#I think I’m allowed to tag this with my name for her <3 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

capuccinodoll · 2 months ago

Text

Honey love, dark eyes

♡ Chapter one ♡

Summary: It’s Joel’s birthday, your best friend. As usual, you and Sarah are getting everything ready to celebrate, just like you have for years. However, while preparing dinner before Joel gets home from work, Sarah tells you that her dad has been seeing a mysterious woman for the past couple of weeks. This wouldn’t be an issue, except he’s been deliberately hiding it from you, even going out of his way to lie about it.

Though you try to keep your anger in check to avoid ruining his birthday, your emotions get the better of you later that night when it’s just the two of you. Joel doesn’t hold back either, sparking a heated argument that pushes you both further than ever before.

Word count: 9.4K

A/N: Okay, I was planning for the first chapter to be 4K words MAX, but my imagination went crazy with this lol I really hope you like it. I really enjoyed writing this <3 warning: ANGST! don't forget to leave feedback, tell me what you think!

If you want to be on the tag list, let me know too.

You met him on the night of your twenty-second birthday, at the small party Cassie had put together for you in her dimly lit apartment. You hadn’t wanted much of a celebration, nothing bigger than a few close friends, and certainly not a group of strangers. But when Brianna swept in, holding hands with a man you didn’t know, and introduced him as her boyfriend, you felt a vague flicker of annoyance, the kind that accompanies unmet expectations.

"I thought it was just going to be us," you mumbled to Cassie, catching her in the kitchen as she poured herself another glass of wine.

She looked at you, her cheeks already flushed, eyes bright. "They're a few of my friends, too; they’re nice—you’ll like them if you give it a chance." She smiled, urging you to relax, as though she could tease you out of your mood. "It’s your birthday; don’t be so sullen."

"I didn’t know Brianna was bringing her boyfriend," you said quietly, as Cassie started back to the living room.

She paused, giving you a half-smile over her shoulder. "Neither did I, actually," she admitted, lowering her voice. "Apparently, they've been together for about a month. She’s really into him."

And she was. Brianna clung to him all night, her laughter spilling out freely, unrestrained and buoyant from the wine. It wasn’t long before someone suggested karaoke, and as voices rang out in the next room, you slipped quietly back into the kitchen, craving a moment of solitude. You were surprised to find Brianna’s boyfriend there, leaning against the counter, scrolling absently through his phone with a glass of water in hand.

He looked up, straightened, and offered you a tentative smile. “Oh, hi. Happy birthday,” he said, his voice warm but reserved. “Sorry, I didn’t get a chance to say it earlier…”

“No worries,” you replied, your tone reassuring. “Thanks.”

He hesitated, as though weighing what to say next. “Are you having a good time?”

You gave a slight shrug. “It’s…” but before you could finish, he cut in with a knowing smile.

“It’s okay. I don’t love my birthday either.” His eyes glinted in the soft kitchen light, and you felt a small smile tugging at your own lips.

You looked at him then, really looked at him, allowing yourself the indulgence. “I didn’t want to admit it,” you said, feeling the faintest hint of heat rising to your cheeks. “What was your name again?”

“Joel,” he answered, his gaze drifting briefly back to his phone. “Sorry, I’m a little on edge tonight. Left my daughter with a new babysitter. I think she’s having a rough time.”

Your eyebrows rose in mild surprise; you hadn’t pegged him as a dad. You moved closer, pouring yourself a glass of orange juice and asked, “How old is she?”

“Four. Her name’s Sarah.” He ran a hand through his hair, and you could tell he was tense. “It’s only the second time she’s been with this sitter, and apparently, she’s been crying all evening.”

“Oh, poor thing,” you murmured sympathetically. “She’s little. Changes like that must be hard on her.”

He sighed, his gaze drifting to the side as he typed something quickly on his phone. “I should probably get going. Brianna won’t love that idea; we’d planned to stay out…” He paused, eyes flicking up to meet yours, worry etched across his face. “You think she’ll be too mad?”

“No,” you assured him, though you knew Brianna wouldn’t be pleased. “Go be with your daughter. She’s little; she needs you. Brianna will understand.”

A grateful smile spread across Joel’s face, and for the first time, you noticed the faint dimple on his cheek. For a fleeting second, you wanted to reach out, trace it with your thumb.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his eyes lingering on you in a way that felt unintentional, yet steady. “I hope your night gets better once karaoke is over,” he added with a quiet laugh. "Wish me luck."

You chuckled, meeting his gaze. “Good luck, Joel.”

He left with that same soft smile, and you watched him go, his warm brown eyes leaving an odd impression, like an unclaimed memory. And, as expected, Brianna didn’t understand. She spent the rest of the night sulking, casting sharp words at Joel through her bitterness.

“You knew he had a daughter when you got with him, this was bound to happen at some point,” Cassie told her, fed up with the other's complaints.

You didn't hear the answer, as you were distracted by watching the colorful pictures someone had put on the television.

You heard nothing more from Joel for a couple of weeks, until Cassie blurted out the gossip one morning while you were having lunch at her house.

“He broke up with her,” she began to tell you. “He told her she wasn't being empathetic and that he couldn't drop everything to party with her as if they had no responsibilities.”

It was no surprise. Brianna was a woman who lived at night; she was twenty-three years old and enjoyed it with the freedom that was rightfully hers. You couldn't blame her for wanting to have fun with her boyfriend. But Joel lived a very different reality than she did; at twenty-eight, he had a daughter to take care of, routines to follow, and a lot of work to do.

Although you thought it would take her longer to get over him, it wasn't long before she met a guy at her gym and got into it with him, outgrowing Joel in a matter of days. But for some reason, Joel’s warm, steady gaze stayed with you, like a whisper that hadn’t fully faded.

Years passed quietly, slipping through your fingers like sand until, suddenly, it was your twenty-sixth birthday. This time, the scene was different: you’d moved into your own place just two days earlier, and there was little thought of celebrating. Instead, the weekend found you alone, arranging your things and attempting to bring order to the chaos of a new home.

It was a crisp Saturday morning, and you stood in your front yard with a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice in hand, humming along to some eighties tune drifting in from the living room. The song—one of those upbeat ones that made even housework feel light—had lifted your spirits, and you moved rhythmically as you pushed plastic flowers into the dirt along the front path, sending little puffs of air to make the petals flutter.

You were lost in your task when you heard soft footsteps behind you, instinctively making you turn.

“Oh, hello,” you said, quickly masking the slight surprise the girl’s sudden appearance had given you.

She looked at you with wide, curious eyes, seemingly unfazed by her solo adventure.

“Hi. What’s your name? Do you live here?” she asked, her gaze shifting from your face to the flowers in your hands.

Glancing around for any sign of her parents, you noted her relaxed stance, like she’d been coming here all her life. Smiling, you nodded and gave her your name. “Yep, I just moved in.”

She looked unimpressed. “This house was empty for a while. I didn’t like the kid who lived here before. He was a pain in the ass—”

“Sarah!” came a sharp voice from behind, making you jump slightly. Heavy footsteps approached, and you squinted against the sun to see a figure striding toward you, his features obscured by the bright morning light.

When he stepped closer, his face came into focus, and your breath caught. You knew him.

“Sarah, you can’t just leave the house like that,” he said sternly, a furrow in his brow, his tone more parental than reproachful.

He turned to you, and the scowl softened as recognition dawned.

“Joel,” you murmured, the name slipping out before you even meant to say it aloud.

His expression shifted into a surprised smile, and that was all it took to break the ice between you. You explained that you’d just moved in and were still settling. Joel offered to help with anything you needed, including taking a look around the house to ensure everything was in order. He formally introduced you to Sarah, now eight years old, who had nearly scared him to death by sneaking out. She had his same lively spark in her eyes, a brightness that seemed familiar.

That evening, Sarah invited you to dinner with them, leaving Joel with little choice but to agree. And one dinner became many, as evenings blurred into weekends, and you found Joel’s presence in your life weaving into something inseparable from your routine. He started popping by to help with small projects, fixing kitchen cabinets or adjusting the wobbly front steps, visits stretching into movie marathons or lazy conversations with cold beer in hand. Days flowed into evenings of chatting over the meals you cooked to share with Sarah, and sometimes her uncle Tommy. Though Joel claimed he was no cook, his barbecues were legendary, and you couldn’t deny you looked forward to them most of all. And soon enough, he was there for everything, from driving you to doctor’s appointments to accompanying you on those grocery runs he pretended to hate. He even started showing up early on days he knew you’d need a ride. Over time, he became the best friend you’d ever had, a safe place, someone who felt like family. With everyone else scattered—Cassie overseas, old friends moved away—Joel became your rock.

It wasn’t something you dared to admit to yourself often, but you couldn’t imagine your life without him. And maybe that’s why you never allowed yourself to voice those little fleeting thoughts, the ones that flitted through your mind every now and then: how safe you felt whenever he threw his arm around your shoulders, or how good he looked reclining on his couch after a long day. Or how perfect it felt when the three of you—Sarah dozing on his lap, you leaning into his shoulder—sat together in the warm silence of a Sunday afternoon. There was an ache, too, a quiet pang whenever he mentioned another woman. Thankfully, that was rare; Joel once told you, with a shrug, that he “wasn’t really looking for that sort of thing.”

Sometimes, you watched him carefully as you talked about your own dates, hoping to catch a glimmer of jealousy in his gaze, some subtle cue that maybe he felt the same way. But there was never anything you wanted to see, and you always felt silly for looking. So, you buried it all. The risk of ruining things with Joel wasn’t worth the confession.

One afternoon, however, your emotions almost escaped your eyes when, while preparing Joel's birthday cake, Sarah dropped a piece of news that caught you off guard. She told you, with her usual nonchalance, that Joel had gone out the night before with someone new.

“Yeah, it’s like… the third time they’ve gone out,” Sarah mentioned while spreading cream on the sponge cake. “I don’t know her name or anything, just that he met her in line at the bank,” a laugh choked in her throat, amused at imagining her father flirting with some woman in a public space.

You forced a smile, laughing along like it was funny.

"And who stayed with you last night?” you asked, trying to keep your tone casual.

Not that Sarah was necessarily a baby; she was already twelve and extremely independent. But Joel never left her alone if he went out for the night, he knew how much she loved spending time with you watching movies and eating junk food. Then, when he arrived, you would pester him with gossipy questions and he would pretend to get angry and then answer every one of them.

“Uncle Tommy," she said, eyeing her work with satisfaction. “We had fun, but I kinda wished you’d come too. Hey, what do you think?” she fingered the cream neatly arranged with the angled knife.

“It's perfect,” you smiled at her, not waiting too long to ask the question you wanted so badly. “Why didn't you call me then?”

Sarah started sprinkling colorful sprinkles on top of the cream and looked at you for a second when she noticed the tone in your voice at the last word. She didn't seem to think much of it.

“You were busy, weren't you? Dad said you had something to do.”

Her answer hit you like a small weight to the chest. Joel had purposefully left you out. He’d even made an excuse for Sarah’s benefit. So, there had been three dates—three times he’d kept this woman a secret. A small knot formed in your stomach as you forced yourself to smile, still watching Sarah as she concentrated on the last of the sprinkles.

In the kitchen, you were running your hand through the steam from the beef stew on the stove—Joel’s favorite—when the door opened. His footsteps grew louder, approaching, and you nervously adjusted the dress you’d chosen, one you knew he liked, though he’d never said it. It was your favorite too, a cream-colored sundress with delicate shoulder ties.

Sarah sprang forward, covering his eyes. “Don’t look, the table’s not ready.”

You hurried to set the glasses in their places, your hands a little shaky as you moved, hoping he wouldn’t notice the flush creeping up your cheeks.

“I don’t need to see it—I can smell it, and it smells incredible,” Joel grinned beneath Sarah’s tiny hands, which she’d plastered over his eyes, half to keep him from sneaking a glance, half just because she could.

“Too bad you don’t smell incredible,” Sarah retorted with a smirk, wrinkling her nose. "Go take a shower!"

You laughed, catching Joel’s raised brow at her.

“You’ve got five minutes,” you said, placing the lid on the simmering pot.

Joel snorted, brushing Sarah’s hands away from his face.

“That’s the smell of a hardworking man,” he replied, feigning offense as he turned for the stairs. “Y’all oughtta know.”

Later, the three of you sat around the table, and Joel took his first bite of the stew, eyes widening, a kind of bliss washing over his face. He tossed his head back and groaned.

“Sweet Glory,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. “Thank you for this.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, though part of you couldn’t help but feel a pang of something between irritation and flattery. “You say that every time I cook for you.”

He shook his head, smiling as he chewed, then spoke softly, his gaze slipping downward.

“I’m not exaggerating—I love everything you do.” A pause, and then a quick, awkward clarification. “I mean, everything you cook.”

The clarification was like a line drawn in the sand, a boundary etched by his voice alone.

You smiled weakly and inwardly thankful when Sarah spoke, telling you about something that had happened at her school that week and distracting you from the question that was spellbinding your tongue. You were dying to ask it, to look him in the eye and ask: who did you go out with last night? Why didn't you tell me? Is it someone I know? Is that it?... But you didn't, you stayed quiet and participated in the pleasant conversation, celebrating his birthday as he deserved. After all, no matter how much it angered you that he kept things from you, it was still his special day.

After dinner, Sarah forced Joel to sit in front of his cake, two lit number candles glowing in front of him. You turned out the lights, watching as the light from the flames reflected beautifully in your best friend's dark pupils.

Joel was wearing a black T-shirt and dark jeans, his hair was still barely damp from the shower he'd taken before, and his sun-kissed tan face looked smooth, decorated by the beard and mustache you loved so much. Behind him, his shadow vibrated and spread across the wall with grandeur.

“Make a wish!” Sarah cheered, bouncing with excitement as she placed her small hands on his shoulders.

Joel smiled, closed his eyes, and blew out the candles. In the dimness, you leaned in and kissed his cheek softly.

“Happy birthday, old man,” you whispered, your hand resting gently on his neck.

He reached for your hand, pressing a warm, lingering kiss into your palm. “I’m not that old,” he muttered with a mock frown.

Sarah giggled, holding a knife to cut the cake and licking a dab of frosting from her thumb. “You’ll be forty in four years,” she teased, catching your amused expression.

Joel scoffed, scratching his stomach as he stood back up, turning to you with a smile that made you forget, just for a moment, all the questions you were holding back. There was only Joel, his rumbling laugh, Sarah’s delighted giggles. It felt like home.

Sarah gave him his gift first: a copy of Curtis and Viper 2 with the deleted scenes and a mystery box. When he opened it, a smile formed on his lips.

He pulled out a weathered wristwatch, broken for months, now polished and repaired.

“I took it in to be fixed. Do you like it?” Sarah asked, eyes wide with anticipation.

Joel nodded, eyes softening as he extended his wrist for her to put it on. “It’s perfect, baby.”

“Let's watch the movie later,” Sarah said. “You can't fall asleep.”

“Let's see which one of us falls asleep first,” you joked, and you were right. Joel had been working all afternoon and Sarah had been yawning for hours.

You turned and picked up the box resting beside your feet, handing it to him. When he opened it, Joel pulled out a black cloth garment and a paper envelope. He tugged at the cloth, revealing a thick, soft jacket. He read the label and a smile appeared on his lips.

“I saw it and thought of you,” you said, mimicking his gesture.

“How much did you pay for this?”

“Don't worry about it, it had to be yours,” you noted as you stood up and took it from his hand. “Here, stand up. Let's see how it fits you.”

“And what if it doesn't fit? Do we have to travel to Rome to exchange it?”

You laughed, then helped him slide it over his shoulders, a comfortable, familiar movement.

“I know you by heart, I couldn't be wrong.”

“So?” he asked, smiling coquettishly. Your stomach tingled and you decided to ignore it.

“Lookin’ good, Dad,” Sarah chimed in, her innocent smile lighting up the moment. “Bet someone special will love it, too.”

Joel smiled weakly, as if he was trying to tell her something with his eyes, and for a second you hated the thought of your gift being enjoyed by someone else. You imagined him getting ready to go out with her -whoever she was-, running his hand through his hair and perfuming his neck as he did from time to time whenever he went out with someone. You knew that perfume perfectly, you'd recognize it anywhere, though you were sure it wouldn't smell the same on anyone else. Joel added his own scent to it, and you loved it.

“Okay, now, open the envelope,” you urged, your voice unintentionally sharper than you meant.

Joel sat back down and opened the blue paper envelope. He read the note carefully and when he looked up, you and Sarah were looking at him excitedly.

“Sunshine, did you pay for this?” he asked you, a soft disbelief in his tone.

Inside were three plane tickets. Sarah had helped you pick the destination—somewhere none of you had been but would love.

When you nodded, he let out a soft sigh. “Let me cover part of it.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “It’s my birthday gift to you, Joel. It’s all settled. You need a vacation, and we certainly do too, don't we?”

“That's right,” Sarah confirmed, smiling complicitly.

He sighed, shaking his head. “You’re too good to me.”

But he smiled, tucking the tickets back into the envelope.

Time with Joel and Sarah was easy. When you were with them, hours slipped away, and the heaviness of everything else seemed to dissolve. You felt at home, and sometimes it left you wondering about Sarah’s mother, about how anyone could have left them. Didn’t she see how extraordinary they were? Didn’t she realize what she’d lost?

You thought about this as you relaxed on the couch beside Joel, Sarah curled up with her head on your shoulder. Her breathing had slowed, and you smiled, realizing she’d fallen asleep. Three glasses sat on the coffee table: the wine Joel had opened just before dinner—a bottle you’d brought back from your last trip to Italy—and Sarah’s lemon soda. Joel snorted softly, glancing at his daughter with a smirk, then leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Fallen soldier,” he whispered, smiling.

You laughed, brushing a hand over Sarah’s hair. “She’s tired. She was up all afternoon making your cake, you know? Tried the cream three times before she got it right.”

Joel sighed, an apologetic note in his voice. “I know, sorry I was late. I know she wanted me here sooner.”

Curtis and Viper 2 was halfway through on the TV, forgotten in the background. Joel straightened, signaling he’d take Sarah to bed, and you shifted to make room as he lifted her, carrying her toward the stairs. You watched him disappear down the hallway, and as the house fell into a quiet lull, that familiar disappointment stirred in your chest. Now, without Sarah’s chatter, you’d have to keep pretending that nothing was wrong.

You took a long sip of your wine, finishing off the glass just as Joel returned. He sat down heavily beside you, causing the cushions to sink as he let out a sigh, rubbing a hand over his eyes before giving you a grateful look.

“Thanks for today, I had a great time. Sarah was very happy,” he said quietly, a warm smile appearing on his lips.

“I'm glad, hun. Although the credit goes to her, I just made dinner.”

“Doesn’t matter. You helped her, and I’m grateful. I mean that. For today, and for… all these years.” His voice softened, almost reverent.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you whispered, feeling your pulse pick up as he leaned closer, his brown eyes unreadable but soft. “You’re my family, both of you. Really, I’m the one who owes you thanks.”

He shook his head and leaned back, taking another sip of his wine.

“Not at all,” he replied, leaning back again.

You watched him for a moment, turning the weight of your question over in your mind. If you said something, he’d make an excuse. If you kept silent, the doubt would eat at you. You tried to fix your gaze on the TV, on anything other than his profile in the dim room. But the words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop yourself.

“So, what did you do last night?”

He tensed beside you, so subtly that only you could’ve noticed. “What?”

You tried to keep your tone even, hoping you didn’t sound like you’d spent all day thinking about it. “I just… didn’t see your truck out there, thought maybe you were gone or something.” It was a lie; you had fallen asleep on your couch last night, you hadn't even noticed Joel was gone.

Joel seemed to measure his words carefully. “Oh. Yeah… I just went out for a beer with Tommy,” he answered, his tone a little too casual.

Heat crept up your face, disbelief taking root. He really was holding out on you for some reason, wasn't he? The man was lying to you, and not very cleverly. Tommy had been with Sarah, what if you had seen him, hadn't he thought of that? Apparently not.

It took a moment before you could bring yourself to say anything, watching as he glanced at you with an uneasy smile, waiting for you to believe him.

“Joel,” you murmured, not quite able to keep the accusation out of your voice. “You’re lying to me.”

He gave a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, but you didn’t let him off so easily. Before he could say anything, you spoke again.

“Tommy was with Sarah last night, here,” you pointed out, your voice firmer this time. His silence told you everything, his face drawn and uncertain as he realized you’d caught him.

After a long pause, he looked down, his voice unusually flat. “Alright, yeah. I know.”

The admission was so casual it took you by surprise, but you shook your head, feeling the ache of frustration and betrayal creep in.

“Why would you lie to me?” you pressed. “We’re friends. Why wouldn’t you tell me you’re seeing someone?”

Joel sighed, avoiding your gaze, his eyes instead locked somewhere in the distance. “It’s… it’s nothing serious,” he mumbled. “Just getting to know her. Don't make such a fuss out of it.”

“What? what you're saying doesn't make sense. You’ve kept it hidden, avoided every chance to be honest about it. Why?” you asked, trying not to let the hurt seep into your voice.

“It’s not like that,” he insisted, but his voice sounded unsure.

“So if I call Tommy right now, he’ll tell me the truth? Or did you ask him to keep this from me too?”

Finally, he met your gaze, his eyes scanning your face, reading the frustration and hurt you’d tried to keep buried. You could see it in his eyes, that familiar tug of defiance, a flash of something deeper than guilt or secrecy.

“What if I did?” His voice was almost philosophical, his gaze intense and challenging. “This is my private life. I don’t have to explain myself to anyone, not even you. Do I?”

You drew in a sharp breath. His words struck like a slap, but you steadied yourself. “You’re right, Joel. You don’t owe me explanations. But you don’t have to lie to me, either.” You looked down, feeling your voice start to waver. “You’ve never hidden your relationships from me before.”

He sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face and slumping back against the couch.

After a few seconds, he finally looked at you, a look of exasperation crossing his face.

“Because of this.” He gestured between you, his tone gentle but firm. “This reaction, right here, is exactly why I didn’t tell you.”

What Joel was saying didn’t make sense. Your frustration wasn’t over him seeing someone else; it was something else entirely, something more fundamental.

“Oh, just stop,” you snapped, voice sharp. “I’m not mad because you’re dating someone, Joel. I’m mad that you lied to me. They’re two completely different things.”

He took a breath, settling back on the couch, and turned to face you, a guarded expression crossing his face. “No, it’s always the same thing. Remember the last time I was seeing someone?”

And you did, briefly. A year ago, one of his friends had introduced him to his cousin—a woman who had just moved to town. She was polite enough, but her smiles had a brittle quality to them, and when she met Sarah, her warmth never extended beyond a single, dismissive greeting. The indifference was obvious, at least to you, and maybe you’d let that show a little too openly. Joel had caught on quickly, and after that, things with her fizzled out.

“That was different,” you argued, exasperated. “She wasn’t nice, Joel. She had zero interest in Sarah.”

He gave a bitter, half-smile. “Maybe, but it wasn’t your job to manage that. I can handle my own relationships. But you always—” he paused, thumping his chest with a finger, “you always step in. Always get defensive.”

“That’s not true!” Your voice rose as anger crept in, heating your face. “You’re just making excuses. Date whoever you want, Joel, I don’t care. But don’t lie to me, don’t insult me with these flimsy excuses. Or if you’re going to lie, at least make it convincing.”

He clenched his jaw, his gaze hardening, something fierce sparking in his eyes. “Are you sure about that?” he asked, his voice low and measured, the words hanging between you like a dare.

“Sure about what?” Your brow creased in confusion, the pulse in your chest picking up, a flurry of anger and… something else you couldn’t place, mingling with the haze of the wine.

His eyes narrowed, holding yours, unflinching. “That you don’t care. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Because I know you, i know you to well to know you’re just jealous.”

Jealous. He thought you were jealous.

He had missed the point completely. Your feelings for him were complex, that much was true. But you had learned, or thought you had learned, to carry them quietly. Your friendship with him had come to feel like a sturdy house you could live inside without having to ask too much of it. Having him in your life was enough.

But now, you felt that house shift, cracks spreading through the walls. His inability to trust you hurt more deeply than you’d expected. The openness you’d once trusted was fracturing. You felt the sting of tears prick at your eyes, the words he’d thrown out so casually cutting to the quick.

“Fuck you, Joel,” you muttered, standing abruptly, storming to the door and slamming it shut behind you. You barely heard him call your name as you left, fury driving you down the front steps, the cool night air biting at your cheeks.

Honestly, he could go fuck himself.

Just as your hand reached your front door, his footsteps closed in behind you, his strides fast enough to catch up. You tried to close the door before he could reach you, but his hand caught it just in time, his voice heavy with irritation.

“Just go away, Joel,” you said, barely glancing at him. “I don’t want to see you again.”

“That’s not true, and you know it.” His voice was calm, almost pleading.

You stepped back, reluctantly letting him into the foyer. He’d have come in anyway.

“I mean it, God. Go home,” you insisted, your voice wavering, betraying the anger mixed with something else.

He shook his head, taking a few steps closer, his jaw tight. “Can we just talk?”

“Talk?” you repeated incredulously. “Talk about what? About how wrong you are?”

He didn’t flinch, but his eyes darkened. “Don’t act like what I said was crazy,” he said, voice steady but a little sharper now.

You scoffed, throwing your hands up. “Oh, so now I’m jealous, is that it? Then, by your logic, you must’ve been jealous too, right? Like last month, when Travis asked me out. Because if that’s the case, then we’re having the same conversation, aren’t we?”

Joel clicked his tongue, tilting his head with an exaggerated sigh. “No, Travis is just a jerk. And I don’t like him, plain and simple.”

Travis Dunn, your neighbor, had moved in a few months after you did. Handsome, tall, and friendly, everyone on the street adored him—everyone except Joel. He couldn’t seem to stand him, though Travis was always polite to him.

Last month, when Travis had asked you out, Joel had practically laughed in your face when you told him about it, muttering something dismissive as if the very idea was absurd. You’d told Travis you were busy, though deep down you knew the real reason you hadn’t accepted was because of Joel’s disapproval.

You shook your head, exasperated. “Travis isn’t a jerk, Joel, you just don’t like him. He’s nice, honestly, much nicer than some people, if we’re being honest here. Everyone loves him; you’re the only one who has a problem with him.”

“Then everyone’s as much of an idiot as he is, sunshine.”

“Oh, really? Or maybe… you’re jealous of him?” Your tone was teasing, but you felt the shift as soon as you said it.

Joel’s mouth twitched in a half-smile, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes. He ran his tongue over his lips, shaking his head slowly, twice.

“Don’t turn this on me,” he said. “This isn’t about Travis or me.”

“No?” you shot back, voice edged with challenge. “So if I go tomorrow and say yes to him, that wouldn’t bother you at all, right?”

He stepped closer to you, his eyes dark with something you’d never seen in him before. The air seemed to thicken, his presence so intense it felt as though it wrapped around you. He leaned in, his face close enough that his words brushed your skin.

“You can do whatever you want, baby. It’s your fucking life.”

“And you can do whatever you want too, Joel. That’s the fucking point!” you nearly shouted, hands pushing against his shoulders, shoving him away. “I don’t care what you do! It’s already clear you don’t get it, you don’t get anything, ANYTHING!”

Joel staggered back for a split second, but it wasn’t long before he closed the distance again, though he didn’t get as close this time.

His voice was lower, a thread of something hard in his tone. “If you’re so insulted by the idea of being jealous, maybe that’s something for you to think about. Ever thought of doing a little introspection?”

“Are you drunk, Joel?” you asked, eyes narrowed, softening your voice a fraction. The argument was exhausting you, and the anger left you feeling hollow.

He laughed, an odd, choked sound. “Oh, c'mon, you know one bottle of wine ain't enough to get me drunk.”

“Yeah, but you’re tired, and you’re not exactly young, Joel,” you said, brushing past him, his gaze glued to you the entire time. “Alcohol hits you differently now. Just go home, leave me alone.”

“Fine. I’ll leave you alone, and maybe then you can run across the street and fuck Travis Dunn, if you want it so badly,” he shot back, impatience tinging his voice as he turned toward the still-open door.

The words hit you like a slap. You froze for a moment, the anger washing over you in a wave. Before you could think twice, you rushed up to him, gripping his arm tightly to force him to turn and look at you.

“What the hell did you just say, Joel?” you hissed, grabbing his shirt, fingers bunching in the fabric as you backed him up until his shoulders hit the wall by the door. “Go on, say it again!”

Your breaths came fast, chest rising and falling as the rush of anger pushed tears to your eyes. You couldn’t believe he’d actually spoken to you like that, cutting right through to something raw and vulnerable. He’d never spoken to you like that before. Maybe he was a little drunk, or maybe he was losing his mind.

But there was no softness in his gaze, no hint of the Joel you knew. His stare was sharp, almost wild with something simmering underneath, something you didn’t understand. To you, this whole argument made no sense, at least not his reaction.

Joel’s grip on your wrist was firm, almost grounding, as he pulled you closer, pressing your palm against his chest. “I can’t stand that asshole, but go ahead and fuck him if you want,” he spat, voice laced with frustration. “Go fuck the whole neighborhood while you’re at it. I really don’t care anymore.”

His words were harsh, designed to cut, but they only drew a laugh from you—sharp and derisive. A tear slipped down your cheek, uninvited.

“What, did you ever care?” you asked, your voice trembling on the last syllable, thick with emotion.

But Joel didn’t respond, and the silence ignited a fire in you, something that swirled beneath the surface, ready to boil over.

“Do you know why we’re friends, Joel?” Your pulse quickened, each beat like a drum in your ears. “Because it just works between us. There are no ulterior motives. You know why? Because I don’t like you like that. You’re not even my type, and you never will be. And no, I’m not jealous that you’re dating some woman you’ll probably dump in less than a month, so get the fuck over it and leave me the fuck alone!”

You watched as his gaze flickered between your eyes, uncertainty warring with something darker. Suddenly, with an unexpected strength, Joel tightened his grip on your wrist and pushed you back hard against the wall. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping as your back hit the unforgiving surface.

His expression had transformed, those deep, dark eyes piercing you like arrows. His breath quickened, crashing against your face, and you could feel your lower lip tremble as he pressed even closer, pinning you against the wall.

“You don’t know how to lie,” he murmured, his lips almost brushing against your cheek.

The sensation was unbearable; his body pressed against yours, heat radiating off him and melting you inside. You could feel the edge of something primal, something that could tip either way. But suddenly, clarity surged through you. With a burst of strength, you pushed him away, breaking free from his grasp, forcing him to pull back just enough for you to gasp for air.

But the distance felt worse. In his eyes, you recognized something you’d never seen before—desire, raw and unfiltered. It clawed at you, igniting an inexplicable need. A sigh escaped your lips, and like a match struck in a dark room, it was enough to set off an explosion. In an instant, Joel lunged at you, and you found yourself wrapped around him, mouths colliding in a desperate kiss filled with moans and the urgency of your racing hearts.

With a loud thud, Joel kicked the front door shut, his hands moving feverishly down your body, fingers skimming your thighs, slipping beneath your dress. He caressed your skin before squeezing your ass hard, drawing a moan from your lips that echoed in the small space between you. You clung to him tighter, his hands fitting around you as if they were made for this very moment.

He pulled back for a breath, the sound wet and chaotic against the walls of your home, and then his lips descended down your neck, unraveling what little sanity you had left. A moan rumbled in his throat as your hands tangled in his hair, tugging gently to tilt your head back, giving him better access to the tender spot just below your ear, your blood pulsing beneath his hungry mouth.

Joel seemed to want to devour you whole; his hands roamed erratically, trembling as his mouth kissed and bit your jaw, pressing your bodies together in a way that felt impossibly intimate. When you lifted your right leg and wrapped it around his side, he was quick to respond, hands securing your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto his hips, burying his face against your chest.

Another moan escaped you, and he pulled you down just enough to find your lips again. “Joel,” you whispered, breathless as you parted from him, pressing your forehead against his, eyes searching his.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he said, his voice low, almost broken, each word laced with a vulnerability you’d never heard from him before. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” you replied in a small, desperate cry, feeling the heat radiating from him, the thin fabric of your underwear igniting a fire deep within you.

You were dying of thirst, and he had just asked you if you would refuse a sip of water. Was he mad? You wanted to drink it all.

