do this right now."

For a brief second, his disgusted expression told you that he was weighing his options. The thought of period blood clearly repulsed him, and his hand slowly pulled away from your underwear, his lips curling in frustration.

"You’re lucky," he growled, wiping his hand on his pants, his face twisted with disdain. "But don’t think that saves you."

His hand shot up before you could react, grabbing a fistful of your hair and dragging you across the rough concrete floor toward the makeshift shower installed in the corner of the basement. Your scalp throbbed with each pull, the pain sharpening with every step, but you bit your lip, refusing to cry out.

He threw you against the cold, damp wall, the chill seeping through the thin fabric of your nightgown. You barely had time to catch your breath before he twisted the rusty shower handle. Water burst from the nozzle, freezing and unforgiving.

“So filthy,” he sneered, standing over you as the icy water soaked your clothes, plastering them to your skin. “Maybe this will help?"

The cold bit into your bones, and you hugged yourself, trembling, struggling to stay upright as the water pounded down. He stood there a moment longer, watching with twisted satisfaction, before finally turning away, leaving you shivering on the cold, wet floor of the basement.

Sobbing on the cold, unforgiving basement floor, you shiver, your body pressed against the damp concrete, each breath heavy with despair. The chill seeps into your skin, a numbing cold that echoes the hollow ache inside you. Your tears fall, silent and unnoticed, merging with the grime beneath you as exhaustion pulls you deeper into its grip. In the silence, a desperate wish slips through your mind for someone to save you—anyone, even him.

Though Sylus had stolen you away, his presence now haunts you like a ghost. In this unbearable solitude, even the memory of him feels like a twisted solace. You long for his shadow, for those red, gleaming eyes that once pierced through the darkness, and his stark white hair, a glimmer against the void.

At least he gave you warm baths.

The thought slips through your mind, shame twisting in your chest. How could you even think of Sylus now, when poor Xavier was likely out there, rushing to save you, unaware of the torment you’re enduring? Guilt coils around you, tightening with every heartbeat, yet you can’t shake the cruel comfort of that memory. Sylus, for all the wrong he had done, had never left you to freeze, never left you to shiver and break alone.

Your vision blurs as the weight of everything crushes you, and you can almost see him—an apparition of salvation in your mind. His image flickers, vivid and sharp, as your consciousness begins to fray at the edges. The world slips away, piece by piece, and the cold wraps tighter around you.

The cold water finally stops.

In this fading moment, you cling to that impossible hope, that he, with his red eyes and cold hands, might come for you—if only to save you from a fate worse than death.

[brionysea]

when it comes to the umbrella academy, a lot of people seem to think that the first half is great and the second half is terrible. personally, I think only the first *season* is great, or even good. here's why:

the mission statement at the end of season 1 is fixing viktor, but viktor isn't the only broken one, so you can infer that they're all going to have to fix *each other* - as a family, the one thing their abuser never let them be. and the world's burning down around them because of the most dramatic sibling confrontation to ever grace the earth, but they're holding hands and escaping together and surviving the impossible with the intent to move forward, even if that means momentarily moving backwards. it's a masterful allegory for finally growing up, accepting responsibility for your personal trauma and tragedy and how they shaped you, and the moment you take that power back by choosing to heal your inner child, only after being slapped in the face with the fact that if you don't, it *will* destroy everything you've ever built, ever cared about, and ever could.

and then the rest of the show forgets all of it. as it were, it goes in the *exact opposite direction.*

on the surface, the second season isn't *as* bad as the subsequent ones are. but season 3 and 4's faults can be traced back to season 2 by how it pivoted away from the serious subject matter that the story (not the plot - the *story*) was heavily baked in, leaning hard into the goofier elements instead, without ever understanding the contrast that those conflicting elements served to highlight. it made them both more powerful; the jokes were funnier because you were just devastated, and the trauma was more devastating because you were just in tears laughing. the emotional roller coaster is key to understanding these people, and you *have* to take the serious stuff seriously for it to work. at least half of the show doesn't, and as a result, the emotional moments feel hollow.

controversial opinion: as a character, luther is better in season 1 than he is anywhere else. he's more unlikable, but that's because he's implicitly there to show what *not* to do - even if he'd succeeded narratively by locking viktor up and saving the world, he still failed thematically by emulating their father and continuing the cycle of abuse - so luther's a character that's being very effectively used to add to the core theme of the story. he feels like a real, frustrating person, whose brain chemistry got messed up by years of abuse and isolation, all for the crime of thinking his father loved him and wanted the best for him. not like a made up guy on your screen doing silly stuff solely for your entertainment.

season 2 was also the start of the characters getting love interests instead of storylines, which season 1 never would have *dreamed* of; klaus and dave's tragic romance only served to further klaus's character arc, viktor's creepy boyfriend was actually manipulating him the whole time, five's fractured-psyche-mannequin was a narrative tool to let us see into the head of such an emotionally reticent character, and so on. the romance served the character, but fairly quickly into the show's progression, it felt like the character started serving the romance. five was immune to this curse for a long time due to aidan gallagher's age, which is why he's (for the most part) the best, most consistent character across the show, because they had to use their *imagination* for him and actually *write an arc* instead of falling back on tired romance tropes that any selection of characters could slot into to fill the dead space.

after season 1, the umbrella academy is entertaining, but it doesn't have anything to *say.* which is extremely disappointing when the show initially made such a strong case for what it wanted to be.

[peachylynnie]

blackjack

word count: 1.5k synopsis: in which you pique sylus' interest with a game of blackjack. contains: sylus x fem!reader (not mc, first time meeting), sylus is lowkey messed up, alcohol consumption, cursing, violence, and gambling (know the rules of blackjack). a/n: yes, this will be a series. it's not obvious in this part but this story was inspired by the cover art of the ml and fl from tears on a withered flower, an adult webtoon. do not copy or translate my work, sylus does not endorse plagiarism. reblogs and comments are appreciated. next chapter | lads masterlist

sylus is bored. inconceivably fucking bored.

on his right is sherman, a greedy, corrupt imbecile who thinks he can get away with promising counterfeit protocores. on his left is sherman's lackey, a two-faced, ambitious moron who thinks he can improve his boss' hideous image by claiming the so-called protocores were "hard to find." and in front of him is a pitiful dealer who not only fumbles the cards every time he tries to shuffle for a new game of blackjack but also loses every single round to the point no one is afraid to hit more than once.

unfortunately for sylus, dealing with people like sherman and his minion is a daily occurrence. after all, he runs the n109 zone, a wasteland filled with scums of the planet who are not only shallow to the point a fucking newborn can tread the depths of their hearts but also manipulative of the lives of the weak solely for the sake of monetary growth.

exhaling an irritated sigh, he reaches for his glass of gin fizz, causing a series of flinches from the men at the table. normally, sylus would revel in the effect he has on people. he never would have gotten this far if it hadn't been for his steel-like business ethic and unwavering confidence. but again, he's bored, severely bored of the constant mingling with shitty people at shitty lounges. though he supposes this lounge isn't bad, considering how pleasant the fizz tastes on his tongue. at least the alcohol will help him get through another dull round of blackjack.

"ha!" sherman laughs as he collects more chips. "this table is quite lucky. i have never played against a dealer with such buttery fingers."

the dealer winces before apologizing meekly. sylus makes a note to tip him later.

"agreed," the lackey continues his ass-kissing. "i feel bad for the table next to us, though. that lady dealer has been ruthless all night."

sylus doesn't think much as he brings his cup to his mouth and averts his attention to the table beside him. however, his tongue never makes contact with the fizz. it lingers on the rim of the cup instead. furrowing his brows, the silver-haired man takes a closer look at you, the supposed ruthless lady dealer.

there you were, clad in a crisp dress shirt with a tight button-up vest on top and a pair of sleek trousers. but never mind what you're wearing (it's what all the employees of this lounge have to wear, but you looked good); you're new. sylus has never seen you before, and that astounds him because this is the n109 zone, the very domain he is in charge of. even if he has never met every single person in this place, he sure as hell has seen them through records. it's his job as the head of onychinus. but you, you're new, a fresh new face he has never seen on any digital or physical records.

but what astonishes the man even more is your winning streak. in the last three minutes sylus has been staring at you, you haven't lost a single game of blackjack. moreover, your hands have been impressively consistent, only flipping twenties or immediate blackjacks.

however, what catches sylus' eye the most is your face. not because of your undeniable beauty (he can think about this later) but because of your expression. in the last four minutes sylus has been staring at you, you never showed an ounce of emotion. your lips never quirked when you won. your eyes never flared when the men at your table accused you of cheating. heck, you didn't even react when one of them dared to grab you by the collar of your shirt and shake you violently with demands to give him back what he lost.

taking a quick sip of his fizz, sylus stands up and strides over to your table. firmly gripping the outstretched arm of your aggressor, he gives him a subtle yet threatening smile. "is there a problem here, sir?"

"s-sylus?!" the man immediately lets go of you, trying to release his poor arm from sylus' unrelenting grip. "i didn't realize you were here."

sylus tilts his head, recognizing the man's face. "mason? the last time i saw you was when you tried to strike me a deal with fake protocores."

gulps can be heard around the room.

"i must say," he continues, tightening his grip. "it's one thing to try and deceive me, but it's another to harm an innocent person just because you're losing sorely."

"s-she's not innocent," mason squawks. "she's cheating! she has to be! she hasn't lost once tonight. besides, she's the dealer. she must have been tampering with the cards!"

sylus faces you, still not letting go of mason. "miss dealer. you have been allowing these men," he nudges his head towards the pigs at your table, "to shuffle the cards before each round, correct?"

"yes," you answer calmly, not a single quiver or tremor to be heard. "each person at this table has shuffled before a round. it is protocol to allow customers to shuffle." smoothening your collar and vest, you gesture to the table with a hand. "also, i have been using two separate decks of cards, which not only ensures a faster game but also prevents cheating from both the dealer and the customers."

sylus frowns. you didn't even look at him while answering his question. not a single look of acknowledgment was spared. your eyes never left the poker table, and that bothered sylus greatly. he doesn't know why. but what he knows for sure is that he wants your eyes on him. he wants to break your focus so fucking badly. he wants to see what kind of face you would make when he beats you in a game. it's only fair. after all, you satiated his boredom the moment he laid eyes on you. 

"you heard her." he says as he thrusts mason to the ground. "i'm afraid you are simply terrible at cards. now, i suggest you leave before i break your arm."

"what?! but she's-" sylus stomps on the man's arm, eliciting a terrifying scream. cradling his now-shattered arm, mason hunches over in agony, his wails of pain never ending. 

sylus rolls his eyes as he pulls a seat to your table. "any time now, mason," he snaps.

glancing up at you, the silver-haired man can't help but tut. still no reaction from you. just a formal pose of a hand folded over the other and resting on the stomach. seriously? he just crushed a man's arm in front of you, not to mention a man who's been troubling you nonstop, and you don't even blink? by no means does he expect gratitude. it's the n109 zone, after all. but given the indisputable fact that you're new here, surely you must be unaccustomed to spontaneous violence. but no, you just reach for a deck of cards and start shuffling, never acknowledging the man, the fucking head of onychinus, sitting in front of you.

"excellent display, sylus!" sherman chirps, pulling a seat next to him as mason and his men scamper away. "mason, that moron. never able to accept a loss."

"indeed," his lackey joins as well, causing sylus to sigh in frustration. oh right, the imbecile and his ass-kisser were still here. "accepting losses is vital to surviving in the n109 zone. wouldn't you agree, miss?" 

no answer. you just keep shuffling the cards. first a riffle shuffle, then an overhand shuffle. sylus quirks a brow, mildly impressed by how fast your fingers move. finally, you speak.

"your bets, gentlemen?"

sylus blinks. you looked at him. you finally looked at him. and it wasn’t with any flaming desire to win big against the one and only head of onychinus. no, it was with sheer boredom, as if he was just another one of those insignificant nobodies in the n109 zone. he can't help but chuckle. he can feel the excitement coursing through his veins. oh, he can't wait to see your reaction when he bests you. it’s only fair he returns the favor, right? he’ll gladly satiate your boredom as you did for him. and he is dying to see what kind of face will make. will your unmoving, bewitching eyes flicker? will your smooth, crystalline voice falter? will your expressionless, winsome face finally contort? oh, the man is raring to find out. 

it seems sylus, the man who was bored to tears less than ten minutes ago, is confident tonight will be the most entertaining night of his life.

next chapter

[jaythes1mp]

1224 words, 7239 characters, 54 sentences, 27 paragraphs, 4.9 pages. Tag list: @zero-s-tea @chemicalsandghosts @yandere-enthusiast @starsdotalk @small-mushroom-fae

Your secrets are ours, kid

Yandere BatFam x Reader — CH10 -> CH9 -> CH8 -> CH7 -> CH6 -> CH5 -> CH4 -> CH3 -> CH2 -> CH1

You had always had a vague understanding that your biological father was well-off, as he would consistently transfer a substantial amount of cash to that woman each month. However, while you were fortunate enough to not have grown up in the most deprived area of Gotham, it didn't necessarily mean that you had lived in the lap of luxury either.

Despite the knowledge that your father was wealthy, you had still scraped by in a small, cramped apartment, constantly relying on his financial support and night jobs to survive. You supposed that your situation could have been worse, but it didn't make the reality any more bearable. You often wondered what it would be like to live in a well-appointed home and never worry about money, but those thoughts were quickly thrusted aside and squashed down by the woman’s polished heel. Every time, the woman’s sharp words brought you back to reality.

You hadn’t deserved that life. She would remind you time and time again.

You grimace, the thought of your mother, or rather, that woman, entering your consciousness disgusting you. You weren't sure if she'd ever truly earn the title of 'mother.'

It wasn't until you reached the age of eleven that you become painfully aware that not every child had to desperately plead with their mother for food, and that it wasn't normal for parents to hold their kids needs over their own heads.

It had become abundantly clear to you from a young age that the woman was never truly interested in motherhood and had only kept you out of a slim chance that one of the men she had whored herself out to would be wealthy. She targeted men at lavish galas, her sole purpose for going being to hook up with them in exchange for large amounts of money. They usually sent nondisclosure agreements along with the cash, ensuring her continued wealth. However, your existence disrupted her carefree lifestyle. ‘It was perfect, until you came along.’ She’d say.

She had exploited Bruce Wayne for money. Getting him drunk with enough press around to stress about his ‘playboy image’ to bed her. Afterwards, she demanded a large sum of money, and he gave it to her without a second thought. He hadn’t even fully read over the details. Just signing up for a wire transfer to her account every month for the next few years. He hadn’t even been aware of you.

Too preoccupied with training the young Robin to even be aware of your birth.

Throughout your life, the woman had consistently manipulated the truth, spinning a tale in which it was your fault that your father had ‘left.’ And, despite your reservations, a small part of you still believed her words.

She had carefully cultivated your sense of guilt, instilling the belief that your very existence had driven your father away. Her venomous words and manipulative behavior had left deep emotional scars, convincing you that you were unworthy of a loving father's affection. Or rather, anyone’s affection.

That day, when you turned sixteen, was the day that woman unceremoniously ushered you out of her home. Clothes and any belongings that she didn't deem worthy enough to sell for a few hundred dollars were carelessly thrown out into the hallway. By the time you made it back from work, most of your belongings had already been looted by the other tenants and homeless kids who roamed the building.

With a mixture of desperation and hope, you had gathered the few remaining possessions that you could salvage, cramming them into your work bag. Your fingers had trembled slightly as you dug out your old, cracked phone. Desperation clawed at your chest as you dialed her number and slammed your fist against the door.

You hadn’t been surprised when your repeated calls went unanswered. Frustration and anger boiled within you, mingled with a pang of hurt and despair. Deep down, you knew it was futile to even attempt to break down the door, as that would only result in consequences that you were unwilling to face.

With a steely determination, you forced back the tears that threatened to overwhelm you, walking to the nearest bank with a firm resolve. You withdrew every penny you had painstakingly saved over the past two years and closed the account, ensuring she could no longer access any of your hard-earned money.

Armed with the few thousand dollars you had managed to retrieve, you began a desperate search for someone, anyone, who would be willing to offer you a roof over your head. Despair gripped your heart as you realized how limited your options truly were.

At that point, the members of the Batfamily had been cognisant of your existence for about a year. Bruce having taken a DNA test for Alfred’s medical examination. Yet, despite their general awareness of your presence, it seemed they had made no direct attempt to reach out or provide assistance. On the surface, your life appeared stable. You resided with a supportive parent, attended school, and held down a job. From all outward appearances, there didn't seem to be anything particularly noteworthy or concerning about your circumstances.

But they were detectives. One would expect them to possess keen eyes for details, especially when it came to the nuances and subtle signs that might indicate something amiss. Yet, they had missed the marks, failing to acknowledge the more subtle indications of your turmoil.

Jason discovered you the morning after you had been cruelly cast out from your home. You were found sleeping outside, your weary head nestled against your overstuffed work bag. Wearing an old, frayed sweater for a makeshift blanket.

Typically, he wouldn't have paused to take note of a sight akin to this. He was all too gruesomely acquainted with the sight of homeless, neglected children on the streets. But as his gaze fell upon you, there was an unsettling sense of familiarity that snagged his attention.

The question nagged him persistently, scratching at his consciousness like an untamed itch. Where had he come across you before?

Then, suddenly, recognition flashed across his mind. You were the same child Damian had fixated upon just over a year ago. The demon spawns little obsession.

He let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his hair in frustration. Why on earth were you on the streets? It was blatantly obvious that it wasn’t a safe environment for anyone, let alone you. The mere notion of the young Wayne finding out that his blood kin was unhoused would undoubtedly send the typically stoic demon into a frenzy.

He let out a resigned sigh, leaning down to gently nudge your huddled form. His sharp, calculating grey eyes roved over your slumbering figure, taking in every minute detail with a sense of keen observation.

You stirred at the touch, groggily lifting your head from your overstuffed bag. Your bleary eyes slowly peeled open, blinking owlishly in the early morning light. Confusion and exhaustion mingled in your expression as you caught sight of Jason crouched down in front of you.

That was the day your life began to intertwine with the tightly woven web of the Wayne family. From that very moment, you became ensnared within the complex and sometimes suffocating grip of the Wayne's protective and possessive nature.

No use of y/n, no use of any descriptive features for the reader, no gender mentioned.

Shorter than usual, but more of a dive into the reader’s backstory.

Comments, asks, and reblogs are very appreciated! Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.

[dragonridersandhighlords]

Chasing Shadows | S I X

PLEASE READ NOTE AND WARNINGS BEFORE READING

masterlist | CS Masterlist

Summary: Amid the high stakes of War Games and mounting political tensions, Wrenley struggles to reconcile fractured loyalties, a dangerously complicated love, and the dark truths hidden behind trusted faces.

Notes: PLEASE READ This chapter includes difficult topics that may be difficult for some readers. All of these things are things I have experienced in my own life and but should not be taken as fact as I am not an expert. Please if something in this chapter is something you find triggering DO NOT READ, this chapter can be skipped using this non descriptive summary in order to continue the story. Your mental health matters.

Warnings: implied threats and political coercion, power imbalance, sexual coercion, noncon physical contact, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, mentions of trauma, ptsd responses, and romantic conflict

Word Count: 7.6k

previous part

The air crackled with tension as the Fourth Wing’s leadership huddled around a map, the weight of the upcoming War Games heavy in the air. Xaden's voice cut through the murmurs, confident yet laced with an undercurrent of uncertainty. 

“Give Dain the flag.” My thoughts spiraled as I momentarily opened a door in my mind that I had worked hard to keep shut. 

“Are you sure about that?” Xaden’s voice echoed in my head, a blend of skepticism and concern. I could hear him speaking to the others, but my focus was solely on the lingering connection between us—fragile and complicated. 

“He learned something in Montserrat. Let him prove it,” I shot back, my heart racing not just from the stakes but from the way he seemed to challenge me, as if questioning my judgment hurt more than I cared to admit. 

“Wrenley is going to be running point for our wing here on the flight field.” I turn to glare at him, my annoyance evident but he speaks before I can. “Want me to trust your boyfriend? You aren’t going into War Games with a hidden signet like last year.” 

His words ignited a fire in my chest. “He’s not my boyfriend,” I snapped through the channel, fighting to keep my composure as I remembered last night's events again. I shake off the memory and return to my squad with Dain, flag in hand, heart still racing. 

“You need to tell someone what happened.” Desa chastises, she’s been telling me the same thing since I ran out of Dain’s room.