No sooner had you answered than Joel pulled you off the wall, striding toward the stairs with a confident grace. You lowered your legs cautiously, meeting his lips again in a frantic, wet kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with urgency.

You walked to your room with the agility of one who knows where to step, and once inside, you grabbed the shirt you had angrily grabbed earlier and lifted it up his body in a desperate attempt to rip it off. Joel raised his arms, letting the fabric pass over both of you and then fall to the floor, and as quickly as your hands returned to his chest, he kissed your neck again, desperate, pressing his fingers into the tender flesh of your waist, seeking a physically impossible closeness.

His hands found your thighs once more, fingers gripping and kneading with a measured intensity that sent electric shivers through you. As he moved lower, his fingertips brushed the thin fabric of your underwear, inching closer to where you ached for him, squeezing you tighter as if to draw you in.

In a single, decisive motion, he grasped the hem of your dress and pulled it upward, the fabric sliding along your skin as he lifted it away, tossing it aside with a casual disregard that only heightened the tension in the air. He took a step back, his gaze roaming over you, from the soft curve of your face down to the tips of your toes, a look of hunger that felt almost consuming.

You weren't wearing a bra (your dress didn't require it) and your breasts fell beautifully in front of him, hard nipples and soft skin. Your chest flushed with warmth, a rosy hue creeping into your cheeks as you swallowed hard, feeling vulnerable yet exhilarated when he stepped closer.

“I’ve always loved that dress,” he said, his voice trembling with an emotion that was both reverent and raw.

“I know,” you replied, a smile curling at the corners of your lips, the moment igniting an intimacy that made your heart race.

His eyes swept down your body again, glittering with an unmistakable lust, and when he closed the distance, standing right before you, your breath caught in your throat.

His hands slid around your waist, firm yet tender, pulling you into him with a deftness that sent a thrill coursing through you. In one seamless motion, he lifted you off the ground, your feet barely grazing the floor as you instinctively stood on your tiptoes, the world narrowing to just the two of you.

Joel’s eyes darkened with a hunger that left you breathless, and he leaned in, his lips finding one of your breasts with a soft kiss that felt both electrifying and reverent. The warmth of his mouth sent a rush of heat through your body, and before you could gather your thoughts, he nipped your nipple gently, a teasing bite that sent chills racing across your skin.

His teeth grazed you just enough to elicit a gasp, a shuddering reaction that echoed in the space between you. But he didn’t linger on the sharpness of that moment; he quickly replaced the sensation with the soothing warmth of his lips, enveloping you entirely.

He sank to one knee, lowering himself until his lips brushed your stomach, the warm sensation sending ripples of desire coursing through you. His face lingered dangerously close to where you needed him most.

Joel placed his hands on your hips, fingers gripping the elastic of your underwear, his gaze locking onto yours for a moment that stretched into eternity before he slowly began to lower it, the fabric sliding down your legs and pooling at your feet. You felt his breath hitch at the sight of your now bare center, the anticipation thickening the air between you as he inched closer, finally brushing his lips against your mons pubis.

“Precious,” he murmured, and the warmth of his breath washed over you like a caress, drawing a small, needy moan from your lips. His hands parted your legs slightly, his fingers digging into your thighs, holding you firmly in place.

You cupped his face gently, as if afraid you might break him, and then, without warning, Joel licked his lips and plunged forward, his mouth connecting with you in a surprise that made your eyes flutter shut. You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging him closer as he devoured you, his tongue working its magic as he sucked and kissed you whole, with an urgency that left you breathless.

He growled into you, the sound reverberating through your body, and you felt weakness seep into your legs, trembling under the weight of his relentless attention. Joel was eating you like a hungry man, tasting you and soaking in your juices with a fervor that felt primal, kissing you as if his life depended on it.

“Fuck,” you gasped, feeling every muscle in your body tighten as a building pressure coiled inside you.

He pulled away for just a moment, his eyes darkened with lust, a playful smile creeping onto his lips before he returned to you, closing his mouth around your clit, sucking and licking with a skill that made your head spin.

“Ah—Joel, I’m going to—I’m going to—” You struggled to articulate the intensity of what was building within you, your words stumbling over the tide of pleasure washing over you.

His voice vibrated through you, trailing off into a soft, “Mhm.”

You pulled at his hair, tugging harder as a wrenching moan escaped your throat. The world around you faded as his movements grew more frantic, his tongue flicking at you with a desperate fervor. One of his hands released your thigh, and a low groan escaped his lips as his finger found your entrance, sliding inside with an ease that made you gasp.

“Fuck me, you’re so wet,” he murmured, pausing for a moment to take in the sight of you—your cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling with lust. A satisfied smile broke across his face, and you thought he had never looked so gorgeous.

From your point of view, he looked beautiful. His bright eyes worshipped you intently, his mouth and mustache glistened bathed in you, his hair tossed by your hands mingled in all directions. Joel Miller had never looked so good.

Another finger joined the first, and you closed your eyes, surrendering to the sensation as he curled them just right, hitting that sweet spot that made you gasp for air. You gripped his hair again, pulling him closer, and he let out a throaty laugh, clearly reveling in the sight of you completely undone.

You felt his mouth on you again, the warmth of his lips kissing and sucking with an insatiable hunger that left you breathless. The sound of it was utterly obscene, echoing around the room like a carnal symphony, and it drove you to the brink of madness, your mind spinning in a dizzying haze of pleasure.

His movements grew more intense, a rhythm building that sent waves of ecstasy rippling through your body. You felt yourself teetering on the edge, your hips moving in desperate undulations, surrendering to the climax that Joel savored with unrelenting focus. Your fingers clenched around him, digging in perhaps a bit too hard, but he welcomed it, desperate to drink in every last drop of what you were offering, to savor you whole.

With a low grunt, he squeezed your hips before pulling away, the wet sound of his departure from you hanging heavy in the air. You barely registered his rise from the floor, lost in the aftershocks of pleasure, your eyes still closed as the vibrations coursed through you. It wasn’t until his hands gripped your waist that you finally blinked awake, lifting your eyelids to find him gazing down at you, his face mere inches from yours.

He leaned in, capturing your mouth again, a kiss that was both desperate and tender, igniting a fire deep within you. You could taste yourself on his tongue.

Your hands found their way around his neck, pulling him closer as you melted into the kiss. As the intensity built, you let your fingers drift down his chest, trailing lightly until they found the leather of his belt, the sensation sending shivers through you as you tugged him closer.

Joel vibrated against you, a low growl escaping as he nipped at your lower lip while you fumbled with his steel buckle, the sound of it being released becoming your new favorite melody. You unzipped his pants, your heart racing as you slipped your hand inside, finally touching him for the first time.

Your pulse quickened as you wrapped your fingers around him, feeling the heat radiating from his velvet soft skin; big, hot and throbbing in your palm. A rush of desire flooded you, and you pulled away from his lips, dropping to your knees before him, your eyes wide as you took in his form.

There he stood, beautiful and swollen with need, and your mouth watered at the sight. You cupped him gently, drawing him closer to your lips, placing a soft kiss on the tip. Joel closed his eyes at the sensation, surrendering to the moment completely, and you traced your tongue over him, tasting the salty sweetness of his pre cum that made your insides tighten with longing.

With a hint of effort, you attempted to take him fully into your mouth, but he was too large, stretching you in ways you hadn’t expected. Joel lowered his gaze to you, his fingers caressing your jaw as you struggled to adjust.

“Slow, baby,” he urged, his voice silky yet strained, and it sent another rush of need through you. "I know you can do it."

You matched your hand to your mouth, stroking him where you couldn’t quite reach, while your other hand gently caressed his balls, moving in a synchronized rhythm. Joel tensed beneath your touch, his fingers shifting from your face to tangle in your hair, guiding you as he reveled in the pleasure you were giving him.

The sounds in the room became a symphony of pleasure, every moan and gasp echoing off the walls, and you watched as Joel's pleasure climbed. The image was enough to drive him over the edge; your pink, swollen lips covered him and his cock glistened with your saliva, dripping from your chin with every move you made. Your teary eyes looked up at him desirously, and he could take no more; his gaze was filled with a primal hunger that threatened to unravel him. He finally withdrew from your mouth with great reluctance when he felt his stomach tighten, a low complaint escaping your throat in protest.

His breathing was heavy, and a flush colored his cheeks as he lifted you effortlessly, holding you at the waist, his lips finding yours in a heated kiss. In one swift motion, he laid you back onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he moved closer; Joel kneeling and settling between your legs which you instinctively opened for him.

You needed him, you needed him to fill you whole. You had never needed anything as much as you needed him at that moment. And as if he was reading your thoughts - or maybe he needed you as much as you needed him - he leaned in, taking your mouth with his once more, his moans blending with yours as he lost himself in you.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as he deepened the kiss, the taste of him igniting a fire in your veins. You felt him positioning himself at your entrance, his heat pulsing against you, and an intense sigh shot through your chest as Joel entered you in one thrust, burning and stretching you around him.

“Oh God,” he groaned, burying his face into the crook of your neck, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. His right hand traveled to your left leg, lifting it and resting it high on his shoulder, while without hesitation, his other hand mirrored the movement with your right leg, bringing you into a position that felt both intimate and vulnerable. You were completely folded under him.

A cry escaped your lips as Joel began to move on top of you, his face hovering just inches above yours, the heat between you palpable. No one had ever penetrated you so deeply; it felt as though he was everywhere, filling you completely, every inch of you alive with sensation.

Joel's right hand gently squeezed your neck, seeking your mouth for a kiss as his movements took on a more urgent pace. The rhythmic collision of his hips against your buttocks created a beautiful sound that echoed off the walls, each thrust punctuated by the soft, desperate gasps that slipped from his mouth. Your own cries mingled with his as your body tightened again, your hands moving frantically up and down his back, your nails digging into his flesh, leaving little marks that he would surely wear like badges of pleasure.

A broken sound escaped from Joel, raw and primal, as he sank his face into the crook of your neck once more, increasing his thrusts with a fervor that felt animalistic, as if the world outside had fallen away and this moment was all that mattered. He fucked you into the mattress with an intensity that left you breathless, as though he were trying to ground you both in this fleeting reality, where nothing else existed except for the two of you entwined together.

You melted around him, your juices mixing with his as you enveloped him completely, and just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, he lifted his head, your forehead resting against yours, his wide eyes locking into yours. You had never seen them so dark, so filled with intensity and strength.

And then it hit you: It was Joel, your Joel, the one who had been your best friend for four years, and here he was, fucking the life out of you like no one ever had before. What could possibly come after an experience like this?

“I thought you didn't like me,” he said, his voice choppy, strained with effort. A smirk played at the corners of his swollen lips. “Such a bad liar, baby, look at you.”

You growled in response, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him towards you with a mix of force and anger. Your lips found his in a kiss that was anything but patient, igniting a spark between you. You felt him tense above you, one of his hands quickly moving to your center, exerting immense pressure as he leaned his weight on his other arm, holding you captive beneath him.

His fingers found your clit, tracing gentle circles that made your back arch involuntarily, another wave of pleasure building inside you. Your mouth was still on his, consuming him completely, when your second orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. You felt your insides tighten around him, squeezing him with a ferocity that pulled him closer to his own climax.

Joel gasped into your mouth, and the intensity of it sent your vision spiraling into darkness for a brief moment, the sensation so strong it felt as if the world had collapsed around you. When your breathing finally steadied, you found his hot body pressed against yours, moving in tiny tremors, quickened breaths brushing against your jaw.

He stayed inside you for a few moments longer, savoring the closeness, your hands continuing to caress his back, each touch a silent promise. Then, slowly, he pulled out of you, leaving you feeling achingly empty, his cum trickling from your entrance.

He fell limply beside you, his body slick with sweat, and pulled you close to him, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. His breaths, still heaving, crashed against your damp skin, wrapping you in warmth. Unable to muster the energy to move, you let your eyes flutter closed, surrendering to a deep, exhausted sleep that you would not remember when you woke up...

No, you didn't remember any dream, Because when you opened your eyes the next morning, you stirred in place and your muscles ached pleasantly, reminding you of the night before. And as you stretched your arms across the bed, your fingers grazed the sheets, feeling an emptiness beside you.

When you looked to your sides, the realization hit you hard.

Joel was gone.

taglist: @orcasoul

#joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #tlou fic #tlou hbo #tlou joel #capuccinodoll #joel miller is your best friend #joel x reader #joel tlou #joel the last of us #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal joel #dbf!joel

1K notes · View notes

dollgxtz · 3 months ago

Text

His Watchful Eye Pt.8

Word Count: 23.4k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, possession, mentions of pregnancy, forced pregnancy, mentions of breeding, attempted murder, mentions of murder, tw attempted car crash, manipulation, pet names like, kitten, sweetie, honey, Xavier appears, tw vomiting, mentions of blood, cramping, nausea, very plot heavy chapter wld recommend not skipping, its well worth the read!

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh, @eliasxchocolate, @nozomiaj, @xmiisuki, @sylus-kitten, @its-regretti , @m0onlustre , @ve1vet-cake, @letgobro, @starkeysslvt, @yarafic, @prince-nikko, @leiaglmela @connorsui, @iluvmewwwww75, @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer, @mysssticc, @babygirl-panda19, @someone-somewheres-stuff, @zaynesjasmine1, @honnylemontea, @altariasu, @the-slytherin-poet, @sorryimakira, @pearlymel, @emidpsandia , @angel-jupiter, @hwangintakswifey, @webmvie, @housesortinghat, @fading-twinkle, @shoruio, @gojos1ut, @solomonlover, @cheesenjam, @elegantnightblaze

AN: Hi all! This is of course on A03! I totally forgot about my wisdom teeth removal surgery and therefore added a LOT more words to make up for it for the late upload. Also, readers symptoms are based on what a friend told me it was like for her so please be aware of that going in if you've been pregnant and don't find readers timeline aligning with your own. Its a lot different for everyone! (Plus considering Sylus isn't even human in the first place I doubt the pregnancy would be normal anyways lol). Anyways, please enjoy this chapter! /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡

“No, I’m not pregnant,” you whimpered, shaking your head as tears started to spill down your cheeks. “I’m just sick…I'm just sick...” “Only one way to find out, honey,” he murmured, his voice soft, soothing. Like he was comforting a child. He could feel your fear, could see the way you were choking on the sobs that kept spilling from you. But there was no rush. He had all the time in the world.

Read Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.9

Sylus sat on the couch, fingers drumming absently against the wood of the arm rest as he packed away files and data chips for the upcoming trip. The low hum of the N109 Zone’s endless night buzzed through the small cracks of the window, a constant, oppressive reminder of where he lived. But his mind wasn’t on the trip, not really. His thoughts kept circling back to you—you sitting on the bed, wrapped in a blanket, probably confused at the coldness he’d been showing you for days.

He had expected this. Of course, you would try to leave him. That’s what all this distance had been about—your inevitable attempt at escape again. It was frustrating, yes, but not surprising. You had been stubborn from the very beginning, always resisting, always challenging him. And in truth, that was part of what drew him to you. Your defiance. But the fact that you had actually gone through with it that night, tried to walk out on him... that cut deeper than he was willing to admit.

He had said too much. Far more than he should have in his drunken state. Words spilled out of him, cracking through the cold, calculated exterior he usually maintained. He had shown you something raw, something he didn’t even think he was capable of—vulnerability. And for a brief moment, he had hoped—foolishly, he knew—that his words had reached you. That, despite everything, you would see what he was offering. That maybe, just maybe, it had tugged at your heart enough to make you stay. To choose him over the open door, to choose him over the freedom you so desperately craved.

But, just as he expected, you made your choice. And it wasn’t him.

The sting of it gnawed at him, the rejection simmering under his skin. He had allowed himself to feel something he had long considered a weakness, let down his guard for just a fleeting moment, and you had turned your back on him. He had given you the chance to see him as something more than the cold, possessive figure he had been. And yet, you had gotten out of bed, chasing the illusion of freedom.

It wasn’t just that you had tried to leave—it was that you had chosen to leave him. That, even after all the effort he had put into controlling, guiding, and shaping you, you had slipped away. He had thought he could bend you to his will, that with time, you would see there was no life for you beyond him. But clearly, you still hadn’t learned.

This wasn’t over. It couldn’t be. You were his, even if you didn’t fully understand it yet. He saw something festering in your eyes. In your mind. You could run from your feelings, but Sylus knew better. You could try to escape, but in the end, you would come back. Either by choice or by force.

Either way, vulnerability was a mistake he wouldn’t repeat.

He told himself it was nothing, that your defiance was natural, a part of who you were. You just needed time. Time to understand, time to adjust. Time to realize that you were better off here, with him. You didn’t know it yet, but you needed him just as much as he needed you. Maybe more.

And forcing it? He had tried that. It didn’t work. The chain, the teasing, even the brief moments of affection, none of it had broken through yet. That was why he was ignoring you now, why he’d stopped giving you the attention he knew you craved, whether you admitted it or not. You had to come to him, and maybe a little distance would push you toward that realization. You just needed a little… push.

Sylus sighed, running a hand through his hair as he stood up, glancing toward the bed. He didn’t want to make things so cold between you two. It hurt him, too, to ignore you like this. Every time he saw you sitting there, doing something as simple as folding your clothes, his heart clenched. You didn’t even realize how cute you were, the way your face twisted in concentration as you neatly tucked each item away. The way you fumbled with the edge of your blanket, lost in thought, was enough to drive him mad.

Sometimes he’d catch himself watching you when you weren’t paying attention, your intricate fingers working on some small task, and he had to fight the urge to go over to you, to touch you, rip that nightgown off and hear those cute sounds you make as you squirm under him. There was something sweet, almost delicate, about the way you moved, unaware of how captivating you were.

But then, there was the chain. The damned chain.

His eyes darkened slightly as his gaze flickered toward the weight of that metal around your ankle. It bothered him more than it should have, seeing you restrained like that. It didn't suit you. It was large and imposing on your skin. He didn’t want you to feel trapped, at least not in a way that made you fear him. The chain was a necessity—for now. It was for your own good, to keep you safe, to keep you from running again. But the sight of it weighed on him, a small reminder of the lengths he had to go to keep you by his side. One day, you won’t need it, he promised himself.

One day, you’d stay because you wanted to. Right?

Sylus continued to gather the last of his belongings, his thoughts already on his impending return. The journey ahead was fraught with danger, much like the rest of his work. Business in the N109 Zone was never without risk, especially when it involved the kind of deals Sylus specialized in. The ones outside of it though...could be a little unpredictable. A new weapon had surfaced in the market, and with supply running low and demand soaring, things were bound to get chaotic. But Sylus had already secured his piece. Not because he needed it—no, it was merely bait. He had his eyes on a particular "fish," one that had been slipping through his fingers for weeks.

He had been keeping close tabs on your cycle, watching the days go by on the calendar. You had stopped bleeding while in captivity with Reese and now, it was just a matter of time. By the time he came back, he was sure his seed would take hold. That was why your recent "punishment" hadn't really been about discipline. It had simply been a means to ensure his seed was planted, without too much resistance. He knew you well enough by now. Had he hinted that you were ovulating, you would’ve fought, screamed, maybe even tried to hurt him—only to harm yourself in the process. Disguising it as punishment had been the simplest way to get you to comply.

He was well aware of your fear. He knew that if he pushed hard enough, you would obey. It wasn't what he truly wanted, but if playing mind games was what it took to reach the future he envisioned, so be it. Sylus was no stranger to playing the bad guy.

He would have everything he wanted by the time he got back—you by his side, in more ways than one. The thought of you swollen with his child, completely his, was enough to stir something dark and possessive inside him. He felt his cock slight stiffen at the thought, pooling almost desperate desires to have you under him one last time before he left. To ensure his seed would take.

Sylus moved quietly through the room, packing the last of his things into a sleek, black briefcase. His movements were slow, calculated, betraying nothing of the thoughts racing through his mind. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, now curled up in bed, your form tense beneath the blanket. He could sense your unease, feel the anxiety radiating off of you even though you hadn’t said a word.

Cute.

A silent chuckle echoed in his mind as he noted the way you stiffened the moment he began to approach. You gasped, almost imperceptibly, and tensed like a rabbit sensing a predator. He wanted to close the space between you, to cup your face, trace his fingers along your skin, and feel the heat of your breath against him before he left for the trip. But he held back. No, he had to maintain the cold distance he’d imposed. It was for your own good.

But damn, it was hard. He wanted to mark you, to remind you that you were his—no matter how far he went. Still, there was something delicious about your reaction, the way your eyes widened as he stopped beside the bed.

Why was everything you did so adorable?

You sat up slightly, your gaze locking onto him, every muscle in your body tense. You were clearly waiting for him to say something, to finally break the silence that had lingered like a heavy fog between you for days. Instead, he reached down, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair that was near your face. A piece of lint had gotten caught in it, likely from the laundry you’d folded earlier—one of the small, mundane tasks you’d taken to doing in your isolated state.

Sylus plucked the lint from your hair with an easy, almost gentle motion. It was such a simple, unassuming gesture, but it left you staring at him, taken aback. The look on your face was a mixture of confusion and something deeper, something Sylus could feel but couldn’t quite define. You were shocked by the touch, the sudden break in his cold routine. And then, before you could process it further, he turned his back on you, preparing to leave.

The silence was unbearable.

"Sylus..." Your voice broke through the quiet, trembling ever so slightly, and he felt something tighten in his chest. His back was still to you, but he could hear the frustration, the desperation lacing your words. "What's wrong with you?"

Your question hung in the air, and he felt his resolve waver for the briefest of moments. He wanted to turn around, to explain, to tell you that you hadn’t done anything wrong—that this distance, this coldness, was a game he hated just as much as you. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

"Stop playing your stupid games," you continued, your tone hardening as the frustration bled into anger. "You bring me back, chain me up again, just to ignore me? Asshole." There was venom in your voice, but it was laced with hurt, and Sylus could feel it.

A pang of guilt settled in his chest, but he pushed it down. You had tried to leave him, after all. He had expected it, even understood it, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt. Still, he had to maintain control. She just needs a little more time. He sighed softly, his back still turned to you as he gathered his thoughts.

You weren’t done, though. "You leave me alone for days, barely say a word, and now you’re going on some mysterious trip like nothing’s wrong?" Your voice cracked just slightly, betraying the emotion you were trying to hide. "Why do you even bother keeping me here if you’re just going to act like I don’t exist?"

Sylus swallowed, his jaw tightening. He wanted to answer you, to give you some reassurance, but the distance was necessary. For both of you. And besides, he had seen that look in your eyes before—confusion, anger, frustration. You were close. Close to realizing that he was the only constant in this world, the only one who cared enough to keep you safe, even if you didn’t understand that yet.

"This may be the last time we talk, kitten," he said, his voice colder than he felt. It pained him to keep up the facade, but he forced himself to continue. "Why not be nice in our potential final moments together?"

The words were a joke—he wasn’t planning on dying, not anytime soon—but the way your face contorted in shock, the hurt that flashed in your eyes, made something twist deep inside him. It was cruel, yes, but it was part of the game. You had to see what life would be like without him, even if only for two weeks.

He turned slightly, just enough to catch the look on your face. You were staring at him, wide-eyed, stunned by the cold indifference in his words. Your lips parted as if you were going to say something, but the words seemed to catch in your throat. The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating.

What were you thinking? Were you hurt, confused, angry?

Sylus wanted to take it back. He wanted to tell you that he wasn’t going to die, that this was just another dangerous job, but it hurt him to say it. It hurt him to see you looking at him like that, but he couldn’t back down. He had to keep his distance. He had to let you come to him on your own terms.

But then, you broke the silence. "Well," you spat, your voice hardening again as the hurt morphed into anger, "at least if you die, it’ll be a lot easier getting away from this hellhole."

Sylus chuckled softly, though there was no real humor in it. He wasn’t surprised by your words—they were expected, even—but they stung nonetheless. He turned his back to you again, straightening his suit jacket as he prepared to leave.

"I’ve arranged for you to be fed three times a day," he said, his voice smooth and detached once more. "Mephisto will be keeping an eye on you while I’m gone. Any refusal to eat or bathe will be reported directly to me." He paused for a moment, letting the weight of his words settle over you. "And I wouldn’t want to hear about any attempts to run again, kitten."

"I'll be sure to take apart that stupid bird while you're gone" you spat, laying back down again.

He walked toward the door, his hand resting on the handle, ignoring your tantrum. He didn’t turn around, didn’t give you the chance to say anything more. This was the hardest part—leaving you like this, with so much unsaid. He could feel the turmoil radiating from you, the confusion and anger clashing with something deeper, something he knew you weren’t ready to admit to yourself yet.

But he had to wait. Forcing it hadn’t worked, and now, with the distance between you growing, you’d have time to think, to realize that you needed him as much as he needed you. He would return, and when he did, he hoped that the time apart would have made you see things more clearly.

Without another word, Sylus stepped through the door and left, the weight of your gaze burning into his back the entire time.

Sylus descended the staircase of his mansion, his steps silent, but his thoughts anything but. His mind, which had been lingering on you, now shifted to something else that had been gnawing at him for some time.

The boy from Linkon.

He had recently received reports of a disturbance at the shoe store—one of his covert fronts for an illegal drug operation. It was nothing major, just another petty interruption. But the details? They were unmistakable. A man had walked in wielding a sword, babbling about protocores, asking questions about the twins and a missing girl before escaping in a ball of searing light. His associates had been nearly blinded in the chaos. They hadn’t managed to catch the culprit, but Sylus didn’t need confirmation. He knew exactly who it was.

Xavier.

The name burned in his mind like a festering wound. Sylus had always known that dealing with Xavier would be no easy feat. The boy was reckless, persistent, and—most infuriatingly of all—he still loved you. And worse, you loved him back. Sylus could feel it in every interaction, every fleeting look you gave when you thought he wasn’t watching. It was in the way you hesitated sometimes, the way you still held back, despite everything. You may not have spoken Xavier’s name since Sylus had threatened his life, but that hope—that dangerous, foolish hope—still flickered inside you. The hope that Xavier would come bursting in like some white knight to rescue you from his place.

Like hell Sylus would let that happen.

The mere thought of it stirred something violent inside him. He had worked too hard, done too much, to let some delusional hunter ruin his plans. You were his, and no one else had any claim to you. Not Xavier, not anyone. And if the boy thought he could just sweep in and steal you away, he would quickly learn how wrong he was.

Sylus’s grip on the banister tightened as he reached the bottom of the stairs, his jaw clenched in cold resolve. The game with Xavier was nearing its end. Sylus would not allow this boy to remain a thorn in his side much longer. Xavier’s love for you made him reckless, vulnerable. He would exploit that, get rid of Xavier once for all. Sylus would ensure he never got the chance to try a second time.

As Sylus stepped off the last stair, Luke appeared from the kitchen, casually munching on an apple with his mask tilted up just enough to expose his mouth. The moment he spotted Sylus, his demeanor shifted entirely. Panic flashed across his face as he hastily yanked the mask back down to cover himself, the half-eaten apple forgotten as he tossed it into a nearby trashcan. He quickly straightened his posture, standing rigidly at attention.

“Er-boss! Everything’s packed for you!” Luke stammered, his voice betraying his nervousness. “I can take your suitcase as well!”

His gaze flickered nervously toward Sylus, clearly unsettled. He had seen that energy in Luke's posture before—fear, the kind that made men trip over their words and scramble to stay in his good graces. Luke's hands fidgeted at his sides as if unsure whether to reach for the suitcase or wait for further orders.

Sylus didn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch for a moment too long, just enough to make Luke sweat. His cold, calculating gaze swept over him, taking in every detail of the young man’s anxiety, before finally giving a subtle nod.

Sylus sighed, releasing the tight coil of tension that had built up in his body. There was no need for uncontrolled anger—at least, not yet. The pest would soon be dealt with, and once that distraction was removed, there would be nothing left to stand in the way of the future he envisioned. A future where everything fell perfectly into place.

“I have something to take care of first,” he said, his voice cool and deliberate, as if every word was a command in itself. “Make sure the chefs fully understand the strict instructions I gave about her meals while I’m away. Balanced nutrition. Have them repeat it back to you—every single detail.”

He paused for a moment, his gaze narrowing slightly as he fixed Luke with a look that could freeze blood. “I don’t want any mistakes.”

Without waiting for a reply, Sylus tossed the suitcase into Luke’s hands with casual indifference. Luke’s eyes widened as he scrambled to catch it, his fingers slipping momentarily on the leather handle. The weight of it nearly sent him teetering off balance, but he managed to steady himself, face flushed with embarrassment.

“Yes, boss! I’ll—uh—I’ll make sure of it!” Luke stammered, standing rigidly at attention, as if that might somehow erase his clumsy fumbling.

But Sylus had already turned away, his attention far beyond the room, far beyond Luke’s awkward attempts to regain his composure. His long strides took him toward the door with an air of certainty, as if the world itself bent to his will with every step.

Xavier. Xavier. Xavier.

The name echoed in his mind, an insistent drumbeat. He could feel the anger simmering beneath the surface again, but it was controlled—held in check by sheer force of will. Xavier. The boy had become more than a nuisance. He was a threat. A distraction that had lingered for too long. But that would soon change. Sylus had no intention of letting anything—or anyone—interfere with his plans.

Xavier had dared to love you, dared to think he could save you from the inevitable. The thought of it sent a dark thrill through Sylus’s chest. How naive. How foolish. Did Xavier truly believe he could stand between you and your rightful place at Sylus’s side?

Not a chance.

He would deal with Xavier swiftly, thoroughly. Once the boy was removed from the picture, there would be no more obstacles. No more fantasies of rescue. You would see things clearly, finally understand where you belonged. With him. Always with him.

As the door swung shut behind him, Sylus’s lips curled into a faint smile. Xavier had no idea what was coming. But Sylus did. He had planned for everything, anticipated every move. And soon, Xavier would be nothing more than a forgotten name. A foolish memory.

Nothing—absolutely nothing—would prevent Sylus from claiming the future he deserved. The future he would have with you.

Sylus had always been ten steps ahead. As soon as he had caught wind of Xavier’s desperate attempts to escape the N109 Zone, he had put his plan in motion. Word had spread quickly through the Zone's shadowy network—the kind of word that made people look over their shoulders and shut doors the moment they saw the boy approaching. No one dared to help him as the days passed. Not with the subtle but ever-present threat of Sylus looming over their heads. They knew what would happen if they defied him, and no one was foolish enough to test that.

Mephisto had been watching Xavier from the skies, tracking every move the boy made. It was almost pitiful, Sylus thought, how determined Xavier was, knocking on doors, pleading with anyone who would listen, trying to get someone—anyone—to process the SIM card he had found. The card that held all the damning evidence of what had happened in Reese’s basement. But it was futile. The boy had no idea why people turned him away with frightened eyes, why they avoided him as if he carried some curse.

Sylus felt a flicker of pity for him—how bewildering it must be for Xavier, seeing doors shut in his face, confusion mixing with anger as hope slowly bled out of him. But that pity was short-lived. Xavier had made his choice, and Sylus was about to make sure it was his last.

As Mephisto tracked Xavier’s latest movement, Sylus watched from the GPS feed in his jeep. The boy had finally given up on finding help within the N109 Zone. Likely desperate, he had chosen the hard way—going on foot, sword strapped to his chest, with nothing but determination keeping him moving. He was heading back to Linkon, likely hoping to catch some cell service once he left the Zone's signal-dead perimeter. It was a hopeless task, but Xavier didn’t know that. Not yet.

The boy was relentless, Sylus had to give him that. Mephisto’s feed showed Xavier’s ragged state—his clothes dusty, his eyes sunken with exhaustion. But he kept walking.

What a fool. Maybe he'd like some help.

Wasting no time, Sylus tracked him to his location and pulled up alongside the road in his sleek black jeep, eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, his suit perfectly pressed despite the rough terrain. He brought the car to a slow roll as he neared Xavier, careful not to appear too eager.

He took in Xavier's disheveled appearance and stifled a laugh as he finally got a real life glimpse of the man you dared to call your lover. This was your knight in shining armor?

Xavier glanced over his shoulder at the approaching vehicle, his hand already gripping the hilt of his sword with wary blue eyes. Sylus could feel the boy's suspicion even through the tinted glass. He cracked the window, letting in the cold, arid air, and called out in an easy, practiced tone.

“Need a ride?” Sylus asked casually, his voice carrying the hint of a smile. “You look like you could use one.”

Xavier’s eyes narrowed, scanning the jeep and the man inside it. “And you are?” he asked, his voice rough, a mixture of caution and exhaustion. He didn’t let go of the sword, though it remained sheathed at his chest.

Sylus feigned mild surprise, raising an eyebrow as if the question had caught him off guard. “Just a passerby,” he said smoothly, adjusting the cuff of his suit sleeve. “I just got back from my daughter’s birthday dinner and thought I’d offer a lift. Figured you’d be tired of walking by now.”

Xavier’s suspicion deepened. His gaze flicked over Sylus’s clean hair, the well-tailored suit that seemed out of place in the desolate outskirts of the Zone. His grip on the sword tightened slightly, though he didn’t draw it. “You’re wearing a suit,” Xavier said, his voice dripping with distrust. “Why would you be all the way out here, wearing that?”

Sylus had anticipated the boy’s suspicion, but it didn’t faze him in the slightest. In fact, it was almost amusing. He had expected Xavier to be cautious, to scrutinize every word, every detail, but in the end, none of it really mattered. The boy wouldn’t figure out who he was—how could he? Sylus was an enigma, a shadow in the dark corners of the N109 Zone. His reputation may have spread like wildfire, but few had ever laid eyes on him. Not even a glance.

The genius of it all was that Sylus had made himself a ghost, a figure of whispered warnings and vague threats. His power rested not in his appearance but in his influence, his ability to control from a distance. To orchestrate chaos while remaining completely invisible. As far as Xavier knew, the man sitting behind the wheel of this sleek, black jeep could be anyone—just another passerby, another face in the crowd. That anonymity was what made Sylus dangerous.

So when Xavier narrowed his eyes, suspicion etched into every line of his face, Sylus remained perfectly calm, the faintest hint of amusement tugging at his lips. Let the boy wonder. Let him think. It wouldn’t change the outcome. Sylus always got what he wanted.

His fate was sealed.

Sylus smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He let the silence stretch just long enough to feel heavy between them. “Like I said,” Sylus replied, his voice smooth as silk. “I just came back from my daughter’s party. The restaurant was out of town, and this is the route I take back home.”

Xavier didn’t move. His eyes bored into Sylus, searching for cracks in the façade. Sylus could almost hear the boy’s thoughts, could feel the way Xavier was picking apart every word, every detail. But Sylus was calm, unbothered. He had done this dance too many times. He could see the exhaustion in Xavier’s posture, the way his legs trembled with fatigue, the faint glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, this stranger could help him get out of the Zone.

But the distrust remained. The boy wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t be easy to trick.

“You look too calm,” Xavier said finally, the edge of accusation in his voice. “No one from around here is that calm...or helpful.”

Sylus chuckled softly, as if the remark amused him. “I’ve lived in the N109 Zone for a long time,” he said, shrugging lightly. “You get used to the chaos after a while.”

Xavier’s eyes flickered with indecision. His instincts were telling him something was off, but the exhaustion in his limbs and the desperation gnawing at his mind were wearing him down. Sylus watched, a faint smile tugging at his lips as the boy’s resolve wavered. It was only a matter of time.

“You sure you don’t want a ride?” Sylus asked, leaning back in his seat. “The next town’s pretty far. It’s a long walk—especially on foot.”

For a moment, Xavier just stared at him, his brow furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. He knew something was wrong—Sylus could see it in his eyes. But fatigue was a powerful weapon, and Sylus knew just how to wield it.

The silence stretched on, thick with tension, as the two men sized each other up—one desperately looking for a way out, the other calmly calculating the exact moment to strike.

“No thanks,” Xavier muttered, his voice curt as he adjusted the strap of his sword and continued his walk past the car, not bothering to look back.

Sylus’s jaw tightened, a flicker of irritation flashing across his otherwise calm demeanor. The boy wasn’t just persistent—he wasn’t stupid either. It was becoming clear that Xavier’s survival instincts were sharper than he had anticipated. Fine, two could play at that game. Sylus needed the boy in the car, and he wasn’t about to let his plan slip through his fingers over something as trivial as Xavier’s mistrust.

Without a word, Sylus reached over, twisting the keys in the ignition until the engine went silent. The mechanical purr of the jeep ceased, leaving only the sound of the wind rustling through the desolate landscape. He opened the door and stepped out, calling after Xavier before the boy could get too far.

“Wait,” Sylus said, his voice carrying with a casual ease that belied his annoyance. Xavier slowed, turning halfway to glance back, eyes narrowed in suspicion. Sylus could sense the boy’s reluctance, the wariness etched in his every movement.

With a nonchalant flick of his wrist, Sylus tossed the car keys in Xavier’s direction. They spun in the air before landing in Xavier’s open palm, the boy catching them reflexively but frowning down at the unexpected gesture.

“How about this,” Sylus said smoothly, his tone relaxed, as though they were discussing something as simple as the weather. “You drive yourself to your destination, and I’ll drive myself back. No strings attached. Sound fair?”

Sylus knew Xavier couldn't refuse such an offer, and even if he wanted to, his love for you was more important to him than his own safety.

He would take the bait.

Xavier’s brow furrowed as he stared down at the keys, then back up at Sylus, who had already moved around the vehicle to the passenger side. The offer, on the surface, seemed absurd. What kind of stranger would be so willing to give up control of his own car to a random traveler on the side of the road? And yet, there Sylus stood, casually opening the passenger door as if they had made some mutual agreement. The ease with which Sylus handed over the keys was unnerving.

Xavier’s instincts screamed at him to keep walking, to leave this strange man and his too-kind offer behind. Something about this whole encounter was off—way off. But there was another part of him, the exhausted, desperate part, that couldn’t ignore the fact that his journey to Linkon was still painfully far from over. He had been walking for hours, pushing himself past the point of exhaustion, and the weight of the sword on his chest felt heavier with each step. He couldn’t shake the urgency pounding in his chest. He needed to get back to Linkon, and fast.

The SIM card tucked away in his pocket was his only lifeline. Without it, any hope of uncovering the truth of what happened in Reese’s basement would be lost. He needed to see it. But the odds of finding anyone out here who could process it? Slim to none. He was running out of time, and every step he took on foot made him feel like the distance between him and his goal was growing wider.

His eyes flicked back to the car keys in his hand, their weight oddly unsettling. Why was this man so eager to help? And why the hell was he offering the keys to his own car?

Xavier’s gaze darted back to Sylus, who had settled into the passenger seat without a trace of concern, leaning back as if this was the most normal thing in the world. His expression was calm, almost too calm, as though the outcome had already been decided in his favor. It unnerved Xavier. This man—this stranger—was too willing. Too casual. Too smooth.

But Xavier didn’t have time to figure it all out. His priority was clear: getting back to Linkon, getting the SIM card processed, and making sure the truth came to light of what happened to you. Without transportation, he could be walking for days, and every minute he spent out here increased the risk that he'd never find you.

The keys felt heavier now, the weight of the decision pressing on him. He didn’t trust this man, not by a long shot. But the idea of having control of the car, of being the one behind the wheel… it was tempting. Too tempting. If he was driving, there's no way this could be a trap right?

It would be fine. Yes. Anything for you. Even if it meant putting himself in danger.

With one last glance at the man, who was patiently waiting in the passenger seat, Xavier’s grip on the keys tightened. He didn’t say a word as he took a tentative step toward the driver’s side. Every instinct told him to keep walking, to leave this stranger behind and take his chances on foot. But exhaustion and desperation were powerful motivators, and right now, he needed to get back to Linkon more than he needed to figure out why this man was offering help.

Xavier climbed into the driver’s seat, the worn leather creaking beneath him as he adjusted to the unfamiliar space. His hand hovered over the ignition, eyes still darting toward Sylus, who sat quietly beside him, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Take us wherever you need to go,” Sylus said softly, his voice like velvet, as though the game had already begun. “I’m just along for the ride.”

The tension between them was palpable, thick in the confined space of the car. Xavier could feel it in the air, in the way Sylus’s gaze lingered on him, calm but unrelenting. He knew this wasn’t right—none of it was. But he was too far in to back out now.

With a sharp turn of the key, the engine roared to life, and Xavier gripped the steering wheel, feeling the weight of every decision he had made in the last few minutes. The road ahead seemed endless, and as the car pulled away from the desolate stretch of highway, he couldn’t help but glance sideways at the man again.

This...this could end badly.

The two men sat in crushing silence as Xavier navigated the unfamiliar roads, the hum of the engine the only sound between them. Each mile passed with a suffocating weight, the tension in the car palpable, like a storm ready to break. Xavier kept his eyes locked on the road ahead, hands gripping the wheel tighter than necessary, his knuckles pale under the strain. He hadn’t wanted this stranger to know where he lived, so he punched City Hall into the GPS instead. From there, he could make his way around Linkon without anyone trailing him. He needed to get the SIM card processed, and fast, before time ran out.

Every few minutes, he fiddled with the GPS, his body coiled with a mix of exhaustion and adrenaline. He could feel the man's eyes on him, his name still unknown, even despite the sunglasses. He hadn’t said much since they set off, but his presence in the passenger seat was unnerving. His calm was unnatural, unsettling. He didn’t fidget, didn’t speak, didn’t even glance around the car. He just sat there, arms crossed, studying Xavier with a level of intensity that felt out of place for someone offering a simple ride.

Xavier tried to sneak glances at the man beside him, but every time he did, he found the mans gaze already on him, sharp and unblinking, as though he had anticipated Xavier’s every move. The man’s lips twitched with something like amusement, though he didn’t say a word.

What’s his deal? Xavier thought, forcing his eyes back to the road. The whole situation felt wrong. He had expected tension in the N109 Zone, but not this. This was different. The man beside him wasn’t just casually observing him—he was waiting for something. Every second that passed felt heavier than the last, like time itself was stretching, tightening the knot of anxiety building in Xavier’s chest.

Still, Xavier didn’t let any of it show. He had learned long ago how to hide his fear, how to stay calm when every nerve in his body screamed at him to run. He’d dealt with dangerous people before, people who could smell weakness like blood in the water. He wasn’t about to let this guy see that. But the silence between them was unbearable, thick with the weight of unspoken things.

Finally, Xavier broke it, his voice low and careful. “I didn’t get your name…” He asked, eyes darting between the GPS and the road, trying to sound casual, though he was anything but.

The man took a moment to respond, as though he were weighing the question, wondering if he should even answer it. His eyes flickered with a hint of something—amusement, perhaps. Or something darker.

“Skye,” he said eventually, his voice smooth, detached. He crossed his arms, leaning back in the passenger seat, as though the conversation were nothing more than a formality. “And you are…?”

Xavier’s heart kicked up a notch, but he kept his expression neutral. No way was he giving this guy his real name. “Anthony,” he lied easily, the false name slipping out without hesitation. His voice didn’t waver, his hands stayed steady on the wheel. But he could feel Skye watching him, a slight smirk pulling at his lips.

He knows I’m lying, Xavier thought, his gut twisting with unease. But Skye didn’t press. He didn’t even seem surprised. He just watched Xavier with that unnerving calm, as if the lie were nothing more than an expected move in a game they were both playing.

“Anthony,” Skye repeated softly, his tone almost mocking, though he didn’t push the issue. Instead, he let the silence fall between them again, a silence that felt even heavier now. He seemed content to let Xavier stew in it, the tension building with every second that passed.

Xavier’s eyes flicked back to the road, his mind racing. Something about this guy was all wrong. The way he moved, the way he spoke—it was all too calculated, too smooth. People didn’t act this calm in the N109 Zone, not unless they knew something everyone else didn’t. And Skye definitely knew something. The question was, what? And how much?

Xavier kept his gaze focused ahead, trying to ignore the weight of Skye’s eyes still on him. The man hadn’t looked away once. He could feel it, the silent scrutiny, the way Skye seemed to be measuring him. Assessing him.

“Where are you headed?” Skye asked casually, his voice cutting through the silence once more, though there was nothing casual about the way he said it.

Xavier didn’t miss a beat. “City Hall,” he answered, a little too quickly. He glanced at the GPS, as if confirming the destination would make the lie feel more real. He wasn’t taking this man to his home—no way. Not with the way things were already playing out.

Skye raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “City Hall,” he repeated, his tone light but laced with something that made Xavier’s skin crawl. “Not a bad place to end up, but pretty unusual for a first destination."

Xavier’s pulse kicked up, but he kept his face neutral, refusing to look over at Skye. Something in the man’s tone made his stomach tighten, like a hook had just been baited and dropped in front of him, waiting for him to take it.

Unusual? Why the hell would that be unusual? The thought ran through his mind, but he forced himself to stay calm. His plan had been simple—get to City Hall, lose this guy, and handle his business. But now, it felt like every move was being scrutinized, every choice questioned.

“City Hall's the easiest place to get a read on things in the city,” Xavier replied, his voice steady, though the defensiveness crept in at the edges. “I need to handle some things, and it’s central. Easier to move around from there.”

He could feel Skye’s eyes still on him, could almost hear the smirk in his voice when the man chuckled softly. It was the kind of laugh that got under your skin, not because it was loud, but because it carried a quiet, unsettling amusement.

“Smart,” Skye said slowly, nodding as if Xavier’s explanation made perfect sense. But something in his tone felt off, like he didn’t fully buy it. “But still… after some time in the N109 Zone, you’d think you’d want to rest somewhere less… official. Get off the radar. A nice bed, maybe.”

Xavier tightened his grip on the steering wheel, feeling the weight of Skye’s persistent questioning pressing down on him. Each word from Skye was like a carefully placed needle, poking at his decisions, making him second-guess everything. He hadn’t expected the guy to be so relentless, and the pressure was building with every exchange.

“I’ve got some stuff to take care of,” Xavier said, trying to keep his voice steady, casual, but the tension in his body betrayed him. “Time’s running out to save her, so I can’t waste a single second.”

The moment the words left his mouth, doubt flickered in his mind. Was that too much? Too rushed? The urgency in his voice—had it come across as desperate? Or worse, suspicious? His heart hammered in his chest as he mentally replayed what he had said, wondering if he had tipped his hand. Or had he been too vague? The ambiguity of his answer might have made Skye even more curious, pushing him to dig deeper, ask more questions.

Xavier kept his eyes on the road, refusing to look over at Skye, but he could feel the man watching him, studying him. The silence that followed his response was unnerving, stretching long enough for Xavier to feel like he’d made a mistake. He fought the urge to glance over, to see if Skye’s expression had changed, but his instincts screamed at him to stay composed. Any sign of weakness now, and Skye would pounce on it.

Too much, Xavier thought, cursing himself internally. I shouldn’t have let the urgency show.

Skye’s sudden shift in demeanor caught Xavier off guard. The icy coldness that had made the air feel suffocating was replaced with something else—something that felt even more dangerous. Concern. Pity. It dripped from Skye’s voice like honey, smooth and deliberate, but just artificial enough to send a ripple of unease through Xavier’s chest.

“Oh?” Skye said, his voice almost soft, a note of worry creeping in. “Seems serious.”

Xavier’s breath hitched slightly, his guard wavering for just a moment. He wasn’t prepared for this shift. The relentless scrutiny, the probing questions—he could handle that to a point. But this? This sudden turn toward sympathy, as fake as it felt, was a punch to the gut.

“It is,” Xavier muttered, his voice betraying the strain he was under. The words felt heavier than he intended, a sign of the cracks forming in his defenses.

Skye shifted slightly in his seat, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as if he sensed something in Xavier’s voice. “You know,” he began, his tone deceptively gentle, “I understand what it’s like. When you want something so bad. And its almost in reach, yet so far. You feel like you've failed already."

The words struck hard, like a knife twisting in Xavier’s gut. For a brief moment, his mind went blank, the weight of Skye’s words sinking into him. The man’s voice, though still edged with that unsettling calm, carried a truth Xavier couldn’t deny.

Skye had unknowingly—or perhaps very knowingly—touched a raw nerve.

Xavier’s fingers flexed against the steering wheel, his heart thudding heavily in his chest. He tried to block it out, tried to keep his walls up, but he couldn’t stop the flood of emotion that came crashing through. His breaths quickened slightly, the tension in his body shifting from vigilance to something more raw, more vulnerable.

Skye was quiet, but Xavier could feel him waiting, giving him just enough space to fill the silence. His mind screamed at him to stay quiet, to shut it all down, but the pressure building inside him was too much to contain.

“I…” Xavier’s voice cracked, his throat dry. His hands trembled slightly as the words formed on his tongue. “I have someone waiting for me. She’s in danger. And I feel like I’m failing her with each passing second.”

The admission came out before he could stop it, the weight of his guilt and fear spilling into the space between them. He’d been holding it in for so long, running from one obstacle to the next, always trying to keep moving, to keep fighting. But now, in this moment, it all felt too heavy to carry alone. The pressure of failing you—of not getting back in time—had gnawed at him relentlessly, and now, it was too much to keep inside.

For a moment, the silence was deafening, his vulnerability hanging in the air like a fragile thread.

Xavier’s chest tightened, panic seeping in as the reality of what he’d just said hit him. He’d let his guard down—completely. He’d shown Skye more than he ever intended, more than anyone should know. He could feel the walls he’d carefully built crumbling around him.

And Skye was still watching, listening, absorbing every word.

He shifted slightly, his voice lowering, becoming softer, almost understanding. “You know,” he began, choosing his words carefully, “I’ve seen it before… that look in your eyes. Like you’re carrying something too heavy for one person. Trying to fix it all yourself. You can push as hard as you want, but…” He paused, letting the silence settle for just a beat before he continued, “the weight of failure starts to crush you, doesn’t it?”

Skye glanced out the window, his tone still calm, still smooth. “And the worst part? It’s when you realize that maybe, no matter how much you fight, you won’t get there in time. That you might be too late to save the people who need you.”

Xavier’s breath caught in his throat. He hadn’t expected much from this man—this stranger who seemed so out of place on these roads—but this? He had expected more questions, more veiled curiosity, maybe even some vague attempt at comfort. But what Skye had just said—those words, that insinuation—hit him like a punch to the gut.

The casual mention of failure. The suggestion that he was already too late. Was this guy trying to be an asshole?

Xavier’s chest tightened, his pulse quickening as the words churned in his mind, cutting deeper than he wanted to admit. “No,” Xavier said, his voice shaking slightly, the denial rising like a defense against the weight of Skye’s statement. “That’s not true. It’s not too late. I can still find her. I just—” He cut himself off, his voice thick with desperation.

But before he could even finish the thought, Skye’s demeanor changed in an instant. The false pity drained from his face, replaced by something far colder, sharper. His voice dropped, his tone void of the faint warmth that had laced it earlier.

“People like you should know when to quit.” The words were flat, cutting like ice. Skye lowered his sunglasses, his eyes gleamed with a new cruelty, his expression as still as stone. “It’s a shame you even tried in the first place.”

Xavier, caught slightly off guard by the crimson color of the eyes now boring into him, opened his mouth to argue, the frustration boiling over. How dare this guy—

But then something hit him, something beyond words. A creeping cold, seeping into his skin. At first, it felt like a mist settling over him, faint and barely noticeable, but it spread quickly, a numbing chill that slithered through his body, wrapping around his limbs like an invisible fog. His chest tightened as panic started to rise.

The cold red mist crept up his neck, stretching outward, reaching his arms, his fingers. And then—nothing. No feeling. His hands. He couldn’t feel his hands.

Xavier’s heart raced, his breath coming in short, frantic bursts as he looked down at the steering wheel. His hands were still there, gripping the wheel tightly, but the sensation was gone. His fingers felt as though they no longer existed, and worse, he couldn’t move them. He tried to force his body to respond, to shake off the creeping cold, but it was as if his muscles had turned to stone.

The steering wheel suddenly turned under his grip, and the car began to drift. Panic surged through him. He tried to shout, tried to move, but his body refused to obey. The cold mist had taken control, and now it stretched through every inch of him, locking him in place, paralyzing him completely.

This wasn't him moving it.

What the hell is happening?!

He wanted to scream, to fight, but his limbs remained useless, his mind screaming in terror as the car veered off its course. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe properly, and then it hit him—this was him. Skye. Skye was doing this.

Skye hadn’t moved from the passenger seat, but the aura around him had darkened, the shift in his demeanor unmistakable. The cold that gripped Xavier’s body—this mist—was him. And this wasn’t some accident. This was planned.

Skye had been waiting for this moment.

Xavier’s mind raced as the reality sank in, dread curling in his gut like a beast ready to devour him whole. He could see it in the cold gleam of Skye’s eyes now, the man having removed his sunglasses completely. The man had never intended for this to end peacefully.

He tried one last time to move, to will his body to do anything, but the cold mist had stolen everything from him.

Skye leaned in slightly, his presence looming over Xavier like a shadow, cold and unrelenting. His tone dropped, devoid of any warmth or pretense. “Don't bother fighting. I’ve already decided how this ends.”

The car was fully off the road now, speeding, barreling toward a tall tree. Xavier’s mind screamed, the terror paralyzing his thoughts. He was about to be made into a casualty, another statistic—a crash that would look like an accident, neat and tidy. He couldn't even shut his eyes to brace for the inevitable impact.

Closer. And closer. And-

Xavier's phone ringing cut through the chaos, snapping both men's attention.

The sudden, shrill sound sliced through the thick tension in the car, jarring Xavier out of his rising panic. The ringtone echoed in the confined space, pulling his attention away from the tree, from the creeping red mist that had taken over his body. The sound was so out of place, so normal amidst the terror, that for a moment, it didn’t seem real.

It must've caught signal again.

Skye’s eyes flicked toward the phone, his expression unreadable, but Xavier saw the faintest twitch of something—something like interest or annoyance—cross his face. The car suddenly veered back on course as if it was not just about to plunge into a tree, dooming its driver.

The phone continued to ring, vibrating against the dash, relentless.

For a brief second, the pressure on Xavier’s hands loosened, the grip Sylus had on him flickering, just enough for Xavier to feel the tiniest bit of control return. It wasn’t much—he still couldn’t move fully—but it was enough to know that the phone had interrupted something, that it had momentarily disrupted Skye’s hold.

Skye’s gaze darkened, his calm demeanor slipping ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing at the sudden disruption. The mist that had coiled around Xavier’s body seemed to pause, just for a moment, as if Sylus was reconsidering. Calculating something.

The phone kept ringing.

Xavier’s heart pounded, a mix of hope and fear swirling inside him. He looked down at the contact name.

Captain Jenna

His phone had stopped the inevitable, if only for a moment. His eyes darted toward the screen, the bright contact photo lighting up the car. This was his lifeline, the only thing keeping Sylus from finishing what he had started.

Skye’s lips curved into a tight smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Duty never stops for Linkon's best hunters hm?”

His voice was low, almost mocking, but there was something behind it, a flicker of curiosity, as though the phone call had shifted something in his mind. Sylus’s hold on Xavier wasn’t entirely broken, but the red mist began to recede ever so slightly, its grip loosening as Sylus seemed to consider his next move.

For a moment, it felt like the world had stopped, hanging on the precipice of whatever decision Skye was about to make. The phone rang again, insistent, demanding attention.

Skye leaned back slightly, his cold demeanor returning, but with a spark of something else. “Maybe,” he grinned, almost to himself, “I should let the other person on the line hear your screams before your imminent death?"

The mist, which had been suffocating Xavier moments before, suddenly retracted, slithering away like a serpent disappearing into the shadows. The sensation returned to his limbs, though weak and shaky. His hands were his own again, but Xavier couldn’t bring himself to move.

Skye eyes gleamed with amusement as he watched Xavier’s shock and confusion, the boy still frozen in the driver’s seat. “Answer it,” Skye said softly, a quiet command, but with an underlying threat. “Let’s see what she has to say.”

Xavier’s hand trembled as he reached for the phone, still feeling the lingering numbness from the mist that had wrapped around him moments before. His heart was pounding, but he forced himself to answer, trying to regain control, trying to steady his breathing. His mind raced as he glanced nervously at Skye, whose amused smirk remained firmly in place.

“Hello?” Xavier managed to get out, his voice shaky but improving.

“Xavier?” Captain Jenna’s voice crackled through the speaker, filled with a mix of relief and frustration. “Where exactly have you been? No one’s been able to contact you! You can’t just go off and disappear like that for days and days on end!”

Xavier winced at the urgency in her tone. She had always been direct, never wasting time sugarcoating things. He could hear the worry layered underneath her sternness, and for a moment, a wave of guilt hit him. He had been so focused on his mission, on everything happening in the N109 Zone, that he hadn’t even thought about how it might look to his colleagues.

“I…I’m sorry,” Xavier said, shooting a quick glance at Skye, who raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Something came up that I had to take care of. I didn’t mean to disappear.” His eyes darted back to the road, the weight of Skye’s gaze still heavy on him. He kept his tone measured, trying to sound calm. “I’m on my way back now.”

There was a pause on the other end, followed by a deep sigh from Captain Jenna. “Regardless, I’m glad you’re safe. We need you for an operation in—”

Xavier’s heart raced. He couldn’t let Skye overhear anything about the association, about their secrets or what was going on back at headquarters. Whatever this man—this monster—was after, it wasn’t something he could afford to share.

Before Captain Jenna could continue, Xavier cut her off, his voice a bit too sharp in his haste. “You can explain everything when I get there,” he said, trying to keep his tone casual but failing to mask the underlying urgency. “I’m almost there.”

There was a brief silence on the other end, and for a moment, Xavier worried he might have raised her suspicion, but Captain Jenna eventually replied, her voice softer. “Alright. Just get back safe. We’ll talk soon. We also need to talk about your...partner”

Xavier gulped at the mention of you, but simply exhaled slowly as the call ended, his hand lowering the phone from his ear, feeling the intensity of the moment crashing down around him. He didn’t dare look at Skye just yet, trying to collect his thoughts, trying to figure out what his next move would be.

When he finally glanced over, Skye was leaning back in his seat, arms crossed, his expression calm but with an unmistakable glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Well,” Skye said, the smirk deepening, “it seems like you’ve been keeping busy.”

Xavier felt the weight of the man’s words, the way they lingered in the air like a challenge. Skye knew more than he was letting on, but he wasn’t pressing—for now. It was as if he were waiting, watching, enjoying the little puzzle Xavier presented.

But Xavier wasn’t about to give him any more pieces. He’d already said too much. This guy wanted something from him, something to do with the Hunter's Association. Why else would he target Xavier?

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Xavier began, forcing his voice to sound steadier than he felt, “but I can promise you I don't have it. If you're after the associations secrets, killing me wont get you any closer".

He forced himself to meet Skye’s gaze, trying to hold onto whatever composure he could muster. But the way Skye looked at him, with those unreadable eyes, made it impossible to know whether his words were even having an effect. His tone had been sharp, maybe too sharp, but he couldn’t afford to show weakness now. Not with someone like him.

For a moment, the air in the car grew even heavier. Skye’s expression barely shifted, but Xavier caught the brief flicker in his eyes—was it intrigue? Curiosity? Or was there something darker lurking just beneath the surface? Xavier couldn’t tell. It was like staring into the depths of an ocean (a very red one at that), unsure of what might lie beneath the calm.

Skye didn’t respond right away. His gaze remained steady, almost too calm, as if he were savoring the tension, letting it stretch between them like a taut string ready to snap. Xavier’s stomach twisted, his mind racing with possibilities—was Skye sizing him up, or just toying with him? It was impossible to know.

After what felt like an eternity, Skye tilted his head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Who said I wanted the association’s secrets?”

The words sent a chill through Xavier. The way Skye said it—so casually, as if the association wasn’t even part of the equation—left Xavier feeling more vulnerable than before. Skye had just dismissed his entire assumption without a second thought. If he wasn’t after the association’s secrets, then what was he really after?

Xavier’s pulse quickened, his mind scrambling to keep up. If Skye wasn’t interested in the association, what could he possibly want from him? And worse—why was he keeping him alive?

Skye leaned back in the passenger seat, his amusement clear now. “You think too small, Xavier,” he said, his voice smooth and unhurried, as though they were simply having a conversation. “I don’t need to kill you for information. That’s too… crude.”

Xavier’s heart pounded in his chest, the rhythm wild and erratic, but he kept his face neutral, refusing to let the panic show. His mind raced, trying to grasp what had just happened. Skye had called him by his real name. And Xavier was sure—positive—he had introduced himself as Anthony. But Skye hadn’t hesitated. He knew.

“How do you know my name?” Xavier asked, keeping his voice steady, though inside, the tension coiled tighter. His thoughts were a blur, his instincts screaming at him that something was very, very wrong.

Skye tilted his head slightly, a small smirk playing on his lips, as if Xavier had just said something amusing. “What do you mean?” Skye replied, his tone light, almost playful. He leaned back, eyes gleaming with quiet amusement. “Didn’t your captain just call you Xavier?”

Xavier blinked, momentarily thrown off balance. His mind scrambled, piecing together the conversation, and then it hit him. Of course. The phone call. His captain had said his name during the call. Skye had been listening the entire time. Idiot. He mentally slapped himself, feeling foolish for even asking the question.

He sighed, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He was losing control of the situation, and the casual way Skye was toying with him only made it worse. But Xavier couldn’t afford to get rattled now—not when his life was hanging by a thread.

“What do you want?” Xavier asked, his voice quieter now, more measured. He could feel the weight of Skye’s gaze on him, sharp and calculating. “What do you want in return for my life if not information on the Hunter's Association?”

Skye chuckled softly, the sound light but dripping with malice. He looked out the window for a brief moment, as if pondering the question, then slowly turned back to Xavier, his smile deepening. “I don’t usually make deals where I don’t get more of a benefit.”

Xavier swallowed hard, his heart racing faster, though he kept his face expressionless. He didn’t respond—he was waiting, watching Skye carefully. The man’s words were a game, just like everything else he’d said. Xavier knew there had to be more, some twist, some condition that hadn’t been revealed yet.

Skye leaned forward slightly, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. “However…” He paused, as if savoring the moment, watching Xavier closely. “I've realized you're much more useful to me alive than dead. If you stay away from the N109 Zone—and everyone in it—you’ll live.”

Xavier’s breath caught in his throat, the weight of the ultimatum settling over him. Stay away from the Zone. That meant cutting ties with everything he’d worked to find, abandoning the hope of finding you, abandoning you. Could he even afford to do that? Would agreeing with this deal mean he'd never get the chance to see you again?

Also how was he useful to Skye?

"And if not..."

Skye’s smirk widened, sensing the internal struggle playing out behind Xavier’s calm facade. He leaned in closer, invading Xavier’s personal space, his presence suffocating. Xavier instinctively tried to pull back, but there was nowhere to go—the car’s cabin suddenly felt too small, too enclosed.

“Lets just say I don't really give second chances,” Sylus whispered, his voice low, dripping with menace.

Xavier swallowed hard, his body tensing, but he forced himself to maintain eye contact, even as the urge to run surged through him. Skye was too close, too calm, too dangerous. The warning wasn’t just a threat—it was a guarantee. Sylus had already proven what he was capable of, and Xavier knew that crossing him again would mean death, or worse.

The silence in the car was heavy, suffocating, as Skye leaned back again, his smile never fading, his eyes never leaving Xavier.

“So,” Skye said, his voice almost casual now, as if they were discussing something far less deadly. “What’s it going to be?”

Xavier’s heart pounded in his chest as Skye’s words echoed in his mind. Stay away from the N109 Zone—and everyone in it? The weight of the ultimatum pressed down on him, suffocating. He didn’t want to abandon the N109 Zone, and even more than that, he couldn’t abandon you. The thought of leaving you behind gnawed at him, the sharp pain of longing cutting through him like a blade.

He closed his eyes for a moment, imagining your face—how much he longed to see you again, to hold you, to feel your warmth. It had been too long since he’d last heard your voice, since he’d last felt any sense of peace. But now, this? This deal with a devil, this impossible choice?

Xavier wasn’t sure why Skye was so insistent on keeping him away from the N109 Zone. Maybe it had something to do with his work as a hunter—his job was to take down people like Skye, after all. But that didn’t matter. What mattered now was survival. Because if he didn’t agree, if he didn’t concede right here and now, Skye might just kill him on the spot.

And then who would save you?

The thought gripped him like a vice, twisting his insides. No. He couldn’t let that happen. If he died here, there would be no one left to protect you. No one left to pull you out of whatever darkness was festering over the N109 Zone. He had to live, for you.