“Telling someone makes it real. I don’t want to admit that he’d go that far.”

“Youngling—“

“Drop it, Desa.”

“Which is it? Offense or defense?” Heaton's question broke through my thoughts. 

“Both,” Dain replied, his smile infectious, easing the tension as he detailed our strategy. The second and third years erupted in cheers, while I watched the first years, their expressions a mix of excitement and confusion. 

“What are we missing?” Ridoc asked, glancing between Dain and I. “Because you guys seemed thrilled about an egg,” he added, clearly trying to piece together the buzz in the air. 

“From past years, we know that eggs are worth more points,” Cianna chimed in, her enthusiasm palpable. “Flags have statistically been the lowest, and captured professors rank somewhere in the middle.” 

“But they like to switch it up,” Dain added, his gaze shifting back to the map. “The same way we could be going for a real objective on the line only to discover it’s not as valuable as we thought.” 

Rhiannon tilted her head, skeptical. “So how is this both offense and defense? If they have the egg, then clearly we should go get the egg.” 

“Because we’ve also been given a flag to defend and no outpost to do it in.” Dain’s smile is infectious, his enthusiasm illuminating the otherwise tense atmosphere. “And our squad has been assigned to carry it.” 

“And who is going to carry this flag?” The question hangs in the air, charged with anticipation.

Dain, ever the optimist, somehow manages to widen his grin even more, revealing the carefree spirit that makes him so beloved among us. “That’s going to be the fun part.” As we walk towards the flight field, he details the plan, his voice animated, every gesture lively. I can’t help but smile at how effortlessly he commands attention and support, but my head spins from the memories and my smile drops.

Violet, her arms crossed and brow furrowed, interrupts with a sneer, “Where’s Tavis going to be?”

“I’ll be running point from here,” I assert as we arrive at the field, the scent of leather and dragonfire permeating the air. The sight of our squad's dragons, majestic creatures waiting in the far corner on the right, fills me with a mix of pride and apprehension. “Any flag, egg, or captured professor you get will be brought to me. I’ll be tracking points.”

“So you get to stay here all safe while we all risk dying?” Violet’s tone drips with sarcasm, her resentment palpable. It takes all my restraint not to punch her. “I don’t even have a signet yet.”

“And you’re a first-year with the strongest dragon alive,” I counter, adopting a playful pout. “If you have a problem, you can bring it to leadership.” My glare hardens, determined to stand my ground. “Watch your attitude, Sorrengail. I’d hate for you to get stuck with the worst of the second-year jobs next year.” With that, I stride past her toward Desa, the tension in my chest tightening.

“Did you see Xaden had a saddle made for her?” Imogen remarks, joining me with a curious glint in her eye.

I turn instinctively, spotting the sleek leather saddle on Tairn, where Violet and Xaden are engaged in conversation. “Quit playing favorites,” I retorted, rolling my eyes as I connected with the channel. 

“Just trying to make sure I don’t accidentally drop dead because she can’t keep her seat,” Xaden responds, his voice smooth and teasing.

“Maybe save us all the trouble and let it happen.” I think to myself.

“Alright then.” 

Fuck, I didn’t mean to send that. “That’s not what I meant, Xay.” The weight of my words lingers.

“I heard you loud and clear, Wren. I know what it sounds like where your thoughts are pushed through.” 

The words tangle in my mind, a chaotic storm that threatens to drown me in its intensity.

Fuck me. Fuck. Me.

“I’m sure the squad leader would enjoy that.” Desa’s voice cuts through the haze, her amusement ringing like a bell, brightening the tension that has cloaked me. 

“Why don’t you make yourself useful and be anywhere else?” I groan, dragging my hand across my face, feeling the heat of frustration radiate through my skin. 

“Just saying. Cath complained to me all night because of it.” 

“You know why I—” 

My words dissolve into the air as the dragons launch into the sky. Their powerful wings beat against the wind, sending gusts swirling around me as I lift my gaze. The air fills with the sound of roaring flames and cries of exhilaration, a chaotic symphony that drowns out everything else. I focus on Xaden, who soars high above, laughter spilling from his lips, a carefree spirit against the vast blue canvas of the sky. 

The memory of last year rushes back like a tidal wave, filling me with warmth and nostalgia. Bodhi, Garrick, Xaden, and I had been an inseparable team, chasing after Second Wing’s egg with hearts full of laughter and camaraderie. We were fearless, or so we thought, until I was unceremoniously knocked from my dragon by an air wielder, plummeting toward the ground. The rush of air around me had transformed into a chilling silence as my screams echoed in Desa and Xaden’s minds. I can still recall the frantic dive, their desperate attempts to catch me. Just a heartbeat away from disaster, Sgaeyl’s claw had caught me, the rough grip saving me from a brutal impact. 

I shake my head, pushing the haunting recollection aside, and focus on the present. The dragons weave through the sky, their forms blurring in the distance as points are scored in the ongoing chaos of War Games. But as my gaze darts around, searching for familiar silhouettes, my vision sharpens and falters, blurring at the edges, causing me to stumble slightly. 

In the midst of my swirling thoughts, I catch sight of Liam and Deigh locked in a fierce battle against Jack and his dragon. My heart skips a beat as I watch Jack strike—his blade piercing Liam’s side before he forcefully kicks him off. Liam falls, spiraling away from Deigh’s back, the world suddenly narrowing to that one horrifying moment. 

I gasp, breaking free from the vision, my breath hitching in my throat. 

“Jack’s going to kill Liam. They’re to the south of Basgiath on the cliffs.” 

“I’m on my way.”

“Xaden!” I shout, my voice slicing through the cacophony of chaos as I sprint toward him, the ground vibrating beneath my boots. The smell of scorched earth and dragonfire hangs thick in the air, a lingering reminder of the fierce battles fought. When he dismounts Sgaeyl, my heart races, each beat echoing my desperation. “Is he alive?”

“Violet caught him,” he responds, his voice strained, urgency woven through every syllable. I catch a glimpse of his sweat-soaked hair, the damp strands clinging to his forehead, his eyes flickering with a mix of relief and concern. “Rhiannon is taking him to the healers now.” 

A breath escapes me—a sigh that rushes from my lips like a storm breaking, the weight on my chest lifting just enough to let in a glimmer of hope. 

“Barlow is dead,” he adds, his tone flat as if the words alone could bury the pain. “Violet hit him with a lightning strike.” 

“She’s a…” I begin, my mind racing to catch up with the implications of his revelation.

“Lightning Wielder,” Desa interjects, her voice crisp and clear, like the crack of thunder that accompanies such a powerful force. I turn to seek confirmation from her, but my gaze drifts to Dain instead. He stands there, holding Violet as she retches, the color draining from her face. His arms cradle her protectively, but I can’t help the pang of jealousy that tightens around my heart. I know Xaden sees my reaction; I can feel the hurt settling in my chest like a weight I can’t shake, and when he mutters something about handling it, he strides over to them, leaving me in a tempest of conflicting emotions.

Violet Sorrengail is no longer just the girl with the most powerful dragon; she is now the first Lightning Wielder in over a century. 

Everyone will choose her in the end.

Xaden has no choice but to prioritize her life, while Dain has known her—loved her—longer than he’s known me. It’s a bitter truth that gnaws at me. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about the new Violet, it’s that friendships mean nothing to her now.

And I won’t let her ruin the few I have left.

The last month has been strange, an unsettling tapestry woven with uncertainty and fleeting connections. I left the channel between Xaden and me open, an invisible thread hanging in the air, and to my surprise, he reached out through it. His voice, a mixture of warmth and urgency, always aims to remind me that he’s not tangled in Violet’s allure—that his focus remains solely on her training, nothing more. 

With every interaction, I feel the strain of my friendship with Dain stretching thin. After the chaos of War Games, the emotional toll began to weigh heavily on me; it felt as if we were teetering on a precipice, and I found myself instinctively pulling away, seeking the safety of distance.

Today, is Reunification Day, a day celebrated fervently by the Navarreans, yet for me, it carries the weight of memories I would rather forget. 

Last year, Melgran demanded my presence at the festivities—his call an unwelcome reminder that even amidst celebration, shadows linger. The very dragon that charred my father was a constant specter of pain, and now, Professor Devera’s words haunt me: the King himself requested my attendance. I feel trapped in a web of duty and expectation, ensnared by a title that once felt like a privilege but now burns like a brand on my soul.

As I stand beneath the opulent canopy of the main college courtyard, the murmurs of the gathered cadets swirl around me. My gaze sweeps over the crowd, landing on Dain, who, with a smile that could melt glaciers, now seems lost in conversation with Violet and Liam. Their ease is a stark contrast to my simmering irritation, especially with Liam’s presence here—whether by choice or coercion, it feels like an intrusion into my fragile equilibrium.

“Miss Tavis,” the king begins, his tone deceptively casual.

“Cadet Tavis, your majesty.” I correct him politely, the words flowing with practiced grace as I bow to him. “I am a rider after all.” 

He nods before speaking, “Oh, of course,” he replies, his voice steady but warm. “I hear you bonded your mother’s dragon your first year. Eden was always one of my most trusted leaders.” The name reverberates in my mind, a bittersweet echo of a time when I was sheltered by her fierce presence.

“She was greatly appreciated anywhere we went,” I add, my tone imbued with solidarity. As I speak, I envision the countless lives she touched, the battles she fought, and the sacrifices she made. 

King Tauri's expression softens, the corners of his mouth curving into a nostalgic smile before his gaze turns somber. “I was sorry to hear about her passing. I tried to reach your father, offer refuge to the two of you at that time. I wish I had gotten to you sooner.” His eyes, filled with an earnest longing, dart pointedly toward my relic, a tangible reminder of the lineage I carry.

“My father made mistakes,” I reply, my voice steady despite the turmoil roiling inside me, “but I’d never say taking me home when we needed family the most was a mistake. Just in the wrong place, at the wrong time scenario.” I smile through the comment, though the ache of that moment lingers still.

“Appear sympathetic with Navarre. Stay alive,” Xaden's words flash through my mind, a mantra etched into the fabric of my being. I have rehearsed this dance before, the delicate balance of allegiance and survival.

“Of course,” the king nods along, his approval palpable, before continuing, “You know, Halden speaks highly of you in his letters.” 

“Oh?” My eyebrows arch in surprise. What is Halden Tauri doing talking about me? “I’m afraid I haven’t seen much of the Prince since our run in during an RSC class with his quadrant.”

“Yes, well my son has taken very seriously to his studies in his last year.” 

I stifle a laugh; even I know Halden’s not passing because he studied. 

“In fact, I wanted to speak with you regarding a conversation your parents and I once had,” he continues, his voice shifting to a more formal tone, “and with how influential you’ve become with your bonded dragon, I think our previously discussed proposal would be beneficial.” 

Proposal? My heart quickens, confusion swirling as I grasp for clarity in the midst of this unexpected conversation. 

“My son will need a queen of your standing. A bonded rider born of a loyalist and a traitor. You’d be very beneficial to keeping the separatists' kids loyal."

What.

The.

Fuck.

“Uhm,” I stutter, the words tumbling out as I grapple with the weight of the king’s proposition, my mind swirling in a tempest of disbelief. “I’m sorry, could you excuse me, Your Majesty? I just remembered that–I forgot about my parole around the dorms. Responsibilities of being leadership.” I attempt to infuse my voice with a lighthearted tone, forcing a laugh that feels brittle against the rising bile in my throat.

“Of course. Think about my offer, though.” King Tauri's voice is steady, tinged with an urgency that curls around my senses. He inclines his head slightly, an unyielding reminder of the authority he wields. “It won’t go into effect until you graduate, of course, but I’ll need a response before then.”

“Of course, enjoy your night,” I manage to reply, my tone polished and formal as I execute a curtsy, the gesture hollow as I turn away. As I step back into the hall, I nearly sprint away, each footfall quickening until I’m out of sight, the weight of the encounter pressing down upon me like a heavy shroud.

I find refuge by the parapet, the cool breeze wrapping around me as I draw in staggered breaths, each inhalation an attempt to reclaim my composure. My fingers clutch the stone wall, grounding me as I stare into the depths of the sprawling landscape below, illuminated by the glow of the moonlight. The castle stands tall behind me, a fortress that suddenly feels like a gilded cage. Although the king’s words linger without a clear threat, I can't shake the feeling that they carry the weight of an ultimatum. A responsibility I never sought now clings to me, its presence suffocating.

I step onto the narrow bridge, the ancient stones cool beneath my soles as I make my way down, seeking solitude away from the chaos of the evening. But just as I step from the safety of the walls, I freeze, a voice cutting through the stillness like a knife.

“Wren?”

“Sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was out here,” I reply quickly, my heart racing as I reach for the skirts of my dress uniform. 

“It’s alright. Just wanted to get away from everyone,” Xaden sighs, his eyes locked onto me from where he sits, an unwavering anchor amid the swirling tempest of my thoughts.

“I’ll let you be then,” I start to turn, but his voice halts me.

“It’s okay,” he reassures, warmth threading through his tone, laced with promise. He pats the space beside him, an invitation wrapped in kindness. “Have a seat. I won’t talk if it’ll make you feel better.”

Reluctantly, I agree, settling beside him, noting the comfort of this shared silence. I remember all too well finding him in this very position last year, a quiet refuge that speaks volumes without words. 

“You look good in the dress uniforms,” he offers after a beat of silence, his gaze softening as I get myself situated, my legs and skirt hanging off the side, a small balm against the storm raging within me.

“I thought you weren’t going to talk?” I say teasing him. Xaden chuckles softly, a warm sound that mingles with the gentle rustle of the night breeze, before he turns his gaze back to the expansive sky. 

The stars above shimmer, illuminating the darkness with a flickering brilliance, and for a moment, it feels as though time stands still. It’s not an awkward silence that envelops us; rather, it’s a comfortable stillness.

As I gaze into the depths of the cosmos, thoughts swirl in my mind, heavy and tumultuous. I don’t know why I choose this moment to share my burdens, but the words spill out, unfiltered. “King Tauri wants me to marry Halden after I graduate.” 

“What?” His voice is a mix of surprise and concern, drawing my attention back to him, where the moonlight casts gentle highlights across his features.

“Apparently having a marked one who had one loyal parent and one traitor parent makes me more influential in keeping the others loyal,” I explain, my voice tinged with incredulity. A sigh escapes my lips, a release of pent-up anxiety. “Apparently, he and my parents had discussed this arrangement before my mother died. The apostasy just made him want it more.”

“Fuck, Wren.” Xaden’s sigh is heavy with sympathy. Then, a laugh escapes him, lightening the moment. “We break up, and you manage to snag a prince instead of the duke who lost his title.”

“I like the duke more anyways,” I admit, the words slipping out easily, buoyed by the comfort of our shared space. 

“Do you still think about them?” Xaden asks, his tone shifting, probing gently into my guarded heart.

“Not my father as much, but Desa makes it hard to not think of my mother,” I answer, my gaze fixed on the vast tapestry of stars above, lost in memories.

“They’d be proud of who you’ve become,” he says, his gaze intent, pinning me down with a sincerity that stirs something deep within. It’s as if I can hear their voices echoing in his words, a haunting and beautiful affirmation.

“I know,” I nod, feeling the weight of his watchful eyes. “I missed you,” I confess, inching closer, the distance between us shrinking beneath the moonlight’s tender glow. 

I shouldn’t be this close to him, I remind myself, but the way he looks at me, the warmth emanating from his presence, makes it all too tempting. At this moment, I wish I could forget everything that has happened. 

“I’m sorry I hurt you, Wren,” he murmured, his voice barely rising above a whisper, an echo of regret that pierced through the armor I’d built around my heart. 

“Do you regret it?” I asked, daring to tread into dangerous waters. The stillness of the night wrapped around us, holding its breath as I waited for his answer.

“I can’t change what happened,” he replied, a shadow passing over his features, but something flickered in his gaze, a spark of hope woven into the fabric of our conversation. “But I wish I could take back the hurt. You deserve so much more.”

“More?” The word slipped from my lips like a silken thread, igniting the space between us. “What do you think I deserve?”

Xaden's breath hitched, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know if I can give you everything you deserve, Wren, but I would do anything for that chance.”

His sincerity washed over me like the gentle caress of a warm breeze, soothing and invigorating all at once. In that moment, everything felt possible, as though the shadows of our past were mere specters, dissipating beneath the brilliance of a newfound resolve. I had come here seeking solace, and instead, I found the undeniable urge to bridge the chasm that had formed between us.

And before I knew what was happening, I was gripping the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, feeling the heat radiating from his body. The world around us blurred into a soft haze, and I pressed my lips to his, igniting a fire that had long been smoldering beneath the surface. His initial hesitance melted away, and I could taste the sweetness of his surprise, the warmth of his acceptance as he began to kiss me back. But as quickly as it had started, it ended. I pulled away, standing tall as the weight of reality settled upon my shoulders once more. 

“I want to talk,” I declared, determination lacing my words. I gather the skirts, standing on the narrow path. “I can’t promise we can fix it,” I continued, the truth heavy on my tongue, “but I do miss my best friend.” The words hung in the air like a fragile truce, offering us a pathway back to each other, a bridge across the troubled waters between us.

His expression shifted, a mix of surprise and relief flooding his features as he stood, still in shock yet undeniably present in this moment. “I miss you too,” he said, the fervor in his voice igniting a flicker of hope deep within me.

“Meet me in my room in an hour,” I instructed, firm and clear. “Don’t be late.” 

And with that, I turned, my heart racing as I walked off the parapet, each step echoing with the promise of what lay ahead. The anticipation of our conversation thrummed in the air, a symphony of possibility weaving through the threads of the night, as I headed toward the unknown that awaited me.

“He’s not coming.” My voice trembles slightly as I pace the length of my room, the familiar rhythm of my footsteps echoing against the walls, a nervous symphony to accompany the chaos swirling in my mind. 

“He still has ten minutes,” Desa chimes in, her tone steady and reassuring, cutting through the anxiety that claws at my chest.

“Why did I invite him here? Am I insane?” The thought feels like a thunderclap, a jarring realization that sends my heart racing, each beat a reminder of the stakes involved.

“Maybe—” 

“Desa!” I snap, irritation flaring as I struggle against the rising tide of uncertainty.

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” she shoots back, but the urgency in her voice does little to quell the tempest brewing inside me.

“Well, I—” Just then, a knock resonates through the quiet of my room, a sharp sound that makes my pulse quicken. “It’s not real,” I murmur, barely able to comprehend the notion that he might actually be here.

“Open the door,” she presses, her voice laced with an expectation that feels both foreign and exhilarating.

“Wren?” His voice, low and familiar, cuts through the air like a warm breeze, sending a shiver down my spine. 

Holy. Fucking. Shit. 

“I know I’m early. I figured we—” I pull the door open, revealing him in the soft glow of the hallway light. His presence is magnetic, drawing me in with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe. “Hey,” he says softly, a hint of uncertainty flickering in his eyes.

“Hi.” The word escapes my lips in a breathy whisper, and I open the door wider, urging him to step inside. But he hesitates, lingering in the doorway. “Are you going to stand in the hall all night?”

Xaden chuckles, a sound that warms the air around us. “You have to pull me through, remember?”

“Right! Sorry.” I reach for his hand, feeling the warmth radiate from his skin, a spark that ignites a fire within me. I wasn’t supposed to touch him until we talked; I knew that, yet the intoxicating scent of his body wash wraps around me like a familiar embrace, making it hard to focus on anything but the heat coursing between us. 

“Kiss me,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper, as I push the door closed, sealing us in this moment of vulnerability. 

“We should talk, Wren,” he replies, his tone steady, but I can feel the tension crackling in the air.

“Xaden, I want to, I really do,” I confess, urgency clawing at my chest as I push him back against the door. “But I feel like I’m losing control and I fucking need you.” 

“Dain can’t take care of you?” The words hit me like a cold splash of water, and I instinctively back away from him, retreating into the emotional wall I’ve built around myself.

“Don’t do that,” I say, dropping onto my bed, the weight of his question crashing down like an anchor.

“Wren, I didn’t mean it like that—”

“No,” I whisper fiercely, tears brimming in my eyes. “No, you did. And that’s the problem.” As I blink back the moisture threatening to spill, I feel the truth of my words clawing its way out. “I ran out on Dain because every time he touched me, I wished it was you.” His mouth opens in surprise, but no sound comes forth. “He… I just… I need to feel like I have control over my life again.” I stood there, my heart pounding in my chest, the weight of our unspoken words hanging heavily in the silence.