Xavier took a slow, deliberate breath, forcing the words out, even as they weighed heavy on his soul. “Fine,” he said, his voice low, barely more than a whisper. “I agree. I’ll stay away from it.”

Skye’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction, the faintest smile curling at the edges of his lips. He nodded, his demeanor cooling instantly, the menacing presence he’d exuded just moments ago receding into something more neutral. “Good,” Skye said, his voice soft but still holding that dangerous undertone. “I knew you’d see reason.”

The tension in the car seemed to shift, though the air was still thick with the unspoken threat that hung between them. Skye leaned back in his seat, his posture relaxed now, as if the deal had wiped away any lingering tension. Skye was certainly dangerous, but seemed to be a man of his word at least.

Xavier forced himself to nod, though the weight of the decision felt like it was crushing him. I’ll find a way, he told himself, his mind racing. Skye’s only one guy. He can’t keep me out of there forever, right? There had to be a way back in. A way to find you. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—abandon you.

The rest of the drive passed in silence, the tension still hanging in the air but now subdued, like a coiled snake waiting for the right moment to strike. Xavier’s thoughts churned, his mind battling with itself as the distant lights of the city began to appear on the horizon. The rising sun painted the sky with hues of orange and pink, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Xavier saw the light breaking through the darkness.

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of the sun brush against his skin. How long has it been? Too long. He had missed the sun. He had missed the light, the feeling of something familiar, something safe. But most of all, he missed you.

But this wasn’t the end. Skye was only one man. He couldn’t keep Xavier away from the N109 Zone forever. Xavier would find a way back—he had to. He wouldn’t rest until he found you, until he knew you were safe. And once he did, Skye would regret ever making this deal.

As the city drew closer, the familiar skyline of Linkon coming into view, Xavier’s pulse quickened. The tall buildings glistened in the morning light, their architecture grand and imposing. But even with the comforting familiarity of home, his mind remained restless.

Finally, the car pulled to a stop in front of City Hall. The building stood tall and unyielding, its imposing columns and grand facade casting long shadows across the street. Without wasting a second, Xavier pushed the door open and stepped out hurriedly, the weight of his decision still heavy on his shoulders.

He stood for a moment, looking up at the structure, taking in its architecture. It felt strange, being back in the city after everything that had happened. But he wasn’t here for reflection. He was here for answers.

Xavier’s hand instinctively moved to the pocket on his chest, patting the place where the SIM card was safely tucked away. The key to everything. Whether Skye was after associations secrets didn't matter now, the information on that SIM card was everything Xavier needed right now. It could give him answers, maybe even lead him to you. It was his only chance to understand what had happened in Reese’s basement, and where you had possibly gone.

With a deep breath, he turned back toward the car—only to find that Skye had already sped off, leaving nothing but the faint smell of exhaust in the air. The man was gone, disappearing into the distance as if he’d never been there at all.

Xavier stood there for a moment, staring at the empty space where the car had been, his mind still whirling with thoughts. This isn’t over, he told himself again. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Skye’s shadow would loom over him, no matter where he went.

But for now, he had work to do.

With one last glance at the distant city skyline, Xavier turned and made his way past city hall, heading straight for headquarters, the weight of the SIM card in his pocket a constant reminder of what was at stake.

And of what was still to come.

“Caw! Caw!”

Your eyes snapped open, the sound cutting through the suffocating darkness. For a moment, you couldn’t tell where you were—the inky blackness of the N109 Zone was so complete that it pressed in on you from all sides. There was no light here, not even the faintest glow filtering in through the windows. Just endless, crushing darkness.

You groaned, pulling the blanket tighter around your body as if it could shield you from the cold reality of your situation.

Not yet. You just wanted to get lost in your dreams for a little while longer.

Through the thick stillness of the room, you could hear the faint rustling of feathers, and even without seeing, you knew exactly what had disturbed your sleep.

“Go away, you stupid fucking bird…” you muttered into the blanket, your voice hoarse and tired. But the familiar flap of wings told you the crow wasn’t going anywhere.

There was a slight rustle at the head of the bed, and then you felt it—the sudden weight of the bird landing on the pillow next to you. Its presence was unmistakable, a cold, ominous shadow in the already oppressive darkness. You didn’t need to see the bird to feel its eyes on you, watching, waiting.

You sighed heavily, pulling the blanket away from your face just enough to squint into the darkness. Mephisto's shape was barely visible, a faint silhouette against the dim outline of the room. Even without light, you could sense the bird’s beady eyes, glowing with unnatural intelligence, watching your every move.

“Why are you always here?” you groaned, turning your head to the side but not making any real effort to shoo the bird away. It wasn’t the first time you’d woken to find the crow lurking in the shadows, unsettling and always too close for comfort.

The bird didn’t move, only cocked its head at you, its dark feathers rustling in the silence. A low, throaty caw escaped it, the sound strangely muffled by the thick blackness of the Zone. The air felt heavier here, like it was weighing down on you, draining what little energy you had left. Fatigue clung to you like a second skin, making it hard to even lift your head from the pillow.

“Go on, then…” you muttered, voice trailing off as exhaustion tugged at your body. You were too tired to fight, too tired to care. Whatever strange game the bird was playing, you didn’t have the strength to resist.

Mephisto's soft caw echoed in the suffocating stillness, the sound barely audible but enough to gnaw at your nerves. The scrape of his claws on the pillow sent an uncomfortable chill through you, his dark presence creeping closer, settling into the shadows like it belonged there. The oppressive darkness of the N109 Zone outside made it impossible to see him clearly, but you didn’t need to. You could feel him—watching, waiting, like he always was.

For a moment, the room was silent again. Then, without warning, Mephisto took flight, the sharp flutter of wings cutting through the air as he landed somewhere across the room. You didn’t bother to follow his movement, too tired to care. Not until his caw broke the silence once more. And again. And again.

The crow’s incessant cawing drilled into your already frayed nerves, each sound louder than the last. You groaned, pulling the blanket tighter over your head in a futile attempt to block him out. But the bird’s persistence didn’t stop. Caw. Caw. Caw.

“Are you serious?” you muttered into the pillow, your voice muffled. But Mephisto continued, relentless, as if mocking your exhaustion. The weight of the past few weeks pressed down on you—sleepless nights, endless fatigue, nausea creeping at the edges of your mind. The last thing you needed was this damn crow breaking what little peace you had.

Finally, you had enough. With a frustrated groan, you sat upright and turned the lamp on, ready to scream every obscenity you could think of at the annoying bird.

But before you could let the words fly, the sound of metal scraping against metal stopped you.

Your eyes darted to the door just as a small slit opened, and the tray was pushed through with a loud clank. On the tray sat a plate of buttered French toast, syrup drizzled generously on top, fried eggs glistening with oil, and three thick slices of bacon.

You blinked, staring at the meal as if it were the most absurd thing you’d ever seen.

Breakfast? All of that noise and irritation—for breakfast?

You glanced at Mephisto, who had now stopped cawing and perched himself smugly atop a shelf in the corner of the room. His beady eyes seemed to gleam in the darkness, and you could swear there was a mocking glint in them. As if he were proud of himself for his part in waking you.

“The hell, Mephisto?” you muttered, rubbing your temples in frustration. “You woke me up…for breakfast?”

The crow gave a final, low caw, as if satisfied with himself. You glared at him for a moment before your stomach growled, betraying your irritation. The rich smell of bacon and syrup filled the room, and despite your fatigue and frustration, your body responded.

“Unbelievable…” you sighed, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. “I guess I can’t be mad at you. But next time? A little less cawing, alright?”

Mephisto tilted his metal head, as if considering your request, then fluffed his feathers and settled into silence. For now.

You dragged the tray toward the couch, the familiar clank of metal chains following you with every step. The buttery smell of the French toast filled the room, a comforting contrast to the cold, oppressive dim darkness of the room. It was a simple pleasure, one you rarely allowed yourself to enjoy. Sitting down, you tucked your legs beneath you and began to eat, the warm toast melting on your tongue, the crisp bacon adding a much-needed crunch to the silence.

But as you chewed, your thoughts began to drift, slipping away from the meal in front of you. Unwillingly, they went back to him.

Sylus.

The room was empty now, and yes, you had often eaten breakfast alone—but more times than not, Sylus had been there. His presence had always loomed, a constant shadow in your confined world. Sometimes he was silent, simply watching you with those cold, unreadable eyes. Other times, he would speak, absently chatting about his ventures outside the N109 Zone, about deals made or enemies eliminated. You had never cared much for the details—most of it sounded like distant noise, some half-forgotten memory—but even then, it had been more entertaining than staring at these four black walls.

A scowl crept across your face as you took another bite. Why the hell are you thinking about that prick now?

You shook your head, frustrated. You were alone now. Sylus was gone, off somewhere dealing with whatever business had called him away, and you should be enjoying this time without him. You should be savoring the silence, the freedom from his looming presence. You should be grateful that he wasn’t here, filling the space with his mind games, his cold, possessive gaze always tracking your every movement.

Fuck him.

You stabbed at a piece of bacon, chewing aggressively as if it could help rid him from your thoughts. He was a manipulative bastard. And yet… despite your best efforts, his presence lingered in your mind, as persistent as ever.

Your gaze drifted to the empty space where he would normally sit, his absence both a relief and an unsettling reminder. You had despised him, hated every moment he had been there, the way he made you feel like a pawn in whatever twisted game he was playing. But now that he was gone, the space felt… strange.

Stop it. You shouldn’t be thinking about him. Not now. Not when he was out of your life—if only for a while.

But even as you tried to push him from your mind, one of his last words echoed in your head, an unshakable whisper: “This may be the last time we talk, kitten.”

The way he had said it, that cold finality in his voice, had stuck with you, nagging at the back of your mind ever since. He had called you that damn pet name after days of ignoring you, his voice dripping with condescension, as if he were giving you a final warning. Or a promise.

You hated it. You hated how those words seemed to hang over you, even now, as if he had left part of himself behind in this room, even after he was gone.

“Kitten.”

You shook your head again, harder this time, trying to shove the memory aside. No, you told yourself. You wouldn’t let him get to you, not like this. He was gone. For now, you were alone. Enjoy it while it lasts, you thought bitterly, taking another bite of French toast, the syrup coating your tongue in sweetness.

But no matter how hard you tried, that final word—kitten—kept echoing in the back of your mind, a lingering reminder that Sylus might be gone for now, but he was far from finished with you.

You forced yourself to focus on the meal in front of you, determined to push any lingering thoughts of Sylus away. You chewed quickly, finishing the French toast, the syrup leaving a sticky sweetness on your lips. The bacon and eggs soon followed, and though the food was far from satisfying, it was enough to momentarily distract you. You let the warmth of the food settle in your stomach, willing the heaviness in your chest to dissipate with it.

"No drink to wash this down?" you muttered, annoyed that the chefs had seemingly forgotten yet again.

With the last bite taken, you placed the empty plate back on the tray and rose from the couch, the clink of metal cuffs reminding you of your ever-present situation. The chains dragged behind you as you moved toward the bathroom, passing Mephisto, who had settled back onto his perch in the corner. His black feathers were fluffed up, his head tucked beneath a wing, and for once, the bird seemed content to leave you in peace.

You shot him a glare, but it was half-hearted. At least now, with breakfast behind you, you could take a moment for yourself.

The bright lights of the bathroom strained your eyes as you flicked them on. The chill of the tile beneath your feet made you shiver as you moved toward the shower, feeling the exhaustion settle deeper into your bones. The mirror reflected your tired eyes, the dark circles beneath them, the weight of sleepless nights etched into your face. You needed this—the chance to feel clean, to wash away the grime of the past few days. Maybe then you could feel a little more like yourself.

With a sigh, you began to undress, your fingers reaching for the clasps at the sides of your underwear. You couldn’t help but feel a small flicker of gratitude as you unclasped the sides with ease. Sylus had, at the very least, provided you with something that made life a little more bearable. You didn’t have to go bare for two weeks, which had been your fear the moment you realized the cuffs restricted you from putting on anything that required more movement.

At least he wasn’t completely cruel, you thought, though you hated giving him even that much credit.

The underwear unclasped easily, falling to the floor as you stepped into the shower. The hot water hit your skin like a wave of relief, and for a moment, you let yourself breathe, closing your eyes and letting the steam rise around you. The weight of the cuffs dragged slightly at your wrists, but you ignored it, focusing instead on the heat that loosened the tension in your muscles, if only temporarily.

As the water washed over you, you forced your mind to stay present, to focus on the warmth, the small comfort of being alone in this space. You scrubbed your skin, letting the soap and water cleanse the sweat, the fear, the exhaustion that had clung to you like a second skin.

You weren’t thinking about him. Not now.

The shower passed without incident, the warm water a brief respite in an otherwise unchanging routine. You let it wash over you, not bothering to rush. There was no need to hurry—nothing would be different when you stepped outside the bathroom. The four black walls of your confined world would still be waiting, the ever-present weight of captivity pressing down on you.

You dressed slowly, fingers lazily fastening the clasps on your new underwear and pulling on the rest of your clothes. It was a mundane task, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care much. What was the point? Nothing was going to change outside of this small space. Nothing ever did.

With a sigh, you stepped through the bathroom opening and stepped back into the main room. The dim light from the lamp did little to brighten the space, but something caught your eye near the door—a small bottle, sitting neatly on the floor.

You walked over, the clink of your chain echoing in the silence as you crouched down to pick it up. A small bottle of apple juice. You stared at it for a moment, turning it over in your hands. Ah. So the chefs finally remembered your drink.

You examined the label, noticing the word "organic" printed in bold letters across the front. A scoff escaped your lips as you raised an eyebrow. Organic? Really?

It wasn’t like you had asked for anything fancy. Just apple juice. Something simple, a small comfort in a world that was anything but. But the idea that the chefs had gone out of their way to make sure it was organic felt almost laughable. As if the quality of the juice would somehow make up for everything else. As if this one, carefully selected bottle could erase the chain around your ankle or the suffocating darkness that clung to every corner of the N109 Zone.

You shook your head with a faint smirk, unscrewing the cap. The liquid inside swirled lazily as you brought the bottle to your lips, the familiar taste of apples flooding your senses. It wasn’t bad. In fact, it was probably the best thing you’d had in days.

Still, the absurdity of it lingered, and the small humor in the situation wasn’t lost on you. Organic apple juice, of all things, in a place like this. It almost made you laugh—almost.

You took another sip, walking back to the couch where your breakfast tray still sat, the weight of the cuffs dragging slightly as you moved. You sat down, staring at the empty plate, the apple juice bottle still in hand. For a moment, the silence stretched, and the thoughts you’d been pushing away started to creep back in.

But no. You wouldn’t let them take over. Not now. Not yet.

Instead, you focused on the small sweetness of the juice, the faint taste of apples grounding you in the present moment. A small comfort in an otherwise impossible world.

Time passed, though you weren’t sure how much. Minutes? Hours? The stagnant silence of the room made it impossible to tell. The dim light never changed, the walls never shifted. Everything felt stuck in place, leaving you floating in a haze of monotony, barely tethered to the reality outside your mind.

It wasn’t until you heard the familiar scrape of metal against metal that you realized lunch had been passed through the small opening in the door. You glanced toward the tray and sighed. Another meal, another reminder of how routine your captivity had become.

Grilled chicken sandwiches with a side salad, the tangy scent of vinegar dressing wafting up as you sat back down on the couch. For a drink, water. The sight of it barely registered. You gave the chef your dirty dish from earlier and took your new meal. You ate out of necessity, chewing mechanically as your thoughts drifted away from the plate in front of you.

Xavier.

His name filled your mind suddenly, unbidden, and a sharp pang of worry twisted in your chest. You tried to swallow it down with a bite of chicken, but it lingered, heavy and insistent.

Was he okay?

You hadn't allowed yourself to think about him much since you’d been taken here. The thought of him searching for you, desperately trying to figure out what had happened, was too much to bear. The last thing you wanted was to feel hope. Hope was dangerous, a slippery slope into despair. But now, as you sat alone in this suffocating room, your thoughts strayed to him without your permission.

Had he given up searching for you?

You forced yourself to take another bite, trying to ground yourself in the present. But the idea gnawed at you. Xavier was relentless. He wouldn’t stop—not unless… No. You shook your head. You knew him better than that. If there was even the slightest chance that you were alive, Xavier would be searching, tearing apart the world to find you. He wasn’t the type to give up. He couldn’t give up.

But still, even as you tried to cling to that thought, the darker possibility crept in. Slowly, insidiously, like a poison sinking into your veins.

What if… he couldn’t find you because Sylus wouldn’t let him?

A chill ran through you, cold and unsettling. Even if, by some miracle, Xavier had tracked your location, there was no way he’d get anywhere near this place without Sylus knowing. Sylus had eyes everywhere. He controlled everything in the N109 Zone. No one could move in or out without his permission. If Xavier had found you, Sylus would have stopped him.

Or worse.

Your stomach churned, the food on your plate suddenly unappetizing. A horrifying thought started to crawl its way into your mind, gripping you tightly. You tried to push it away, but it clawed its way to the surface.

Had Sylus… killed him?

You swallowed hard, the tang of vinegar burning your throat as you forced the food down. The thought stuck in your chest like a stone. Was that why you hadn’t felt any hope? Why everything had felt so bleak, so final? Because somewhere, out there, Xavier was—no. You couldn’t let yourself believe that. Not now. Not when the possibility of his death could unravel you completely.

But still, the idea sat there, festering, filling the silence with dread. Sylus wouldn’t have hesitated if he saw Xavier as a threat. The cold, calculated way he moved, the ease with which he eliminated obstacles in his path—it was entirely possible that Xavier had become just another casualty in Sylus’s game.

You set down the sandwich, your appetite gone. Your mind raced, heart hammering against your ribs as you sat there, staring at the black walls that had closed in around you for what felt like an eternity. If Xavier was dead, then what? What did that leave you with? Nothing but these four walls and Sylus’s twisted version of captivity.

No.

You couldn’t think like that. Not now. You couldn’t give up. Not yet.

Xavier had to be alive. He had to be out there, still fighting, still searching. He wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t abandon you. You refused to believe anything else.

But no matter how hard you tried to push it away, the seed of doubt had already been planted. And it wasn’t going anywhere. You clutched your stomach as a surge of pain cramped in your lower abdomen. But just as quickly as it came, it was gone. Chalking it up to the food, you decide to lay down.

The fifth day. At least, you thought it might be. Time had blurred into a strange, formless thing, slipping through your fingers without any markers to distinguish one day from the next. You had no way of knowing how long it had been since Sylus left, or even what day it was. You were just staring at the ceiling now, your mind slowly unraveling from the sheer weight of boredom.

The darkness of the N109 Zone outside was relentless, pressing in from all sides, and the oppressive silence only seemed to make it worse. You had run out of things to think about, your mind turning over the same memories, the same thoughts—where was Xavier? Was Sylus really gone?—until they became noise. Background static.

You turned your head, your eyes landing on Mephisto, perched nearby. He was preening his feathers, utterly unconcerned with your slow descent into madness.

“Hey…” you muttered, breaking the silence. The bird paused, one red eye shifting toward you.

“You should’ve told your owner to leave me a clock,” you said, sarcasm dripping from your voice. “A calendar... books. Something. I’m going crazy here.”

Mephisto stilled, cocking his head slightly as if he were processing what you said. He blinked, staring at you with his unnervingly intelligent eyes. For a brief, absurd moment, you wondered if he understood you. You let out a soft, bitter laugh, turning your head away from him.

“Yeah, I figured.”

The silence settled in again, the darkness heavier now. Your body felt sluggish, your mind clouded with exhaustion. Sleep had become your only escape from the monotony, so you let it take you. You felt odd. Like something was wrong in your gut. Despite this, your eyelids fluttered shut, and soon you were drifting into a restless slumber, the weight of the world outside slipping away.

When you woke, the room was still dark—unchanged, like always. But something was different. Your eyes drifted to the door, and you blinked in surprise. A small bundle of items lay just inside the door. Food, probably. You were used to meals being passed through the metal slit in the door, arriving without ceremony.

But this wasn’t food.

You sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you stared at the items. Your pulse quickened, curiosity gnawing at you. You shuffled across the room, the clink of your chain barely registering as you crouched down in front of the bundle.

A calendar. And an old, slightly battered record. On the record a note reads:

Listen to this if you're bored. Should help.

-Sylus

You stared at the items in disbelief, your fingers hovering over the calendar as if touching it might cause it to disappear. A calendar? It was such a simple thing, but it felt monumental in this place, where time had become meaningless.

Mephisto let out a soft caw from his perch, but you ignored him, your thoughts spinning. You reached for the calendar, flipping it open to find a bookmarked page and a date circled in bright red ink.

February.

It was February now. The realization hit you like a wave, and you froze, staring at the circled date. How long had it been since you’d arrived here? Days? Weeks? It was impossible to tell. Time had slipped away from you, leaving nothing but this void of endless darkness. And now, suddenly, a date was staring you in the face, mocking your inability to track time.

Your heart thudded heavily in your chest. Sylus probably had the chef leave these things for you. A reminder. A subtle way to toy with you maybe? Reminding you that no matter what you did, he was always watching? Or was it really a nice gesture?

You glanced at Mephisto, who was once again preening his feathers, seemingly oblivious to your shock. The absurd thought crossed your mind—could this bird telepathically communicate with Sylus?

No. You shook your head, trying to push away the ridiculousness of it. There was probably a live feed in his eyes. Sylus had eyes everywhere. This was just his way of reinforcing the fact that you were never alone, no matter how much you wanted to be.

But even with that realization, a small, giddy excitement bubbled up inside you. A calendar. An actual date. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Something real. Something you could hold onto, in a place where everything felt so distant, so out of reach.

You rushed to open the calendar fully, your fingers flipping through the pages, tracing the days you had lost. How long had you been here? You couldn’t tell anymore. The days blurred together, the passage of time meaningless in this dark, suffocating world.

February. You had been here for longer than you thought. But how much longer? Weeks? The time was slipping away from you, and even now, with the calendar in your hands, you weren’t sure what it meant.

Still, you clung to it, flipping through the pages again and again, as if the answers you sought were hidden somewhere in the numbers. You sighed, settling back against the couch, holding the calendar in your lap. The small victory of having something, anything, to mark the days felt like a lifeline.

You glanced at the record. Another piece of the puzzle. Was it just an old record, or was it something more? Maybe a way for Sylus to toy with you, another way to keep you under his thumb.

For now, it didn’t matter. You had a calendar, a way to tell time. February. It was something to hold onto.

But the unsettling thought still lingered in the back of your mind—how long had it really been?

Your gaze shifted to the record player in the corner of the room, one that had been there since you arrived but had remained untouched. Shelves lined the walls, filled with records you had never bothered to look at. They felt like relics of another time, useless in the darkness of your current world. Besides, you had never known how to use one, and even if you did, the thought of music felt distant, disconnected from the stark reality of your life here.

But now, with the record in your hand, the idea of playing it stirred something in you. The room was suffocatingly quiet—always had been. Maybe music, any music, could break the monotony, even if only for a little while.

It couldn’t be that hard to figure out.

You stood slowly, the weight of the chain dragging slightly as you crossed the room toward the record player. The shelves of records loomed next to it, untouched and collecting dust, but your focus was solely on the player now. You stared at it for a moment, feeling a small flicker of uncertainty. You’d seen record players in movies, but you’d never used one. Still, how complicated could it be?

Placing the record down carefully on the turntable, you fumbled with the needle, your fingers shaky as you tried to set it up the way you remembered from vague recollections of old movies. The needle slipped a few times, scratching lightly over the surface of the record, and you winced.

“Come on…” you muttered under your breath, frustration building as you fiddled with it, adjusting the speed and placement. For a brief moment, you considered giving up entirely. What was the point of this? It wasn’t like playing some music was going to change anything.

But just as you were about to pull the needle away, the record began to spin. You held your breath as the sound of soft crackling filled the room, and then—music.

A hauntingly beautiful tune drifted through the air, slow and melodic, the soft notes of an organ echoing in the stillness. The melody was deep, resonating with something inside you that had been silent for too long. The music wrapped around you, filling the empty space, pulling at emotions you had long since buried.

You stood there, frozen, as the music enveloped the room. It was strange, hearing something so beautiful in a place that had become nothing but a prison. The contrast made the music feel almost ghostly, like it didn’t belong here. Like it was an echo from another life, another time.

For a moment, you just listened. The sound washed over you, the haunting notes tugging at something deep inside. It was almost too much. The weight of the loneliness, the fear, the uncertainty—all of it seemed to rise to the surface with each note that played. You hadn’t realized how much you had been holding in, how much you had forced yourself to push down, until now.

The haunting tune was a reminder. A reminder of everything you had lost, everything that had been stolen from you. But it was also… comforting, in a strange way. It was the first thing in this place that had touched you—really touched you.

You closed your eyes, letting the music sink in, every note heavy with meaning, every chord reverberating through you. For a moment, it was as if the darkness of the N109 Zone didn’t matter. As if the four black walls that surrounded you had disappeared, leaving you in a space where only the music existed.

The tune swelled, filling every corner of the room, its melody bittersweet, carrying an unspoken sadness that felt far too familiar. It wrapped around you like a soft blanket, drawing you into its haunting embrace, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to feel. To let the music stir something inside you that you had locked away for too long.

As the song played on, you sat down on the edge of the couch, the record player spinning quietly in the corner. Your fingers absently traced the label of the calendar in your lap, your mind floating somewhere between the haunting melody and the strange sense of calm it brought.

It had now been two days since you first played the record, two days of trying to distract yourself from the endless monotony of your existence in the N109 Zone. You’d made it a habit now—when you woke up, you marked the calendar with a ballpoint pen you’d found in Sylus��s desk, scratching a line through the date as if it could somehow bring you closer to freedom. Or at least closer to understanding how long you had been trapped here.

Your circadian rhythm was the only other way to tell what time it was.

The haunting melody from the record still played in your mind sometimes, but you hadn’t touched it again. There was something about the music that unsettled you. Too emotional. Too revealing. So, for now, you kept your distance.

In an attempt to stave off the boredom clawing at your mind, you finally agreed to join Luke and Kieran for a game of Kitty Cards—something they had pestered you about for days. You figured it was better than staring at the walls, waiting for nothing to happen.

At first, the game was almost enjoyable. Luke’s awkward attempts at jokes and Kieran’s quiet intensity made for an interesting dynamic, and for a brief moment, you let yourself relax. It was a small respite, playing cards with these two in the dim light of the room, their presence a distraction from the oppressive weight of your thoughts.

But then, slowly, you started to feel it.

The familiar aches. A dull, persistent cramp settling in your lower half, tugging at your body like an unwelcome reminder. You shifted in your seat, trying to ignore the discomfort, but the tiredness crept in next, sudden and heavy. The exhaustion weighed down on your eyelids, your muscles growing sluggish.

You sighed softly, knowing what was coming.

“Sorry, guys,” you said, trying to keep your voice light as you gathered the cards in front of you. “I think I’m done for now. Just… feeling off.”

Luke blinked, his mask tilting slightly as he looked at you. “You okay?”

Kieran’s eyes followed you as you rose from the table, his expression unreadable. You nodded quickly, not wanting to explain.

“Yeah, just tired. I’ll catch you both later.”

Without waiting for a response, you made your way back to the small bathroom. The cramping in your lower half was more noticeable now, pulsing with every step, but you welcomed it. At least it means something’s happening, you thought bitterly.

Once inside the bathroom, you heard the door close as the twins left, your body aching as you lowered yourself onto the toilet. You exhaled sharply, leaning forward slightly as the cramps continued to tug at your abdomen.

Then, as you glanced down at your underwear, you saw it—tiny specks of blood, dark against the fabric.

Relief washed over you, heavier than you expected. That time again? Already? You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, feeling the tension drain from your body. The blood meant your period had come. It meant everything was still functioning normally, despite the chaos of your life. And most importantly—it meant you weren’t tied to him.

You weren’t pregnant. You weren’t carrying his child.

Your stomach unclenched slightly at the thought, and you leaned back against the cool tile wall, closing your eyes. Sylus had tried to plant that seed in you, that much you knew. But your body had fought against it, and now, seeing the blood, you knew for sure—you weren’t tied to that monster in the way he had planned.

Relief mingled with anger. How dare he even try to bind you to him like that? As if forcing you to bear his child would somehow solidify the twisted power he had over you.

But now? Now you were free from that possibility. You pressed your hand against your lower abdomen, feeling the faint ache of cramps beneath your palm, and allowed yourself to feel grateful. It wasn’t much, but it was something. A small victory in a place that gave you so little.

You dressed again slowly, wincing slightly as another cramp rolled through your body. You were exhausted—your body already begging for sleep—but you felt lighter. Freer, even. The blood meant you weren’t Sylus’s pawn, not in the way he had wanted.

And for now, that was enough.

Week one without Sylus had passed, but the moments that passed blurred together. You woke up feeling more drained than the last. No matter how many hours you spent in bed, you couldn’t shake the exhaustion that clung to you. It felt like a weight pressing down on your entire body, your limbs heavy and uncooperative, as though sleep was nothing more than a brief interruption in the long strain of fatigue.

You rubbed your eyes, the dull ache of sleepless nights pounding behind them. It’s just the insomnia, you told yourself, convincing yourself that the exhaustion was simply from the tossing and turning that plagued you every night. After all, how could anyone sleep well in this place?

But deep down, you knew this tiredness was different. It wasn’t the usual grogginess from a restless night—it was deeper, more persistent. No matter how long you tried to rest, you woke up feeling like you hadn’t slept at all.

With a groan, you forced yourself out of bed, each step slow and heavy as if your body had to drag itself from the sleep it never really got. You winced, pressing a hand to your stomach as you moved. The bloating was worse after every meal now. Every time you ate, your stomach would swell uncomfortably, tight and distended, like something inside was pushing against your skin. The discomfort was constant, and by the end of the day, you could barely stand it.

It’s the damn period, you thought, grimacing as you placed your hand over your abdomen. Has to be.

Periods always made you bloat. That wasn’t new. And with all the stress you’d been under lately, it made sense that things weren’t exactly running like clockwork. Still, the bloating felt different this time—more intense, more persistent, as though it was refusing to settle. Even after hours had passed, the discomfort clung to you, making you feel like your body was swelling from the inside out.

You shuffled to the bathroom, trying to focus on anything but the nagging fatigue and the bloating that made your movements stiff and awkward. A cramp twisted briefly in your abdomen, but it was dull, barely noticeable. You sighed, pulling down your underwear to change your pad, expecting to see the usual gushing blood.

But there was hardly any.

You blinked, staring at the emptiness on the pad. Yesterday, you had bled more—definitely. The first day had felt like a normal start to your period, but now, there was barely anything.

Huh?

You sat there for a moment, staring down at the pristine white of the pad. Your fingers traced the waistband of your underwear as confusion settled in. The cramping had mostly faded, too, just a slight ache now, nothing like the intensity of what you usually felt during your period.

Where is it?

You pressed a hand to your lower abdomen, the discomfort of bloating still lingering beneath your fingers. There should have been more blood. There should have been more something. But now, all that was left was a faint stain and a gnawing sense of unease.

It’s fine, you told yourself, standing up and trying to shake the feeling off. Periods can be irregular. It’s just stress.

That had to be it. The sleepless nights, the strain of living in the N109 Zone, the constant tension pulling at you—it was all catching up to you. Your body was just reacting to the emotional and physical stress. It made sense.

But still, the small voice of doubt in the back of your mind was growing louder. You’d always had unpredictable cycles, but this? This didn’t feel right. The bloating, the exhaustion, the lack of blood—it was all off. Yet, you forced yourself to ignore it. What else could it be?

You shook your head, forcing a laugh under your breath as you stared at the nearly empty pad. It’s fine. Just stress.

But no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself, the nagging discomfort remained. And as you changed your pad and moved to wash your hands, the question gnawed at you with every breath.

Where is it?

It didn't help that with every meal from that day forward you'd get a slight pang of sickness in your belly. Maybe the chefs weren't that great of cooks after all.

But as time passed, the nausea only become more unbearable. It was no longer just an inconvenience that popped up here and there—it was constant. It churned in your stomach from the moment you woke up, creeping up before you even thought about food, making the thought of eating feel like a battle. Each meal now brought a wave of queasiness that lingered long after you forced yourself to swallow a few bites. The food you once ate out of necessity now felt impossible to keep down.