Xaden’s presence loomed large, an anchor in my tumultuous sea of feelings. He took a careful step towards me, his brow furrowed with concern, and for a moment, time itself seemed to pause.

“I don’t want to use you, Xaden,” I said quietly, my voice trembling as it broke the tension. My heart ached, the rawness of my admission spilling out like a confession in the dark. “But I need you to be the one who puts me back together.”

His gaze softened, an understanding shining in the depths of his eyes. “I want that too,” he replied, his tone almost a whisper, as though he feared shattering the fragile moment we shared. “But not when you're this broken.” 

And just like that, the dam I had so carefully constructed crumbled, giving way to a torrent of silent, shaking sobs. My body shook with the weight of all I had been holding inside. Xaden moved closer, enveloping me in his arms, and the warmth of his embrace wrapped around me like a cocoon, comforting yet suffocating. 

“You have to put yourself back together, Little Bird,” he murmured, his voice a gentle balm against the chaos within. “I can’t do it for you.” His lips pressed to my temple, a soft gesture that felt like a prayer. I felt a flicker of hope ignite within me, battling against the shadows that had been looming for far too long. “And I’ll gladly sit by your side while you do it,” he promised, the sincerity of his words resonating deep within my soul.

I nodded, a small movement that felt monumental against the tide of despair. Leaning into his hold, I allowed myself to surrender to the moment, if only for a fleeting heartbeat. For just a moment, it felt like nothing had changed. Xaden held me close, his presence steadying, as he hummed a lullaby—a haunting melody that wrapped around us like a shield against the world outside.

As my eyelids grew heavy, the soothing rhythm of his voice lulled me into a gentle slumber. My thoughts began to blur, merging with the soft cadence of the lullaby, and I drifted off…

Then I’m back in Dain’s room, the familiar chaos of maps and notebooks strewn about, each one a testament to the meticulous planning and strategizing that characterized the night before War Games. The air is thick with tension, the kind that wraps around me like a heavy cloak. 

I start to rise from the edge of the bed, intent on finding some semblance of rest before the day ahead. But before I can move too far, Dain steps in front of me, his presence blocking my path with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. 

His hands reach up, cradling my face with a possessive gentleness, his thumbs grazing over my cheekbones as if trying to anchor me to this moment. “Wren,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady, eyes searching mine with an intensity that feels both intimate and suffocating. “Stay.” The tenderness of his touch should have brought comfort, but instead, it feels wrong—like a well-rehearsed performance, carefully crafted but lacking authenticity. 

“I think I should go.” I turn my head, trying to break free from his grasp, but his hold remains unyielding, fingers pressing into my skin with a stubbornness that betrays his desperation. 

“No,” he insists, his voice softening, a coaxing lilt that feels almost manipulative. “You don’t have to run from this. From me.” 

“Dain, I said—” 

He leans in, closing the distance between us, and his lips find mine with a ferocity that leaves no room for hesitation. This kiss is not gentle—it's hungry, possessive, as though he’s trying to imprint his presence onto me, to convince me of something that hangs heavy and unspoken between us. I freeze, shock jolting through my body before instinct kicks in, and I push him away, harder than I intended.

“What the hell?” I snap, my breath coming in sharp gasps, the pulse of my heart echoing in my ears.

His expression darkens, shifting in a way that reveals an unfamiliar side of him, one flickering with jealousy and frustration. “You’re still caught up on him, aren’t you?” 

“This has nothing to do with Xaden,” I retort, stepping back, my heart racing with indignation. “This is about me not wanting this.”

“I’ve been patient,” he states, his tone morphing into something colder, more calculated. “I’ve backed off every time you needed space. But don’t forget who vouched for you when no one else would. Who still does.”

My blood runs cold at his implication. “Are you threatening me?”

“I’m reminding you,” Dain replies carefully, as if choosing his words with the precision of a blade, “that leadership has eyes. That reputations… especially yours, are fragile things.”

“You wouldn’t,” I whisper, my voice trembling—not from fear, but from fury that courses through me like wildfire.

He took a slow, deliberate step toward me, the air crackling with tension, his arms loose at his sides, yet his posture screamed control. It was as if he was a predator sizing up his prey, and I was caught in his crosshairs. “You already walk a fine line, Wren,” he began, his voice smooth, but the underlying threat was unmistakable. “Bonded to a Loyalist dragon, with a traitor’s last name—a relic. The wrong whisper, the wrong report, and suddenly you’re no longer just ‘difficult.’ You’re dangerous.”

I felt bile rise in my throat as his words settled over me like a heavy shroud. “You’re disgusting,” I breathed, my heart pounding in my chest as I instinctively backed toward the door, every instinct screaming for escape. “You think I owe you something because you smiled at me when no one else did?” 

He didn’t respond, his silence a chilling affirmation of his intentions. When my fingers reached for the door handle, I felt his hands push me firmly against the wood, the force of his presence looming over me. “After everything I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me?” His voice dripped with a mixture of anger and betrayal.

Fury ignited within me, and I pushed back against him, my hand deftly pulling out my dagger and pointing it at his throat before he could close the distance again. “Touch me again and I’ll find myself Squad Leader by the games tomorrow,” I threatened, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging inside me, fingers tightening around the hilt of my weapon.

He didn’t need to respond; his eyes held a mix of surprise and anger as I yanked the door open, stepping into the hallway. The air outside was like ice against my skin, a sharp contrast to the heated confrontation I had just escaped. My boots echoed against the stone floor, each step a desperate beat as I walked faster—then broke into a run.

“Wrenley!” Xaden’s voice broke through the nightmare, slicing through the remnants of my fear. I met his concerned gaze, the intensity in his eyes grounding me in the moment. “Is that what happened?” 

“What?” I stammered, still shaken.

“You didn’t think thoughts and communication were the only things you could send, did you?” 

“You saw…” I trailed off, the memory flooding back with visceral clarity.

“What he fucking did?” Xaden growled, springing from the bed. “I’m going to kill him.” 

“Xay—” I started, desperation clawing at my throat, but a pounding at my door cut me off. Please don’t be Dain. 

“Wren?” Garrick’s voice came through, worry lacing his tone. 

“Gare?” I swung the door open, relief washing over me momentarily as my cousin stood before me. His eyes flicked from my tear-streaked face to Xaden, the tension in the air shifting. I could almost see his blood boil, rage simmering just beneath the surface as he tried to enter my warded room and failed. 

“What the fuck did you do, Riorson?” he growled, the anger in his voice deepening the weight of the moment.

“Believe me, Garrick. This,” Xaden gestures toward me with a fierce intensity, “is not on me this time.”

I spin to face Xaden, my heart racing as I murmur through the channel, “Do not tell him.” The urgency of the situation is a weight pressing down on my chest, the cold metal of my dagger a reminder of the confrontation that still lingers in my mind.

Garrick runs a frustrated hand through his hair, the worry etched on his features evident as he groans, “We don’t have time for this.” His voice is taut, each word laced with the urgency of the moment. “We’re being called in for a full quadrant formation.”

“At this hour?” Xaden questions, his brow furrowing, concern flickering in his eyes like a flame caught in a gust of wind.

“We’re under attack.” The gravity of those words sends a shiver down my spine, igniting a spark of adrenaline that buzzes beneath my skin.

Without hesitation, Xaden turns to my armoire, the wooden doors creaking softly as he flings them open. He rummages through my belongings with a sense of urgency, pulling out my flight leathers, the smell of leather and oil mingling in the air as I quickly change. Garrick darts off, presumably to gather the others, leaving me alone with the storm brewing in Xaden's gaze.

“Where the fuck is your flight jacket?” he growls, his voice low and demanding as he digs through the chaos of my armoire.

“Fuck, I must’ve left it in Dain’s room,” I groan, the realization crashing over me like a wave of dread. Slipping my boots back on, I steel myself, ready to take action. “I’ll just go—”

“Absolutely not.” His voice cuts through the air, sharp and uncompromising as he rips his own flight jacket off, wrapping it around me with a swift motion. “I’ll go grab my extra one. You are not to be alone with Dain again, understand me?” 

“I can handle myself,” I protest, though my heart races, a mix of determination and fear coursing through me.

“My fuck-up is what got you in that situation, Wren.” Xaden’s grip tightens on my shoulders, his gaze earnest and unyielding, conveying the weight of his concern. “I’ll be damned if it happens again. Please.” With a nod of agreement, I feel the tension start to ease, if only slightly. “Alright, you head on down. I’ll be there in a minute.” The words hang in the air, a promise wrapped in urgency, as we brace ourselves for the unknown that lies ahead.

I make my way to the formation, the cool night air wrapping around me like a shroud. The courtyard is alive with activity, the energy palpable as squad leaders return to their ranks, their expressions a mix of determination and tension. Just as I reach our designated spot, Dain’s eyes lock onto mine, a predator’s gaze that sends a shiver down my spine. I instinctively shift to stand closer to our quad, creating a buffer of distance between us, hoping to diminish the weight of his presence.

“Why are you wearing Riorson’s flight jacket?” Imogen's voice cuts through the air behind me, teasing yet curious. I can feel the warmth of embarrassment creeping into my cheeks.

“I lost mine,” I mumble, avoiding her scrutinizing gaze, desperate for her to let the topic drop. But as I glance at Violet, her head snaps in my direction, a sly glint in her eye as she zeroes in on the unmistakable markers on the jacket.

“Bullshit,” Imogen laughs, the sound bright and infectious despite the tension. “You can admit that you two were fucking.” She gives me a playful nudge with her elbow, and I groan at her jest.

“Nothing happened. We talked, Garrick came to get us for this, and I realized my jacket was missing. That's it,” I protest, but the words feel weak against the teasing atmosphere.

Commandant Panchek strides onto the dais, exuding authority, followed closely by Colonel Aetos and the wingleaders, who flank him like sentinels. Xaden, clad in his spare jacket, stands with a fierce intensity, his eyes searing into Dain, an unspoken challenge hanging between them.

“Leave him alone until this is over,” I tell Xaden, my voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me. He turns his gaze from Dain to me, his expression softening, revealing a glimpse of the concern beneath his hardened exterior.

“Third years might get sent out if it’s bad enough,” he replies, a hint of gravity underscoring his words. My heart sinks at the implication.

“You’re leaving?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe. Though I’m sure Sgaeyl will drag me back soon enough,” he reassures me, though the tension in the air suggests otherwise. Nyra leans in to whisper something to Xaden, and his voice cuts through the tension again, filled with annoyance. “Fucking War Games.”

“This is for War Games?” I ask, incredulity flaring inside me. 

“Think I can get away with stabbing Aetos? I’m sure this was his idea,” Xaden jokes, laughter bubbling just beneath the surface as I stifle my own.

“I’d pay good money to see that,” I reply, caught up in the moment, 

"Don't tempt me, Little Bird," and he winks at me from the dais, igniting a spark deep inside me as Panchek begins to speak.

“Riders Quadrant!” Panchek’s commanding voice booms across the courtyard, reverberating against the stone walls and cutting through the murmur of anxious chatter. As the gathered cadets straighten, the air crackles with anticipation and trepidation. “Welcome to the last event of this year’s War Games.” The atmosphere shifts, excitement mingling with the weight of what’s to come. “The alert that was sounded is similar to what it would have been if this were a real-life attack—to see how fast you would muster—and we will continue this exercise as if it is.” A chill runs down my spine at his words, a visceral reminder of the stakes involved. “Were the borders to be simultaneously attacked, and the wards faltering, you would all be called into service to reinforce the wings. Colonel Aetos, would you do us the honor of reading the scenario?”

With a fluid motion, Dain’s father steps forward, scroll unfurling in his hands, and begins to read aloud. His voice carries the weight of grim reality. “The moment we’ve dreaded has arrived. The wards we’ve dedicated our lives to upholding are falling, and there has been an unprecedented, multilevel attack along our borders, putting villages under siege from drifts of gryphon riders.” The imagery he conjures is stark, igniting fears of chaos and destruction. “Mass casualties among civilians and infantry are already being reported, as are the deaths of multiple riders.”

The crowd’s collective breath hitches, faces paling under the gravity of the scenario. “As we would if you were a battle-ready force, we are sending your wings in every direction,” he continues, his gaze honing in on each wing. When he reaches ours, my heart thunders in my chest. “Fourth Wing to the southeast. Each squad will pick which outpost they will reinforce within that region. Choices are first come, first served. Wingleaders, however, will be assigned to theirs for the purposes of determining a headquarters for this exercise.” 

Colonel Aetos pauses, the silence stretching taut before he turns to the wingleaders, issuing rapid-fire orders. But his gaze flickers toward Dain, and I can feel the tension build. Then, he looks at Xaden, his smile slipping for just a heartbeat, a fleeting moment that sends a shiver coursing through me. “Riorson, you’ll establish your headquarters for Fourth Wing at Athebyne.” 

A wave of unease washes over me. That’s outside the wards. They never send cadets that far. 

The tension in the air hangs thick, a palpable force swirling around us like an impending storm. As Colonel Aetos steps back, the echoes of his orders fade into the background, replaced by the frantic heartbeat of anticipation thrumming in my chest. Xaden’s command cuts through the fog of uncertainty, a lifeline amidst the chaos. 

“You’re coming with me.” His voice is authoritative, carrying the weight of unyielding resolve, as he locks eyes with me. There’s an urgency in his expression that I can’t ignore, a fierce intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. “And wear every dagger you own.” 

My heart races, confusion twisting in my gut. I want to ask why, to demand clarity, but before I can voice my questions, Dain’s presence draws my attention. He’s facing us now, his demeanor resolute as he turns to address the squad. “We’re going to claim the outpost at Eltuval, the northernmost one in our assigned region,” he declares, and I can feel the gravity of his decision settle over us like a cloak. “I’m not getting stuck at some coastal outpost when we know that’s not how Poromiel would choose to attack. Anyone have a problem with that?”

We all shake our heads. 

“Good, then you heard the commandant. You have thirty minutes to change, pack what you can carry for five days, and get your asses to the flight field.” Dain’s voice is firm, cutting through the chaos with clarity. I turn to leave, adrenaline igniting my senses, when Dain’s grip on my arm halts me.

“Wren—” 

“Get your hands off her, squad leader,” Xaden growls, striding toward us like a storm rolling in. His presence is electric, igniting a spark of defiance within me, and I feel a rush of gratitude for his protective instincts.

“What’s going on?” Dain questions, his grip reluctantly releasing my arm. The tension crackles between them, a silent battle of wills, but Xaden’s glare is a shield, fierce and unwavering.

“Leave her alone, Aetos. I’m warning you.” Xaden’s voice is low, a rumble of thunder that demands obedience. He guides me away from the confrontation, a firm hand at my back that ignites an unexpected warmth in my chest. “Before you freak out, I’m also bringing Violet on our team.”

“What?” The surprise spills out before I can think better of it. But as I look into Xaden’s eyes, I see the truth etched in his expression. He’s made his decision, and I can’t argue with the conviction behind it. 

“I can’t trust Aetos to prioritize her life. And Sgaeyl demands Tairn come with. That’s it.” 

His gaze holds mine, a steady flame against the encroaching darkness, and I feel the weight of his words settle over me. There’s a fierceness in him that assures me he’ll do everything in his power to protect us, a promise woven into the very fabric of his being.

“Okay.”

“Good.” He sighs. “Now go pack, meet me on the flight field,” he says, his voice a low murmur that sends a thrill through me. The world around us fades into a blur as I nod, swallowing the whirlwind of emotions within me as I turn to return to the dorms. 

next part

Everything Taglist: @lxnvmvrzx @bodhidurrans @bookwormysblog @nikfigueiredo

Chasing Shadows Taglist: @hiraethjules @fangirling-galore @sande5098 @javden @littlepippilongstocking @what-will-be-your-verse @xadenstyles @daisydark @messageforthesmallestman @taleiaargenis

[un-unavoidableanxiousball]

I'll Play With You

Masterlist²

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: Squid Game

Pairing: platonic: Salesman x Reader,

Characters: Salesman, Reader, Frontman (briefly), Oh Il-nam (briefly),

Tags: gn!child!Reader, slightly anxious Reader, hurt/comfort, fluffy feelings, fatherly!Salesman, psychopatic Salesman(it's mostly implied), overall references to Salesman's job, some worldbuilding...?, ambiguous timeline, sus pacing,

Warnings: slight violence (slapping ;) ), slight manipulation (blink and you miss it), not so vague obssession, although Salesman should be his own warning

Summary: Once again when meeting Reader, Salesman finds them upset. But this time it's a diffrent reason than usual. He tries his best to lighten up their day. How fortunate he's well versed with games.

Word count: 5233

Acronyms: (y/n) - your name,

This is A CONTINUATION of my other fic >> "Excuse me, Mr. Loaf Man?"

A/N: how tf am i supposed to know how 1. school system works in korea; 2. how mature/childish a 10 year old is; 3. must I project that much ? T^T 4. ...how good are the security measures in korea??

2nd A/N: I got distracted at some point to see for myself how hard gonggi is... Holy shit, it's hard. I couldn't even progress to picking 2 at the same time. Tho I did play with paper stars... But still how?! I am hooked on perfecting it tho. shush-

A/N the 3rd: I did some ✨worldbuilding✨. Why? I couldn't possibly tell you. I don't know, it was just an itch I needed to scratch. =]

He has found peace with the constant obssession and protectiveness towards (y/n). Which might have factored on his job…

He doesn't neglect it. No. It's the opposite. He's better since meeting (y/n). Now, with their safety in mind, he completes his part swiftly and far more players are recruited by him. Mainly, to make sure he has time to spare for (y/n). Moreover, equally as important, to unload his negativity on those far more deserving of it. He doesn't know what he'd do if (y/n) was on the wrong side of his violence.

Even the entire mess with Seong Gi-hun doesn't matter at this point. The Salesman has found the perfect ground. No longer recruiting in subway stations, there's no chance at getting caught.

When his status report made it to Frontman, he was questioned as to the change of his recruitment results (read: improvement).

"Your effectiveness has raised spontaneously and spectacularly in the last 2 weeks. May I ask what inspired that?"

"No." Plastic smile unmoving. "Besides… I just pick up the necessary slack, sir."

Frontman stills. "…What slack?"

Pleased at successfully rufling his feathers, he answers: "Recent."

If he thinks that mask is doing anything to hide his expressions; he's solely mistaken. Emotions are far more a whole bodily reaction. "My reasons, had I any, wouldn't endanger the games any more than sir's latest intrests, sir."

Salesman has impecable control over himself, he can say anything with any expression he wants to get a desired effect. He learned early on that he needed to blend in, to act normal. Control was essential for restraining his impulses. Whole life to learn and master the art of persuasion.

While Frontman might be his boss, he's still a player he once recruited. They tolerate their faux dynamic. Salesman fakes respect toward him and Frontman deludes himself he isn't feeling inferior in his presence.

"…Excuse me?"

Salesman needs him to back off. As he indulges in player 456, he should leave Salesman's life and what happens in it alone. Salesman doesn't disrespect him more for it. Well… doesn't show disrespect. Even if he should. Frontman's position is far more important and demanding for Hwang In-ho to lose focus. Sloppy. Il-nam would be disappointed.

"Nothing, sir." An innocent smile on his face, meant to give off 'I-mean-no-disrespect' and disarm anyone. Although both know Frontman doesn't fall for it. "..I simply couldn't help but wonder why you, sir, entrusted me with observing officer Hwang Jun-ho. Nor do I understand the point of the social experiment with the homeless… Sir never took interest in that before." Because that's all you're interested in, right, sir? There's absolutely nothing at work that's pushing you to behave this way. It's not like I know anything about anything after all.

Seeing him tense with indignation was rewarding.

"It's not your place to question my orders or decisions. You'll do well to remember that."

He grinned internally. "Of course, apologies, sir. Won't happen again."

"As long as you're dedicated to your duties, I suppose. Dismissed." With that Salesman leaves, triumphant.

It's been a month since that fateful day in the park. The number of times you met can be counted on two hands. And he doesn't see either of you pulling away.

He has fallen into a routine, and this time, constructed around his meetings with (y/n). Ensuring he's a solid, reliable factor in their life.

In fact your trust in him has solidified. You don't shy away from him as much. You volunteered some little details he wouldn't learn otherwise. And you aren't afraid to share how your time was in school.

He knows you enjoy math, but the teacher is too frustrating. You feel lost when she explains something new in a way you don't understand; having to ask a classmate for help and not even receive it most of the times. You feel jealous and excluded seeing everyone being friends with everyone, but you don't know how they do that because making friends is hard.

You like to draw. Flowers and leaves are your favorite and they end up better than other things you make. But that's only because you're of the belief that girls should get flowers. So you draw them for your mother to cheer her up. You draw the tulip the best, but your favorite flower of all time is a sunflower.

These are the little things that make you you and he cherishes that knowledge.

Among those days you met on, 6 of them were when you were upset beforehand. To try and cheer you up, he resorts to ice-cream or eating in that one family diner you're so fond of, for whatever reason.

Mostly it's the fault of your parents the day before, one of your teachers or just a hard lesson.

So it didn't really surprise him when he saw you sitting on the bench with slumped shoulders. Your gaze locked down at your swinging legs. Seeing you like this will always twist his heart with unease.

He sits down next to you. "My little sunflower, you shouldn't waste such a sunny day glooming about." His thumb traces small circles on your shoulder. "Look at me?" You only slightly lean to his side, but don't loook up. "Please? I'll be very happy if you do."

That works. You slowly raise your eyes at his face.

"There they are;" he boops your nose, "My beautiful sunflower." He says with amplified excitement. You let out a quiet giggle at his antics.

His own smile widens at the sound. "See? Here's my favorite thing in the world; my flower beaming at me."

"You're silly. I'm not a flower."

He exaggerates his pout, "No?" then furrows his brows in concentration, "Are you a bird then? A dove?" he gasps and whispers, "…a canary?!"

"No!" You shake your head, but the grin on your face betrays you're having fun. "Not that!"

He widens his eyes in dramatic curiosity, "What else can you be?"

You burst out laughing, "You're so silly! Silly, silly, silly! I'm a human child. Human!"

"Is that so? It was really silly of me not to think of that." He shakes his head in mock disbelief.

Inside he rejoices, he made the smile come back on your pretty face. He refuses to consider himself soft. Prefers not to think about it in fact. He's just as dangerous as he's always been.

"So what do you want to do today (y/n), hm?"

You shrug your shoulders, "Don't know.."

He hums thoughtful. He looks at you in closer detail. There's still a slump about you, although not as pronounced as before. The smile from minute ago is a little faint but still wide enough not to disappear for your face. "Did you do your homework?" You nod with a quiet "yeah".

He purses his lips, "So are we heading somewhere to eat or do you want to just walk around?"

"Eat?"

"Okay, come on. Anything in particular?" You shake your head, "Your favorite then?" You nod in agreement.

He stands up, not without taking your backpack beforehand. "Do you feel like carrying it or do you want me to?" He asks to gauge how you're feeling.

On one of the earlier meetings, overeager and still drunk in his obssessive mood, he offered to carry the backpack for you.

Although by the time he spoke he already had a grip on your backpack. Why it felt like something of a need or instinct he had to fulfill, he didn't know.

But you were quick to tell him no. When he asked why, you just stated you like having the weight. That there are times when you were restless without your hands occupied.

Who is he to take a chance of comfort away from you?

"Today's a 'Me' day."

So he just holds it up at your height and helps you put it on. With you settled, you head out of the park. Him holding your smaller hand in his.

A couple of minutes pass.

Salesman finds the unusual silence from your side unnerving. Before, you weren't unwilling to share if it was parents or school. So he tries to gently ask you for explanation to your sadness.

"…what happened this time, hmm?" He gives a little swing to your occupied hands. He feels your hold tighten.

He has to strain to hear your answer. "It's stupid…"

"(y/n), it's not stupid if it's upsetting you. I won't laugh. Promise." He squeezes his hand, reassuring.

He glances at you to see you fidgeting with the straps, a subtle thinking frown. But you don't speak up the rest of the way.

What kind of thing could be so upsetting? He thought he already shown he can be trusted. What did he fail to provide then that you're hesitant?

You come inside the small diner, he tells you to choose a seat. Meanwhile he goes to order Dak Galbi for you and Tteokbokki for himself.

He smiles politely at the counter server who, at this point, recognizes him. "Let me guess… Dak Galbi?" He hums. "…and what do you feel like today?"

"Tteokbokki."

"Alright," she inputs the total cost to the register, "you know, you two… are such a heartwarming sight. We don't get many families in here."

His smile never wavers and he just pays with his card, "Thank you." But inwardly, a dizzying delight twists in his chest. To be perceived as (y/n)'s family already… It's addicting.

He knows how he behaves. He's possessively protective, he looks forward to the day you'll be his alone. He's been helping you with anything and everything that caused you some problems. How quickly he, against all odds, took to a fatherly role. To imagine seeing you grow up and mature…

He sighs.

Soon he'll become your only parent, he'll make sure of it. But not yet. You're not ready. It'll taste far sweeter when you'll be seeing him like that.

He takes in a deep breath and walks to the table you chose today. Which is to say, the booth in the far back but next to the window. Your backpack rests next to you on your right, that way you're closer to the window.

If the booth was touching the glass, you'd definitely be resting your head against it. As it is, you're looking out onto the street. The same thinking expression evident on your small face but less intense.

Did you decide to tell him? Is that why you chose this table?

If so, then you don't want to be overheard but don't care if you're seen. It's embarrassing but not as shameful. You won't get any judgement nor pity nor anything bad from him. Never.

He joins opposite of you. His eyes never leaving your face, but ears are alert to your order being called out.

You quietly speak, "You're not gonna laugh at me?" and shortly glance at him to watch for truthfulness behind his reply.

Never at you. You will learn and trust it by heart. "No."

You nod and breathe in deeply, "There's this… event thing… at school." your voice slow, soft and quiet.

"I don't get why they're doing it, also it's mostly mandatory anyway… But my parents expect me take part in it." You take a short pause, "…actively…" You look away from the window and down at your lap. You nibble at your lips for a moment.

"And I don't—"

"Teokbokki! Dak Galbi!" You flinch at the interruption. It wasn't particularly loud but you didn't expect it. Lost as you were in your mind and worries.

Hopefully you won't close up… Salesman stands up to collect their meals.

He comes back with the tray as swiftly as he can. He puts your respective dishes on the table then the tray aside.

He has to try and pick up where you left off. "Is that what your worried about? Active participation?"

You shrug, "Kinda..? It's not like mom and dad will see if I do or not. Even if family has permission to join in with us. I heard a teacher even encourage others to bring them along." If it's not the possibility of your dad's attention that upsets you about participating, what is?

"You're not telling me something." He raises a brow seeing you shift in place, "What's the event about?"

"Something about appreciation for tradition, but like I said, I don't really get it…"

"Go on.."

"We're supposed to play games, like Gonu or Gonggi… but I didn't really play games much. Especially those team ones…" A blush spread across your cheeks. "I didn't know some of them even existed until the teacher explained."

How sweet of you. To be so embarrassed of inexperience. You not having opportunity to play simple games, lays if not on your parents then on other kids. Fortunately for you, he's very familiar with them.

He'll be the one to teach you how to play each and every game. It delights him.

"…I tried gonggi before but.. I always failed to pick up three." You fiddle with your chopsticks for a moment and then take a bite to keep your mouth occupied.

He tilts his head slightly in curiosity, "Besides gonggi, do you know how to play other games?" You shake your head.

He inhales sharply. Of course, you don't. Better for him then.

"Gonggi looked the easiest and I can't even reach the end." Your voice trembles.

"And when is this school event happening?" How long does he have?

"I think two weeks? I'm not sure…" Good enough.

"Then I'll play with you. I'll teach you. Every game there is." You look at him in clear surprise.

"What? Now?" Your gaping mouth stirs as much bemusement as endearment.

"We can start today. But perhaps we should finish eating, no?"

The cute blush comes back to adorn your face. You look down at your plate, "Are you sure you want to play with me?" then at him, searching, "Aren't games for kids?"

He can feel and see the slight frown that flashes on his face hearing that. It's wrong. A falsehood that grew to diminish that childish spark, to teach, far more early in life, that the world judges and does so harshly. He'll begin teaching you from this point. You must know, will know, the most important fact. "Listen to me, I want you to remember this and take it to heart." he leans forward as far as he can, "Are you listening?"

You mimic him and also lean forward slightly, boping your head in answer.

"Games aren't sentient. They don't discriminate. Everyone can play, young, old, girls and boys, teachers, students… Anyone." His eyes scan your reaction, the parted lips, the sheer wonder and astonishment swirling in your eyes. Although a second later a sliver of confusion or doubt slips in them.

"But then why does nobody really play after growing up?" True marvel… Asking great questions.

"People choose not to. They try to blame the lack of time. Though most adults use said time… unwisely. At some point society decided playing games is immature or unbecoming. So adults conformed to that opinion. And as kids grow they follow, and imitate, their own parents. And circle begins anew." He straightens up, "Besides… These days, you don't really see younger kids playing outside either. Do you?"

You purse your lips, brows furrowed, thinking, maybe deciding for yourself if you trust his judgment. Whatever it was, you've come to a conclusion.

"…and anyway. Why wouldn't I want to play with you? I play ddakji regularly enough anyway… Playing with my darling sunflower won't be a chore. I will play with you and you can't change my mind. And anyway, didn't you call me silly earlier? Maybe the rules don't apply to me, hm?" He smiles in amusement. "Now let's finally eat."

Both of you made the way to his house.

He has a little over an hour and a half until you have to get home. He'd have to choose a simple game for today.

Two of you take off your shoes, him first and you following his example. He leads you to the main area then tells you to sit and wait for him to come back. Although he wouldn't care if you, in curiosity, got more closely aquientenced with the the space.

After all, he lead you through a path that's easy to navigate and remember. If he gets his way, you will be fully familiarised with his house; and soon.

Next meetings will focus on teaching you how to play games and let you improve, perhaps even perfect them. But his goal is to make sure you're comfortable near him and in his house. To signal to you that belong here and will always be welcomed by him. You memorising the path leading to his house will be a sweet, sweet bonus.

He plans on dedicating a guest room as your bedroom. He'd let you decorate it however you want. And he'd make sure the quality of everything you'll wish for is the best.

But he can't let himself get carried away.

First he has to choose which game to start with. He enters the study room. He approaches the closet, one which he doesn't use all that often anymore and where he stores things needed for multiple games.

As the recruiter for the Game, he has a certain type of freedom. He can choose with which game he wants to recruit the trash. The only requirement is that the punishment for failing has to be humiliating. Slapping them wasn't really the go-to choice before, he caused it to be so.

After he's been promoted to a recruiter, he has mastered many, if not most, of the games. It was simple training for the role.

His first recruits might've been successful, but hadn't been as satisfying. However the day he chose to play ddakji with the potential player - an annoying and distasteful boy - he struck him. A solid slap across the cheek. Seeing that shock, disbelief in his eyes, that delightful splash of pain on his face; it calmed and lit up excitement in his psychopathic brain and body. From there on he stuck to that method only.

Apparently, since then, he had far better results of recruitment than any other coworker of his. He gained the attention of the Host. In fact, he received summons to Host's quarters. He heeded it. They held a conversation which impacted Salesman to a degree.

The elevator opens with a delicate ding.

Recruiter #27 steps forward toward the Host's quarters. He wonders what's this about.

Apparently it's abnormal to be invited- no, summoned by Him, and moreover, meet in His quarters nonetheless. When the Host has a duty to uphold, an order to give or simply supervises, He comes out.

Nobody goes to Him.

Why is he here?

The Host had His back turned toward him. His eyes catch the top of the mask Host wears, barely registering His grey hair. But he feels a brief spark of intrigue at Host's suit choice, a shade of crimson pops out in the room. His spine is straight. Posture unbothered and relaxed.

Clearly, He's very confident.

No matter his thoughts, his own outer image is undisturbed, calm and confident. He steps out from the corridor and halts.

"You've summoned me, Host, and so I'm here, Sir."

The Host turns around.

His breath faltered. It might've been for a second but it felt longer.

An Owl. Symbol of wisdom and fortune. The Mask is made of gold, by far the most obvious attribute about the wealth part of owl symbolism. An ageing rich man… Do You consider Yourself 'old and wise'? Is that why You've chosen an owl?

Masked head beckons to the seat on His left. And Recruiter #27 swiflty listens to the quiet command. He sits down. And stays there for minutes in silence, patient and unmoving. All the while the Host keeps standing. He doesn't feel bothered by this. Such a simple and delightful way for a little power play — he doesn't mind.

The Host is openly staring at him so he returns the favor. Perhaps He's even analyzing? Are You looking for something specific Sir? What is it, I wonder?

Then He spoke, breaking the silence, "Do you wish to know why you're here?"

Recruiter didn't really have to think about this one. "If You wish to share Your reasons, Sir, I'd gladly accept the knowledge."

Silence falls between them again. Both of them scrutenizing each other unabashedly. The stand off comes to an end when Host speaks again.

"You've impressed me." He takes a few steps toward him. "This year we got more calls from possible participants than for any of the past Games. Most of which had your identifying number."

Recruiter has to slightly tilt his head upwards to look through Host's owl mask and into His dark eyes. "Thank you, Sir. I'm glad to be of service."

"So you are." He takes a step back, "You've been assigned to recruit because your potential was evident. Now, you'll get to be on a higher position. Your type of dedication will be of use to me."

The thought of having more power around here should've spark some kind of desire, delight and satisfaction within him; however he only felt a dull pang of passivity. "Higher, Sir?" He doesn't strive for power, or powerful positions, he's quite satisfied where he is. Actually — correction, it's not the kind of power he wants nor needs.

"You'll gain access to things and places only I have access to. Don't worry, you're a recruiter and that won't change; your number and rank will. Think of it as a discreet promotion."

Recruiter tilts his head at that, "May I ask why discreet, Sir?"

"It will be discreet because no one will be informed of your higher status. Not anytime soon, anyway. Moreover — you won't receive it until next year. See…

My fellow sponsors have been voicing complains. 'It's repetetive' and 'Not as exciting as it was in the beggining', 'Bit too short, don't you think?' or my personal favourite: 'Time might fly or crawl by but they die off just like flies. Where's the fun? The excitement? You're growing lazy, my friend'." Every complain was voiced in impeccable english. Host's voice did a weird inflection at 'flies', He sounded mocking the entire time. "Then you came in, and to my amazement, managed to attract more potential players." Recruiter hears smugness and satisfaction drip from Host's words. "So, I decided to increase the amount of players in the next year's Game, consequently I plan to extend the duration to six days.

Expressing my… gratitude for you creating this opportunity, seemed in order." The Host finally sits down facing Recruiter #27, "I'm not blind though. I can see you're not jumping with joy at getting a chance to climb higher among the ranks. So to make this a little more engaging for you, I propose a wager. If the amount of calls we receive — curtesy of your coworkers, yours won't count — reaches over 80% of the number I decided on; you win. If they don't manage to, you lose. I think it's rather simple, no?"

Recruiter #27 is intrigued, this surely would make things more interesting. "Can Host explain what number Sir is reffering to? Overall amount of players or just the added amount?"

Host nods, "I had the final amount in mind, It's higher and harder to reach. If the raised value was 132, overall being 404, your coworkers would have to reach 323 calls."

"May I ask what's the number Sir chose?"

"No, you may not. That's what will make it exciting for you. Wheather you get your promotion or not depends on the results of our little wager. Of course, you can't influence other recruiters nor interfere in any other way. Do you accept, Recruiter #27?"

"Yes."

And that was that. That year passed by and Salesman got more access and became Recruiter #10 (which did imply an advancement of rank since every recruiter had a number from 20 to 29). The Host wasn't surprised when he won. Were you truly clairvoyant, Owlish Host?

After that they exchanged words on occasion, Salesman usually kept to himself. Every conversation of theirs was enlightning. The Host was one of the only people Salesman truly respects — even to this day. But there was a mutual understanding, if you will, between them.

Then He was diagnosed with cancer and asked Salesman for a favor. To recruit Him. He wished to experience the Game as a player before he died. He wished for the whole experience — therefore, he had to be recruited. So the Host chose him, Recruiter #10 and Salesman agreed.

He was handed a file, unassuming, looking identical to any other file on potential players. But he knew what it was. He opened it and for the first time, since being summoned to Host's quarters that day, saw His whole face.

Unobstructed by the mask.

He did his job as promised, approached Him in a train station; offered a round of ddakji. Everything was the same, money for winning and slaps for losing. It felt… fulfilling of sorts. There wasn't that sadistic satisfaction at other's pain, but he didn't feel pity or apologetic either. It was simply a task, but it didn't feel as simple.

Perhaps he should've asked, maybe, just maybe, Il-nam would've stirred him in the right direction again…

An Owl truly reflected His personality. A Creator of a Game where the unfortunate get a fair chance at prosperity, gaining life-changing amount of money. A guiding Owl trapped in a human body, trying to point out society's obvious self-deceptions to said society.

Seems rather pointless. Did You feel cursed, I wonder?

Salesman catches himself from reminiscing further and realises he was standing before this open closet the entire time he was lost in thought.

Something simple...

He reaches for a jegi and a vase with chopsticks — Jegichagi and Tuho.

It's something, they can play by themself if they wanted…

He returns to the main area and isn't surprised to see you standing by the counter looking enticed by the fruit bowl. "Sorry for making you wait, (y/n)." You visibly startle and quickly turn to face him, "Help yourself, if you want one." He gestures toward the fruit. He sees you hesitantly pick some grapes.

He goes to put down the vase on the floor near the couch, that way, when playing, you won't have the sun blind you.

"I settled on jegichagi and tuho. Both are pretty easy to understand and play. Which do you want to try first?"

"What's tuho about?"

He leaves the jegi on the arm chair and approaches the vase again. "A game of tuho needs arrows or sticks, in our case chopsticks," He shakes the hand holding said chopsticks to emphasize, "and a vase. The height of the vase is relative to the length of what you're throwing. And it can't be too wide or it wouldn't be as fun. You take a few paces," he demonstrates by taking four steps back, "maybe ten, away from the vase; and you throw chopsticks." He makes a gesture as if he's about to throw but doesn't. "The objective is to not miss. The person that has the most chopsticks in that vase, wins."

"I want to try it then!" You excitedly jog over to stand next to him.

"Be my guest, you'll go first." He hands you half of the chopsticks (eight), and steps aside to give you some room.

You take a stand, feet hip-width apart, your right leg more to the front. So far so good. You make your throw. But it lands slightly to the right of the vase.

Your next throws also miss but each time they are less and less off. Over all not bad for a first timer.

"Not bad (y/n). But now's my turn." Salesman takes his own stance with some idea how to scew his throws to not score. But you pull on his jacket, "No. You go farther."

He's not going to complain, extra distance does nothing to his accuracy but it'll be helpful in not advertising his skills. "Why?"

"You're taller than me. From here you'll score easier. Back away." You speak with confidence, assured.

Keen on the idea he nods his head in agreement and backs away until he basically touches the TV with his right shoulder. He makes his throws, which one of them went in. You were equally entralled by him playing, you didn't seem upset at him scoring. You happily collect the chopsticks and come back to the same spot after giving him back his share of chopsticks.

The process was repeated. You improved, each time coming close to scoring, your chopsticks bouncing off every time. There was a point where one of your chopsticks went in but bounced back out; much to your frustration. However you get a hang of it after that, scoring one in eight at a time.

But soon your arms grew a little tired so tuho came to an end. Since Salesman kept track of the score, he shares it with you. At the end it was 17:21 for him. Apparently you're not a competetive type as you didn't look upset. You had fun and that's all that counts for you.

There's still some time left so you move to jegichagi. If before your arms were essential then now it's your legs turn.

He also shows you how it's done, this time, doesn't downplay his skill as much. He stops at 12 kicks. After that you kept looking at him with awe, as if what he did was something miraculous. You try to kick the jegi. You take rather well to it. In no time you managed to keep it in air by kicking it three times before it fell to the ground.

Time seems to fly by around you. So while Salesman was aware of the passage of time, it still surprised him how short it seems.

When the clock struck a little too close to 4:30PM, he had to put a stop to your fun. His heart clenched at your shattered expression. Disappointment clear in your eyes.

You have to return home. He dislikes the idea far more than you. He'd rather keep you in his house, his space, comfortable and happy than there where he knows you're mistreated.

He assures you that next time you can go straight to his house to play. That would give more time to play and he'll introduce you to other games; Ddakji or Gonu perhaps?

He walks you back the same way you arrived. And leaves you mere minutes before your mother arrives.

He watches the car drive off. He wonders what the mother thinks (y/n) does when they have to wait around for her arrival.

If she thinks at all…

The lack of interest in (y/n)'s time at school certainly opens a door for him. He doesn't ignore such deliciously laid out opportunities. The key is to prepare as well as he can in those 2 weeks.