It wasn’t just the nausea, either. The small comforts you’d relied on—like lying on your chest when you finally collapsed into bed—were gone, too. Your breasts had grown tender, so sensitive that even the thought of pressing them against the mattress made you wince. Rolling over had become a challenge, and any attempt to settle into your normal sleeping position left you frustrated and sore.

You sat on the edge of the bed, gingerly pulling on a loose shirt, hoping the fabric wouldn’t irritate your nipples any further. Every little thing seemed to be falling apart inside you. Between the nausea, the tenderness, and the bloating that hadn’t eased up, your body felt like it was turning against you.

It was the same with everything else, too. Even simple things—like playing another round of Kitty Cards with Luke and Kieran—had started to feel overwhelming. You had hoped the game might distract you from the constant discomfort, but it wasn’t working. Every time you sat down to play, your mind would drift, thoughts swirling around Sylus, his absence, and the creeping uncertainty that gnawed at you.

The twins were patient, at least. They sat across from you, dealing the cards and chatting casually, oblivious to the storm brewing in your mind. But today, the pressure felt different. Everything felt different.

You stared at your cards, barely processing the game as it unfolded in front of you. Your head was spinning, your stomach twisting uncomfortably. You had lost again—no surprise there. Normally, you’d shrug it off, crack a sarcastic joke about how the twins were impossible to beat. But this time, you felt something break inside you, something small but undeniable.

Before you could stop it, the tears welled up in your eyes.

“Damn it,” you muttered, your voice trembling. You quickly wiped at your eyes, trying to will the tears away, but it was too late. They fell fast and hard, streaming down your cheeks before you could control them.

Luke and Kieran exchanged a panicked glance at each other through their masks, their playful demeanor evaporating as they rushed to your side.

“Whoa, hey, it’s just a game!” Luke said, his voice soft and cautious as he reached out, clearly unsure how to handle your sudden outburst. “It’s not a big deal, we can play another round, yeah?”

Kieran didn’t say anything at first, just shifted closer, his presence more of a quiet comfort than anything. He placed a hand gently on your shoulder, his voice calm but concerned. “You okay?”

You shook your head quickly, choking back a sob as you tried to speak. “I’m fine. I’m fine, really. It’s just… I don’t know.” The words felt flimsy, hollow, even as you said them. You didn’t know what was happening—why the sudden flood of emotions, why you felt so completely out of control. It wasn’t like you.

“It’s just everything,” you whispered, more to yourself than to them.

The twins stayed close, Luke rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly while Kieran quietly handed you a tissue. You wiped your face, embarrassed by the sudden outburst. This wasn’t you. You weren’t the kind of person who broke down over losing a card game, and yet here you were, crying in front of two people who probably didn’t know what to do with you.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, feeling the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck. “I don’t know why… it’s just been—everything’s been so off lately.”

The twins exchanged another glance, but they didn’t push you. Instead, they nodded, offering small smiles of reassurance.

“We get it,” Luke said softly. “It’s a lot. You don’t have to explain.”

But as you sat there, sniffling and trying to regain control, the spinning in your head worsened. Your mind whirled with a thousand thoughts, none of them settling. What was happening to you? The nausea, the fatigue, the sensitivity, the tears. It didn’t make sense. You had blamed it all on stress and your period, but now the doubts were creeping in again.

And with those doubts came the nagging thought you’d been avoiding for days now: When is Sylus coming back?

The last time you’d seen him, he had left without giving you any real answers. His cold, detached demeanor had sent chills down your spine, and the memory of his final words replayed in your mind over and over again, like a taunt you couldn’t escape.

"This may be the last time we talk, kitten."

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the words away, but they echoed louder than ever. Was he dead? Had something happened to him? No… that wasn’t possible. Sylus wasn’t the kind of man who went down easily. He was always ten steps ahead, always in control. But then why did his words haunt you like a final goodbye?

Your chest tightened, your stomach churning as the weight of it all pressed down on you. You needed answers, but you had none. And without Sylus here—without knowing if he was ever coming back—there was nothing to do but sit with the spinning confusion, the unease, and the gnawing fear that something was very, very wrong.

Days pass in a blur and you were getting tired of feeling god awful. And thirsty? You couldn't stop drinking.

You kept finding yourself asking Mephisto, of all things, if he could somehow pass a note to the chef for more drinks. Water, juice, anything you could get your hands on. The constant thirst gnawed at you, as relentless as the rest of the changes you couldn’t understand. The more your body demanded, the more frustrated you became.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” you muttered under your breath, staring into the mirror after pushing away yet another meal you couldn't finish. Your reflection stared back at you, tired and drawn, with dark circles under your eyes that hadn’t been there a few weeks ago. Your body felt foreign—heavy, sluggish, like something you couldn’t control anymore. You weren’t even sure what was happening to you, but you hated it. You hated how powerless you felt inside your own skin.

It was as if your body was betraying you in slow, painful ways. And it was getting harder and harder to hold yourself together.

You stepped back from the mirror, and the weight of it all—everything you had been pushing down—suddenly crashed over you. A sob escaped your throat, and before you could stop it, you were breaking down. Again. You slid to the floor, pressing your hands to your face, trying to stifle the tears, but they came faster than you could handle. The frustration, the exhaustion, the endless confusion—it all bubbled over.

Your hands were shaking as you cried, your body feeling too weak to even hold yourself upright. You were falling apart, piece by piece, and there was nothing left to keep the walls up.

After what felt like an eternity of sitting there on the floor, tears streaming down your face, you glanced over at the calendar. Through tear-stained eyes, you caught a glimpse of the circled date—the day Sylus was supposed to come back.

Your heart sank, a hollow pit forming in your chest as the realization hit you like a blow.

Three days.

Three days had already passed since he was supposed to be back.

Your breath caught in your throat as the thought consumed you. Shit. He’s dead. That’s the only explanation that made sense. Sylus was dead, and now you were trapped here, in this miserable, suffocating prison, forever.

And what made it worse—what twisted the knife in deeper—was that you cared.

You shouldn’t. You knew that. Sylus had kidnapped you, manipulated you, left a scar on your arm and worse, scars in your mind. He had controlled you, twisted your life into something unrecognizable. And here you were, crying—actually crying—because he wasn’t coming back?

Fuck him, you thought, angrily wiping your tears away. Why do you even care?

But even as you tried to convince yourself, the tears kept falling. Why did you care? What was wrong with you? Why did the thought of Sylus being dead, of him never walking back through that door, tear you apart in ways you couldn’t explain?

Your head spun, the weight of your emotions crashing over you, dragging you under. You hated him. You hated everything he’d done to you. He’d stolen you from your life, cut into your skin, ripped away your freedom. You should be celebrating the thought of him being gone. You should want him to be dead.

But you didn’t.

You leaned your head against the wall, pressing your hands to your chest, trying to quiet the storm inside of you. The nausea was back again, swirling in your stomach, making it harder to breathe. Your body felt like it wasn’t yours anymore, like you had lost control in more ways than one.

Tears dripped down your cheeks as you shook your head, whispering to yourself. “What is wrong with me?”

There was no answer, only the suffocating silence of the N109 Zone, pressing in on you from all sides. And in that silence, one thought kept repeating itself, over and over again, haunting you with every breath:

"This may be the last time we talk, kitten."

“FUCK YOU!” The words ripped from your throat before you even realized it, raw and filled with a fury you didn’t know you still had in you.

You surged to your feet, your vision blurred with tears and rage as you grabbed the calendar from its place on the wall. The innocent object, the one thing that had grounded you to the passing of time, now felt like a mockery. Every marked date, every circled day—it was all a lie. He wasn’t coming back.

Without thinking, you hurled the calendar across the room with all the strength you could muster. It hit the opposite wall with a dull thud before falling to the floor, pages crumpling as it landed. The sound echoed in the room, but it wasn’t enough to quiet the roar inside your head.

You stood there, chest heaving, your heart pounding in your ears. The room felt too small, too suffocating, the darkness pressing in on you from every side. You wanted to scream again, to throw everything in the room, to tear it all apart until there was nothing left to remind you of him, of this place, of the horrible truth you couldn’t escape.

Sylus. His name was a bitter taste in your mouth. He had controlled you, twisted your life into this nightmare, and now he had the audacity to leave you here—alone. The anger burned in your chest, mixing with the sadness, the confusion, the overwhelming feeling of being lost.

You wanted to hate him. You did hate him. But in that same breath, the thought of him being gone forever, of him never walking through that door again, left you hollow. Why?

You felt an intense pain in your chest. In your heart. Physical, longing, brimming underneath all the hate when you thought of Sylus.

Tears streamed down your face as you stood there, fists clenched at your sides, staring at the crumpled calendar on the floor. The broken mess of it mirrored the way you felt inside—shattered, with no way to piece it back together.

“Fuck you,” you whispered, your voice breaking. It wasn’t just for Sylus anymore. It was for everything. For the N109 Zone, for your broken body, for the endless spiral of confusion and fear that had taken over your life. You didn’t know who to scream at anymore, who to blame, because everything felt like it was crumbling.

You wiped your tear-streaked face with the back of your hand, your breath shaky. The calendar sat motionless on the floor, a reminder of time slipping away, of promises not kept. And with it, a reminder of the haunting words Sylus had left you with, the ones that echoed in the hollow space inside your chest.

"This may be the last time we talk, kitten."

You sobbed, eyes turning toward the record player. You had been avoiding it. But now you longed for its song.

You sobbed, knees giving out as you slid to the floor, your body trembling with the weight of everything crashing down at once. The room spun around you, the tears blurring your vision, and for a moment, all you could do was sit there, letting the raw emotion pour out of you, your chest heaving with every breath.

Through the tears, your eyes drifted across the room, falling on the record player sitting in the corner, covered in a thin layer of dust. It had been sitting there for days, untouched, and you had purposefully ignored it, trying to avoid the haunting melody that had stirred too much inside you the first time. You’d been afraid of it—afraid of what the music had made you feel. Too much.

But now, as you sat there in the suffocating silence, the world collapsing around you, you longed for it. You longed for the song.

There was something in that music, something that had connected with you in a way nothing else here had. The haunting melody had pierced through the walls you’d built, allowing you to feel, really feel, in a place where emotions were a dangerous luxury. And now, in the midst of your grief and anger, you craved that connection again, that strange, bittersweet comfort.

Wiping at your tear-streaked face, you slowly pushed yourself up, your legs shaky beneath you as you staggered toward the record player. You hesitated for a moment, standing before it, your fingers hovering over the record that sat waiting, as if it had known you would come back.

Your hand trembled as you placed the needle on the record, the familiar crackling sound filling the room as it began to spin. For a moment, there was nothing but static, a brief, fragile pause before the music began.

And then, the first notes hit.

That hauntingly beautiful melody. It drifted through the room, filling the empty space with its ghostly echo. The sound wrapped around you, soft and delicate, but heavy with meaning, with emotion. The organs slow, mournful tune carried through the air, each note pulling at your heart, drawing out the feelings you had tried to bury.

You sank to the floor again, leaning against the wall, your head resting back as you let the music envelop you. The tears didn’t stop, but the sobs quieted, replaced by a deep, aching sadness. The melody tugged at your soul, a reminder of everything you had lost, everything that had been taken from you.

But in that sadness, there was a strange comfort. The music understood. It mirrored your pain, your frustration, your confusion. Every note felt like it was speaking directly to you, like the song itself was mourning with you.

The organ swelled, and your chest tightened, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over as the emotions surged again. But you didn’t fight it this time. You let the music carry you, let it take you wherever it wanted to go. There was no point in resisting anymore. You were tired of fighting.

As the melody continued, you closed your eyes, the sound pulling you deeper into its embrace. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to truly feel everything. The sadness, the anger, the fear—it all poured out of you, spilling into the notes of the song.

Sylus’s absence still loomed over you, his words still echoed in your mind, but for now, the music dulled the edges of that pain. It was a small reprieve, a brief moment where the chaos of your mind quieted.

And even though the haunting melody was filled with sorrow, in this moment, it was exactly what you needed.

Sylus stepped into the room quietly, the soft click of the door unlocking barely audible over the faint hum of the record player. He exhaled slowly, exhaustion weighing heavy on him from days of endless travel, but as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, they landed on you, and the fatigue seemed to fade into the background.

There you were, curled up on the floor, fast asleep, your chest rising and falling in steady, peaceful breaths. The haunting melody from the record player filled the air, casting a strange, melancholic atmosphere over the room. Sylus’s gaze flickered to the spinning record and, with a small smirk, he turned the player off, cutting the music short. It pleased him to see you had actually played it.

For a moment, he simply stood there, watching you sleep. There was something oddly vulnerable about the way you lay there, your body relaxed in sleep, your face free of the tension that so often creased it when you were awake. His eyes traced the faint tear tracks on your cheeks, the puffiness around your eyes, the clear evidence that you had been crying.

You’ve been sobbing, he realized, his smirk fading as he studied you more closely. Dried tears clung to your skin, and your face looked stressed and worn, as if you’d been fighting a losing battle with your emotions for far too long. He could see it now—the exhaustion, the way your body seemed to have given up.

His gaze softened, lingering on you for a moment longer. You stirred slightly in your sleep, your eyelids fluttering as if caught in some dream. Your chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, and for the briefest moment, he allowed himself to simply observe the small details—the way your breath hitched every now and then, the way your lips parted slightly, the faint twitch of your fingers.

It was strange, this feeling. Sylus had seen you broken before, had seen the moments when you were at your most vulnerable, but watching you like this—so peaceful, yet so fragile—something else stirred in him. A flicker of something softer, something he quickly brushed away.

He stepped closer, kneeling beside you as he reached out to gently shake your shoulder. “Wake up, honey” he murmured softly.

Your eyes flew open, wide and startled at first, darting around the room in confusion before finally settling on him. For a split second, something flashed in your gaze—relief? But it was quickly replaced by something else. Worry? Concern?

Before he could say anything, you grimaced, your face twisting in discomfort, and then you were dry heaving. Instinctively, Sylus moved quickly, slipping his arms under you to help guide you toward the bathroom. The sudden movement caught you off guard, but he held you steady, his grip firm but not rough.

“Easy,” he said, his voice low as he helped you to the bathroom. You could barely focus, your body convulsing with the effort of dry heaving, but Sylus kept you upright, guiding you with surprising gentleness.

Once inside, you collapsed near the toilet, and he crouched beside you, watching as your body struggled against the nausea. His hand rested lightly on your back, a quiet, stabilizing presence as you fought to regain control.

One dry heave. Your body convulsed, a sharp, painful spasm that left you gasping for breath. Sylus's grip tightened slightly, his hand steady on your back as he helped guide you to the edge of the toilet. The nausea had been building for days, and now it was finally pushing its way out, relentless and overwhelming.

Then came another heave, your stomach twisting violently, your muscles contracting as if your body was trying to wring itself dry. Your vision blurred, and the room spun as you tried to fight it, but it was no use.

The final heave hit hard, and this time, you couldn’t hold it back. The contents of your stomach surged up, and you vomited into the toilet, your whole body trembling from the effort. The acrid taste burned in your throat as you retched, your eyes squeezing shut as tears leaked from the corners.

Sylus remained silent, his hand still resting on your back, his presence a quiet anchor in the chaos of the moment. He didn’t speak, didn’t react—just stayed there, watching as you emptied yourself, each convulsion wracking your already exhausted body.

When the retching finally subsided, your shoulders sagged, and you leaned against the toilet, your breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. The nausea still lingered, but the worst had passed, leaving you feeling weak, drained, and raw. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, still shaking, your entire body feeling like it might collapse at any moment.

Sylus knelt beside you, his gaze fixed on you, studying your every movement. There was no mocking smirk this time, no cruel amusement. Just a quiet, almost clinical focus as he watched you recover. His eyes flickered over your tear-streaked face, the sweat glistening on your skin, and the unmistakable exhaustion that had settled into every fiber of your being.

"Better?" he asked quietly, his voice softer than you expected.

You nodded weakly, though you weren’t sure if that was the truth. The nausea had faded, but your head was spinning, and your body felt foreign, like it didn’t belong to you anymore. You slumped back, resting against the cool tile floor, trying to steady your breath as the overwhelming fatigue took over.

“Were you so excited to see me that you threw up?” Sylus’s voice slipped out, laced with dark amusement as he eyed you laid on the bathroom floor. The corners of his lips tugged into a smirk as he watched your exhausted figure, trembling from the aftermath of your retching. The sight of you, so vulnerable yet still so defiant, stirred something in him. It was quite adorable.

Your head snapped up, eyes red and watery, and shot him a glare that would’ve been more effective if you weren’t barely holding yourself together. That was what he liked about you, though—you still had fire, even when everything else was crumbling.

“I hate you,” you muttered, barely audible, your voice weak and strained.

He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling in the quiet room. Of course you did. You’d spat those words at him more times than he could count, but they never carried the weight you thought they did. “I'm hurt, kitten,” he said, letting the pet name slip out with just enough bite to remind you of your place.

He shifted, straightening up slightly but still crouched beside you, watching the way your body slumped against the cool tile. You wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand again, trying to recover, but he could see how drained you were. Your limbs looked heavy, like they’d given up on you, and the flush of your cheeks told him you were still fighting that lingering nausea.

But it wasn’t just the exhaustion that interested him—it was the way you looked up at him, the fire still burning behind your eyes despite the tears and the clear discomfort. Even now, as broken as you were, you fought. That was what intrigued him, what kept him coming back to you.

He couldn’t help but chuckle again, this time quieter, more to himself. The sight of you like this, caught between rage and weakness, pulled at something in him. You didn’t want him here, and yet, your body still leaned into his support, still let him guide you when you needed it most. Whether you hated him or not didn’t matter. You still needed him.

He watched you for a moment longer, his eyes scanning your face, the way your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath. The tear tracks were still fresh on your cheeks, and he could see that you’d been crying long before he’d arrived.

The silence stretched between you, and Sylus felt it settle—heavy, weighted with something more than just your physical exhaustion. He could feel it in the way you looked at him, as though you were grappling with something you didn’t want to admit. And then there was that brief flicker in your eyes, something that looked almost like relief before it shifted to concern.

It intrigued him. What were you so worried about?

He could see your body still trembling, and before you could react, your face twisted again, and you dry heaved once more. His amusement faded as his hands instinctively moved to help you, his grip firm but not rough, guiding you back toward the toilet just in time as you retched and gagged again.

“Don't fight it,” he murmured, his voice dropping into something quieter. For once, the teasing tone was gone. You were still shaking, still fighting the nausea, and he kept his hand on your back, steadying you as you vomited again, your whole body convulsing with the effort.

He knelt beside you, watching the way your frame trembled, the way your body seemed to be betraying you. His eyes narrowed slightly. Something was different—off. This wasn’t just exhaustion or sickness. He’d seen you in pain before, seen you in worse states, but this… this felt heavier.

He kept his hand on your back, waiting until your body stopped shaking, until you slumped again, too weak to do anything but rest against the cold tile.

"You okay?" he asked, keeping his voice low, though he doubted you had the energy to do much more than nod.

And sure enough, you gave a weak nod, not even trying to speak. He watched as your chest rose and fell, your breath coming in shallow gasps. The fight hadn’t left your eyes, but the exhaustion had taken over now, and he could see it in the way you struggled to keep yourself upright.

Sylus stared at you for a moment longer, something cold and calculating behind his eyes. You were breaking, yes, but not in the way he had expected. Something else was happening—something deeper, beyond the physical symptoms. He could feel it, a shift in the air between you.

Sylus remained there for a moment longer, his eyes tracing over your trembling form. You looked so small, so fragile in this moment, slumped against the cold tile with tear-streaked cheeks and watery eyes. The sight of you like this stirred something inside him—a mix of satisfaction and curiosity, though he wasn’t entirely sure which feeling dominated. He could see how much this had taken a toll on you, how every day without answers had chipped away at your resolve. But this? This was different. This was the moment he had been waiting for—the moment where the walls finally came down.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, keeping his tone even and composed as he turned away, heading toward the bathroom drawer. He could feel your eyes on him, glaring into his back with what little strength you had left. You were trying to hold onto that defiance, trying to summon some kind of fight, but he knew better. You were unraveling, and the truth of what he was about to show you would tear down whatever was left.

He rifled through the drawer, his movements slow and methodical, savoring the quiet tension building in the room. His fingers brushed past a few irrelevant items before closing around the small box. It felt almost anticlimactic, the weight of it so light in his hand, yet what it represented was monumental. He straightened and turned back toward you, holding the box just high enough for you to see.

Your reaction was immediate—your mouth opened in shock, and your eyes widened in horror as realization dawned. There it is, he thought, a small smirk tugging at his lips. He watched the shift in your expression with a quiet, controlled satisfaction. It was like watching a puzzle piece snap into place, watching you connect the dots and realize just how deep in this you really were.

“No…” you whispered, your voice cracking, barely more than a breath. The desperation clung to your words, and for a fleeting moment, Sylus felt something akin to pity stir in his chest. But he quickly brushed it aside. This is how it has to be. He knew it. You were spiraling, trying to cling to the lie that everything was normal, that your body hadn’t betrayed you in the way you feared most.

“No, I’m not pregnant,” you whimpered, shaking your head as tears started to spill down your cheeks. “I’m just sick…I'm just sick...”

Why lie to yourself?, he thought, though there was no cruelty in those words. He didn’t enjoy seeing you like this—no, not quite. But there was something about your vulnerability, something about watching you come to terms with this new reality, that intrigued him. You were always so strong, so determined to fight him at every turn, and now, with this one tiny box in his hand, he had you crumbling.

Tears poured from your eyes now, and your voice wavered as you kept trying to convince yourself, to convince him, that this wasn’t real. That you were just sick, that this was something else, something manageable. He could see the panic rising in you, the way your hands trembled, the way your breath hitched between sobs.

But Sylus just watched, his eyes soft, yet calculating. He wasn’t surprised by your reaction—he’d anticipated it, even counted on it. You weren’t ready to accept the truth yet. That’s why he was here. To guide you into it. To show you that, whether you wanted it or not, you were his in ways you hadn’t even realized.

He stepped toward you, his movements slow, deliberate. Kneeling back down, he reached out and wiped the tears from your face, his touch unnervingly tender. The way he was looking at you displayed the same tenderness but also something else. Control, This was control—calm, steady control. He had been waiting for this moment for weeks, watching the signs, knowing where this was all leading.

“Only one way to find out, honey,” he murmured, his voice soft, soothing. Like he was comforting a child. He could feel your fear, could see the way you were choking on the sobs that kept spilling from you. But there was no rush. He had all the time in the world.

He watched the panic bloom in your eyes, the way the tears kept coming, your body shaking with the effort of holding back the reality you didn’t want to face. It fascinated him—the sheer desperation in your every movement. The fear of being tied to him in a way you couldn’t escape, in a way that would bind you together forever.

She’s terrified, he thought, his thumb brushing away more of your tears. But beneath that terror, there was something else—a kind of inevitability. You already knew. Deep down, you must have known. He could see it now, in the way your sobs became more frantic, the way your body shook as the weight of the truth crashed over you. You weren’t just crying from fear anymore. You were crying because this was real.

The satisfaction he felt wasn’t born of cruelty. It was born of the quiet control he had over you now, a control that went beyond the physical, beyond the chain that kept you tethered here. This was a different kind of control—one that reached into your mind, your soul. And it was deeper than anything he had ever seen in you before.

As you burst into sobs, your whole body trembling with the force of your breakdown, Sylus stayed right there, crouched beside you, his thumb tracing slow circles on your skin. He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to. The box sat between you like a looming reminder of what was coming, and he knew there was no turning back from this.

Watching you crumble like this, completely undone by something as small as a pregnancy test, brought a strange sense of finality to the moment. You were his now. Not in the way you had been before—this was something more permanent, more inescapable.

All that was left was to confirm it. Show you its real.

And as your sobs wracked your body, Sylus watched with soft, patient eyes, knowing that no matter how much you cried, no matter how much you resisted, there was only one way out.

The truth.

738 notes · View notes

bkgsdoll · 8 days ago

Text

౨ৎ❆ ₊˚♡⊹ jingle bell rock - katsmas

❄️︵︵　summary: you and your friends (more like terrified followers) decide to recreate the iconic mean girls jingle bell rock dance for your school's holiday show. but then, you hear from one of your lackeys who heard from umi-- whatever, it doesn't really matter. point is: bakugou katsuki, the notorious jerk of the school was heard jerking off to you in the bathroom! 🍫︵︵　notes: popular!reader x popular!bakugou, nsfw (no smut tho), alcohol mention, male masturbation, college au, and the end sucks i lowk hate this </3 🎀︵︵　word count: 2.2k

being the head of your sorority wasn’t exactly challenging. every single girl fell in line with whatever you said, eagerly sharing gossip without hesitation and practically memorizing your every move. well, most of them did...

you scoff, shoving a coffee cup into a girl’s hands. "i asked for three pumps of vanilla, nejire. go get another." you wave off your little errand girl as she mutters a quick apology, while your three minions exchange smirks behind you. you pick up your stride across campus, heading toward class while the trio of lackeys trail closely behind.

"what’s on your to-do?" a suck-up blonde named kumi asks, clutching her ipad and apple pen like they’re part of her identity. you sigh, flicking a glance at your perfectly manicured nails.

"i need a nail appointment at my usual spot. book it for 11:30, please. after yamada's class, i’m heading to the library to study. you should all join me, but i won't force you," you add sweetly, applying a fresh layer of lip gloss in the reflection of your tiny compact mirror as you strut ahead.

two of your girls end up free to tag along, and you settle into a cozy corner of the library, your nose buried in a textbook. meanwhile, as you're fulfilling your student duties, your lackeys giggle quietly, sharing whispers that sound more suited for high school than college. you look up with a curious expression. "what is it?"

their eyes flash to you instantly, wide with excitement. "bakugou was staring at you in yamada's class, and he canceled his 'hangout' with camie. he’s probably going to talk to you!" one of them grins, her head dropping into her hands dreamily.

you blink, your lashes kissing your cheeks as you try to recall who they're talking about.

after a few seconds of silence, it clicks, and you frown. "ohhh, that jerk? hard pass," you say, dismissing the thought with a flick of your wrist. "anywho, i was thinking about what we should do for mei's birthday next week. ideas?" your eyes brighten, always excited to plan something fun and flashy.

the two girls stare at you suspiciously with their mouths hanging open.

one of them pipes up, "well yeah, he's a little rude sometimes, but girl, he is sooo fine!!!" she giggles, twirling her hair flirtatiously.

she's not wrong. you do somewhat recall seeing him around campus and seated in your lectures with his feet kicked up on the desk. his blond hair and thick muscles were gorgeous, but really, there are plenty of supermodel-worthy guys around. the bare minimum is to be friendly, you think.

"if you wanna go out with that delinquent, be my guest." you lean forward, eyes narrowing. she gulps, her smile fading as the girl next to her quickly changes the subject.

"alrighty then...!" she clears her throat. "moving on, the santa costumes should be here in like, two more hours!"

you clap your hands lightly with a happy grin. you and three of your sorority sisters were recreating the iconic mean girls jingle bell rock dance for your little holiday party. you’d managed to get a frat boy to throw it, since sororities, annoyingly, aren’t allowed to host their own big bashes.

your phone pings with a message just a second later. you grab your pink phone, exhaling with a scoff as you read nejire’s “where are you??!!! i got your coffee :D” text.

"mine is too small!"

the night of the party arrived, and you and your friends were hidden in a large, echoey bathroom to get dressed for your upcoming performance.

laughter fills the room as the girls help each other adjust their tight two-piece outfits.

you grin, fixing your rubbery skirt in the mirror. you were absolutely in love with your outfit resembling the movie perfectly-- a red tank top with fluffy white trim, paired with a matching red latex skirt and topped off with a cute santa hat. your black gloves fit perfectly, complementing the thigh-high black heels that complete the look.

"who should we kick the boombox into?" mina giggles half-jokingly, fluffing her hair beside you.

"ugh, monoma for sure!" kento chimes in with a rolls her eyes.

you squeal, glancing at the time on your phone. "oh shit, we gotta go!" you giggle, swinging open the bathroom door. "we'll take pics later," you offer, dragging a whining mina out into the living room with the other two girls following behind. the crowd of students erupt into cheers at your outfits, immediately getting the reference.

you spot your lackeys all huddled together, giving you thumbs ups and cheesy grins. you smile happily, giving them a little wave before getting into position. one of your minions stands beside bakugou, and you hesitantly do a double take, not having expected to see him here. he's not in any kind of festive wear. his arms are crossed with his face set in a clearly bored scowl. you notice your lackey mouth the words "can i get your number?" to the blond, and you can't help but roll your eyes.

the music begins to play, and you all perform flawlessly. mina, sadly doesn't end up kicking the boombox into anyone's face, just nudging it slightly forward with her foot. regardless, it was still a huge success. the audience cheers with pleasure, and you all strike cute little curtsies before heading to get drinks.

by the hot cocoa (and other beverages) stand, you meet up with two of your minions, the one ogling bakugou not present. they fawn over your dance skills, and you graciously accept their compliments. then, out of breath, the missing girl rushes up to the group.

"what happened to you?" kumi smirks, already laughing to herself.

"yn! i was standing next to bakugou, trying to score a date with him, right?" she starts, her eyes wide and eager. you nod along, interest piqued from the unexpectant story. "so he left to go to the bathroom in the middle of your dance, and i followed him, but when i got there..."

you and the other two exchange glances as she trails off, waiting for the rest of the story.

she leans in closer, cupping her hands around her mouth. "he was groaning..."

you all gasp, your face instantly heating up.

"i swear on every pair of heels you own, he was totally beating it to you! kinda jealous, can't lie, but oh my gosh??!" she squeals and bounces up and down on her heels.

you huff, shaking off your flustered expression and folding your arms. "so what? we're not in middle school, i couldn't give a shit if we got him turned on,"

this is half true. part of you thinks he'd be a really great fuck buddy. i mean, seriously! his toned body could get your mouth watering if you'd ever stared at it for longer than five seconds. that is, if you even did the whole "lets fuck and then never speak again" thing.

"who's we?" the girl chuckles, leaning closer to your ear. "he was whispering your name...!"

you can't help the grin slipping past your lips. you got the prideful katsuki bakugou all bricked up with a little christmas dance? you giggle, eyes flicking over to the bathroom door, still closed shut. "i'll be right back..." you mutter, twirling a strand of hair between your fingers as you strut away from your group, ignoring their little cheers and moans.

you stride up to the bathroom, leaning against the wall. you hum quietly to yourself as you wait for bakugou to come out, even though you're not really sure what you're doing. you know your girls are watching you, you can still hear their immature mewls from your spot. you inhale sharply, oh gosh, you hope your hair isn't a mess from--

the door swings open, interrupting your thought with a flushed and grumpy bakugou. his eyebrows raise at your presence. a muscly arm raises to the back of his neck, scratching awkwardly. "hey," he grunts.

you grin at his avoidance of eye contact. "hii," you coo, fluttering your lashes as he steps to the side of the door, inviting you to go next. you shake your head. "oh no, i don't have to go. i was waiting for you actually,"

he coughs, visibly startled. "what?" you could practically see his heart drop to ass as his grumpy expression falters.

"relax," you tease, "i just wanted to make sure you're uh..." you trail off, turning slightly to hide the little smirk tugging at your lips. as you spin to face him again, his expression is a perfect mix of confusion and feigned annoyance. "i just wanted to know if you're all... situated?"

the blond rolls his eyes, shoving his hands in his pockets. "shut up,"

"hey i'm not judging, it's completely understandable!" you shrug with an easy smile, tilting your head back against the wall.

"listen up." his growl cuts through the pumping noise as he folds his arms. you swallow as he towers over you, blocking the bathroom entrance. "jus cause you looked-- good or whatever-- doesn't mean i wanna fuck you," he chuckles almost mockingly. you scoff. what a pretentious ass.