Let's hope you'll like the surprise…

GOD, it's finally done, I'm really sorry if this felt rushed TwT or weird

(who cares?!)

[just-null]

*gives null his favorite things in hopes of thinking about this*

What if, from all the stalking the Hantengu clones had done to their darling, their darling develops a lot of paranoia and doesn't let anyone near anymore?

Or maybe their darling has a lot of trauma from man going awful, unspeakable things to them?

((I don't know if I should refer to their darling as female or male and that's my first time ever asking a favorite creator of mine, please don't judge me))

((the Darling can be whatever you want them to be, but I'll always be as neutral as possible, so don't worry! 🐸💖))

Considering that these men are also horrible, it's not surprising at all to find yourself going insane! I wasn't sure whether not letting anyone close included the boys or not, so I did both!

[Cw! Yandere behavior, unhealthy dynamics, obsession, manipulation]

Your sudden shift was wonderful at first! They finally had you all to themselves, and it gave them so much more time to evenly spread your attention between themselves without getting into usual fights.

When finding out about your paranoia, they feed into it, affirming your fears about others just to have you rely on them further. Never stray too far, not like you can, but it's better to be safe than sorry.

Do you want to go out but you're too scared? Wait, right there, they need to decide who goes first to clear the way while the others stay close by!! that way no one will bother you!

Their favorite hobby is stealing—er—borrowing! so you don't even need to worry about something as silly as money or finance to get what you want again!! All you need to do is ask, and it's yours.

Their bias is prominent. Where hantengu would yelp and shout, they'd laugh and scold, but if you were to do the same, they'd comfort and coo. It's cute.. do you want them to get rid of something for you? Hold you? Comfort you?

Nothing really annoys them (aside from each other) now that you fully rely on them. Be as clingy and jumpy as you want, and they'll coddle you. Being spoiled rotten is the goal as long as you continue to cower at the sight of another soul or the thought of being alone.

They almost seem like decent lovers at some point, solely focusing on you and your needs. Jealousy is at an all time low now that they don't have to worry about anyone else. They even begin to hide their violent tendencies, too happy that you're with them to care.

It gets to the point where THEY had to be the ones to leave for important tasks lest they be.. "scolded" by a man you don't need to stress over.

It's devastating when they separate from you.. When they fight, their attacks are ruthless. Brutal. Bloody.. Even Urogi and Karaku are more productive because the image of their beloved all alone and trembling has their unbeating hearts aching.

Even with all this, they're still scummy rats who work together to make sure things go their way.

Sekido doesn't rile up your paranoia unless you insist on going somewhere alone. "Be careful, don't wander off. Yell and I'll go get you, who knows what's out there." He's content with your fears already. In fact, he's.. sweeter. He doesn't get as mad as he used to, only slightly irritated. Seeking him out to protect you from something small gets the most blissed out expression from him momentarily. His hold is still as firm as ever, but he doesn't insult you as harshly. Quiet grumbles like "Such a baby.. what is it this time?" are frequent, yet he does whatever you want. Karaku is NOT helping at all. Ever since he noticed you got jumpier, he thought it'd be fun to make you squirm, though he probably teases too much and makes you cry.. Pointing and gasping at nothing, making noises from other rooms, asking, "Did you hear that?" until you're visibly shaking from every little creak. But it's okay. He opens his arms every time and pets your head, cooing at you, "D'aww, don't start the waterworks, c'mere. I'll knock it off, I was just playing..! Even if I wasn't, you really think I'd let something get you? Never!" Urogi probably will give you terrifying heart attacks. Because you're so dependent on them now, he can't contain his love for you the second he sees you. One second, you're conversing with one of the boys, then the next a blur of feathers and glowing yellow eyes barrels towards you, toppling you to the floor. He can hear your heart beating through your chest as he presses his ear against it. He loves the sound!! "Did I scare you again? Hahaha!! You know it's only me who does this to you!! Anybody else would be dead before they even made contact. I love how warm you are, the thump of your heart, the feel of your skin, everything about you makes me too happy!!" Aizetsu is your worst enemy.. He needs a damn bell! Each step is too quiet, and he knows this. it's purposeful. You need to remember why you're paranoid in the first place, so he lurks around, letting you find him if he's feeling kind or giving you that feeling of being watched if he's not. He doesn't do it for long, preferring to be the one you hold instead of watching the others make an opportunity out of his methods. When he lets you find him, he pouts, tilting his head as if you're the one who intruded on him. "Dont mind me, I'm making sure everywhere is safe. Did you need something..? Or did you feel how much i missed you? Oh, you're so nice to me.."

———

But then.. you began growing distant towards them.

They're not sure what happened. Honestly, they might take it as rejection at first and double down until they notice you're TERRIFIED. They pause and regroup, planning their next course of action.

They do a 180 and fight often when alone, blaming others, then each other for being too much on you. Their muffled yelling and thumping from fighting are loud enough that you hear, though they try making it up to you later.

They're not as aggressive, just confused and hurt. Attempts to be considerate come off very stiff, but they're trying. They can tell you're not faking it. The terror in your eyes is undeniable.

Even if they're extremely upset about it, they put their feelings aside for you. There's no use talking to someone who won't listen.

Their attitudes get a lot more cautious but desperate. They've dealt with Hantengu's jumpiness and constant crying before, but being the cause in your case makes this more complicated..

They attempt to give you your space, and insist you stay home. Don't like the home you have? They'll find you a new one, a better one, and promise not to get too close. Give them some time. After that, they get rid of any external factors that could be harmful to you.

Unsurprisingly, they can't help themselves and will try to approach and speak to you, even if behind a wall or at a distance. Probably set up a wall divider just so you don't feel as scared to speak to them.

They're desperate and want what they once had with you.. please don't shut them out. this wasn't how it was supposed to go.

Emotional reassurance isn't their strong suit (ironically). They never comfort anybody, not even Hantengu. Combat is their expertise! In their mind, fixing the problem outside will fix the problem inside ..At least, fingers crossed that they do.

It's because of those villains out there that you're so scared in the first place. What kind of disgusting shameless bastards assume they get the privilege to think of you, much less be near you?! The second they know what these "men's" faces look like, their insides will decorate the ground and-!

Ahem—

Let's just say they took a page from Akaza's book and treat men a little meaner than women. As in, making sure at least one bone of theirs is broken if they so much as breathe in your direction.

During the attempt at rehabilitation, they fall into roles according to how they handle you.

Sekido is your bodyguard that makes sure the others behave and you're taking care of yourself. His once long fuse shortened since he began blaming the others for your paranoia. He can't help but be protective. As much as he hates it, he won't focus on anything if he knows you're unwell. He doesn't say much aside from grunts and scoffs in hopes of not scaring you further. Karaku tries to lighten the mood and fills the silence with stories about what he's seen throughout his life, excluding the violent and aggressive details. Maybe even random stories he's heard, just to try and get your mind off of whatever is troubling you. He doesn't speak directly to you but around you so that you'll probably overhear. Urogi is the material comfort, bringing you gifts that the others check before they get left outside your room. The gifts aren't as ripped or scratched as they would usually be, but that's because he's trying extra hard to give you something that'll hopefully make you feel better! With his talons and excitement, Urogi doesn't see you as much anymore unless it's through the window when you're asleep. Aizetsu is the one who frequently speaks to you. He loves gathering information about you and hearing you speak in general. It's a pity you speak less, and when you do, there's a slight tremble.. it's cute, but you sound so miserable.. His airy, soft voice and gentle attitude grow sweeter when announcing himself, "How are you feeling? it kills me to see you like this.. please, tell me what to do to make everything better.”

The eyes you feel get worse since they're overprotective of you. At least they're not as secretive about it! They're insistent and happy that you avoid other people all together, though it'd be much better if they were an exception!

[jiminjamms]

sex therapy :: 29. karma's a bitch

chapter tags/warnings: manipulative! naoya. naoya's anger issues continue. infidelity/adultery. extremely strong language. corruption. mentions of physical violence. family drama.

word count: 3.2k

notes: my sixty-hour work weeks have been taking a huge toll on me, so i apologize for this incredibly slow update. the good news is that i cannot take this corporate america bullshit anymore and will resign in the next two months. thank you for being patient! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

Naoya had never felt this humiliated in his entire life.

When people said karma was a bitch, he never thought that it would actually make its way back to him. While he was not the most righteous person in the world, he was the Zenin CEO, for god’s sake! He was the leader to a multi-billion dollar conglomerate, the heir of a centuries-old bloodline. 

Yet, here he was, charging back to his apartment like an irate animal.

He startled the lobby doormen upon his loud entry, and once he returned to his penthouse, he had to will every muscle in his body not to tear apart his abode in a rampage.

In his head, his encounter with Toji looped like a broken record, fueling his chagrin.

When Naoya sought to confront his cousin for the first time in months, he thought he had been prepared. He did not expect to end up digging himself into a deep hole surpassing the world's layers due to a judgment error—a slight miscalculation. 

Correction: this miscalculation was anything but 'slight' because he wildly underestimated what felt like everything. Now, he bore the consequences of his mistakes after inadvertently turning himself into a laughingstock. Because his ego was his hamartia, he had become a mere jester in a story where he was meant to be the sole hero, and thus his ill feelings burned hotter than the surface of the Sun.

As much as he hated to admit this, Naoya had been shortsighted. He should have known better. Just weeks ago, he saw a vision filled with saccharine promises of a happy, comfortable life as the most powerful man in Japan imbued with power and wealth. He had been confident—a hundred percent certain—that absolutely nothing could go wrong in the trajectory he worked hard to create. But, what the actual fuck just happened at the therapist's office?!

He did not expect his mistress to make a complete fool out of him. Her very existence was an anathema to him, and he hoped to never be in contact with that woman ever again. In hindsight, Naoya should have taken the hint a while ago. He had previously forgiven his cousin's ex-wife, dismissing her blissful but intentional ignorance. Mari had never been too keen on actual intellectual and corporate matters, for she took far more interest in the money and comfort that came with starting from the bottom and sleeping her way to the top. Despite that, Naoya trusted that she at least had half the mind to not publicly discuss their affair, only for him to be proven wrong in front of none other than...Toji Fushiguro.

"Fuck!" Naoya screamed into the void of his empty living room. His reality was a nightmare as he thought about his despised cousin again—the assured gleam in his viridescent eyes, the smug smirk that tugged across his lips. The imagery soured his mood beyond measure. "I'm going to fucking—"

He did not finish his sentence.

Instead, he kicked a nearby lamp in an angry bout, toppling the fixture over and sending tiny shards cascading across the floor accompanied by the dull thud of the shade. Whatever. His housekeeper tomorrow morning would come in and clean that. 

What he instead focused on was how he had never been this infuriated, this belittled, this undignified.

The entire apartment echoed with Naoya's loud huff.

'About ‘your wife’ or whatever you want to deem her, there is not a single chance in hell that she’d ever think about calling you her husband anymore.' These words from Toji affected him more than he would have liked.

What did he mean?

That bastard is bluffing, the blonde had to tell himself, yet even he could not believe in his own consolation.

He needed to do something about this. 

No, no, Naoya wasn’t scared.

He couldn’t possibly be, right?!

Yet, after he could feel his ears begin to cool and breathing start to re-regulate, he stared at the emptiness in his halls as he came to the realization that had no better choice but to talk to you.

You didn't want to be here.

The moment you read Naoya Zenin's text to meet up for a 'quick chat' at the café near his office, you already knew that the upcoming conversation was going to be anything but 'quick.' The last thing you wished to do was to be in the same vicinity as that very man again.

After spending the last few days at your family residence, you had been showered with warm attention from aunts, uncles, cousins, and even house attendants who—despite naturally wondering the reason behind your stay—welcomed your visit with open arms. To your relatives' many inquiries, you forged a pretense that all was well even if all was not. (Besides, all did seem well in your family estate, away from the incessant pandemonium that was the Tokyo city center.)

While you knew that this peaceful break was not meant to last forever, you did not anticipate returning to the capital just to sit with the Zenin CEO alone.

Naoya had specifically chosen a corner table in the Hong Kong-inspired establishment, distanced from potential eavesdroppers. He seemed to have been waiting for a while by the time you arrived, his right leg crossed over his left knee as he twiddled with his thumbs impatiently. Sprawled on the table were a freshly brewed pot of jasmine tea and a platter of warm custard pastries.

He remained quiet as you took the seat across from him, observing with a crease on his forehead and a knit to his brows.

Anyone could tell that the blonde was not the least bit happy.

"Giving me dirty looks is not going to get this conversation anywhere," you pointed out while helping yourself to a tart.

From your comment, the inverted slope on Naoya's lips twisted into a deeper frown. 

He did not understand where your annoyance came from. 

Fine, he never treated you nicely either, but he did not expect you to snap at him when the discussion had hardly begun. You offered him no greetings, and Naoya also took great offense at how you chose not to look at him as you talked.

Truth be told, your neglect reminded him of all the other upsetting things that he was dying to bring up, and your unpleasant attitude whittled away the little restraint he had left.

“You didn’t try to ask where I’ve been. Not one text or call. Guess it would not have mattered to you if I disappeared, huh?" he lashed out through gritted teeth. He hated being forgotten, hated being looked over, and hated how easy it was for him to prove you to be a neglectful and apathetic wife.

Which was why there was no better option than to cut him off.

“You ordered me to leave you alone, Naoya.” Only slightly did you turn your head to glance at him. Stirring sugar into your tea, you kept your attention otherwise on the nearby window and watched businesspeople scurrying about on the streets on their lunch breaks. "You can live without my attention since I'm not the only woman you have around. What happened to your lady friend? Hasn't she been entertaining you long before our marriage? I am sure she would love your company, so why not pay her an impromptu visit?”

From a slanting angle, you could tell that the transformation from your normally calm demeanor dismayed him. Naoya, not you, was typically the one to make snide comebacks, but he could not deny your latest comments. Evidently, he wanted you to go back to your submissive and passive self, but that was precisely what you no longer could be for him.

His silence prompted you to reach into your purse and retrieve a thick manila envelope, and you presented the package on the table.

Naoya's gaze snapped to the parcel. 

He was curious, but cautiously so. He had invited you here, expecting to control the narrative, to dictate the terms. As a result, your unexpected move threw him off balance. 

"What...?"

“Take a look and find out for yourself.”

A puzzled Naoya demonstrated no hesitation.

He snatched the folder, tearing the top open and greedily grabbing the curated pieces inside. He stared for a long time at the first item: a photo. But he recognized the image of him and his mistress, boarding a private jet for their most recent trip to Mexico. Then, he flipped through the stack rapidly, barely registering each item before he turned to the next. Some were printed-out pictures and others were cutouts from news articles, but all featured him and his paramour. The confusion on Naoya's visage slowly morphed into aggravation, and when he finished his inspection, he forcefully threw the items back onto the table.

In the end, Naoya sat back and went still, not even blinking, thinking, or doing anything but pressing his tongue along his inner cheek. "How did you get these?"

No apologies. No remorse.

Hell, based on his response, the man could not even bother to deny your accusations, a telling sign of how little he could care for his relationship with you. Obviously, you must be a joke to him.

In one firm motion, you placed down your teacup.

"You're missing the point.”

While one's eyes may be the windows to the soul, Naoya's offered nothing in his current state. His pupils looked at—no, examined you in intense dark pools despite the iridescent glow from the lights above.

"Toji gave you these, didn't he?" Naoya continued with a disdainful laugh, himself insistent on getting answers to his own questions. "You can't find this shit on the internet anymore since I've had them all taken down. But Toji's fast. He has eyes everywhere, I know he does. Look at him. Months later, and he's still hung up on reclaiming a position he should've never had the right to in the first place!"

Thankfully, you didn’t flinch from his loud voice. What you did do was become more indifferent as if you were placing a wall to separate yourself from him, mentally bracing for his emotional maelstrom.

"You are missing the point," you said once more. This time, you shook your head in disappointment, and your tone was far more frustrated than the last. "Aren't you shameless?”

"Me? Shameless?!” His brows pinched closer from fury. "Take a look at yourself, woman! What did you do to get all this dirt from Toji and his henchmen, hm? Ha! Know what? I bet it’s because you're so willing to spread yourself for them,” he rambled with a nasty sneer plastered on his expression. At his comments, your jaw fell open before snapping shut as the meaning behind his words sank in. The way this man disregarded how he had an affair (that began many months ago!) only to redirect the spotlight onto you was repulsing, implying that the sole reason the therapists talked to you was that you had slept around. “A whore like you love taking all them all, don’t you? Well? Well? Am I right? Goddamn, you’re such a—”

The harsh scraping from your chair as you stood was what finally interrupted him. Unable to tolerate his vilification, you counteracted his anger with the venom in your rancorous glare. 

"How dare you talk about me like that!”

In the meantime, prying eyes started to turn in your direction from the commotion: teenage girls, sharing nervous glances across their table; a lone businessman, stopping mid-sip from his cappuccino; even the barista, pausing mid-grind such that her arm froze inches from the hopper.

"That man...doesn't he seem familiar?" a distant voice asked.

"Is he a celebrity or something?"

"No, wait. He's the person on the cover of last month's Fortune magazine. Naoya Zenin!" another replied.

"Isn't that lady his wife?"

While the onlookers' curious glances turned into full-on stares, their regard steeled your resolve rather than bothered you. Instead, you wanted the crowd to take in the spectacle. Corrupt tricks and dirty money had long painted the Zenin heir as 'the most perfect man in Japan,' and the public deserved to understand the fraudulence and cruelty that underlaid his facade.

"For months, I trusted you. I respected you. I put aside the harrowing loneliness weighing on my heart all because I tried to understand you. You told me that finding the time or energy for our marriage was not easy because board meetings kept you late in the office or business meetings required you to spend several nights abroad. Fine! So, I had been patient. But," and your voice overflowed from anger as you pointed a shaking finger at the pictures on the table, "Taking another woman to Michelin restaurants for dinners? Spending nights with her at Ritz-Carltons and Four Seasons? Going on entire vacations with her across the Pacific? All while you had a wife at home? Are you out of your fucking mind ?!" 

The man's nose flared with deep-seated rage, his eyes mirroring the same bitterness in yours. "At the end of the day," he began sternly, "we're still married."

Ridiculous.

“On paper, ” you had to clarify. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be cheating on me with your older cousin's ex-wife."

Immediately, louder murmurs rippled through the crowd. Naoya turned stiff, uncomfortable with the attention. So much for selecting a quiet corner in the café. He wasn’t stupid enough to sense that he had to be careful. Saying one wrong phrase would condemn him to a public meltdown. 

However, you were already steps ahead of him when you loudly declared: “I’m filing for a divorce.” 

That caught him off guard.

Your announcement even drew audible astonishment from bystanders as they stopped their meals, turning to each other and drawing out their phones.

In literal milliseconds, the vexation once riddling Naoya's demeanor shifted into denial.

“No. We’re not going to talk about a fucking divorce right now. We’re going to fix what we have, and you’re going to come back to me. We’re...We're married for a reason, and we’re going to keep with it!”

"That's a bullshit reason,” you had to snap. “Listen to yourself. Do you hear how selfish you sound!?" At this point, nothing could hide your bafflement. "Naoya, you were the one who said that if I wanted to leave this marriage badly, then I should leave. Ask Mai and Maki! They heard the entire conversation. Didn't you also say that you didn't give a fuck anymore?"

The man attempted to salvage some semblance of control. "I was just joking!"

"No, you were not." Picking up a photo of Naoya and Mari together, you pressed the picture to his face. “How much more can I take? How many days would I still have to go through alone in the penthouse, all because you would be spending your sweet time with the woman that you love?”

Unloading all this emotional baggage, not only for Naoya Zenin but also for the café spectators to hear, took courage. Previously, you would have let the burden gnaw at your soul. You would have rather wallowed in suffering rather than even think about speaking up.

But the past was the past, and you had grown immensely since then. Currently, you were stronger, more confident. You knew that, in Toji's words, you deserved better. Life was too beautiful to waste on a man who did not love or respect you and, with that in mind, you relaxed your clenched fists with an exhausted and fatigued sigh. 

You broke me first, you said through a deserted gaze. 

Naoya Zenin was the reason why you had become the way you were: a cold, seemingly heartless wife who cared none for her husband. The misery that he placed on your shoulders finally reached its limit, and while you could forgive, forgetting the memories in your scarred heart would be a task over months, years, and even a lifetime. 

“Listen,” you began, tone terse, “this divorce will set you free. Mari is the person whom you need—”

“The hell. No!” the man interrupted in a violent outburst, taking your breath away as he slammed the table and hissed. “I don't give a damn about her right now! We’re…We’re over!" he snarled with incredible anger such that he almost appeared to growl. "I don’t need her, I need you! That...That whore doesn't give a flying fuck about my shit! All she cares about is...is...Fuck this. All she wants is the money. Why else do you think she married and then later divorced Toji? She doesn't want to hear about all the shit in my family because she had not been brought up to deal with all the fuckin' drama in my household. She can't understand because, unlike you, she wasn't born with a silver spoon shoved down her goddamn throat!"

Quietly, you absorbed his words, stunned.

So this was how their relationship had been.

You had not expected him to reveal all these entrenched feelings willingly, but his concoction between reckless rage and sheer desperation had allowed him to spill the ugly side of this extramarital affair. Naoya could not afford to lose you, and not just because this marriage solidified the respect of those around him. While Mari offered him an outlet for physical indulgence, only you could offer the cornerstone to Naoya's mental and social fortitude.

“So you ‘need’ me now, but what happens when you find another reason to hate me again? What will you do if you don’t think I can fulfill the role you want me to have as your partner? Or if you wake up one day and suddenly want your cousin’s ex-wife again? Or if you meet another woman? Am I supposed to stand there again, and watch this all happen?" 

No answer.

The fact that he couldn't respond hurt.

"My decision is final. Looking back, I despised every single second married to you. In fact, I feel sorry for myself. The fact that I blindly put up with your manipulation, betrayal, and blame for all these months.” With your belongings collected, you prepared to leave. “You would be stupid to think you're the only one with options, you know.”

Only when you turned around did Naoya react, scrambling to his feet.

“What the fuck are you—”

In any other situation, he would have grabbed you, lunged at you, did everything in his power to stop you from going. Yet, given all the witnesses, all he could do was call you back like a helpless child, trying his best to not escalate the scene (although, at this point, even passerbys outside have stopped by the window to spectate).

"Hey!" Naoya called after you. “Hey! I’m still talking with you!”

Pathetic, really, to see him desperately beg for you to stay in his life.

There was a certain satisfaction in finally having the control at your fingertips. The feeling was empowering—electrifying, even—and you became so focused on the gratification that you barely registered Naoya's last question.

“Where are you going?”

At this point, you already stood by the exit.

“That’s not something that my soon-to-be ex-husband would need to know,” and you hardly gave him another glance as the door closed behind you. “Thank you for showing me everything I hope to never find in another man again."

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: Part of why this update took so long was because I wanted to have an encounter between Naoya and Y/N to showcase Y/N’s development, from someone who thoughtlessly defended her husband to someone who could stand up for herself (all while alone!). I envisioned this interaction many times, and I thought about different ways to approach the scene, the delivery, the dialogue, the choreography, etc. It took me a while to go for what I currently have. Thank you for reading!

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @nemoyr @huangfairy @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @chaoticjojofan @musicisme333 @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @qirbys @puffaloxx @sakanoshitaa @arizzu @kissditrio @lewd-bunny14 @mistyheart @szired @supsii @yvy1s @lazyassfinals @katkbc @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi @the-cosmos-network

[solarstranger]

CHAPTER 1 | ALL OUT OF LUCK

w.c. 3.3k

tags. fem!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (26), some cussing, this chapter is pretty mild so not many tags are necessary (buckle up for the ride, though)

a/n. here it is, y'all! the product of pursuing my random brain child that one fated day in november 2024. this has been my biggest writing endeavor yet, and i worked so incredibly hard on this, from conceptualizing to penning it down to editing it until it was decent enough to post. so i sincerely hope my love and excitement for this fic translates into my writing. i'd absolutely love to hear what you think, so please don't be a stranger and talk to me! enjoy <3

links. masterlist, ao3 (coming soon)

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think someone with a time-slowing quirk is manipulating this shoebox of a room they unceremoniously stuffed you in with nothing but this middle-aged, bearded man roughly 30 minutes ago.

If 30 minutes is even an accurate approximation.

The said man is clicking away at his keyboard behind the desk in front of you, humming a non-descript tune, and, having already studied the room that seems to be an abandoned office, you take the opportunity to clock him. Aside from being around his mid-40s and sporting a full-grown beard, there’s something about him that rings the metaphorical alarms in your mind, signaling some sense of familiarity.

And it’s either you need to work on your subtlety or he’s just plain out observant, because he must have noticed your staring, shifting his gaze from his laptop screen toward you, mouth formed in a friendly smile. “Getting antsy?”

“I—” you start, before trailing off. You weigh your options for a second, before settling with: “It’s hard not to be, sir. Would you care to tell me what I’m here for?”

At that, the man merely purses his lips in a thin line. “Unfortunately, it’s not my place to say. I was just assigned to meet you here. At least,” he checks his silver-plated watch, “until further company arrives.”

You feel yourself frown. “And the men who arrived out of nowhere and fetched me from my apartment?”

He nods, “They were simply assigned to get you, yes.”

A burning question bubbles right up your throat, but you tamp it down, thinking better against it. It’s too soon, you think. You have to dig a bit deeper. And so instead, you finally prod at that inkling from a moment ago that’s been vying for your attention.

“Have we met before, sir?”

That must’ve been the right thing to ask, because the man visibly lights up. He swivels on his office chair, turning a bit so that he’s now fully facing you. “Why, yes! I thought you wouldn’t remember.”

You toss him the most genuine smile you can muster back in courtesy, but also to goad him into continuing. You hope that’s enough for now. “From a while back, right?”

“Yes!” he enthusiastically responds, whatever document he was working on now completely forgotten. “I was one of your earliest escorts until the commission relocated me overseas. I just got reassigned to you for this project, you see.”

Hook, line, and sinker.

However, you don’t get to revel in how you successfully coaxed information and confirmation out of him without lifting much of a finger, because he quickly realizes his mistake. He splutters as you watch the blood drain from his face, and you can’t help but feel bad for the man.

“Don’t worry,” you offer with that placating tone you’ve mastered over the years. “I won’t tell them you just said all that.”

He eyes you suspiciously, as if he’s debating whether or not you’re saying the truth, and you’ve half a mind to use it on him just so that the sole person you’re stuck in this jail-like space isn’t looking at you like you’re after his head, but you don’t get past considering that because the only set of doors bursts open and in comes an all-too-familiar face.

The both of you whip away from your stare down to look at the unannounced guest, and you instantly stiffen when you get a good look at the person leading the group.

Clad in a two-piece slate gray suit, the head of the Special Quirks department of Japan’s Hero Commission waltzes in, seemingly decades older than the last time you saw him. It hasn’t even been five years since, you think, yet he’s aged so much. Trailing right behind him is the woman you vaguely remember trailblazing the Missions committee, hair pinned up in a no-nonsense low bun and sporting a navy blazer and skirt combo.

And, perhaps in an effort to ground yourself in the face of impending danger that always came with the two, you’re about to look down at what you’re wearing in comparison, which, you recall is a baggy T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants you never intended for people to see you wear, when it happens.

You lock eyes with the third and last person entering the room, and instantly it’s like you’re doused with a sobering bucket of ice-cold water at the same time someone lights a fire under your ass. One glimpse at his firey gaze has your brain screaming at you to look away—anywhere, anywhere but at him—and pretend that didn’t just happen all the while mentally willing him away from existence, but you find yourself frozen in your seat.

Bakugou, who’s dressed casually in a plain black shirt and loose jeans, stares right back as he follows the two officials. You’re the first one to break eye contact, and words aren’t uttered as the guy from earlier scurries out of his seat, offering it to Asahi, the man in the gray suit, who accepts it thanklessly. Moriyama takes the seat the underling drags next to Asahi, and Bakugou plops himself down on the one around a foot to your left, the both of you now facing them.

“Thank you, Tanaka-san,” Asahi says, finally breaking the silence. The familiar escort who you now remember as Tanaka only bows at him, before standing silently to the side.

At that, Asahi shifts to regard you, the corners of his lips twisting upwards in what you think is an effort to smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. With both arms on top of the hardwood desk and hands clasped together, he clears his throat.

He says your name as a start, which sends an eerie tingle down your spine. “Long time no see, huh?”

You don’t know how to reply to that, also acutely aware of the man beside you, so you merely nod.

“We apologize for dragging you here on your day off,” he continues, “It must’ve been quite jarring—having our men be at your doorstep.”

You fight back the urge to ask him how the hell he knows it’s your day off today, deciding in the last second you don’t want to know the answer. Frankly, you wouldn’t be shocked if he said they’d been keeping tabs on you and that they even know what brand of underwear you wear.

“I was surprised, I’m not gonna lie,” you respond, voice small. And just because you’re over this whole suspense factor, you cut to the chase. “What’s this all about, Asahi-san?”

“Skipping the pleasantries, aren’t we?” he chuckles, and you resist the itch to scowl at him. You never liked the guy—although you think it must have to do with all those extreme assessments he made you take growing up. To your relief, though, he relents. “I’ll get straight to it, then. We have an important mission for you.”

And as if you weren’t already stiff enough, you feel yourself tense even more, and the action doesn’t go missed by Bakugou, whose eyes you feel boring into the side of your face.

Asahi takes your stunned silence as a cue for him to go on. His gaze drifts to the pro-hero beside you, a knowing smirk decorating his features. “I trust that you’ve met?”

Despite yourself, you chance a glance at the ash-blonde, only to find him already looking at you. You feel yourself flame as he studies you with mild recognition, as if he’s seen you before but can’t quite figure out where.

Bakugou finally speaks up after a beat, voice gruff and eyes remaining locked on yours. “UA Gen Ed, same batch as me, right?”

“Y-yeah,” you reply dumbly, surprised he even remembers. “And you’re pro-hero Dynamight.”

To that, he gives you a curt nod, donning a serious expression as he turns back to face Asahi. “Go on and brief her about it already. I ain’t got all day.”

“We’re getting to that, Bakugou,” the old-ish man retorts, seemingly unfazed by the pro-hero’s impatience, before readjusting his focus to you. “As I’ve said, we’re assigning you to a very crucial mission. We got word yesterday that an up-and-rising quirk supremacist group is planning an attack somewhere in the city.”

“A-attack?” you croak, “Who’re they gonna attack?”

“That we’re not sure yet,” Moriyama joins in on the conversation, her countenance stern. “But we’re guessing quirkless individuals or people with weak quirks. We won’t know for sure, though, unless we get people on the inside.”

“And that’s where you two come in,” Asahi finishes, eyes darting back and forth between you and the man beside you. “You’re going undercover.”

You gawk at him, suddenly robbed of all words. From the corner of your vision, you sense Bakugou side-eye you, and that’s all the warning you get for what he’s about to say next.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, prominently exasperated by the entire situation. “‘s like you’re feeding a sheep to the fucking wolves.”

Instantly, you feel a sense of indignation wash over you at the comment, which is immediately followed by the familiar feeling of resignation.

You’ve gone through these motions before. Over and over again, in fact.

And normally, you’d let snide comments about the status of your quirk slide, like you’ve been taught to the entirety of your life, but apparently this time that’s not an option.

Because Moriyama gives him a pointed look, as if chastising him on your behalf. You don’t dare to check how Bakugou’s receiving it, but you’re assuming not well.

But before the pro-hero can say something in his defense or provoke the woman, Asahi interjects with a good-natured laugh. “Slow down there, hero. Don’t get too cocky now that you just got named Vogue Japan’s Bachelor of the Year.”

Bakugou doesn’t miss a beat. “Shut the fuck up.”

With a dismissive wave of a hand, Asahi continues. “And no, I am not making a reckless move here,” the middle-aged man peers at you, “This woman right here has a special quirk.”

At that, you steal a glance at Bakugou, and the look on his face betrays the thing he’s evidently trying hard not to say.

‘What’s so special about this girl from Gen Ed?’

He manages not to blurt that out, though, instead going for: “How special?”

“Let’s just say it’s because of her that departments like mine exist in the commission.”

“Quit being fucking cryptic,” Bakugou spits out, just as you say: “It’s really not that special, though.”

That catches his attention, and you feel yourself shrink when his intense, crimson eyes land on you. You, however, fight to maintain his scrutinizing gaze when he pipes up. “What can you do, huh?”

“I—”

“How ‘bout you show him, dear?” Moriyama cuts you off with a knowing smile.

You don’t get to argue because the woman promptly sends Tanaka off to the door, and the four of you watch the guy as he rushes out, leaving you in a few moments of silence, before hurriedly walking back in with a nervous-looking young man in tow.

You decide then and there that you really don’t want to do this.

“An intern, Moriyama-san,” Tanaka announces in front of you with a booming voice, gesturing to the person beside him. “Just as you requested.”

“The hell do we nee—”

“Go on, Y/N,” Asahi encourages with a quiet voice, which you note is in an attempt to not be heard by the poor intern.

The poor intern who’s gaping at #2 pro-hero Dynamight, looking like his soul just left his lean body.

Your gaze shifts between the pro-hero and the young man, and you sit watching the silent exchange unfold before you. You can tell Bakugou is getting annoyed by the unabashed attention of someone who’s likely a fan, and the latter isn’t looking all too hot.

And so with reluctance, you do it.

“Hey,” you call out to the intern, who whips to look at you after another attempt when he doesn’t respond to the first.

“Wha—” he starts, but trails off when you decisively tug on the imaginary strings, and in a split second, it’s like the nerves that were just frying his system a beat ago get washed off his body, his face morphing to that of tranquil calmness in a blink of an eye.

You toss him a tight-lipped smile as he stares right back at you, serene and perhaps a tad bit confused, although you doubt someone not privy to your ability could recognize it on his face.

“Amazing, isn’t it?”

You turn to look at Asahi, who’s now leaning back on the office chair with a proud grin on his face, as if he’s the one who just did the demonstration.

You try to suppress the mild annoyance at the sight of him.

You reason to yourself that he’s the one who made all this possible, after all. He deserves to be proud of the stunt you just pulled, at least to some extent.

And just as quickly as he entered, the intern is promptly ushered out of the area by Tanaka. Once the door clicks closed, you then shift to examine Bakugou, who you quickly find is already staring at you, an inexplicable expression etched across his sharp features.

“You make people calm, is that it?”

“Oh, she can do much more than that, boy,” Asahi boasts. “She has the ability to tamper with any person’s emotions. She can diffuse or exacerbate existing ones or transform them into another affect entirely.”

“But very few people know that, Bakugou,” Moriyama adds with a warning edge to her tone. “It’s why the commission took her under its wing at such a young age. It’s why—”

“You disguised her quirk as something else and made her take the Gen Ed route.” Bakugou finishes with such certainty that catches you off guard, despite being well-versed in the fact that he is insanely perceptive.

You would know. Really, you would.

Because that’s one of the main reasons why you liked—

“It’s so that the wrong people don’t catch wind of her and her quirk, Bakugou,” Asahi supplements. “It’s for that very reason we’ve named her quirk as luck instead of manipulation. Which is what you’re going to do undercover.”

“What’s he gonna do, exactly?” you ask, tilting your head to gesture to the pro-hero beside you.

“He’ll infiltrate the group alongside you, dear,” Moriyama answers. “He’s one of the best heroes we have, and well…”

She glances at Bakugou with such hesitance that juxtaposes the confidence she’s been sporting this entire exchange, before continuing. “…We’ve heard this group has been eyeing to recruit Bakugou, specifically.”

You almost choke on your spit.

Recruit the #2 pro-hero of Japan?

What kind of stupid agenda is that?

To your surprise, Bakugou doesn’t say anything in response to Moriyama’s weighty statement, his usually penetrating gaze fixed on the ground.

“He’ll make sure you’ll be safe, Y/N,” Asahi furthers. “He’ll introduce you to them as a useful tool, what with your ‘luck’, which you’ll tell them works by boosting the chances of success of the people you’re working with. And, given how your quirk actually operates, Bakugou here will emphasize your importance by requesting for their protection of you, so that you can get closer to the people you’ll need to manipulate.”

“How’s he gonna do that without raising suspicion?” you can’t help but ask.

“That’s the thing,” Asahi quips, before heaving a deep sigh. “At this point, there’s no saying for sure, but you’re gonna have to be ready to play the part of a couple if the situation calls for it.”

“A c-couple?” you barely manage to get out.

To that, Asahi and Moriyama only nod at you with such seriousness that you can’t find it in you to protest any further. Still, you try to express your uneasiness.

“I don’t know—if I can pull that off. I—”

“You have your quirk at your disposal, Y/N,” Moriyama assures you, to your chagrin. “You’ve trained hard enough to know when and how to use it.”

Well.

There’s not much left for you to do than nod in resignation, especially with the finality of her tone, so you do just that.

None of you says anything for a brief moment after that, a rather tense silence enveloping the tiny office. And you’re about to ask them one more time if they’re fucking sure about all this, but Asahi beats you to it.

“Do either of you have any more questions?”

You open your mouth to try again but this time Bakugou speaks first. “I do. Let’s say shit goes down and we have to engage this shitty ass group in combat. Does she know how to fight? You know, beyond just playing with emotions?”

You feel yourself bristle, and before your brain can catch up and rein you in, your mouth is already running off. “I’ve had extensive close-combat training, actually. So worry about saving your own ass, hero.”

Bakugou doesn’t get the chance to spew something right back at you, though, because Asahi cuts the tension with a booming laugh. “She actually has, Bakugou. Like I said, we’ve been training her since her quirk manifested.”

“Really?” he asks, a little bit too sarcastically for your taste. “And what’s in it for you, huh, Y/N?” the pro-hero turns to regard you, tone riddled with just enough taunt to make your blood simmer. “Why’re you going along with their whim?”

“They pay well,” you state as simply as you can. “My job as a guidance counselor isn’t exactly the most lucrative.”

“That we do,” Asahi chimes in before Bakugou can drop any borderline degrading remark, which you’re thankful for. You don’t know if you can handle any more backhanded comments from the man you used to fucking dream about way back in high school, who—apparently—also happens to be the man you’re gonna have to pretend you’re dating if things go south.

“If you don’t have any more questions,” Moriyama interjects, “There’s one last thing. We don’t expect them to go lax on either of you despite what you can bring to the table. So anticipate restrictions on your speech and movements—there’s a high probability that they’re gonna place bugs and trackers on you. The same goes for your online footprint.”

At that, you and Bakugou wordlessly nod in unison, the gravity of what you’re about to get yourself into finally sinking in. Shortly after, Moriyama goes through a few more technical details before announcing that they have another meeting to attend, and just like that, and with a promise to get in touch soon albeit clandestinely, she and Asahi exit from the very door they entered what seemed like an eternity ago.

Leaving you and Bakugou.

Alone.

Which is something you’re going to have to get used to for what lies ahead.

But that shit can wait until tomorrow, when the mission officially starts.

And so with much vigor, you quickly gather the purse you barely managed to bring with you when you got dragged out of your apartment earlier this evening, and stand. Bakugou’s head tilts up to look at you when you turn to regard him, an eyebrow raised in question.

“What?”

You force a smile. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Bakugou-san.” Not. “See you tomorrow, then.”

And, before he can say anything in return, you spin on your heel and leave without looking back.

˗ˏˋ while likes are appreciated, they don’t do much on tumblr! if you want to support me and writers in general, reblogs, replies, and tags are the way to go. feel free to drop an ask, too—i’d love to chat. have a nice day! ´ˎ˗

[cemeteryspider]

Family Fragments Part 1

Stanford Pines x Child! Reader

*No use of Y/n* *Fem Reader*

Summary: Flashback~ Ford must protect you, his innocent daughter, from becoming an unwilling pawn in the sinister schemes of an Interdimensional demon.

Trigger Warnings: Possession, Child Endangerment (thanks Bill), Psychological Manipulation, Mild Violence

Word Count: 1.1k

You shifted in your father's arms as he pushed through doors and walked through hallways from the basement of his shack in the woods into your room in the attic. You barely registered him tucking you into your bed and him kissing you on the forehead with his heavily chapped lips.

"Good night, Sweet pea," He whispered and the door clicked behind him. 

A loud tired sigh echoed in the short stairwell down to the foyer. The descent down the staircase was heavy and creaky and when he came to the door in the basement he widened his eyes and allowed the retinal scanner to scan his eye confirming he was not possessed by Bill. He couldn’t help the yawn that escaped his lips as he entered the basement, cluttered with half-finished devices- scattered wires and gears glinting under the dim flickering light bulb hanging overhead.The unfinished portal stood tall in front of him humming a just so a he felt a soft vibration through the soles of his shoes. 