"nobody said anything, about us fucking, first of all." you retort, eyeing him up and down, though that does little clear your flustered state. "i don't do just anyone, unlike you. and anyway, can't i just want to help my fellow students out of the goodness of my heart?"

bakugou flicks your forehead, earning a loud scoff from you, swatting his hand away from your face. "and just what the fuck do you mean by 'helping' then?" he challenges.

for the first time in a very long time, you're stuck. you have no idea how to respond-- shit! bakugou notices your hesitation and laughs again, leaning down to tap your cheek with his finger. you huff through your nose, but seemingly frozen in place as his intense red eyes bore into you. then out of nowhere, his expression softens. "y'look pretty,"

your eyes slightly widen. wary, you keep your guard up, tossing your hair over your shoulder. you half expected him to walk away and move on with his life but he doesn't, clearly interested in you. "thank you, playboy." you reply cautiously.

he stares at you, his face falling into a disappointed frown. "playboy? fuck off," he grunts.

you regret the term. you of all people should understand rumors and false assumptions. realizing your mistake, you backtrack. "i'm sorry-- no, i-"

your lackey, kumi, suddenly pops up at your side, giving bakugou an ogling once-over as she puffs out her chest. she turns to you with a naive smile. "hiii, I know now's probably not the time, hehe, but I was thinking about what you said earlier-"

"kumi? doll? hi," you interrupt, sharply spinning towards the dumb girl as you plaster on a fake smile. "uh, i don't have time for this, so if you could..." you point towards the dancing crowd, rubbing her shoulder with feigned kindness.

she looks between you and a bored blond before nodding to your words and mousily rushing off.

"so what're you, regina george?" katsuki chuckles, snatching a drink from a partygoer scrambling past.

your mouth falls open in surprise, totally ignoring his comparison. "you've seen mean girls?"

for a moment, your words go unanswered as the gangly junkie curses at bakugou. the blond merely rolls his eyes. "go do some coke or somethin," he says with a groan, shoving him away. "fuckin loser," he spits under his breath.

katsuki quickly turns back to you. "my ma loves that kinda stupid shit," he replies.

you can't believe you're standing away from your posse to talk to katsuki bakugou. but minutes pass, and here you are, completely absorbed in conversation with him. you've felt multiple vibrations from your tiny purse, definitely from your group chat. the onslaught of messages are probably just desperate pleas begging for you to return... they wouldn't know what to do without you. but you ignore your phone altogether, too engaged in this unexpected exchange.

a soft hum escapes your lips as your eyes sweep the room, gathering a hint of courage. "we should hang out sometime," you suggest, voice playful yet sincere with a smile and a touch of hope in your glance.

katsuki narrows his eyes like he's assessing you, making sure you're for real. he grunts, gaze briefly flicking over your outfit before he speaks again.

"fine. only if you were more clothes though, goddamn."

you can’t help but giggle, the sound light and teasing as you loop your arm around his. "you like it, though, huh?" you grin as he leads you to the dance floor.

"shut the fuck up."

652 notes · View notes

spatialwave · 2 months ago

Note

“passionate kissing, pressed up against a wall” prompt with Viktor, Jayce or Mel? If not, i want to add i love reading your work 🤧

thank you so much!! <3 i hope this mel fic does justice hehe.

➸ pairing: mel medarda x fem!reader ➸ word count: 687 ➸ tags: mdni! passionate kissing, semi-nsfw, wlw, reader is a butch enforcer baddie and basically mel’s bodyguard. ➸ notes: eeek this was sooo fun to write. i love wlw content, please send more asks if that’s your vibe!! came from this prompt!

“Your mother wants me dead.”

“No, she doesn’t.”

Your eyes lingered on Mel, leaning back against the brick wall of the council room. The large area was empty, and you had been tasked to watch over her for the time being as tension rose between Piltover and Zaun. Strong arms crossed over your chest, the enforcer uniform stretching over your muscled skin.

“She simply doesn’t appreciate those who, well, don’t listen.”

Mel’s voice was calm, soothing. Gods, you wanted it so badly to irritate you, but it always stirred a swirling feeling in your stomach.

“So, she does want me dead?” You quirked an eyebrow, lips lifting into a smirk that Mel wanted to wipe from your face.

“You’re being dramatic,” Mel murmured, her slender arms lifting to wrap around her body as she stood before you, turning to look over her shoulder at the empty seats where the council sat.

Rolling your eyes, you pushed yourself away from the wall with your foot, sighing. Her mother was… a tough subject.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, “I know it’s hard for you that she’s here,” you continued, lifting a hand to tug Mel’s chin so she was forced to look back at you.

She shook her head, “don’t apologize,” her voice was soft, eyes closing as she nuzzled her cheek to your calloused hand.

“Do you want to forget about it?” You asked quietly, swallowing thickly as your other hand reached out, hesitantly settling on her hip, “just for a little.”

You enjoyed seeing the way she smiled at you, looking up to meet your gaze. A small smile graced her lips, “Last night wasn’t enough to sate you, was it?” she asked teasingly, two hands grazing over your stomach. You stared down at her, heart jumping into your throat as her hands filled your body with static.

“Oh, whatever,” you scoffed, playing it cool, “I’m not the one who was screaming my name out last night.”

She parted her lips in response, flustered as her fingernails dug into your uniform, “Well–”

You were filled with excitement at her reaction, twirling her around with your hands on her hips until she was pressed back against the wall. Your knee pushed between her legs, allowing the woman to roll herself against your thigh.

“Keep it quick,” she breathed, eyes half-lidded as her hands crawled up your body and rested on your jaw, “but don’t hold back.”

Fuck.

Lips crashed together, the gloss she wore smudging against your skin as your tongue slipped into her mouth. You chased after her tongue, her moans muffling into your mouth as the two of you tasted each other.

Her hands reached into your hair, tugging and clawing at you.

“Look at you,” you breathed against her lips, mouth moving to drag along her jaw, teeth catching on her skin, “bet you couldn’t stop thinking about me all day.”

Mel let out a whimpered as she tilted her head, providing you with access to kiss at her neck. Fingers tightened in your hair, and you whined at a harsh tug. You pulled back to look at her, both of you sharing the same look. Heavy breaths, half-lidded eyes, and the urge to rip each other’s clothes off now.

“Why don’t you give me a reason to think about you tomorrow?” She asked, her voice sickeningly sweet as she closed the distance between your lips, brushing them in a teasing fashion, “Can you do that for me?”

“Sure. Anything for you,” you said obediently, licking into her mouth with a quick movement. You pushed your body hard against hers, chests pressed together and hands gliding along the exposed skin on her thighs.

You felt her twitch under your touch, her lips parting to accept all you had to offer, as your mix of moans muffled in each other’s mouths. She was putty in your hands, pressed against the wall and eager for you to make a mess out of her.

Pulling back for air, you slowly dropped to your knees, watching Mel’s eyes flutter open and stare down at you, thighs beginning to shake.

“Ready, princess?”

#mel medarda x reader #mel medarda x you #mel medarda x y/n #arcane fic #arcane x you #wlw #arcane #mel medarda #mel medarda fic #wordsbyspatial #spatialanswers

355 notes · View notes

mangocheesecakes · 5 months ago

Text

Updates from @mohamedmoner1994 and Layla Ashoor on Instagram:

As they have explained in previous posts, Rewaa has finally been included on the list for medical evacuations and will hopefully be able to leave soon. She is allowed to take two people along with her and they have decided that their youngest son Siraj and Mohamed's mother Nadia will be going with her.

This means the rest of the family, including Mohamed and their elder son Munir, will be left behind in Gaza until they are able to gather the needed amount in order to pay the crossing fees to Egypt.

The family is of course finding it hard to deal with the thought of being separated from each other. Munir and Siraj were already forced to be separated when Siraj had to move to their granparents' camp because he got so scared of a snake that was found in their tent.

Munir thinks that he would also be going with his brother and mother to Egypt. Mohamed had to explain to him that they will be left behind and console him with promises to buy him new toys when he gets the money.

I am at a loss for words once again on how to explain how heartbreaking this is. I can only beg anyone and everyone for your sympathy, and whatever help you can give, be it in sharing this post or donating whatever amount you can.

As of this post they are only at £10,360 / 45,000, with only 3 donations in the last 24 hrs, before that was 1 donation 3 days ago.

Please note that this is a vetted fundraiser (line 70, number 66 on the vetted fundraisers spreadsheet), they were among the first gofundmes that were vetted here on tumblr, they have an instagram account with regular updates, and you can browse their tag on my blog (mohamedmoner1994) for more details and past posts proving that they are genuine.

#palestine #free palestine #mutual aid #mohamedmoner1994

447 notes · View notes

grimmsbride · 1 month ago

Note

would you be willing to write for daisuke and a chubby fem reader... can be fluff or nsfw hcs idc either way I love he sm and your writing for him is perfect 😭😭😭 if not feel free to ignore :) have a great day !!

FOR HER [ daisuke x chubby!reader | hcs ]

fluff & nsfw headcanons surrounding daisuke and his lovely, chubby lover

notes / when ever i write i always try to depict reader as chubby it warms my little heart. & i’m so happy you requested this- i’ve been trying to avoid headcanons but this ask was too good to pass up! & i’m so happy i got a request! ty sm anon <3 as always please excuse any typos or grammar mistakes i’m low-key half awake

FLUFF

- First off I firmly believe Daisuke is fluid in what he likes, which also means the size of his partner. I genuinely think he wouldn’t care how “big or small” they are, as personality is something he’s after.

- But your beautiful appearance was of course a plus.

- You were an intern under Anya, meaning you frequently came into contact with Daisuke. Whether it be him lightly injuring himself or you conducting an evaluation ( under the guidance of your mentor ) the two of you have grown to get along, your age & mutual interests being a factor.

- Slowly though, that affection grows romantic as time passed. I mean, Daisuke’s a young adult trapped on a ship with a beautiful woman his age— how could he not fall for her?

- It doesn’t help he’s obvious as hell to the other crew mates. Always staring at you or after you, quick to greet you each morning, glancing at you when a joke is passed just to hear your sweet laughter. Daisuke is enthralled and it’s not surprise to anyone — except you.

- Maybe you’re naive, maybe focused on your tasks? Maybe you just failed to notice. Either way, you were a little more than clueless to his lingering feelings.

- Even when he’s sharing his stolen sweetener, allowing you to play on his game boy, or even being rather touchy — hugs & accidental grazes — you’re truly lost to what he wants.

- Only when Daisuke accidentally lets out a “God, I’m in love with you..” when you beat a level on his game did you catch a single clue.

- From then on the two of you begin your relationship, Daisuke all to eager show his love for you. Always close to you, checking in on you when he can, even sharing food when he realizes you hadn’t had a break — he’s a doting partner no matter what.

- Daisuke also likes to give you that gaudy shirt he wears when he can, feeling just a tad bit a pride when you wear his clothes — even if it’s a little tight, he doesn’t care.

- Though once Jimmy does make the off chance about you “stretching out the boy’s clothes” which makes you a little reluctant to wear them again.

- Daisuke is quick to shut that down though, declaring even if you purposely ripped it to shreds he truly wouldn’t care— a shirt really means nothing compared to you.

- From that point on Daisuke makes it a habit to compliment you, your size, everything. He doesn’t care, but realizing you do fuels such behavior. At times his compliments are questionable but his loving face surely makes up for it.

- “You’re so big and perfect, [Name].”

- “Daisuke… [sigh].. thank you.”

- After work and showering Daisuke always makes his way to your room to cuddle, alternating between little spoon and big spoon. When he’s big spoon he’s usually closest to the door, tugging you right against his chest and laying his face into your neck. He likes to whisper tiny thoughts he has or even a simply “I love you” once in a while. Sometimes you have to tell him to quiet down from how sleepy you’re getting.

- If you’re big spoon Daisuke’s face is definitely in your chest. Like.. right against it, arms wrapped around your waist so you don’t move. Sometimes you complain; scared he can’t breathe, but he’s quick to shake his head— basically declaring he’s fine.

- During that though, Daisuke may just shake his head a little too much— which causes you to playfully flick him for the perverted behavior.

NSFW

- Covering yourself up won’t really fly with Daisuke as his hands are everywhere. Grabbing your thighs, breasts, stomach, anywhere and everywhere— he isn’t turned off in the slightest by the extra meat or marks lining your hips. He quite likes tracing them with his thumbs whenever he’s deep inside you, pressing into the indents whenever he’s close.

- Daisuke isn’t the best with words but if he notices you are insecure, he is happy to reassure that you are perfect to him through actions.

- A not so secret, dirty secret; he would probably want you to smother him. Like, full weight on his face with him eating you out. Is it logical? No, but when it comes to you — in a sexual setting — the man is thinking with his dick rather than his mind.

- “Su.. I’m going to squash you.”

- Daisuke is shaking his head rapidly in response, on his knees in front of you and practically pleading.

- “Please, please! Even if I die it’s the best way to go!” Or some nonsense like that. With more coaxing you eventually give in, of course making him promise he’ll deliver two firm pats to your thigh if it’s too much.

- Having you above him, smothered in your wetness, plump ass on his chest— well.. he’s coming untouched. Hands gripping your hips so fucking tightly he’s leaving his own marks, moaning right into your cunt, whilst his hips are left to hump the air.

- And if you praise him? Oh his eyes are rolling back, completely drunk going as far as whimpering right into your sex

- Even when you’re finished the man doesn’t let you up until he’s satisfied, which isn’t until you’re practically whining for overstimulation. But once he’s done you’re quickly hopping off him, assuring he’s fine and not in pain.

- Sure, Daisuke’s neck hurts just a little back — which he blames on work when questioned by Anya — but like he said, it was totally worth it.

- Moving on, between Daisuke being able to lift himself in the vent ( and through it while injured ) + being on the baseball team, I like to think he’s strong in his own right. Not ridiculously strong, but strong enough.

- And by that I mean he’s not at all phased with moving you how he wishes. He’s gentle yet firm, pressing you into positions, turning you into others— when you let him take the lead he takes care of you, making you forget your size entirely.

- Daisuke also seems like the type to purposely grow stronger just to ease your worries — which to him are silly —.

- Speaking of positions, Daisuke purposely doesn’t do doggy unless it’s a quickie— simply because watching you from behind like that; ass and thighs rippling with each thrust, he’s coming in seconds. He’s always embarrassed and you have the tendency to tease him about it, much to his dismay.

- Lastly if you’re a particularly dominant person he’s all for it. Yes, let him lean back into your soft body whilst you jerk him off— he’s palpable and completely yours to play with.

- The man especially likes wrapping his lips around your nipple while you jerk him, followed by your soft words. Ranging between praises and teasing remarks; Daisuke is coming in seconds.

- Or having you ride him is even better, seeing you in all your glory like that is enough to push him over the edge.

- Truthfully though Daisuke seems like the type to handle a chubby partner in more ways then one.

#black fanfic writer #black fanfiction #black tumblr #black!reader #chubby reader #poc writer #black reader #daisuke mouthwashing #daisuke mw #mouthwashing daisuke x reader #daisuke x you #daisuke x y/n #reader x daisuke #daisuke x female reader #intern daisuke #daisuke x reader smut #daisuke x reader #daisuke #daisuke x chubby reader

238 notes · View notes

lilylovestowrite · 6 months ago

Note

We all know that Aventurine's love language is definitely gift giving! So I would like to request aventurine spoiling his s/o with so much money and gifts. At first reader was thankful and also flustered with all of the gifts he provided for her, but later reader started to become annoyed cause he's been spoiling them too much, so one day they decided to text aventurine about this matter. They only just called his name and he already thought that they needed money so he sent the money. Reader was surprised at first but then got annoyed and decided to scold him in the chat (to which aventurine didn't take them seriously and even teases them, finding amusement with his lover's anger) make this a playful banter between the two and at the end, aventurine decided to meet up with them to pamper them, but this time, with affection ✨

MUST BE FUNNY, IN A RICH MAN'S WORLD ୨♡୧

PAIRING ୨♡୧ (Aventurine x GN! Reader)

WARNINGS ୨♡୧ None

SYNOPSIS ୨♡୧ You decide to confront your boyfriend over his overzealous spending habits.

WORD COUNT ୨♡୧ 1.4k

A/N ୨♡୧ Thank you for the request! I love Aventurine SO MUCH. I want to hold him and cherish him but I think he deserves to be thrown down a flight of stairs because he’s such a brat. I am so normal about this man.

Divider by @/cafekitsune

‘I saw you eyeing this crystal swan the other day. When you and I get married, I’ll buy the whole store and decorate our venue with them if it’s to your liking- Kakavasha’

You are going to kill your boyfriend.

You are going to kill your boyfriend over a Swarovski Swan on your bedside table. And thirty bottles of the same Dior perfume you wore once around him. And every piece of designer clothing he’s gifted you. And that one time he rented out a whole cruise ship just to play tag with you over a moonlit river. Well, perhaps not the last one. You liked the idea, the execution? A little overkill.

But this? Overkill can’t even begin to explain how much Aventurine has been spending on you recently. Just before you started dating, he would regularly spoil you with large bouquets of your favourite flowers and a few lovely pieces of jewellery. It was sweet at first: you remember blushing and hiding your flustered face behind your palm, only for him to kiss your hand and usher it away. “Stop, you look super cute when you’re flustered,” he’d say, but now, a deep pit of shame hollows the joy out of every gift he gives you. He gives, and gives, and spoils you, but what do you have to offer?

You do appreciate his gestures, and it feels lovely to be kitted out in the finest gossamer, or the softest of silks. The aroma of expensive perfume smells less chemical-ly and manufactured compared to your old bottles. There isn’t a day that goes by where your flower vases in your house aren’t filled with high-end flowers. It’s affection, sure, but, you wish he didn’t feel as if your love is something to be bought.

With Aventurine, you have to be careful with your communication. He may play off other people’s rude comments about his origin or his affiliation with the IPC. Other people’s opinions don’t matter. But you know how much he cherishes you, and you don’t fit into the bracket of ‘other people’. If you seem too dismissive of his efforts, you fear that he may feel rejected. Picturing his sad face drooping makes you only want to let him coddle you, but you can’t allow this to happen anymore. You ponder your text carefully, before hitting send.

You:

Kakavasha.

Peacock <3:

My love?

Are you upset with me?

I’m so sorry, let me handle it.

Oh, wow. That was a quick fix. You sigh in relief and put your phone down, allowing yourself to get more comfortable in the covers. Another ping erupts from your phone, and the notification nearly makes you turn around and sob.

Peacock <3 has sent you 1,000,000 Credits

You:

STOP SENDING ME MONEY

I’M NOT YOUR SUGAR BABY FFS

So much for being ‘careful with your communication’, but 1,000,000 credits is insanity! Does he think he can buy you off? You sigh and watch the text bubbles load as he types.

Peacock <3:

Darling, what do you mean?

I want to spoil you!

And if I’ve done something wrong, I’ll make it up to you!

You:

Then. Maybe. ASK

‘What’s wrong?’

BEFORE SENDING ME A SHITLOAD OF CREDITS

Peacock <3:

What’s wrong, angel?

You reread your messages and realise how aggressive you're coming off, so you decide to talk to him face to face. Surely, his suave tongue and pretty face won't distract you from the matter at hand. Right?

You:

Let’s call.

You have started a call with Peacock <3

“Kakavasha, stop sending me money!” You hiss the second he picks up the phone. It’s the early morning, and hues of liquid sunlight paint your lover’s skin in light gold. Streaks of light coming through the blinds of his window shine through his gorgeous eyes, turning them translucent like opalescent marble. Aventurine gives you a tiny lopsided grin, the same one that creeps onto his face when he’s plotting something, and you don’t like it one bit. “

“How else am I supposed to show my adoration for you?” His silken, honeyed voice echoes through the phone. You have to stop yourself from giggling at his lovely voice, the cadence rising and falling masterfully, all perfectly orchestrated to let you listen to him instead of arguing.

But you don’t take the bait yet.

“I don’t know, maybe spend time with me?” You reply, but you can’t conceal the blush on your face when you realise that he’s only just woken up. His light blond hair is tousled and one of the cat cakes stretches on his lap. Although Aventurine dresses to impress, it’s the domesticated, sweet mornings where he truly shines.

“I do spend time with you. We went to see the Opera just three nights ago!”

“Without money being spent, Kakavasha. I want a simple, romantic date. No renting out hotels, no extravagant jewellery, and no mariachi band like that one time-”

“In my defence, I was completely wasted-” He interjects, giggling softly at the memory of planning a lovely beach date after consuming wine like water, and then ordering a band on a whim.

“You were barely awake, I drew a moustache on you.” You muse. Watching Aventurine’s face morph into an angry pout, like a kitten, makes you emit an ugly laugh.

“That was you?” He gasps, clutching his heart with faux sorrow. Dramatically falling back on his black pillow, his golden locks are spread. Aventurine’s half lidded gaze and light pink blush makes you want to crawl into bed next to him and trace patterns into his hands, and his lovely eyes would-

“Don’t distract me from the matter at hand! Please stop spending on me, sweetheart. I’m not saying I don’t like your love, I want it! Just not in such an excessively materialistic way, you know?”

This comment breaks Aventurine’s suave attitude. He blinks at you through the camera, positively perplexed. His eyes are wide and shocked, resembling that of a deer tasting cardboard. “H-how else am I supposed to show my love for you?”

“Well, how do I show my love for you?”

Aventurine’s eyes look up, trying to recall: “You hold my hands,” he lists one on his fingers, “listen to me when I speak, you support me through hard times,” he smiles warmly at you, flashing a toothy grin that makes his nose scrunch up cutely, bring back pebbles that remind you of me…” A devious smirk makes its way into his face and you prepare yourself to interject: “and you bite my as-”

“Enough!” You reprimand him, but your tone is soft. “See? I don’t buy things for you to feel loved. You’re much more than a bank, even if other people don’t make you feel that way.” Suddenly bashful, Kakavasha looks away from you. Perhaps unused to such affections, he hugs the cat cake on his lap closer to his chest.

“I just want to give you the best of the best.” He replies defensively, and you sigh softly.

“You are the best of the best, Kakavasha.”

“Then,” his voice cracks in an attempt to hide his shyness, “let’s meet up at your place. Let’s stay inside and watch a movie? I hear that’s a popular date idea.”

“Perfect. My door is open, we can do face masks and-” The call is interrupted by one of the cat cakes jumping on his head, causing him to tumble off the bed and clutch onto the sheets for stability. Instead, his finger hits the end call button. You giggle softly. For all of his cocky displays, Aventurine, at his truest form, is just a little bit of a dork.

Said dork knocks at your door, dressed in a lovely black dress shirt and his white pants. You suddenly feel a little self conscious, in your bunny slippers and oversized dress shirt. But the way he hugs you and lifts you off the ground slightly for a kiss, it makes you feel like a national treasure. You waddle your way onto the couch, still hugging, and collapse into the plush cushions.

“So, what movie are we feeling today?” Aventurine pulls a blanket over the two of you, and your eyes brighten with an idea. “The Great Gatsby?”

“Mm, tragic ending. No. Let’s hold that thought.” He leans over and gently pries the remote out of your hand. “Instead,” he kisses your nose and pushes you into the couch a little more, “let me show you even more ways I can show my affection for you.” He whispers, and captures your lips for a deep kiss…

#honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr aventurine #aventurine honkai star rail #aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #aventurine x y/n #hsr fluff #honkai stair rail fluff #honkai star rail imagines #honkai sr #star rail

424 notes · View notes

lucysarah-c · 7 months ago

Note

Question my lovely Levi fanfic writer

First off: thank you for always feeding me, it’s glorious

Now onto my question: how do you think Levi would react to his S/O giving birth? I know for the time period they were kind of placed it, it could seem odd for men to be in the waiting room, what kind of person do you think Levi would be in the delivery

It’s giving acting like he knows what’s going on to keep his partner confident but definitely mentally freaking the fuck out

Hi! Hi! How are you?

Aww, no, thank you! Thank you for reading and stopping by my inbox to leave some love. <3 I truly appreciate it. <3

Oh, this scenario is one I think about often. I really love the show "Call the Midwife," and it gives a realistic portrayal of what giving birth was like in the past. Indeed, men were rarely allowed inside the delivery room. Typically, if they were brought in, it was because something had gone wrong, and they needed to make a heartbreaking decision between saving the mother or the baby—a terrible practice.

If Levi were forced to wait outside the delivery room, I can just picture him wearing away the marble floors with his pacing. He’d be thinking, "I should be in there," torn apart inside because he could hear her screams but also desperately hoping to hear the healthy cry of his baby and know his wife is safe. Levi isn’t religious, but he might find himself praying that night for a few hours. I imagine him muttering, "I should be doing something," and perhaps a member of the medical staff or Hange, there for moral support, might quip, "Your only job in this whole process was done the night you got her pregnant, shorty."

BUT! Let’s consider another scenario. Levi might take his wife to the hospital or perhaps choose to have the birth at home, as was common back then. When the midwives try to close the door on him, he’d insist, "I’m staying with her."

"Men aren’t allowed."

"And who’s going to stop me?" he’d reply, with that deadpan voice and deathly glare Zeke knows too well. Good luck opposing humanity’s strongest soldier. If he’s allowed in, Levi would stay with her the entire time, especially if she’s scared. He doesn’t want to miss seeing his child born, but his priority is being there for her.

He’d let her crush his hand and curse his name as much as she needs to. What’s the point of his strength if he can’t support his wife? I agree, Levi would pretend everything is "alright" and that he’s "calm," thanks to those Ackerman genes.

But the moment the baby is placed on her chest and starts crying with full lungs, and she seems alright—crying out of confusion and happiness too, probably—Levi would kiss her head, thanking her and praising her hard work. He’d feel his legs shaking, mostly because the situation was completely out of his control. There’s nothing he could do except tell her, "You’re amazing."

He might even feel his hands shaking as he holds the baby in his arms, sitting beside her as she rests. Levi would gently rock the baby, unable to stop marveling, saying, "He’s so tiny… but his hands are perfectly formed. He’s truly a tiny human… and you did all this."

She would hum in agreement, and for once, Levi would be the one saying, "Oi, try to be a bit more enthusiastic. Look how handsome he is… he looks like you."

She might joke, "Because we both look swollen, red, and a disaster?"

"Tch, no. I was going to say he has your nose."

I adore this one! I hope you like it too! Thank you for reading! <3

Stay safe!

Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out. Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @angelofthorr @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @l3visthighs @hum4n-wr3ckag3 @hannieslovebot @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @levistealeaf @an-ever-angry-bi @youre-ackermine @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @trashblackrainbow @flxrartsstuff @katharinasdiaryy @levisecretgfblog @searriously @blackdxggr @ackermanswifee @galactict3a @abiatackerman @braunsbabe @moonchild-12345 Wanna join my tag list? Here!

295 notes · View notes

it-was-summer · 3 months ago

Text

The Very First... Second... Third Night

A/N: Hey guys, happy fall!!! Fun fact about me, I love Season one reid so much it's not even funny. That's pookie!!!!! Anyways, enjoy this little fluffy cute thing I wrote in a romance-infused haze (I saw that photo of MGG in that pumpkin sweater at knott's berry farms and I needed Spencer in a Halloween way). MAYBE some porn coming soon idk man. Love you all!!-Em <3

Link to the Ao3: The Very First... Second... Third Night ->Link to the: Yee olde masterlist Tags: Can't remember if I use any female pronouns for reader, but warning just incase. Season one reid, MENTION OF JEID, SPENCELLE, AND bisexual Reid, Spencer reid being critical of himself, Spencer's POV for the most part, jello mentioned guys, Overstimulated Spencer Reid at a football game, mention of a cemetery, mention of Nosferatu (1922). Kind of proofread, yippie!!!

Genre: Fluffy meet cutes. Pairing: Season One! Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader.

Plot: Spencer runs into you twice before but only manages to get your name (and number) the third time.

Word Count: 3,863

First Meeting

Spencer can’t remember the last time this bookstore was so crowded. Personally, he tried to go on early Sunday mornings to avoid the crowds– if any– that came into the shop. Maybe he was being overdramatic. There couldn’t have been more than twenty people in the store with him. But it was still twenty too many. He softly apologizes to the elderly woman as he squeezes past her in the narrow nonfiction aisle.

Most of the crowd seemed to be hovering around the fiction area, which was fine with him– the further away, the better. With his head turned to watch the small crowd bustle about the store, he didn’t notice the person standing just inches from him in the aisle.

You stared at him with a confused expression for a second, thinking surely this man would move eventually. But the moment never came. He was tall with brown hair and long eyelashes. He had the fashion sense of a teacher– correction, teacher’s assistant. You clear your throat softly, hardcover clutched in hand as you watch the man’s head snap over to you, his cheeks flushing red.

“I’m sorry I didn’t see you. Not that you’re hard to miss– I mean in a good way, you’re–” He closes his mouth and swallows hard, looking into your gentle eyes. “I’m sorry.”

You would have felt a little agitated if he hadn’t seemed so earnest, but this man oozes social anxiety, and your heart takes pity on him. Your lips move to a slow smile, and you whisper a sweet, “That’s alright,”

Spencer’s sure he’s never seen kinder eyes, “It’s just so busy today. I was looking at the crowd,”

Your head turns at that, allowing Spencer to take in your features. A light sweater to accommodate the cool air this early-October morning, some Halloween earrings that make Spencer smile, and stunning eyes. “Book signing pop-up, it’ll be crazy until three. At least that's what the stock girl told me.” You’re soft-spoken, too. Spencer can appreciate that.

He nods slightly, looking down at the hardcover in your hand and then over at the crowd again, “Are you not here for the book signing?”

“Afraid not,” You sigh as you hold up a historical fiction novel, “Me and my historical fiction novel were going to take a gander at some biographies.”

He can’t help his peaked interest as he licks his lips, “Regarding?” He’s a fan of history himself and is always happy to interact with someone who also shares a love for it. He feels slightly less anxious talking about something he knows.

You twist your lips to the side like you’re silently debating whether or not you should tell him. You look away for a second, your eyes scanning the bookshelves on either side of you. “Salem Witch Trials.” You answer him bluntly.

Spencer nods like he understands precisely what you mean, “Ah, the more humane witch trials.” It's a funny joke… to him, at least.

But then your lips twitch upwards as you let out a quiet chuckle, “No burning for us, just rope and intense torture.”

He feels electric, which is stupid because he shouldn’t feel excited over something as simple as someone joking with him, but he does. He’s been working on it upon Derek’s sarcastic request, and he can’t help but wonder if it is finally paying off now.

Spencer feels the overwhelming urge to partake in what Garcia describes as ‘info-dumping ,’ but he bites his tongue as he settles on a simple question, “How come?”

You shrug slightly as you look up at him. The bookstore light keeps making his eyes a soft amber, and you’re having a hard time looking away now. “Halloween tradition.” You watch his eyebrow furrow, raising a hand to explain yourself quickly. “My best friend and I each pick a historical event that is relatively macabre, and then we base our costumes around it and throw a party with a related theme. It’s... It’s stupid.” You say with a smile and a wave of your hand dismissively.

Meanwhile, Spencer’s too busy thinking you’re the most extraordinary girl he’s ever interacted with. For the first time in his life, he’s desperate for an invite to a stranger’s party—a pretty stranger who has yet to tell him her name.

“That’s not-”

A woman’s voice cuts him off as she barrels down the aisle with a grin, “There you are, oh…” Her blue eyes look Spencer up and down carefully, studying him. “Hello, there.” She’s direct and forward and speaks in a tone that tells Spencer to leave you the hell alone.

He nods curtly, waving slightly at your friend. You sigh out with mock annoyance as you say, “He’s a friendly, put your gun away.”

“I don’t believe in guns.”

“They’re very real, trust me.” Is your sarcastic reply before looking at Spencer again. “Thanks for the company. I’ll see you around.” And just like that… you’re gone.

Second Meeting

Spencer is sure he’ll never see you again, but here he is a week later, still thinking about you on a case. Or rather, he’s thinking about every woman ever and that he’ll never have a chance with any of them… ever. He’s feeling rather lonely, or maybe his self-esteem is taking a certain nose-dive this fine San Diego day.

It’s not because it’s his birthday. He doesn’t hate his birthday like Elle hates hers– that’s what she told him once—the day started off great: the trick candles, the big birthday hat, his embarrassing crush on JJ. And now, they’re discussing the case, a routine he enjoys.

His mind, always full of helpful information, quickly recognized the ballad from the 17th century– betwixt death and a lady. After his comment regarding what people could find by typing the word ‘death’ in the search engine, Derek’s laughing, “Reid, no wonder you can’t get a date.”