He sat down at the workbench and resumed writing in the third journal. Drawing the new suit he was designing to keep Bill out of his mind for good, however there was the small problem of the brain he needed to complete the thing. However, his mind drifted to the mind erasing gun in the hand of the suit which reminded him of his old friend, who left him alone to work with his muse months ago. 

Then he heard a not so subtle knocking coming from upstairs. At first he thought it was some random drunk knocking at the door and letting the person get bored of the odd old cabin in the woods, but after a succinct series of thuds and a hushed laughter he decided to investigate.

He breathed a sigh of relief—at least Bill couldn't sneak his way down there, not without triggering the failsafes. But as he looked up, his heart stopped. There you were, standing in the foyer, eyes glowing an unnatural yellow and a smile far too wide for your little face. It was a sight so wrong, so unsettling, that Ford could barely bring himself to speak.

Your limbs jerked awkwardly, like a marionette pulled by unseen strings, controlled by a puppeteer who lacked all finesse, "Hey, sixer!"

He stood frozen for a moment. Bill's voice coming from your mouth where your sweet little voice should have been, he swallowed a lump in his throat and forced himself to speak, "What are you doing here Bill?" 

Bill grinned, twisting your lips into a mockery of a smile, "I just came by to see you and it seems as though you've taken certain... precautions to make sure I don't interrupt your research."

A chill went down Stanfords spine, his research into the Anti-Cipher Society, and the plans for the suit I had designed, "Let's talk face to face, Cipher. No need to bring my daughter into this."

"I suppose I could end our contract a bit earlier than I intended," And with that your eyes rolled into the back of your skull, and your scaleras the correct color once more. Quickly Ford ran toward you and stopped your descent before hitting the ground.

Bill floated around looking at the different furniture with great fascination, "What is wrong with you, she's just a child."

He cradled your head while you continued your sleep, "Yeah, quite a while since I made a deal with something so small, very difficult to control such small limbs. Painful falling down the stairs don't you think?"

His eyebrows rose and looked over your head moving your hair around, checking for any blood or bruising that could indicate a head wound or concussion.

Stop being such a stick in the mud, Sixer,' Bill sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. 'She’s perfectly fine…for now.' His tone darkened, and Ford’s blood ran cold as he watched Bill shift, his form flickering like a faulty lightbulb.

Ford clutched you tightly to his chest, his heart pounded erratically in his ribcage, "I think it's time for you to leave."

"Nothing more for me to do here, but just you wait I think I will see you again, real soon," With that the cabin seemed to gain its color back and you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes.

"Dad?" You whispered after a rather large yawn. He couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief at hearing your darling voice. His fingers trembled as they wrapped themselves around your small frame, almost as if you would slip right through his grasp into the nightmarish darkness Bill brought in. For a moment, he pressed his nose to the top of your head and breathed in your familiar scent, desperate to remind himself that you were here with him- still his little girl. A surge of guilt tightened his chest. 

"Everything's going to be okay, Sweet Pea just go back to sleep." And you did. For so long he had stayed awake for as long as possible trying to avoid Bill gaining control of his body he forgot about you. A child with little contact with the outside world, and how easily children can be persuaded by older wiser beings. Bill is a master manipulator and Ford practically opened the door to your mind by inviting him into his. 

Despite the distance he forced Bill to keep from you, he had been in his mind. Combed through his memories his happiest being with Stan in his earlier years, and with you in the present. You never were far from his thoughts and Bill knew his weak spot.

He could pull his own hair from his scalp at his own negligence, scream at the top of his lungs for the danger that he put you in, or cry at the worry he felt after learning of your tumble down the stairs caused by someone he once called his friend. However, he did none of those things.

Once he had tucked you in for a second time, Ford sank into the old chair beside your bed. The springs groan under his weight, the leather cracked and worn from years of use. He stared at you for a long moment, watching your chest rise and fall as you slept peacefully. It made his heart ache. How innocent you looked, under a heap of soft blankets, completely unaware of the danger that lurked just beyond your dreams. A dim lamp casting a light golden glow across the room that seemed like a fragile barrier against the dark shadow Bill Cipher cast on this night. 

Ford’s hand shook as he plucked a pen from your desk and opened the journal he had tucked in his coat pocket, the ink bleed slightly as he pressed it to the parchment. He wrote furiously, his mind racing with all sorts of plans, but one thought rang through: I can’t let him take her. Not my daughter.

[lotus-slumbers]

Yandere batfamily x addict reader?

Would they exploit and manipulate the reader, making em solely dependent on the family for their fix — either to originally trap them at the manor or continuing to supply em forever, because it makes the reader dependant on them, acting all cuddly and desperate. or would they reform and sober up the reader? Have em go through a whole rehabilitation process style.

Gotham’s not safe for the poor reader, imagine all the villains who’d kill em for the drugs they’re so dependent on? But it’s okay! Because the Wayne’s will protect em. Whether the reader wants them to or not isn’t up for debate.

If you’re uncomfortable with this topic I totally understand. Just send me a message to say pls??

Yandere! Batfam x Addict! Reader Headcannons

Tw: addiction, substance abuse, etc.

— If there was anything that could accelerate the Batfam abducting adopting their darling sooner, this would be it.

— In their eyes, this is a type of abuse. Abuse from all of those around you and nobody is safe from the pointing of their accusatory finger. Not even those people who truly are innocent and have tried to help.

— You may notice people around you drawing away, avoiding you. Maybe some friends who you used to talk with who shared the same addiction, others a dealer who supplied you.

— Though, you may not notice this at all because they'll work quick.

— The term "self-harm" is thrown around once while discussing your habitual substance abuse and that's it. That's all it takes to make them snap and agree unanimously that, yes, this is for the best. Today is the day, if they have everything completely set up for you or not.

— Within twenty-four hours, you'll be in the manor with your family. Right where you belong.

— Rich people get same-day delivery!! Woohoo!! 🙌 🚚

— Of course, that isn't the only motivator for the Wayne's to take you. As much as it pains them to see you suffering at your own hands, they understand just how well the scum of Gotham can and will hurt you.

— They'll take care of the vermin that supplied and enabled you all the same. They have a duty to Gotham, it was going to happen eventually, just now there might be a little bit more passion to it... They won't tell you about it, though.

— The Batfam would most definitely attempt to nip the problem in the bud, forcing you to go cold turkey immediately.

— Bruce will have everything thought out. He's spent countless hours since learning about your issues researching in depth everything he could possibly need to know.

— They have patches at the ready for you when you start to feel the effects of withdrawal. They have stress balls and plenty of activities to try and keep your mind elsewhere and on other things.

— And eyes on you, always.

— And a bracelet, pressed snuggly against your skin and seemingly impossible to get off, to monitor your health. Reports directly at their fingertips, whenever they want it.

— They want you in the best condition they can have you. Not just physically, but mentally too. Bruce would most likely like to have one-on-one conversations with you, about life before, your transitioning here, and, of course, how you are doing with withdrawal.

— If he thinks you're not doing a good enough job with him, he can always pay for the best help available. With his amount of money, nobody has to know either... So don't think of asking them to help you. You won't be believed or they simply won't do it.

— Bruce, Dick, and Jason would probably be the worse about lecturing you on it. Mention withdrawal to them or any desire to return to what you once had... Oh boy, good luck.

— Bruce would go on and on about your health. How he loves you. Wants what is best for you, even if you cannot see it. A deep look of disappointment and concern behind his eyes. He won't school it, he wants to to see it. Feel it and stop. Grow into the person he knows you can be, with their help. Let him protect you.

— Dick is fairly similar to Bruce in this regard, although he is a little more relaxed, trying to be on your level while also acting as your "older brother," something he takes much pride in. He'll probably baby you more than the others, offering to help find alternatives and promise rewards for your efforts (not that you have much of a choice in the matter).

— Jason, though? Jason Todd, the little boy who grew up on the streets? Watch the lives of those he loved so much be ruined and so cruelly snatched away by these exact things? No way. It hits way too close to home, especially since it's you.

— He's understanding towards you so long as you don't push too far. One mention of wanting it and he's on your ass, telling you off about it. He'll help with withdrawal. He'll help you get over it, be a shoulder to lean on and a friend to laugh with, but, God, don't you dare threaten him like that ever again.

— Tim helps with Bruce and his plans most of all, going through all the little details to help plan out the smoothest way to go about this.

— Damian is pissed that you would even ever do any of this in the first place, berating you in his weakest, more frustrated moments but this reaffirms to him that you need him.

— Really, this reaffirms all of them that, despite any guilt, they may feel for the "crimes" they committed for you, it was the right choice. That their darling needed them, desperately.

— They'll never give up on you, not in your darkest moments or theirs. They love you, through and through, and would give the world to you if only you asked.

— But they'd never, ever let you do that to yourself. Your last high was the last time you would ever, ever be.

— They know they could supply you, that it could be an easy way to control you and gain your love. Love that they are so desperately longing for, wanting to be returned, but they won't do it. They can't do that. Not to you of all people.

— It goes against their very nature, as it would harm you.

— You'll learn to love them eventually. It isn't like there is a real rush. You're not going anywhere at all. They'll take the long, high road.

— Batfam will protect you to their last breath and love you through and through. You don't need to do a thing.

— The only reason they would ever supply you is if they truly had no other options. If you were super-powered in a way they could not find a way to contain or around people they couldn't take you away from. Which is a highly unlikely possibility.

💜 A/n: Sorry that this took me so long to get to. Hopefully, it's not too typo-ridden and you enjoy it!

This is not meant to glorify any type of substance abuse or any type of addiction. This was my first time writing for such so please, if I made a mistake in my handling of the subject, reach out and let me know!

For substance abuse treatment and mental health referrals, contact the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration's (SAMHSA) National Helpline at 1-800-662-HELP (4357).

You are loved beyond measure.

[kiame-sama]

Omega Marechi (Yandere!Upper-Moons x Omega!Reader x Yandere!Muzan)

Warnings; yandere, multiple yandere, stalking, mention of violence, mention of social imbalance, my abo au (less than 1000 omegas world wide and omegas are a commodity of sorts), omega reader, abo social ladder, abo societal structure, unfair situations, instinct manipulation, kidnapping, threat of murder, blood, violence, mention of human consumption, demons, female bodied reader, female reader pronouns (let me know if y'all want a male version).

(It's a personal headcannon of mine that omegas are short & chubby, so very soft and squishy)

(Also, let me know if y'all want a continuation of this, I have a certain idea involving stockades I have been interested in trying out)

~~~~~~~~

Deep within the winding surfaces and ever changing interior of a fortress wreathed in darkness, demons began to gather. Though they were few in number, each demon had their own impressive strengths and abilities that set them apart from the many other members of their brood. Even with their combined presence and strength, their master stood above them in every way possible.

The king of demons, he who sired every other demon, stood watching his upper ranked generals as they gathered beneath him. Short dark hair seemed to swallow all light in the inky abyssal color, bright red eyes glinting like lit lanterns on the darkest of nights. His fair skin unblemished and so smooth it could be mistaken for the marble of a true artisan's finest work. Truly a vision of a true apex alpha with the beauty of a divine being.

The six generals that gathered were supposed to be without company and solely focused on their sire, yet one was not alone. Next to the top general of the king's army was a large rectangular box shape that was draped in heavy fabrics to conceal what may be held within. The fabrics seemed to be soaked in a heavy perfume mixed with the hint of an unusually appealing scent that taunted the senses.

"What have you brought, Kokushibou?"

The deep and commanding voice of the demon king rumbled out with a tint of curiosity in his tone. Where he expected quite a bit from his upper moons, even he had to admit that the actions of his top general were odd. It was not often that the upper moons did something that surprised him- and usually was met with a swift reprimand- but his curiosity had been peaked by the abnormal behavior.

Without saying a word, Kokushibou gripped the heavy fabric and quickly pulled it away, revealing what had been concealed. Beneath the cloth lay an iron cage- much like what an exotic beast would be transported in- with blankets lining the bottom of the cage for cushion. The cage itself wasn't very interesting when compared to what lay within.

Laying bound in the iron cage was a woman, her (h/c) locks strewn around her head and her (s/c) flesh looked incredibly plush and no doubt was soft to the touch. A delicate and fine silk kimono wrapped around her bound form, even that which held her was made of the expensive materials. Her eyes were covered in a long silk ribbon, mouth held shut by an intricate golden muzzle, her arms cuffed together with similarly intricate cuffs in front of her and lower legs cuffed together.

A woman- no matter how decorated- wasn't much to crow about, but the pungent scent that had been smothered by the perfumes was now free and quickly reached those nearby. There was a visible change in the way the other upper moons stood, their nostrils flaring and eyes fixed on the soft woman as they contemplated what she was. The scent reached Muzan last, but he knew immediately what was being presented to him, though he could scantly believe what his senses were telling him.

"No," Douma started, his multi colored eyes wide in disbelief, "that's impossible. Omegas aren't real! It must be a trick."

"Looks real to me. Smells real too. Actually," Akaza sniffed, looking curiously at the bound female, "she smells like a marechi."

A soft whimper came from within the cage, the female inside moving and seemingly trying to pull away from her binds. The muzzle secured on her kept her from speaking and muffled her sounds as she responded to the voices around her. Blindly she turned her head towards the sound of Akaza speaking, seemingly trying to understand where she was and who she was with.

"She was being transported as cargo on a train. From her scent, it was made clear to me that she is an Omega and a marechi. She has no mating marks present on her body. The humans transporting her were on their way to deliver her to slayers, a gift from a small village of fools."

Muzan silently descended from where he had been standing above the upper moons, approaching the cage curiously. The other demons watched in interest as their sire crouched, observing the bound female that had been presented to him. He had not encountered an omega, even in his long life, so seeing such a rare and unusual being in a cage was surreal. Truly, he had thought omegas were just another myth created by humans.

He reached a finger between the bars, his sharp nail gently scraping over the exposed neck of the omega. Naturally, she responded with a fearful sound at the feeling of something sharp against her neck, trying to writhe away from the sensation. The obvious fear was accompanied by an intense scent that prodded at their minds to defend the soft woman from whatever may be causing her distress.

Muzan observed the struggling of the delicacy he had been presented with, red eyes gleaming and unwavering. After a moment of simply watching the omega struggle, he reached his hands forward to grip the cage bars. With one flex, the metal groaned beneath his hands, crumpling like sand and bending out of shape. One of his hands held the cage still as he ripped the bar off of the cage, pulling out several more until he could access the omega.

The loud sound of the metal bending and crushing had clearly upset the omega who let out a muffled scream into the muzzle, body twisting and writhing to escape the frightening sound and its source. Another scream escaped her as one of Muazan's hands gripped the back of the her kimono, dragging her out of the remnants of the cage. A sharp scent made him freeze, the taunting ambrosia of marechi blood filled his nostrils as he moved to examine the omega.

Sitting on her cheek was the smallest of cuts, blood slowly beading along the line of the slice. Within the second Muzan noticed the small injury, a greedy mouth formed along his hand. The elongated tongue quickly stretching out and slowly laving over the gathered blood with an apparent groan of satisfaction rumbling in his chest from the taste.

His pleasured sound only seemed to frighten the omega more, whimpering out and beginning to cry from the terror. It was understandable, she had been in the cage for an unknown time and now was listening to the sound of an unknown assailant flavor her blood. With a quick motion the blindfold was pulled away, revealing (e/c) eyes that were filled with delicate tears and horror.

Her gaze became fixed on the bright red eyes of the predator in front of her, body falling completely still. Much like the way an injured fawn would freeze upon seeing the open jaws of a bear. The body of the soft omega seemed to curl in on itself, as if she were trying to seem as small as possible all without looking away.

He lifted his free hand towards her and gripped her ornate metal muzzle despite her frightened sounds and slow shaking of her head back and forth. She cringed and closed her eyes tightly as his hand gripped the clasp of the muzzle that held it on.

For a moment, things seemed to stand still in baited anticipation of what the demon king would do next. All upper moons keenly awaited their sire's next move as it would determine the fate of the omega they all were interested in. Wanting to get their hands on her if he allowed her to live, or wanting a piece of her if he chose to consume her.

A soft click of metal could be heard in the profound silence as the clasp of the muzzle was disconnected.

~~0~~

You warily watched the frightening man remove the muzzle you wore, seeing how hungrily he looked at you the entire time. He seemed to be contemplating you, much like many others would when first coming into contact with you. The man- or monster, would be more accurate- suddenly grinned, hand gripping your neck and slowly lifting you up.

Even with how you struggled, the man seemed to have no problem holding you until he was fully standing. His expression became more fierce as the veins in his face became more pronounced, tongue slowly dragging over his lips. After a moment he lowered you so your feet were on the ground, no longer holding you off the ground but still holding you in place.

"You are a truly unfortunate human. Luckily for you, I intend to keep you for the time being. You staying alive or not will be determined by your actions."

~~~~~~~~

You had been taken to a large ornate bed that no doubt belonged to the demonic alpha that broke your chains but left your cuffs. From the way he stared at you, you felt like you were being appraised much in the way one would appraise a meal. A yelp escaping your lips as you were thrown down on the soft surface.

In seconds you felt the silk that held your clothing together rip open, the ornate kimono falling open. Your body was completely left exposed to the intense gaze of the man, you had been dressed for meeting several new mates who were top members of the demon slayers. Instead it seemed the demons found you and decided to keep you for the time being.

Part of you was terrified to fight back as you didn't wish to anger the demon that took you to bed. Based off of his scent, you knew you were dealing with an alpha of great strength and willpower. The alpha himself seeming to be above other alphas that you had caught the scents of whenever one would pass through your village. He was clearly the one others answered to as they had gotten out of his way rather quickly when he decided to drag you to his chambers.

You tried to keep your thighs pressed together to give yourself some kind of protection, but the demon was quick to pry them open. His gaze was intense and you felt your body warm in response to how he stared at your exposed figure. A whimper from you seemed to break the trance he was in as his eyes flicked up to look at you for several seconds.

"And still, you are afraid. Tell me, Omega, did the humans you lived amongst even give you a name, or have you always been Omega?"

"My name," you struggled to keep the fear out of your voice as you answered the alpha demon, "it's (Y/n), (L/n)(Y/n)."

"(Y/n)? I am Kibutsuji Muzan, king of demons. You have gained my attention, (Y/n), quite dangerous indeed. I expect you to be an obedient omega, understand?"

"Ye-yes, I understand, Alpha."

"Good."

You whined softly as one of his hands came up to palm your soft chest as if appraising it like fruit. His bright red eyes gleaming in interest as he observed you trying to sit still for him and let him continue what he wanted. Clearly you were a high tier omega as you were so obedient and did exactly what the alpha told you to do.

The village you grew up in must have trained you to be a good omega, taking the word of an alpha as law. In any case, he was quite pleased to have such a treasure in his grasp. He vaguely considered keeping the omega for himself, but he knew the way the upper moons stared, even Akaza showed clear interest.

An omega would certainly be a unique reward and incentive to push the upper moons further. Beyond just that, using the unique human omega sent could throw off the slayers in such a way there would be no one left to stand against the demon king.

[tangerineliqu0r]

Trust Me

(Sauron/Annatar x reader)

You, an old friend of Celebrimbor, work on tending his forge. You don't trust his new ally, Annatar. He decides to make you trust him in one way or another.

if you prefer reading on ao3

Warnings: smut (p in v, choking, bathtub), manipulation bc its Annatar, dubious consent maybe?, death threats that neither of them know if they're keeping, they hate each other, even if he keeps a good guise

As you pause in your work, your lithe fingers brush fallen strands of hair from your damp forehead. Lord Celebrimbor had been working tirelessly, perhaps even maddeningly, as of late. Since Lord Annatar had come to stay in Eregion, Lord Celebrimbor had worked with a fervor you had not seen from him in ages. And with his renewed vigor came the necessity of your service.

You, an old friend of Lord Celebrimbor, had been called to assist in the forge many years ago, and with the arrival of Lord Annatar, he had called on you once again. You had answered, fetching him the supplies he needed, cleaning the forge, and primarily ensuring the coals were ever burning.

Now, your brow was heavy with sweat as you shoveled the still-burning coals in the fire, turning them to the back so that you could add more. Lord Celebrimbor had long retired, as had any of the smiths in his service. Any disturbances in the forge were ignored by you as you focused on your sole task of making sure the forge would burn increasingly hot when Lord Celebrimbor returned.

Your sensitive ears failed to recognize the door opening nor the quiet footsteps entering the forge as you continued to push your muscles to their limit, your arms burning from the effort or the flames, you were not sure which.

“My Lady, I did not know you worked so late into the night.” The refined words of Lord Annatar reach your ears.

You’re startled by his voice, though it does not show as you continue your work and respond over the roaring fire you have painstakingly built up.

“The fire must be tended, my Lord Annatar.” You speak loud and clear, working to push another shovel of coal into the forge.

A hand on your shoulder does visibly startle you though, and your shovel clangs against the forge as your hands slip down the handle. Your head whips around to face the Lord, though your face remains composed.

“How may I assist you my Lord?” Your gaze finds his and your voice, though hesitant is firm.

You search his face for some sign of malign, though you find nothing within his perfectly crafted composure. While Celebrimbor had graciously welcomed this servant of the Valar, you had not accepted him as readily. You had warned your friend against him even, his crafted visage and ambition raising your hackles.

“I only wished to speak with you, if you can abandon the flames for a moment.” He speaks with a gentle smile, one you had come to mistrust.

Your gaze flickers to the forge, where you and he knew the flames had reached an appropriate height already. His careful choice of words, something to pry you from your work, had already dragged your defensive walls up again. You did not trust the Lord of Gifts, no matter Lord Celebrimbor’s rapid acceptance of him.

You set your shovel down with little sound and a nod before following the Lord away from the fire. As he reached a workbench and sat, you begrudgingly did as well. Despite your mistrust of the man you did not wish for him to turn any ire to you, for fear of being expelled from the forge and thus separated further from your dear friend Lord Celebrimbor. You wished not to abandon him to this shrouded man’s hands and whims.

As you sit your muscles ache, yet ever weary of his presence your gaze lands on his face, his expression unreadable, despite your searching.

“I wished to inquire of our dear friend, Lord Celebrimbor. He seems rather frantic as of late, unsteady,” he inquires gently. His tone is smooth and kind, but your hackles are already raised from being alone in such close quarters with him, someone you believed to be manipulating your friend.

You cannot help the narrowing of your eyes on him. “I assure you, our friend is quite well. He only immerses himself in his work.”

A gentle hum leaves the man’s lips and he looks deep in thought for a moment. You cannot help but think it a ruse, a trick of some sort. Why was he suddenly asking you about Lord Celebrimbor? He had never sought you out before in this manner, and it worried you. You were fearful for your friend despite what you told Lord Annatar. He would not have approached you had he not sensed your mistrust. You were sure he was trying to weasel his way into your graces through some mock care for your friend.

“I only wondered if you had any insight into his state of mind, as you and he have been close friends for some time.” Lord Annatar smiles and speaks in a way you’re sure is meant to be reassuring, comforting even, but all it does is make the hair on your arms stand up.

You sigh and shake your head, “Celebrimbor will drown himself in this work before he sees it fail. And the two of you have begun the arduous task of crafting these rings. The fire of this forge has burned hotter in his time with you than it has in many a year,” you reply, your voice as tired as you look.

He inclines his head, much like a dog you think. “And how do you fare, my Lady?”

You sit back in your chair, crossing your arms, looking at him as if trying to read a language you do not speak, confusion and wariness etched across your tired features.

“I am well, I am glad my friend has rekindled his passion again,” you cautiously speak, unwilling to reveal any of your true thoughts to Annatar still. You knew he was not to be trusted, despite your lack of evidence.

You see him open his mouth as if to speak some other falsely kind words, intending to enchant you to him as he has done all the others in Eregion, but you cut him off.

“I’m afraid it is time for me to retire, my Lord, I have grown weary from my work.”

With a stiff bow and one last glance at his disguised face, you leave. Your feet carry you to the bathhouse, eager to wash the soot from your weary body. You longed for nothing more than to be finished with the crafting of the rings, though now the only thing on your mind was submerging your aching muscles in the steamy waters.

No sooner had you entered the bathhouse, had you stripped bare of your clothes and sunk into the hot water.

Your long hair pooled in the water and you submerged yourself before resting your head back and closing your eyes, intent on enjoying the scalding water for as long as your skin could endure it. Your thoughts of Celebrimbor and the rings and Lord Annatar begin to drift into nothingness as the hot steam invades your senses. The heat did nothing to deter you; your body was used to the high temperatures from tending the forge, your arms and hands already scarred with burns. You knew not how long you laid like that, the haze of the heat blurring your senses and emptying your mind.

The contact of a hand on your bare hot shoulder sent water splashing as you sat up. The hand did not attempt to hold you in place, though and you spun around in the water to confront the person disturbing you. Lord Annatar.

“I’m sorry to disturb you my Lady. It is not safe to sleep in the baths, as I’m sure you’re aware,” Annatar chided with a teasing lilt.

You are quiet for a beat, as your eyes are quickly distracted by the way he seems to be removing his robes. He was not here to bathe, surely. He was sure to have a personal bath in his rooms. And here you were, naked, your guard down. You were sure he had done this on purpose, followed you, and waited for the right time to intrude, seeking to entrap you as he had everyone else.

“I was not sleeping my Lord, just relaxing in the bath, alone.” Your voice comes out angrier than you intended, your last word little more than a hiss.

You do not avert your eyes as he continues to disrobe, instead scrutinizing him as though it will deter the man. Your eyes follow the hard planes of his body. Despite your mistrust, a man built as he was must have been sent by the Valar. Your cheeks burn a shameful pink, though you do not drag your eyes away as he continues to undress.

“Do you not have a personal bath within your rooms? I’m sure Lord Celebrimbor would not let an emissary of the Valar sully himself with the waters of a public bathhouse.” You’re almost shocked by more words snaking out of your lips. You’re more than sure that your own kind façade has been burnt away by the steam.

“I do not mind.” His voice is too kind to be trusted and before you can respond he is discarding the last of his clothes. You let your eyes trail over him, intent on running him off, and despite it he is slinking into the water, close enough to reach out and grasp your shoulder again, should he wish to.

Your sigh is heavy but you do not grant him any more words, instead returning to resting your head back, as if to show him that his unwelcome presence will not disturb you. Your brow is damp, and your throat bobs as you rest.

The bath is quiet, except for the sound of yours and now his breaths and the occasional splash as he submerges himself.

“You do not trust me.” It’s more of a statement than a question, and the honey-sweet tenor of his voice makes your skin crawl.

You crack open an eye to look at him. He had moved much closer, too close now, and his amber eyes were trained on you. They did not linger on your eyes though. They skirted down your face and neck, under the clear waters of the bath, and down your form. While you were unnerved by his unabashed staring, you did not let it silence you.

“You have done nothing to earn it.” Your voice is stiff and your words catch in your throat as you close your eyes again. You would not let him charm nor scare you into being his ally.

“Have I not given your friend a newfound purpose?” You can feel his breath on your face as he speaks his voice full of conviction, almost accusatory. “Have I not brought such vigor into him as of late?”

Your eyes snap open and you gasp in both shock and perhaps pain, when one of his hands finds purchase in your long hair, grasping at it tightly as he continues to speak, the other winding around your jaw.

“What have I done to deserve such ire from you, my Lady?” Your gasp is shamefully loud this time as his breath fans across your pointed ear.

“My Lord-” your voice is pitched up and you attempt to move against his hold, “Release me, at once!”

You can feel his lips on your ear when he speaks this time, “I will do no such thing unless you can dignify me with an explanation.”

After a beat of silence, you feel his tongue slipping up the point of your ear, unfortunately setting your skin ablaze and drawing yet another heady gasp from your lips.

“I-” You cannot give him a reasonable response. There is no response you can justify that does not make you seem mad.

It was not entirely unexpected when his soft lips close around the point of your ear and his teeth nip at it, though it does force a slight moan out of your lips.

The grip on your jaw is released and replaced by his lips, painting you with searing kisses  “I have done only good in my time here, gifting your people with such power.”

“You- you-” You cannot get your voice to work, his rough grip on your hair and the unrelenting press of his lips muddling your mind.

He draws back, this time moving his spare hand to your throat, wrenching your head as if to force you to look at him and speak. “Go on, my Lady.” His voice is teasing and sinister, and you know now that you have no chance of escaping his ire.

Your narrowed eyes meet his and find some trace of amusement, at the way he had been able to manipulate you already.

“You are not who you say you are. I- know it.” His tight grip on your throat makes it near impossible to grate your words out. “You are using Lord Celebrimbor- though I cannot say what for.”

At your words, you see an expression other than amusement or false nicety dance across his face for a moment, an expression mirroring your own, distrust.

“Am I?” He questions, in a way that makes you question yourself. Is he? Were you wrong? Was this charming man truly that and all he said he was?

Any response you may have had is swallowed by his lips as he kisses you, his hand tightening further around your throat. You’re sure there will be bruises if he doesn’t drown you in the baths. His lips are blazing against your own as he bites your lips forcing you to open your mouth and let his scorching tongue lap against your own.

And you do the only thing you know to do, return in kind. Your own teeth bite, not nip, at his lips as you kiss, and he strangles the life out of you. You’re not sure when he released his grip on your hair, but it doesn’t matter anymore as you begin to see dark spots in your vision and realize slowly that you cannot draw breath, be it from his hand or his lips.

He pulls back when you draw blood from his bottom lip, releasing your throat and eyeing you venomously. Finally, you had stripped him of the false mask he wore so often.

“Must you be so unwilling to accept the gifts I have brought Lord Celebrimbor? And you in turn?”

You draw a shaking gasp, fighting to draw in the breath you had been so brusquely deprived of.

“Will you not let me earn your trust, my lady?” His voice was honeyed again, and the contrast made your head spin.

“Earn my trust? I would sooner be drowned in these baths.” You hiss at him, an intoxicating amount of fear, anger, and arousal bubbling in your stomach.

“That can be arranged, sweetling. Though I think you’ll find letting me earn your trust much more pleasurable.” His silky words are combined with a disarmingly cunning face and you cannot help but scoff in response, the water splashing as you move further away from him.

“Though-” he trails off for a moment a smirk painting his face, “I think you forget about your dear friend. If I am as sinister as you imply, should you truly wish to leave him alone with me?”

Your eyes scan his face, which is easily composed into a kinder look as you study him.

You weigh your options. Despite your experience in battle and your hardened muscles, you could not overpower him, that had been made clear enough to you. He would drown you in this very bath should he wish to. And Lord Celebrimbor, your trusting fool of a friend, would be left to deal with the dark man on his own. The other option was to let him earn your trust. If his actions had been any indication as to how he would do so, he would defile you most pleasingly.

“Earn your trust then, though do not think it will be easy.” Your voice is ice, despite the heat of the baths. You wonder if the heat was getting to your head, driving you mad.

“I would expect not,” and there that smirk was again. This time he seemed rather pleased though.

You had no time to respond before he was upon you again, his hand finding your throat again and hauling you close to him. Your back was pressed against his damp chest and he used the hand on your throat to wrench your head to the side, teeth going to your ever-sensitive ear again.  

You kept your mouth shut, though your eyes rolled back in barely restrained pleasure as he nipped and tongued at the tip. You were going mad, you were sure of it now. He was all fire, and it was surely going to your head, melting away any semblance of reason.

His free hand dipped below the water and found your breasts. His almost gentle touches there were a sharp contrast to the way he handled your throat. You could not help the way you squeezed your thighs together in response. A gasp is finally torn from your lips as he quirks your stiff nipples and runs his hot tongue over the tip of your ear again. Your own body seemed to want nothing more than to betray the mistrust you held for him.

When his hand leaves your breasts and skirts down your stomach to your cunt, any resignation or protest dies on your lips. You arch your back into him needily, pressing your ass into his hard cock and squirming against him as his fingertips ghost over your inner thigh. His tantalizing fingers map your hips and thighs twice over before he ghosts over your cunt, barely touching you.

A needy whine slips out of your lips, the loudest sound you’ve made thus far, and a chuckle leaves his venomous lips, taunting you.

“Now mellon nin, I thought you promised a challenge?” That false kindness is ever present, despite the teasing tone he has taken with you and you despise it. Despite your resolve, you cannot find any words to answer him with, keeping your mouth firmly shut.

This seems to have spurred him on though and his grip on your throat tightens as he taunts you.

“I want to hear you beg mellon. Trust me and I will give you release, that I can promise.” His words were some mixture of sweetness and cunning, and it disarmed you. You finally understood how Lord Celebrimbor had fallen so easily into his clutches. His taunts remind you of the situation and against your better judgment, you begin to fight against his hold once more, struggling against his grasp on you. However, the more you fought, the tighter his grasp on your throat became.

Too fast, using the threatening hand on your throat, he has spun you around to face him, leaving your thighs bracketing his. “Beg. I want to hear your pretty voice.” He was back to cunning again, and his lips nearly brushed yours as he spoke, breathing the words onto your lips. His amber eyes bore into your own, and you could not help but feel that you must obey him. Your resolve is weakened further, and you find the words slipping through your lips before you can do otherwise.

“Please, my Lord Annatar. Please. I trust you. Please.” Your eyes are glassy with need and your words come out more of a desperate gasp than coherence. Your composure had been lost somewhere in his grasp.

The hand that has been firmly wrapped around your throat for too long skates up the side of your face to stroke your cheek, almost kindly, and you preen. Your mind is hazy with want and the heat from the bath, and you cannot make sense of your own actions or words anymore. Leaning into his touch, you tuned out the part of your mind that willed you not to trust him, the part that screamed he was dangerous.

His hands wind down your body again. This time to grip your hips and begin to guide you down on his cock. You let out another needy whine and begin to beg without his prompting. You knew not if your actions were out of fear or need anymore.

“Please, please, my lord. Fill me, please. I need- please,” you gasp out your voice barely over a whisper.

And when he thrusts up into you fully, your head falls back in ecstasy and you moan loud and intoxicating. He lets out a breath you hadn’t realized he was holding and your hands go to his shoulders to steady yourself.

He gives you a moment, searching your eyes for pain before that dreadful hand wraps back around your throat and drags you to his lips for a scorching kiss. You focus on riding him, too drunk on the fullness of his cock to care about properness or your resolve anymore. He bites your lips and kisses you while fucking up into your willing cunt. You try to continue to match his pace but your muddled mind cannot keep up to control your body.

Despite you riding him, you knew who was in control really. He had maintained his composure so well and he was manipulating you as if you were some metal in the forge. His free hand slipped between the two of you and began to touch your clit for the first time. It only takes a few rough circles of his fingers before you’re gasping into his mouth and squeezing his cock like a vice.

You were almost ashamed at how fast you’d fallen apart at his touch, a man you had readily expressed your mistrust for time and time again. You hated him, that was certain, though your body wasn’t on the same page as you trembled around him.

“Such a good girl, aren’t you? So pliable. So trusting.” You barely hear the words as you rest your head on his shoulder, whining as he refuses to let up with either his finger or his cock. His pace was brutal, his cock stretching your needy cunt with each rough thrust of his hips.

“Annatar, please. Please. Please.” Tears have begun to trickle down your cheeks as he continues to rub the swollen bud and pound into you with the fervor of a beast.

He does not relent. Instead, increasing his pace. Your pleas have become sobs as you clutch at his shoulders, digging your nails into his skin and clutching at his honey-colored hair. He who has been mostly quiet save a few groans begins to moan into your ear. You know he’s getting close when his fingers stutter on your clit, losing their rhythm a bit. It’s not enough to stop another release being dragged from your needy body though and you cry out, cunt clenching tightly around his cock as you cum again. Your legs tremble and you sob into his shoulder as you ride it out, his punishing fingers never relenting.

With a few more brutally hard thrusts up into you, he moans, loud and long, and spills inside you, continuing to pump his seed deep into your cunt as he finishes. His breaths are hard, though he doesn’t slip out of you yet. Instead, he raises his head to look at you. His amber eyes burn as though they were the heart of the forge. And you, your judgment clouded by your still trembling body and the heat, kiss him. You’re gentle, seeking some reprieve from the punishing way he’d been fucking you and choking you. Your tears paint his cheeks but you do not care now.

“So sweet. So pretty the way you fall apart.” His voice is broken by his pants though it is no less charming.

He doesn’t move for a moment, just looking at you in that calculating, cunning way he does. Your face is tear-streaked and flushed, your eyes glassy, and you rest your head on his shoulder. You can feel his cock still throbbing in you, almost a threat, almost a promise. His hand finds your throat again, gently this time, as he makes sure you’re looking at him.

“Have I earned your trust now mellon nin?” That disguised, honeyed voice is back and plying you.

[tknuniversum]

007n7 and C00lkid Block Tales AU!

Cross posted on Ao3 under the same name as my Tumblr account!!!

This is going to be a bit long. (Some things will change once Demo 4 comes out)

007n7

Backstory:

He's still a hacker, a really dangerous and powerful one. He mastered code manipulation and even Builderman had trouble with banning him. After a really close call with banhammer, 007n7 decided that he needs someone who will go to front lines for him, so he could still do the hacking without risking being banned. So he got to work and after some time he created C00lkid using android body he created and fragment of his own code (more specifically a part of code that includes memories from his youth where he started taking hacking seriously)

With C00lkid he made a lot hacking attacks, which resulted in him being feared across whole Robloxia. He got banned once, by Builderman and ended up in Banlands, but thanks C00lkid's help he ended up escaping. He decided to lay low for a while and ended up moving to small village [in the area where Demo 4 will take place].

More info:

- He's more emotionally distant than his Forsaken version, and doesn't regret anything he done in the past. He feels proud of his accomplishments.

- He doesn't view C00lkid as actual person, just a bunch of code in android body/ a tool that helps him hack. Despite this he still allows C00lkid to call him dad.

- He has a control panel for C00lkid, where he can also read the mood of his creation or any thought C00lkid sends him, is able to access his point of view and is able to control him (he rarely uses the last option)

- Believes that relationship are nothing more than a distraction and a obstacle.

- Is focused on his work, despite being in hiding from Builderman he hadn't stopped experimenting with the code. But he does it in unsuspicious amount.

- After Builderman went missing (time when game events take place) he became a bit more open with his hacking. Which resulted in getting Shedletsky's attention, who sent Player to investigate [this happens after events of Demo 4]

- 007n7 and Shedletsky came to understanding/ created an alliance. 007n7 can continue his experiments but the bigger ones need to be reported and must have someone trusted by Shed to supervise.

- At first 007n7 was reluctant but with time he realised that this alliance is beneficial for him. And now he legally does illegal things.

- Works as cashier in local market.

- With time people started trusting him more and now he sometimes helps around village, uses his hacking skills in different way than before.

- After spending some more time with Shedletsky and Player he slowly came to conclusion that C00lkid has, in fact, a human traits and he might've been too harsh to him. And he slowly started becoming a bit nicer to C00lkid, although he still has moments where he comes back to old ways.

C00lkid

Backstory:

He's an android created by 007n7 with his sole purpose being a extension of his C00lgui and someone to take blame for his hacking attacks. Because 007n7's code that gave him sentience was from his youth, C00lkid's mental age is around 12 years old. When 007n7 got banned in front of him. C00lkid escaped and since his Ai/code has the ability to analyse and adapt he was able to hack into the Banlands to save his father.

When they started over in the village [Demo 4 area] C00lkid started experiencing being a 'normal' child and tried to make friends, but because of his past everyone stayed away. His dad also weren't a good emotional support, but he just assumed it's normal.

After events of Demo 4, Player is the first one who treats C00lkid like actual child and not deadly hacker or line of code. Which resulted with other village kids and adults to become more open.

More info:

- C00lkid believes everything that his dad says and thinks that there's nothing wrong with the way he treats him.

- He knows he's artificial life and he is okay with this. He uses it to his advantage.

- Because his code is able to self learn, he's incredibly smart. And uses this to prank people. (He's a mischievous little guy). He especially enjoys changing people's clothes into Team C00lkid all red 'uniform'.

- Loves helping out around village, with his unnatural strength and hacking skills people learned to appreciate him. (He's more liked than 007n7)

- His power is mostly locked away now, so he incidentally won't cause a disaster.

- C00lkid begged Player to teach him how to sword fight, after being approved by Shedletsky they started meeting up and train with wooden swords.

- He meet Red and Blue Noobs, when Player was babysitting them and they became friends (especially him and Red). Let's just say that Player had a eventful day.

- C00lkid is on Hatred's hit list. Not even Player knows why.

- Cherishes every bit of attention/care he gets from his dad. And was overjoyed when he started to give him more attention.

- Has trust issues when it comes to anything related to Builderman and Banhammer (because of his dad getting banned and what he heard from Players rant about Hatred disguising as Builderman)

- Enjoys copying/mimicing people.

- Want's to become champion of Swords Fights On The Heights