It sticks on him; he would love to let it slide off his back, but he’s not familiar with that kind of territory– dating, that is– so it hits a nerve. A nerve that Spencer didn’t know was so exposed. The worst part is that Derek’s not wrong. Spencer can’t seem to get a date. Not with the pretty intellectual at the bookstore, JJ, or Elle– though that last one feels strange to admit to himself.

He’s too awkward, speaks too fast, and, according to Gideon, needs to relax more. He’s sure… he’s cute, actually, he doesn’t know if he is. All he knows is that his mind is brilliant, his skills involving women… not so much.

He’s silently mulling it over as he approaches one of the bulletin boards, muttering lines of the ballad softly when JJ walks up beside him, “Creepy, huh?” Her voice makes him look at her, hesitating as he replies.

“Actually, uh, conversations between death and his victims was a fairly popular literary and artistic theme throughout the Renaissance.” He’s staring at the bulletin for a second before glancing her away, and his cheeks feel hot when he sees the way JJ is looking at him– disinterest. “But, yeah, creepy.”

He feels like a teenager, and all those years spent in college and not high school are coming back to bite him. He liked girls and boys, too. He should be better at this, he has an IQ of 187 and five degrees to prove it. Spencer walks away from the conversation quickly, his feet carrying him away from the embarrassing moment as quickly as possible. He needs to focus on the case.

And focus he does. He’s happy to analyze the meaning of the ballads at the crime scenes, his anxiety calming as he settles into the sweet caress of facts. Feelings, beauty, and tastes were all subjective. The objective was his comfort zone.

So it stands to reason that he feels lighter after conversing with Gideon about why the UnSub would start to use the ballad if it wasn’t a part of his signature. However, after the team delivers the profile, his lightness returns to his ruminating thoughts surrounding his lack of social skills.

The more he thinks about it, the more he feels the icy breath of repressed memories breathing down his neck. A jammed locker, missing gym clothes, a dark bathroom bolted shut. As the team waits for the UnSub’s suspected phone call to the tip line, he reaches for his bag to pull out a Rubix cube.

His fingers quickly twist and turn it aimlessly until he feels like it’s mixed around enough for him to solve it again. Elle is sitting in a desk chair in front of him as he solves it. He wants to ask her if she’d ever consider dating him, if she thinks JJ would, or if she feels any self-respecting woman would. He doesn’t, though, the question sounding too desperate in his head to say it out loud.

Instead, he asks, “Do you think it’s weird that I knew that ballad?” His eyes don’t stray away from the cube for too long as he asks it, scared of what Elle’s gaze might tell him.

He’s pleasantly surprised when she chuckles and says, “I don’t know how it is that you know half the things you know, but I’m glad you do.”

Spencer feels insecure when he speaks again, but he has to know the answer, “Do you think it’s why I can’t get a date?” He looks up at her now, waiting for the brutal blow, which is her answer.

Elle looks slightly amused. “You ever ask anyone out?” She smiles a little, seeing the genius look genuinely dumbfounded for a second as he thinks about it.

He never had the confidence to walk up to someone he found attractive and say something interesting enough to warrant a ‘yes’ if he asked them on a date. “No,”

She gives him a slight shrug of her shoulders, “That’s why you can't get a date.” And Spencer seems to nod at that, and his lips tighten for a second as he nods before he looks away from her again. His focus is pulled back to the case when the UnSub calls, and for a little while, he feels better.

On the flight home, he’s almost completely forgotten about his spiral as he plays chess with Gideon. When he hands Spencer a small present, a little smile plays on his lips as he says, “But you don’t give birthday presents.” When he finally gets the present open, he feels a little confused as he thanks Gideon for the generous gift– two VIP box seat Redskin tickets.

He’s excited, nonetheless, to experience something new with Gideon, and Spencer believes him when he says that Spencer will love it.

“We are. You’re coming with me, right?” Spencer asks with a slight grin.

Gideon smiles, “No.” he doesn’t let Spencer’s confusion build for long as he quickly adds, “Someone else on the plane is a huge skins fan.”

“Who?”

“Only person in the world who calls you Spence.”

Speaking of the only person in the world that calls him Spence, the date was going terribly. She had invited Penelope; she thought it was a group thing. He begged Hotch and Gideon for some pointers, anything. They reminded him she was already his friend, but that wasn’t very helpful. He knew how to talk to her on a typical day. On a date? Not so much.

Then, she invited Penelope. Now he’s stuck on a date where only one person in the group knows it was supposed to be a date, and he feels nauseous. He’s trying to keep a conversation going, but every time it picks up for a second, he feels himself fumble the metaphorical ball, and it dies again.

Eventually, he excuses himself to get some air. He’s debating calling Gideon and updating him on how it’s going. His feet pace on the concrete stadium floor. He’s near the elevators, and he can barely hear himself– it’s auditory overload hell. He shuts his eyes tight, stuffing his phone back into his pocket as he covers his ears, leaning against the cool wall beside the elevators.

It’s all muffled, barely helping, but the feeling of the cool wall on his back through his clothes helps relax him slightly. His shoulders relax briefly before he feels two fingers lightly tapping his shoulders, and he’s rigid again.

Rigid until his eyes snap open to see that it’s you. You from the bookstore, with that same kind smile, same dazzling smile, it is you. You’re yelling over the shouting, but he can barely hear you. You laugh. He can only tell by your facial expression as all the sound falls deaf to his ears over the crowd's yelling.

Once it calms down, you repeat yourself, “Are you alright?”

He nods, then you’re giving him a skeptical look, and he slowly shakes his head.

“Is it the noise?”

A part of him wants to tell you that it’s everything he is experiencing today, but instead, he whispers a soft “Yes.”

You twist your lips to the side, looking upset for him. Your empathy is so sweet and pure for him that he feels the knot in his chest unraveling slowly. “Let me buy you a water?” You offer, motioning to a concession stand a few steps away.

He doesn’t remember saying yes, but you’re grinning as you walk with him to the stand and buy the two of you a bottle. After a sip or two, you say, “I’m not the biggest fan of football games either. My dad loves em’.”

He nods along silently, feeling so socially overwhelmed that he barely has the energy for more conversation. You seem happy to fill the gap: “I ran into you at that bookstore on 8th, right?”

Spencer’s beaming as he pulls the bottle away from his lips, nodding, speaking for the first time in a while. “Yes.”

You let out a happy hum, “Small world,” And Spencer agrees with you silently.

It's the most comfortable he’s felt all week, and he wonders if maybe this failed date of his was a strange blessing in disguise. He’s about to ask for your name when Penelope approaches the two of you, blinking starstruck at Spencer and you as she introduces herself when the crowd begins to cheer again. Any noise he can hear is drowned out, frowning as you shake Penelope’s hand and say your name– a name he cannot hear. Some more words follow, but it's all small talk until you excuse yourself to return to your father in the stands.

Then he’s the one being dragged away from you, convinced once more that he’ll never see his pretty stranger ever again.

Third Meeting

It’s the night before Halloween. Ask anyone who knows Spencer; they will tell you he genuinely loves Halloween. It’s a part of him, always has been. He likes that you can dress up as anyone you want to be without judgment. He loves the build-up, the history, and the scents that fill the air.

So, when he manages to get the night off, he’s quick to try and convince someone from the team to head over to a cemetery not too far from headquarters. Even when he explains how it is for a classic horror movie showing on the graveyard’s lands, everyone declines.

Now, he’s setting up an oversized quilt on the soft grass, smoothing out the edges of the oversized quilt with his hands before sitting down on it. His hands move to his bag, pulling out a few of his favorite snacks, drinks, and so on as he watches the cemetery slowly fill up with people.

He’s happy. He feels a little strange at the thought, but he’s happy– even if it is in the middle of a cemetery.

A gentle voice cuts through the soft quiet of the graveyard, “I knew I was going to run into you sooner or later,”

He turns his head to look at you, picnic basket and blanket in hand. You smile down at him. He trips over himself as he stands, his cheeks flushing as you laugh at the sight. He rubs his suddenly sweating hands on his button-up as he reluctantly offers you his hand to shake, only to realize that you don’t have a hand available.

“Can I—” he says softly, “Would it be alright if I—" he swallows hard, his voice cracking lightly. Do you need help with your things?”

You glance down at your hands, smiling slightly as you shake your head politely. “I’m sure I can find a good spot soon. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“You’re not, honest. I’m, uh, I’m here alone, and it doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes.” You silently debate his offer, and then Spencer feels a wave of confidence surge through him, “You can always sit with me if you’d like. I promise I’ll try to be quiet.”

You seem to think that’s funny as you nod, “Well, it is a silent film.”

“You don’t have to say yes. I just have a big blanket, and I’m in a good spot to see the screen and–”

“I’ll sit with you,” You cut him off softly, bending down to gently get the picnic basket on the edge of his quilt. Spencer moves out of your way, awkwardly shuffling for a second before he decides this might be a good time to introduce himself.

“I’m Spencer.”

You glance up at him as you move to sit on the blanket, smiling as you tell him your name. He licks his lips nervously, nodding as he sits beside you. His nervous eyes dance over your figure as you set your blanket, which he now sees has little cartoon ghosts all over it, to the side of your basket.

You’re frowning slightly as you reach into the basket, pulling out a small cup of jello and a spoon. “I’m sorry. If I had known I was sharing a blanket with someone, I would have brought another cup.”

Spencer finds it funny as he leans over to his satchel and pulls out his own cup of jello and spoon, “No need,”

You laugh lightly as you raise your jello cup to his. “Cheers, then. " Spencer smiles lightly as the two of you tap the edges together for a moment before falling into a comfortable silence while eating jello.

Spencer’s spoon digs into the jello, and he asks, “Is this your first time seeing Nosferatu ?”

You let out a soft hum as you pull your spoon out of your mouth and quickly nod, “Yes!” You say after swallowing, “What about you?”

“Third.”

“Didn’t remember it well enough the first two times?”

He lets out a shy laugh at that— it feels strange for someone to be unaware of his eidetic memory, and he wonders how long that’ll last. “Not exactly. I guess just like Halloween.”

“A man of good taste,” You quip back softly, taking a smiling bite of jello.

Spencer laughs as his eyes watch your lips close around your spoon before he pulls them away to look into your eye, hoping you don’t notice as he stutters lightly. “That’s debatable.”

You’re looking down at your half-eaten Jello cup. “I’m the judge here. I deem it a fact that you are a man of good taste. You’re wearing a cardigan. That’s how the judicial system works, don’t you know?” You look back at him with a smirk, and Spencer can’t help the chortle that escapes his throat.

“That is not how the United States judicial system works, but thank you.”

“Yeah, you look like someone who would know all the inner workings of the judicial system.”

Spencer can feel his cheeks getting red at how your voice sounds—teasing and a little flirty. Oh my god, were you flirting with him? He’s sure he’s all smiles and red cheeks as he looks at you, changing the topic. “None of your friends wanted to come with you tonight?”

“No, not their scene. It’s okay, though. I’m making a new friend right now.”

Spencer’s finishing off his Jello as he steals a glance at you again, stars in his eyes. “You don’t even know me.”

“Sure I do. Your name is Spencer. You like jello, nonfiction, Halloween, and dressing like a teacher’s assistant.”

Spencer doesn’t want to say you’re wrong, even though he knows you’re just being nice, but he doesn’t want to spend another week without seeing you. He wants to be your friend— he’ll be anything you want him to be. “Could I–” He licks his lips, eyes searching yours nervously.

You watch him carefully, tilting your head to the side as you look into his brown eyes. The sun is gone now, but the rising moon is shining down on him. He seems so… gentle, like a deer in a quiet forest. A part of you just wants to scoop him up and bring him home with you, as inappropriate as that is.

“You wouldn’t have to– It’s alright if you say no. I was just thinking I could give you my number sometime, maybe.” He manages with a gentle huff of air.

You nod a little, “Sometime, maybe.” You repeat with a slight grin forming on your lips. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the projector starting to play the movie, and a hush falls over the cemetery’s lawn.

Spencer’s voice is a little too loud as he rushes to say, “I mean, now. Would it be alright if I–” A shush cuts him off, and his back straightens quickly as he shuts his mouth. His eyes meet yours for a second before darting over to the projection.

You’re watching him again, how he’s staring at the screen like his life depends on it. You scoot closer to him, grabbing your folded-up blanket in the process. Once you reach his side, you drape the folded blanket around his shoulders carefully before doing the same to your own.

His fingers gingerly grab one of the blanket's edges, casting you an apologetic glance for a second as your pants graze against his. You seem unbothered as you lean toward him. “I would love your number after this, " you whisper, looking up into his doe-like eyes before turning your head to watch the film.

He’s beaming now as he stares at you, and his chest tightens slightly when you lean close to him again. You’re so close he can smell your perfume, the scent tangling with the sweet smell of crisp fall air. “You like costume parties?” Your voice is barely audible.

He signals that he does silently, his head moving up and down quickly. The sight makes you grin as you mouth a silent, ‘Perfect’ at him before your attention is fully pulled back to the movie.

Spencer feels warm all over for the rest of the night, and three months from now, he’ll start to believe three is a lucky number as he picks you up for your third date with him and just how perfect everything feels when he kisses you.

221 notes · View notes

hazelfoureyes · 10 months ago

Note

Do you think you could do a male version of the radioapple is the safe word? Or maybe just a gender neutral pronouned story? I adore it so much

of course! I am happy to adapt my stories whenever possible 🥺✨ sometimes I can’t but this one was an easy enough shift! didn’t tag the horny deer cult, this is the same story but with the hardware swapped out. Will tag in new pieces 🙏 warning; I almost exclusively watch femboy gay porn and it shows

The Safeword is RadioApple (Part 1)

(RadioApple x MaleReader)

Part 1 ꒰აMaleReader✧FemaleReader໒꒱ Part 2 ꒰აFemaleReader໒꒱ Part 3 ꒰აAlastorxLucifer໒꒱ tidbit (cute, not smut) Part 4 ꒰აFemaleReader໒꒱✨NEW✨ ₊⊹⁀➴ Lucifer wins⟡Alastor Wins

tags/warnings/promises: Alastor x Reader, Lucifer x Reader, smut, RadioApple in a sense, male reader, creampie, breath play, rough sex, Alastor is an eternal little shit, soft jazz, hard jazz, Luci calls himself Daddy, 🗣️ READER GETS SPITROASTED, threesome, asshole hulk smashed, half assed blowjob, help I got too horny on main

MINORS DNI BRUH

“Sir.”

Lucifer jumped, whipping around and shoving Alastor’s face away. “You are a living nightmare, fuck!” He hated being snuck up on, as most people do. Adjusting his hat, he looked around the hotel lobby to see if anyone else witnessed his personal jump scare. Charlie and Vaggie were seated nearby, but hadn’t paid them any attention.

“I aim to please! Now,” Alastor gestured to the stairs, “I, unfortunately, need to show you something upstairs.”

“Ha!” Lucifer forced out a laugh, “Ha. Haaa- Not a chance, scarecrow. Find someone else to search for your brain.” He smirked to himself. “Did you hear that Charlie? I made a joke.”

But Charlie was not laughing. She finally turned her focus to them. “Dad, you have to start trying to get along with Alastor.” She looked to Alastor who was nodding along as if he actually cared at all, “He’s trying to spend time with you. Come on, Dad. For me?”

With a pout, he dramatically crossed his arms, “Fine. I’ll play nice, for you. Not for him.” Lucifer glared daggers at Alastor. “Fuck him.”

“Daaad!” She groaned.

“Yeah yeah, I’m going.”

Alastor let his microphone follow behind Lucifer’s back, an unseen and unfelt safety net so he couldn’t back out. When they approached Alastor’s door, Lucifer put up his hands as if to physically stop the situation from progressing, “There is no way in all of hell I am going in your bedroom.”

Alastor’s eyes rolled, frustrated already with the interaction. “Are you sure about that?” He pushed the door open, using his mic to make contact with the small of Lucifer’s back. He stopped resisting when he finally looked into the room.

He took a step in, willingly, and as he saw you sitting in the center of the bed in just your sleep robe, he let out a quiet, “What the fuck is this?”

Then a louder, “Heeey, kitten…”. The sound of the door locking made his head whip back to Alastor, teeth bared.

“Luci.”

Softened under the sound of his own name from your lips he brought his attention back to the bed.

It was no secret to anyone that you two were fond of each other. It was the little things you did that endeared the fallen angel to you, how you doted on him. Filling his glass at dinner when you noticed it getting close to empty, holding the door for him, keeping eye contact when he went off on some excited tangent.

Everyone was also aware you were Alastor’s person. And Alastor would give you anything you wanted in death; and today you happened to want Luci.

You’d seen the broadcasts of the King of Hell defending his daughter during the last extermination. The power he gave off, even from your screen, brought goosebumps down your arms. So when you found your way to the hotel, you were elated to see Lucifer himself readily available for interactions. Your luck continued, as your father’s love of jazz had been passed down to you and allowed the radio demon to notice your presence among the sea of new residents. Following the sounds of Nat ‘King’ Cole, he found you one evening in your room, and a mutual fondness for music bore a new friend. And then, more.

Soon enough you were a regular member of the Hazbin Hotel core crew, by way of Alastor.

That’d been some months ago now, and you finally had the courage to ask Alastor for a special favor.

No part of him understood your motivation, but the idea of making the king of hell pussy-whipped to his darling was understanding enough. And, of course, the pleasure of watching you enjoy yourself. While he was capable all his own, he was happy to allow someone else to fill in. Not to mention—- no, actually, definitely mention the fact it would give him a little more power in the tense dynamic between himself and Lucifer.

For Alastor, sharing you physically wasn’t an issue. Sex was something he did for your pleasure, though he did enjoy the control he held over you in those intimate moments.

Watching you mewl under someone else, knowing he gave the permission, that Lucifer would never have a chance in Hell if The Radio Demon didn't allow it, made his head dizzy with the loss of blood flow. Whatever pleasure Lucifer could give you was pleasure he has granted you both. The idea of someone pining for you but never having a chance unless he says so made him feel powerful.

“I have a request, of sorts.” You tried to keep your smile still, cheeks twitching with pure nerves. The room was lit by only two small lamps on either nightstand and the light coming from the half open bathroom.

Lucifer approached you, making a dramatic point of going past Alastor. The radio demon chuckled, the king of hell scowled. He placed one knee on the end of the bed, trying to forget this was the spot you shared most nights with Alastor. His smile encouraged you to continue.

“You can say no.” You added quickly.

“Why would I ever do that?” Lucifer continued to smile at you, too sweetly for what you were going to ask.

“Many reasons.” You added quicker.

“Come on, tell Luci.” He laughed softly at the idea of denying you anything.

You pressed the tips of your index fingers together nervously, “I want you to fuck me.”

He tried to blink but his eyelids only seemed to rise further and further up his face with every attempt.

“You what now?”

His eyes darted to Alastor, who was now crawling onto the bed and settling behind you.

“It was a fairly straightforward statement, sir.” Alastor’s tone was always teetering on mocking when he addressed Lucifer, “My dear would like you, for some god awful reason, to bed him.”

If this hadn’t been such a shock, Lucifer would have quipped, “Oh because you can’t, you overdressed maitre d’?”

But when he opened his mouth, there was nothing. He just stared at you. Alastor’s long legs and lanky arms came down beside you, behind you. You looked like the enticing light of an angler fish’s lure, sharp teeth shining just over your shoulder.

“I thought-,” he motioned between the two of you.

You nodded, “Alastor is happy when I’m happy. And right now, I’d be overjoyed to spend an evening taking care of you.”

Oh, why couldn’t you have said it so sweetly the first time? Take care of him? You always did. Every time he felt something lacking he’d find you close behind offering him just the thing.

Whether a smile, or supportive word, or just a sympathetic ear.

Shifting onto your hands and knees, you crawled toward Lucifer. His face was flush, his brows knitted together in some mix of worry and confusion.

“You don’t have to do that, kitten. I don’t need that.” He reached out a hand to touch your cheek but stopped himself; he’d never touched you before. He had gone out of his way to avoid it, because he couldn’t bear what it would do to him. He’d just be hurting himself, he had thought. His hand began to pull away but you reached out with both of yours and took hold of his wrist.

“I don’t have to do anything, ever, Luci,” Alastor’s grin widened as you said it. A hum of approval only he could hear. A silent, ‘That’s my boy.’

“This is about what I want.” You leaned up to rest your cheek in his open palm, “I’ll accept any answer from you.” Your eyes staring up at him promised safety, “So, what do you want?”

He buried his face in his free hand, opening his fingers to look over you once more. In the shade of the canopied bed, Alastor sat motionless. But Lucifer couldn’t see him, not because of the shadows but because his focus was so purely on you. He had absolute tunnel vision, which happened often when you two would speak. Lucifer made a low sound, coming from somewhere deep in his chest, hidden beneath all his shame and sense of inadequacy.

Your question was answered as he removed his hat, tossing it to the chaise lounge near the wall. You sat back on your legs and gave him space to remove his coat. Your heart seemed to double its pace, skin practically vibrating. A not-insignificant part of you expected a gentle but firm, “kindly fuck off.”

He seemed to be avoiding eye contact as he pulled his bow tie loose, only returning his knee to the bed when he’d kicked off his boots. Just the shifting of the weight of the bed made your thighs twitch, finally. Alastor leaned backed and watched, Lucifer’s gaze was full of uncertainty as he crawled to you.

Hilarious. Already worth the price of admission.

Both on your knees, you leaned up and placed a chaste kiss on Lucifer’s lips. Pulling back, you looked at him and he felt like we’re looking at the sun. Your face was so bright, and warm. What light were you reflecting back at him? Surely not his own. That was long dead. Long buried under bruised wings and lost promises.

You snaked your fingers into his hair and brought him in for a deeper kiss. When you bit gently on his bottom lip, he shakily opened his mouth. Your grin spread across both of your faces as you pushed your way past his lips.

Lucifer’s tongue was long, and tapered more than you’d expected. It moved, unsure, against yours. Your hands slunk out of his hair and down his chest, sliding until finding the buttons of his vest.

You felt him gasp into you, and when you began to open his shirt he pulled away, “It’s been… a very long time.”

A scream echoed in your skulll, your own scream, thankfully entirely in your mind. He was so cute. So soft. He looked so worried, you wanted to rip him to pieces with affection. Was that possible? You were going to try.

Your hands fumbled over his belt, the tremble in your fingers making the pants button feel like an aptitude test. Your mouth returned to him, kissing down his cheeks and into the space under his jaw. Finally you could slip your hand down into his pants, and you hissed without thinking.

He was painfully hard, throbbing head pressed into his skin. Your own cock twitched under your robe at the feeling.

Did you do this? Had you gotten the King like this with just a question and a kiss? Tip nearly purple with pressure, you rested your forehead on his collarbone and watched his stomach jump as you wrapped your fingers around it.

Alastor fought back a laugh, tongue nearly cut clean off with the attempt. This was better than he had expected. And he had just the idea to push it over the top.

When your head dipped to swipe your tongue over Lucifer’s cock, you both startled at the sudden sound of music. First you looked to the radio, then to Alastor.

One hand was loosening his bow tie, the other unbuckling his pants.

“Don’t stop on my accord,” he bit his bottom lip, watching your attention return to Lucifer’s lap.

Lucifer raised a finger in protest, “I wasn’t aware this was a group activity.”

“The more the merrier.” Alastor whipped his belt off and tossed it to the floor, other hand pulling his member free.

“Three’s a crowd.”

“Two heads are better than one.” When Alastor lifted your robe away and sunk himself into you, hole soft and ready for him already, you moaned into the blonde hair at the base of Lucifer’s cock.

Your breath over his shaft and now down his balls made his hips buck against you. Your hands gripped at Lucifer’s thighs, trying to get steady enough to return your mouth to his waiting heat. You could smell his arousal, your head dizzy with so many of your senses being assaulted by both men.

“You okay, kitten?” A concerned hand came to your cheek.

Your watery, lust clouded eyes met his, “It feels so good, Luci.” His dick jerked. When you finally managed to get him in your mouth his head fell back, legs under him twitching with the need to move along to the bobbing of your head. Lucifer was wider than Alastor, the corners of your mouth burning as you tried to take in as much of him as possible.

Alastor’s hand raked long nails down your back, a whine ran from your throat and down Lucifer’s shaft. He moaned in turn, trying to not connect the dots between himself and Alastor.

“I think you may need a little demonstration, from someone more–, “ Alastor leaned down, his face now inches from Lucifer’s. His hand wrapped around your neck, “experienced.” He pulled you up by your throat.

Lucifer watched, your knees no longer touching the bed as Alastor fucked up into you. One hand gripping your throat, one arm holding your body against his. Your face began to redden, and your thighs noticeably clenching as best they could, legs open and feet on either side of Alastor’s body. Your cock hard and bouncing with every thrust. Lucifer winced, you looked pained, he wanted—

“Aa--Alastor,” Your voice was like honey, thick and sweet around Alastor’s name. Lucifer’s face fell flat, how could he have that? What did he need to do to have you say his name in such a debauched way? Why did that gangly sack of bones get all of the fun?

“See? He can handle more than you’d expect.” Alastor grinned, planting a kiss on your neck. You could see Lucifer watching through your wet eyelashes, his cock twitching repeatedly as his hand finally came down to touch himself.

With the hand not holding onto Alastor’s wrist at your throat, you reached out for Lucifer. “Luci.”

Alastor let you fall forward. Keeping your hips in the air and knees dangling just above the comforter, he continued his rough pace into your tight heat. Pulling your body on and off of his length with harsh drags he watched you lick from the base to the top of Lucifer’s member. Each thrust from him knocking your chin against it.

When you popped the head back into your mouth and moaned around it from Alastor’s continued fucking, Lucifer gripped your hair with both hands. Alastor’s own erection jumped in you, the king of hell himself buckling from his dearest’s mouth. He could break him entirely by just pulling you off of Lucifer’s cock and refusing to return you. He was positive Lucifer would cry into his ruined orgasm if he did such a thing.

Tempting.

But, he promised to play along, for you. And he would, at his own terms.

He pushed aside the thought entirely, instead returning to the task in front of him. Your tongue was pinned down when Lucifer was in your mouth, cock too fat to allow any room for movement. You abandoned trying to suck him off, and changed tactics to lick and kiss the sensitive flesh in your hands.

Lucifer’s mind was—- he wasn't sure where exactly. His consciousness splintered around you. The feeling of you; your tongue was swirling around him, the first contact he’s had other than himself in literal years. The sound of you; your soft moans and huffs were both audible and physical, the hot breath ghosting over him. The sight of you; head in his lap as he leaned back, your ass in the air and making a satisfying slapping noise every time–

Alastor. His eyes met Lucifer’s and a wicked grin took hold of his features. Lucifer could practically hear Alastor whisper across your body, ‘Watch this.’ Maybe Alastor had thought it, but he kept it to himself.

Your hands began pumping Lucifer’s length while your body was slightly dragged away as Alastor backed up and let your knees find some solid ground again.

Lucifer sat on his legs still, eyes flitting from between your face to the place you and Alastor connected. He could see Alastor disappearing inside you, and every intrusion had you gasping and mewling into the blankets. Your hand was still gently stroking him with outstretched arms, eyes clenched close.

Alastor smirked up at Lucifer, coming down over your back to reach around your body and find your dick, now pulsing under his hand. Immediately, you reacted. Legs squeezing together, hands stilling around your king’s cock. With a bite and lick to your shoulder blade, the radio demon set a bruising pace against you. That warmth in your core was spreading down as you felt him press against your g-spot with every kiss of his hips.

You choked out his name, a chant Lucifer had never wanted to hear before now. How could you make Alastor’s name sound so delicious? He wrapped his fingers around yours on his dick and began moving with you. Your eyes rolled up to him, a weak smile forming before your orgasm made your face tighten. Alastor knew your body so well, bringing you to orgasm was like playing a well practiced song on the piano. Both required strong and fast fingers and a sense of rhythm. His hands working your shaft, fingers ghosting over your balls and head with every stroke up and down.

With a few more deeper, shorter moves Alastor stilled, too. Your knees slid down as your hips sank into the bed, your own release sticky and already cooling under you.

Lucifer let your hand go limp, swallowing hard. He wasn’t ignorant to the way Alastor smiled at him as he reclined into the headboard, tucking himself back into his pants.

“I have complete faith in you, for once.” Alastor teased Lucifer, hand motioning to your still limp body. His smile seemed to dare Lucifer, challenge him, to keep going even with Alastor’s release sitting pretty in you.

Luci took a deep breath, steadying himself mentally, before pushing the hair from your forehead, “Hey there, kitten. What do ya need?”

With an uncharacteristic hunger in your eyes, you forced your line of sight up to him, “You, Luci.” Visibly shuddering, you sat up and brought your legs towards him, your knees touching each other in an odd display of shyness. Your hand felt at your entrance, Alastor’s seed just beginning to find its way from your relaxed and stretched hole.

“Is it okay?” You asked, spreading the thick fluid between your fingers in front of Luci.

Something between a grimace and a pout came over him, it wasn’t his ideal situation but the idea of — just how much he’d slip and slide in and out of your with the added lubrication made him feel feral. He wasn’t stupid, he knew Alastor hoped to ruin you and sour his experience. He decided to not allow it.

With a kiss to his nose, you wrapped your arms around his neck and lied back. You weren’t sure you were breathing anymore when you felt his scorching head slot up with your entrance. He rubbed the leaking fluid over himself and you with swipes up and down your ass, teasing your entrance with every pass. The difference between his heat and the cooled cum made him shiver in turn.

As he began to press into you, your body instinctively scooted away. It took both of your hands hooked under his arms to stay still enough for him to make any real headway.

Luci stopped, your face clearly pained. Your head shook in response, “Please, you just have to keep going. I’ll adjust.” While both of his heads swelled with pride – Alastor’s cock clearly smaller – Luci didn’t notice the wild eyes of the radio demon.

Alastor brought a hand to his face, red eyes peering between his spread fingers, smile threatening to break at the seams as he watched Lucifer Morningstar fucking his cum into his darling dear.

What a pitiful sight. How humiliating.

What would Charlie think of her big bad daddy? What would the other sins say? If they could see their king now, slick and shiny?

Your nails cut into his skin, and you were worried you were tearing slightly. Instead of attempting to thrust his way in, he chose to just continually press. The way your body seemed to be splitting made you second guess your decisions. But when his head finally popped in, your bullied boy cunt got some reprieve. He stopped, taking deep breaths.

Tears were collecting on your waterline, Luci noticed and leaned on an elbow to wipe them away. His blonde hair was falling forward now, tickling at your forehead.

You nodded, answering a question he didn’t ask, and he continued to force your walls open to accommodate him. The only sound in the room was the soft instrumental jazz number playing from atop the dresser. Your voice was stuck in your throat, Luci was focusing too hard to form words. Alastor could speak, but the music was just too enjoyable to interrupt.

Finally, after what could have been two minutes or twenty, you felt Luci bottom out. You had to just lie there for a second, never having felt something so solid in your otherwise soft body. No slight to Alastor, who was perfectly skilled in his abilities. Luci was just—- more than you had expected.

As he pulled out, you thanked the heavens and hell and the rings within that Alastor had left you so wet and already softened. The first few thrusts were genuinely uncomfortable, the pleasure you felt almost entirely mental, drawn from the reality of who was pulling your insides back and forth. You were so tight around him that he too was almost pained; so much pressure but no way to move enough to get any release.

Slowly, the ring of your entrance relented and Luci could finally move at a normal pace. He would take himself out to his head before slipping back in. Every thrust made your body spread around him, a semi-truck through a field of sunflowers. Your body didn’t stand a chance, and you were grateful he chose gentleness for his entrance.

He leaned back on both hands, using the position to fucked up into you at an angle. He knew very well where to hit to begin gathering your pleasure.

Alastor dropped his head, yours between his legs. His hair made a short curtain, hiding the look he was giving you from Luci. He adores the faces you make when you are happy. Excited. Pleasured. You tried to offer him a smile, but you couldn’t manage it for long. Your eyes would roll back, lips tighten as you focused on the feeling Luci was providing. Focused on the sensations, of being so full, so sticky wet, so wanted. But Alastor was still watching, the sight of Luci blocked from his view as he enjoyed every little twitch of your mouth, every whimper.

It wasn’t jealousy, it was something more personal that stung Luci. While he couldn’t actually discern the looks you two gave each other, Luci felt very much the odd man out. But, he considered his position. Literally. He was leaning as far from your body as he could. He remembered the way you said Alastor’s name. Alastor had showed him exactly what to do, albeit in his usual obnoxious, showy fashion.

Sitting up, Luci adjusted your legs and slotted himself between them. Alastor leaned back, relinquishing your focus. Both of you looked at Luci though as one of his hands came to enclose your throat.

Alastor was almost impressed. Almost. You brought both hands to wrap around his wrist, glancing to Alastor behind you.

The words came out of Alastor as half warning, half instruction, “If he needs you to stop, he’ll tap two fingers twice on you, wherever he can reach.” Lucifer nodded, eyes not meeting Alastor’s. He kept them on your face, watching for any sign of distress as he tightened his grip. The way your muscles clenched around him earned you a hiss.

He began to move again, the new position causing his stomach to rut against your returning erection as he buried himself in you. More clenching; He tightened his grip more.

“Are you sure he isn’t hurting?” Luci asked, your eyes closed and nails digging into his wrists.

“Nonsense. Can’t you feel him? Or does he just grip me like that?” The cocky expression made Luci unconsciously clench his fist on your neck. A gentle tap tap snapped him back to you. He loosened up again, his eyes large and apologetic.

You unconsciously tightened your own grip on his dick, grinding up into him for more friction. Your body had finally relaxed, pleasure freely flowing from where you and Luci tangled together. You closed your eyes, the pressure constant on the veins to your head. Blood flow restricted just enough to lower your oxygen levels and raise the nitrogen oxide in your body. It resulted in a dizzying feeling, maybe there was a primal panic that caused your body to feel heightened pleasure. You didn’t feel scared, or in danger. You felt —— ah there it was. You felt weak. You felt docile. You felt like you existed purely to give pleasure and the idea turned you on. In every day life you’d never allow someone to use you, to push you around. You were anything but subservient. That’s why it was so enthralling now. It was so strange a sensation. And to give yourself so fully to the king of hell, the originator of all sin? You groaned, head rolling back.

Luci watched your head loll, drank in your groans and gasps and felt himself get dizzy too. More. Say his name like you did Alastor’s. Praise how well he fucked you. Reward him. Love him.

He pulled out suddenly, his head leaving you for the first time since it managed to fit in initially. Luci put both hands on your hips and directed you to roll onto your stomach. He pulled your ass up, knees bent. You crawled up enough to rest your forehead on the crook of Alastor’s leg, one lazily outstretched and the other bent under him slightly. Luci wasted no time pushing back in. He leaned over you and pressed his hand into your back, forcing your chest to be slightly crushed into the bed. He pulled out and slammed back into you, tearing a yelp from you as he hit deeper than he had before, stomach lurching into your chest with the impact.

He stopped, unsure, until he felt your hand reach under yourself and rest at the junction of his knee and calf. His other hand came to your right hip, and he used it to keep you from sliding up the bed. Letting his eyes close again, he focused on the feeling of you around him. His crotch and thighs were covered in oil and cum, his balls tight against him. Every drag out of you made his body jerk back into you with need. It felt so good, too good. He needed more. He pressed hard into you, oversized tip of his cock opening parts of you never before reached. He made shorter thrusts now, ensuring he bottomed out every time. It was too deep, too much of a stretch. Your moans slowly devolved into screams, the pleasure mixed with a soft burning.

You could feel him spreading open your body, soft walls helpless to resist his raging member. The feeling of your silky boy cunt sliding along his cock, your tight hole gripping him, was driving him mad.

You were screaming. Actual, pleasured screams, threatening to alert the entire hotel to your activities. Wails that started shrill and dipped into a gutteral cry filled the room with every thrust of Lucifer’s frenzied hips.

A tiny part of your brain felt embarrassed, a dying animal shrieking into Alastor’s thigh.

An ever shrinking part of Lucifer existed too, the piece of him too preoccupied with your two fingers on his leg to enjoy you. It got smaller and smaller, no longer a blockade to his pleasure, but a safety net allowing him to walk the tightrope of sadism.

The radio’s volume dial rolled, smooth jazz now blaring and drowning out your painfully pleasured cries. Alastor was fine with allowing someone to take care of your needs at his permission but strangers had no business enjoying your sounds.

As Luci became lost in the sensation of your body trying to suck him in whole, his hand on your back began to press down. Your breaths got shorter, it got harder to expand your lungs fully.

Face turned and drooling onto the fabric of Alastor’s pants, you started gasping out his name, “Luci! Nngh Luciiii, Lucifer.”

Your lips dropped his name and it fell like lead into his thoughts. He fought the urge to close his eyes again as he felt his orgasm building. He watched your flushed skin jump beneath every punishing thrust, his name a spell you could now barely whisper, not enough breathe to scream. Your upper body was entirely buried into the mattress. It felt like your back might snap with Luci’s loss of control. You kept your hand on his leg, ever ready to tap out.

The yellow of his eyes turned red, just like the skin of your ass where his hip bones chaffed. “You take me so well, kitten.” He ground out, “Daddy’s gonna cum.”

Alastor’s eyes glowed a blood red from the end of the bed, a wickedly devious grin across his face at the opportunity before him, he looked up at Luci and said with a commanding tone, “Cum.”

Luci was already over that peak when his eyes flew up to catch Alastor’s, it was too late to stop his orgasm. He was helpless to disobey, despite his now desperate desire to never cum again. With a moan, and a hiss, he pressed your body fully into the mattress. Your body now flush, he waited until his cock stopped jerking his long overdue seed into your bruised ass.

Luci lied on top of you even after you were full to the brim with his cum. It was already forcing its way out around his softening cock when he managed to roll off of you and onto his back.

Staring at the canopy of the bed, he felt two emotions rise to the surface. First, concern. He turned to you, and you gave a weak thumbs up.

Second, rage.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you? Fuck you.” He looked to Alastor, who was grinning as he pet your head, whispering something to you.

“Little late for dirty talk, your highness.”

Lucifer growled, but Alastor’s palm pressed against his forehead and pushed him back down to the bed.

“I sleep on the left. I’d prefer you on the right.” he gently moved your head from his lap, “Beside me, my dear. A darling barrier.” Alastor didn’t look at Lucifer, just slid off the bed and walked into the en-suite bathroom. “No outside clothes under the comforter.” Alastor called from the bathroom before the sound of rushing water poured in.

You rolled onto your back, still catching your breath. Body sprawled out on the massive bed like a starfish.

Lucifer turned onto his side, hand caressing your arm. “Are you okay, kitten? I didn’t mean to lose myself like that.” He felt shame, like he had done something terrible. “And— I didn’t help you finish. That’s pretty shitty.”

But it fell away when you smiled back at him, “I feel great. Sore, but great all the same.” You let your fingers clumsily lace with his. “I really like you, Luci. And I don’t need to cum to enjoy myself. You can always try again, ya know?”

Lucifer felt his face grow warm, but couldn’t press you to clarify what exactly that meant before Alastor scooped you up and carried you to the bath.

There was a moment where he was alone, noticing the radio was back to a tolerable volume, the water splashing softly out of view. He felt out of place, like he had accidentally walked into a stranger’s home. He wasn’t sure what to do next, where to go from there when Alastor’s head popped back into the room, annoyed, “Are you coming or not? Those are clean sheets.”

༻Masterlist༺

523 notes · View notes

crystalflygeo · 2 years ago

Text

Heat haze ft Morax + fem!bunny adeptus!reader

cw/tags: heat/mating cycles, marathon sex, overstimulation, dirty talk, breeding kink, praise kink, creampie, sex toy, improper use of geo (lmao), Morax has a dragon penis, pet names, fucked stupid, reader calls Morax "My Lord" and Morax calls her "my child", power play??

notes: Pure self-indulgent filth <3 I love the concept of heats in general and though on applying that to adepti, then I remembered it's bunny year so why not... apparently there is a bunny in chinese mythology called the "Jade Rabbit" who serves the Moon Goddess soooo. Anyway. Breeding kink goes brrrrrr.

“M-my lord... I’m sorry I’m ah-” You gulp and try to breathe through your mouth, fingers clenching and unclenching trying to regain some semblance of stability. “I’m not feeling very… well”

Shameful. Lord Morax came to see you, probably talk about important matters regarding this year’s crops and yet-

“Is this your first heat alone?”

Your eyes widen and your cheeks burn, on instinct you look up panicked as your long ears stiffen in shock but just as quickly you avert your gaze, unable to look at him in the face at the revelation, and to avoid staring at his regal visage, fearful of your own reactions if you were to do so.

Oh he knows. He knows. Of course he knows. As much as you tried to suppress it your scent is probably dripping with want, especially when your thoughts were spiraling out of control mere minutes ago. Being an adeptus in heat is hard enough, but as a Jade Rabbit… it was especially hard on you.

You blink heavily, dumbly, your brain can’t keep up with all the emotions right now. You feel lightheaded but still manage to force out an answer. “N-No… no, I’m… used to it.”

Morax tilts his head and the light catches on his majestic antlers making them glow, and you find it impossible not to look “Of course.” He nods, still keeping immaculate composure. “But haven’t you found a mate yet?”

A mate. Your rabbit ears droop. Ever since you vowed to serve Lord Morax you never had time for such things, with the on-going war and protecting the humans, even as a non-combatant adeptus your duties were many. Agricultural care and development, medical support, logistics… you never had it in you to find a mate. You were devoted to your contract, and, to Lord Morax himself.

“I’m… I haven’t found the r-right one yet…” You mumble, hugging yourself and rubbing at your arm nervously in an attempt to mimic something.

“Oh my child, I’m sorry.” Morax approaches you and tentatively cups your cheek, fingers barely caressing your jaw, the touch is fleeting yet electric.

His hand is warm.

You unconsciously lean into the touch.

And he smells so good, so good.

“I could assist you, if you would allow it.”

You immediately flinch back at the words.

“W-what?!”

Morax simply blinks at you and crosses his arms, putting some distance between you two again. “I apologize if my advances are unwelcome.”

“No my lord it’s n-not that.” You can’t help but stare at his strong biceps, blackened skin accented by fine gold linings…

You try to control your breathing and think! Rationally!!

But still, you’re curious. What would it be like? To feel your God’s scent, your God’s touch, your God’s co-

You quickly shake your head. No, no! That’s indecent, scandalous! You’re not worthy, that’s…

“It’s okay, my child.”

The warm touch is back, hands placed at your shoulders, grounding you, stabilizing you. A shiver runs down your spine yet it doesn’t freeze you on the spot, rather it feels…

Tender.

You stare up at him and this time hold your gaze. He’s handsome and his eyes are the purest brightest molten gold you've ever seen, the bright diamond pupils mesmerizing.

You whine and rub your thighs together on instinct.

“My Lord… p-please…”

-----------------------------------------------------------

“Ha-aahh… f-faster, please my Lord please- Ah-! Faster!”

You’re reduced to a babbling, moaning, drooling mess as you lay on golden silk sheets. Head down ass up, your arms have long since given up supporting you and your thighs tremble as Morax rams into your dripping wet pussy over and over and over again.

He lets out a low chuckle “So tight…” He whispers, voice deep and raspy with sex haze, the scent of your heat spurring him on and causing his own illuminated beast features to manifest, such as his powerful tail undulating behind him. “You’re practically dripping all over the place, and yet you take me so well…” his breath stutters with another snap of his hips and all you can do is moan loudly, mind foggy with need.

“Oh…” You gasp. “Oh.”

Without pause, he’s slamming into you repeatedly, pulling you down on his perfect thick cock and fucking fast methodical thrusts into you wet hole, aiming for a certain spot that has you seeing stars once he finds it.

“Ah! Ah… Ah!” Your voice barely registers through your own lust-hazed mind. Tears prickling at the corner of your eyes from the rapid buildup in your lower abdomen. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve already came, your juices coating your inner thighs and soiling the precious silken sheets. Not that he seems to mind. “O-Oh… Ohhhh. My Lord… M-Morax…”

You’re pretty sure your God has ruined you for anyone else. No mortal or immortal would ever be able to compare to his divine cock, deliciously thick and filling, the dragon shaft lined with small ridges that rub just right against your insides and so utterly big you swear you can feel a slight bump on your navel every time he bottoms out.

You keen and whine when his strong clawed hands pull at your hips. Seems like your legs are also giving up on you so he holds you in place instead. And you love it. His musky scent. His smooth deep voice. His unfaltering stamina.

The Prime of the Adepti. A strong and virile dragon.

And he chose to mate you.

Suddenly you feel him drape over your back, his larger frame practically caging you, pressing against you until his chest meets your sweaty back and you feel his ragged breath against your neck, scenting you and your heat pheromones before sharp fangs graze your tender skin.

You moan and your pussy clamps down on him. You are so close….

“You feel amazing.” He growls. “So good... s-so good for me.”

You buck your hips up to him, clumsily meeting his thrusts as your small fluffy tail twitches. “Nnngh!”

You feel him bite at your shoulder and the sharp jolt of pain is enough to send you spiraling into another climax, moaning high-pitched and gripping him tighter inside you even as he fucked into your slick warmth. Despite the orgasm he shows no signs of slowing down, so neither do you, as the unbearable heat continues to burn inside you, an itch you can’t quite scratch. His hands reach out for your skin, caressing your soft breasts and marveling at how beautifully they fit into his hands. He rubs circles into one of your nipples before pinching it lightly and is rewarded with another high keen and a spasm around his cock.

“P-Please… please… I need it. Please-” You pant, voice laced with desperation, your nails digging into the bedsheets.

“What do you want?” Morax asks, nosing at your neck and lapping at the reddened bite mark he branded into your skin. “Tell me what you need, little one.”

“Breed me!” You choke out “F-Fill me up Lord Morax, I need you to… fuck m-me full, pleasepleaseplease-”

And how could he deny such a sweet plea? Morax redoubles his efforts, panting with exertion and pushing harder, faster, deeper. Shrill little gasps escaping you as your mind goes blank from the pleasure.

“Hah- I’ll breed you properly… mhh… fill you up.” He pants, his pace getting sloppier, his tail trashing wildly, you feel him twitch inside you. “You’re all mine. Mine to take… to fuck, to own, to breed-”

Morax’s breath hitches and he lets out a choked groan, spilling his load inside you in thick creamy spurts as you keen and squirm under him, too fucked stupid for words. You coo happily as the heat under your skin finally abates and you feel full, so full of his seed.

His grip loosens as his hips gradually slow down, head hung low as he catches his breath, his cock occasionally twitching inside you until it eventually softens. He gently pulls out admiring the way your pussy clenches on him, the way your legs shake, weakly trying to lock him there, keep him inside you. The drag and pull of his thick cockhead over your sensitive insides making you keen and whimper from its abuse until your pliant body falls onto the sheets, whining pitifully when you feel his slick seed dribble out of your swollen pussy. You try to close your legs and weakly paw at your core.

No, no, no… it’s supposed to stay inside. Lord Morax’s precious cum-

You squeak as you feel something smooth and solid press against your pussy lips.

“Shhh my dear, shhh.” He coos at you, deep voice soothing your frazzled nerves. “This is just a little something to keep it in, to keep you full.” He pushes gently, working what you now realize was a cor lapis plug into your body. You made another whimpering noise as your lips parted for the toy he’d created for you. Red, puffy pussy folds spread open as they did for his cock, taking the tip before he worked the rest until it finally sunk in, lewdly resting against your opening, a glittering orange gemstone keeping you full. “There, nice and snug, do you like it?”

Your only answer is a little chirp, your eyes half-lidded as your body relaxes.

“Such a good little bunny. You were so good to me my child, so good.” You smile drowsily at the praise, cooing at him as his hand pets your hair and scratches your fuzzy ear. He kisses at your shoulder and starts softly massaging your aching limbs “You were beautiful. You did so well, you took me so perfectly…”

You lean into his touch, curling up to his body, both of you still damp with sweat and other fluids. Resting for now until another wave of neediness hits you.

You both knew your heat would last at least other 4 days…

You idly wonder if by the end of the week you would be honored with carrying his offspring.

#genshin impact smut #zhongli smut #genshin x reader #zhongli x reader #genshin x you #genshin imagines #genshin impact imagines #crys writes #fem reader #adeptus reader #fun fact I was going to give reader an adeptus name “Spring Bringer” but then I kinda just went meh #tell me if you'd like more of this though #<3

3K notes · View notes

xoluvx · 5 months ago

Note

Hiiii i love your blog so much but i was wondering if you could do something where reader and billie’s tape gets leaked?? Like how would they react and stuff 😭 It could be the billie bossa nova pt 2 if u want <3

oooooh my god. you are in my brain anon because i was seriously thinking of this concept 😭😭 ily thank uuuu we share a brain. i have a different idea for bbn pt 2 (*if* it comes to fruition)

it was everywhere. everywhere and no where. how did it get out? what was happening?

“fuck fuck fuck,” her voice was loud as she ran down the hall. you held the phone in your limp hand. if it hadn’t fallen on the couch, your screen would’ve shattered.

“what the fuck?” she appeared, frazzled, in front of you. you were silent, but on the inside you were screaming. you were processing, or at least trying.

billie bit her thumb nail nervously pacing back and forth. she had her phone in a tight grip, the video was circulating everywhere. her phone was blowing up with notifications, messages, phone calls, tags, mentions.

“billie what the fuck?” finneas’ voice roared on speaker. he was the first person she answered a call from since it happened Ll but ten minutes ago. she looked at you holding her forehead. you were rubbing your thighs nervously.

“you didn’t watch it right?” were her first words. finneas replied with a gross, but claudia had seen enough to confirm it was the two of you.

the thumbnail wasn’t too incriminating. it was only when the video played that could tell within the first few seconds who it was. her voice urging you to cum. the phone sloppily recording as she rammed into you. the tattoos confirmed it. the way you whined billie’s name confirmed it.

she was fast. skin slapping and breathing heavy. she loved to talk dirty. her voice urging you to cum on her cock. telling you how pretty your ass looked bouncing against her body. complimenting how well you were taking her. her voice was low and raspy, spiting each word through gritted teeth.

the camera shook and the phone fell as she grabbed both your arms holding you down as she slammed into you. pulling you back on her cock. the bed creaking, the screen facing the ceiling. your moans growing louder when the phone fell near your face.

then when you thought it was finally over, she pressed her body down on yours. your back arched, cock deep. she came down to press her cheek on yours, grabbing the phone. she held angled it at your faces. hot and flushed. yours all fucked out, hers all cocky and proud. she smiled as you both breathed heavy then she turned to kiss your cheek her hair covering most of your faces.

then she got up, still buried in you and filmed down your body, fingers following the curves of your back until she was gripping your ass, cock sliding out of your throbbing pussy. whimpers filled the room. then the video cut.

and now you were sitting here processing how it got out.

“i’ll call you back, answer” his voice was stern and billie nodded hanging up. she stared at her phone flooded.

“come here,” you finally spoke, voice weak as you pat the spot next to you on the couch. she nuzzled next to you wrapping her arms around your body allowing you to fall into her as she leaned on the side of the couch.

“i’m so sorry,” she whispered against your head. “so so fucking sorry” she continued before kissing the top of your head. she could handle the fame, barely. the comments, the mean things, but all she wanted was the protect you. that’s the one thing she’d promised herself when you got together and now-

“we’re in this together,” you replied turning to look at her. you melted in her gaze, her eyes glistening. nose red. your own eyes watering, but your lips curling and then you were both laughing softly leaning into each other until your lips brushed.

she held your hand to her chest as you continued kissing.

part of you wanting to recreate the video right now another part knowing it was probably best you stopped recording videos for a while.

“we need a better system,” she teased against your lips. you whimpered turning your body completely so you were straddling her waste.

“yes, we do.” You moaned digging your fingers into her hair pulling softly eliciting a moan from her part. she held your ass moving your hips begging you to grind on her body.

it wasn’t your fault you couldn’t keep your hands off each other.

#billie eilish #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish x you #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish fic #billie eilish smut #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish blurb #billie eilish request

383 notes · View notes

velvetvexations · 18 days ago

Text

Saw your tags on that binder post and I thought I’d share that my first introduction to chest binding was actually through the lolita community! A lot of big name japanese brands are not exactly size inclusive and did NOT cater to anyone with more than an A cup, so I did see quite a lot of safe binding advice and methods on blogs and forums back in the day before more inclusive brands became available, ranging from sports bra to actual proper binders. I’m probably not the only example of the “binding to fit into an angelic pretty dress” to “binding to fit into an angelic pretty dress and gender reasons)” pipeline, but plenty of other lolitas I know are still cis women who just do it on occasion or for specific pieces that aren’t very forgiving on the tits! I doubt that a single niche fashion subculture is the reason for those binders being marketed towards cis women so heavily, but I thought this was a funny anecdote :)

Fascinating!

patricia taxxon shit really fucking hurts. i dont want to be effected by a random internet microcelebrity not liking transdudes, that happens often enough. but god her music and essays got me through really rough shit and it really hurts to see someone i looked up to for well written essays and work fall back on the bullshit arguments used to deny my lived experiences. it really really fucking hurts, especially with how it feels barely anyone will talk about or call it out. i thought trfs were something id have to look hard for, and seeing their rhetoric creep into the fucking music i listen to and tumblrs i follow really truly scares me

I'm sorry, anon. I love you a lot. <3

“You shouldn’t break up the trans community into groups!” The TRFs literally came up with a way to break up the community via TMA/TME. They are actively distancing themselves from the community by baking fearmongering into their ideology. God forbid we create a term about sticking together against a group within the community that’s inherently dividing?

lmao literally

Just had my first time getting sexually harassed by a woman as a percieved cis man and commiserating afterwards with a cis man about how we're all just supposed to be cool with being treated like that. It's a weird experience and somehow going through the same things mostly from women as a girl then nonbinary then a trans guy it feels the same but the flavors change. I know the discourse is literally nothing but it makes me feel like my feelings shouldn't matter because of the male privilege. And I even did my civic duty and took the brunt of it away from the other trans man who was getting it worse because of his percieved feminine traits which people also like to pretend doesn't happen. All of it is just stupid.

It's fine, she was a woman and you're a man so that was praxis sexual harassment.

honestly i think a better predictor of how much autonomy a child is able to have over their presentation is probably whether the child is disabled moreso than agab, like i not only wasn't allowed to have my hair too short, i also wasn't allowed to have it too long for a chunk of my childhood because it took me awhile to understand how to brush my hair (because i was afraid to because i am hypersensitive to touch and my mother would always brush my hair in a way that hurt so much i would cry), and my mother would bitch and moan about how difficult i was about it (because she was hurting me and did not listen when i told her this) and so i wasn't allowed to have longer hair until i could brush it myself. ultimately the biggest factor is always the attitude of the parents though

God, so much of my shit with my mother was over my hair, it still really gets to me.

TRF is like the whole voting for face eating panthers. But it’s like TERFs are the panthers and TRFs are a cheetah, like “I’m a kind of cat too so they won’t eat my face as long as I eat faces too right?” WRONG they see you as prey, they won’t spare you because they see a fellow cat, they’ll eat your face cuz you’re not a panther!

cis women will like me if I explain to them how I'm -taxonomically- a woman

it’s insane to me that ‘it’s bad to hate someone for an uncontrollable part of their identity no matter who they are’ is a controversial take now

we've regressed

when people say ‘um ackshually i can say i want all men to die and if you tell me “men see these things and go far right because they think it’s true” then you are blaming women for men’s bad behaviour’ i just immediately assume that this person is stupid as fuck like. if a teenage boy goes online to see what feminism is about and is bombarded with ‘kill all men’ ‘all men are rapists’ etc then OBVIOUSLY he’s not gonna want to be feminist. it is really not that fucking hard to understand. people don’t wanna be in spaces that are cruel to them for an aspect of their identity that they cannot control it’s not ‘blaming women for misogynistic men’ to say that. it’s just fucking true. people are so stupid it actually pains me

unfortunately radfem juice is addictive

#discourse #transandro phobia #trans radical feminism

87 notes · View notes

thewritingrowlet · 8 months ago

Text

The White Swan, ft. tripleS Ji Seoyeon

tags: first time (with a small twist), creampie, friends-to-lovers (kinda), (a lot of) pet names

word count: 15k+ words

author's note: here it is, The White Swan fic that I've mentioned before. I know that it's a long one and I should probably write shorter fics but I just couldn't help it. Lmk what you think. Thanks for reading <3

Ballet [noun; ba-ley, bal-ey]

“A classical dance form demanding grace and precision and employing formalized steps and gestures set in intricate, flowing patterns to create expression through movement.”

“Yeah, so what is that exactly?”, you wonder to yourself after looking up the word’s definition in the dictionary on your phone. “Grace and precision, huh? Interesting”, you continue. You put your phone in your pocket and promise yourself you’ll look up videos of people performing ballet when you get home as you keep walking past the lit-but-empty classrooms—it’s past 7 pm; most undergrads are at home, allowing the time and space for postgrads to do their stuff. You, a 3rd-year student, just finished tutoring Business Mathematics II on the 2nd floor of the F building to a bunch of sophomores and are now on your way home.

At least that was the plan, until you hear music coming out of one of the classrooms on the first floor. The music itself piques your curiosity, as you stop in front of the door of said classroom and look through the tinted glass door. You see that the chairs have been moved to the sides, creating a big empty space for the girl in the middle of the classroom; “wait, a girl?”, you think to yourself as you move your face closer to the glass. You keep your eyes on the girl wearing a long-sleeve T-shirt and grey training pants who’s dancing in that empty space; “that looks graceful and precise”, you mutter under your breath.

If someone were to see what you’re doing right now, they would most likely think you were a creep. You can’t even begin to describe how captivating and supple and charming the girl’s movements are. You also can’t help but keep your eyes on the girl the whole time—that is until the music ends, and she makes eye contact with you and starts walking to the door. It doesn't quite help you that she has a serious face on as she’s turning the door handle. “Hi, can I help you?”, she says. You don’t want her to think that you were stalking her, so you muster up your courage and get ready to apologize for peeking at her through the glass door like that. You start by bowing slightly before opening your mouth, “I was walking down from the 2nd floor and heard music coming out of this classroom, so I decided to see what was going on and ended up looking like a creep—which I’m not, just so we’re clear. I apologize for being so rude”.

You dare not look into her eyes and decide to look at your shoes instead while bracing for pain in case she slaps you in the face—let’s be real; it would be understandable on her part and deserving on yours. To your absolute surprise, she laughs instead; “oh, it’s fine”, she says, “you know, I’m kinda honored that someone decided to stop what they were doing and were fascinated by my routine”. You look up and see that she’s holding out a hand, probably looking to shake yours; “my name is Ji Seoyeon, but some call me Jiyeon to avoid confusion with someone else—you probably know who I’m talking about”, she says.

You nod at her words—she’s referring to Yoon Seoyeon, a fellow 3rd-year and the current president of the student council who also happens to be on the dean’s list; the girl does it all and boy does she do it well. You shyly take her hand for a handshake, and she surprises you one more time; “wait, aren’t you one of Professor Kim’s teaching assistants? I’ve been to one of your classes before. I think it was Business Mathematics II”, she reveals to you. “Funny you should say that”, you chuckle, “I just finished tutoring BM II and you weren’t there—for obvious reasons”. Her big eyes get even bigger due to her shock hearing your words and she runs to check her phone; “oh my goodness, it is Tuesday! I should’ve gone to your class!”, she exclaims and covers her face with her hands in embarrassment, “I’m so sorry, sunbaenim. I forgot that it was Tuesday thus I missed your class”. You shake your head and tell her that it’s not a big deal since TA’s classes aren’t mandatory.

“So, what now? Are you going to practice again?”, you ask. Jiyeon opens her mouth but before the words can come out, her stomach answers for her with a growl. “Oh, you must be hungry. Haven’t eaten yet?”, you are as surprised as she is. “I wanted to get dinner after practicing b-but you got to me first”, she turns her face away to hide her embarrassment. “I know I’m overstepping here but can I treat you to dinner?”, you offer her, hoping that she won’t take it as anything else other than a gesture of kindness and apology. Jiyeon looks down at her shoes before answering, “um, yes, please. Let me wipe myself first, though; I’m very sweaty”.

You find yourself walking towards the campus gate with Jiyeon, and you see your friend Suyeon in front of it, presumably waiting for someone or something. You walk up to her and tap her shoulder, “yo, waiting for someone?”. She turns to your direction and gives you a fist bump, “yeah, waiting for my Uber. What about you?”. You tell her your plan to get dinner before going home. “Sounds nice, can I come along?”, as soon as Suyeon says that, she makes eye contact with Jiyeon, “oh, you already have company. I would hate to third wheel”. You take a step back so that the two girls can face each other, “Suyeon-ah, this is Ji Seoyeon—also known as Jiyeon. Jiyeon-ah, this is my friend, Suyeon”. Suyeon shakes Jiyeon’s hand and asks, “Seoyeon? Like the president?”. Jiyeon answers timidly, “exactly like the president, sunbaenim. Please call me Jiyeon”. Before Suyeon starts assuming things, you jump to clarify, “I, uh, was spying on her like a weirdo when she was practicing in an empty classroom so now, I want to treat her to dinner as an apology”. “I didn’t ask”, Suyeon says before laughing, “nice to meet you, Jiyeon-ah. Tell me if he tries anything and I will whoop his ass for you”. You roll your eyes, “I might be single but I’m not a degenerate, Kim Suyeon”. “True, you’re actually nice and respectful—now get out of here, she must be starving already”, Suyeon gives you another fist bump and sends you on your way.

“So, any idea what to get?”, you ask Jiyeon as you two leave the campus area. “I kinda want something warm—something with broth or soup”, she says. “I don’t usually eat that sort of food, so I have no idea, sorry”, you admit your cluelessness. “That’s okay, we can go to my favorite spot if you don’t mind”, she says. “I sure don’t; lead the way”, you tell her. “Can we get an Uber? It’s like 5 kilometers away from here—I’ll pay, don’t worry”, she suggests. Walking for 5 kilometers is not only tiring, but also time consuming, so you agree with her suggestion; “yeah, we can get an Uber. I’ll pay for it, it’s okay—I’m not accepting counter arguments, by the way”.

You two stop in your tracks and wait for Jiyeon to call an Uber. Lucky for you, the app shows her that the car is 3 minutes away from your location, so you try to make small talk as you wait; “so what were you practicing? Your moves looked delicate, for a lack of better words”. You see a light of excitement in her eyes as she answers you, “that was ballet”. “Ballet, huh?”, you say internally. “There’s a ballet competition coming up in like 3 weeks or so and I’ve been preparing for that since last week”, she adds. “Do you think I can go and watch you perform?”, you ask her with as genuine a voice as possible. “You probably can”, she fiddles with her phone, presumably to ask someone about your question, “I’m gonna ask the contact person and find out exactly”. You see the car pulling up to you, so you save the rest of the conversation for later.

You’re now standing in front of a noodle soup restaurant and Jiyeon leads you into it. She walks straight to the register and tells the person attending it her order. She asks you what you want to eat but since you’re not familiar with the place, you ask her to order for you. After ordering, she leads you to her favorite table and takes a seat in front of you. “Oppa”, she says while looking at her phone, “the person said you can watch but you’ll need a ticket. How many do you want?”. Your heart flutters when you hear her call you that, but you quickly compose yourself and answer her question, “I’ll just take one, I don’t know if any of my friends would be interested in watching ballet. Can you ask them if there’s a better seat, by the way? I don’t mind paying extra as long as I get better view to see you perform”.

It is when Jiyeon gets off her phone does she realize what she just called you, “I’m sorry, sunbaenim”. You have an idea as to what she’s apologizing, but it doesn't hurt to make sure; “for what?”, you ask back. “I called you ‘oppa’ earlier, but I don’t know if I can call you that”, she says, apologetic. You wave off her concern, “it’s fine, there’s no need to act so formal with me”. You can feel that things are getting awkward, as shown by how Jiyeon speaks way less compared to earlier. Lucky for you, a waiter stops at your table and drops off your orders. Lucky for you again, Jiyeon seems to be excited seeing the bowl of warm noodle soup in front of her; “thank you for the meal!”, she says with excitement in her voice.

“Thank you for buying me dinner, sunbaenim”, she says while the two of you stand outside the restaurant. “The pleasure is mine, Jiyeon-ah.Any update about the ticket?”, you say to her. “Oh, right”, she fishes her phone from her pocket again and checks her messages, “okay so, the VIP ticket costs ₩8.000 and ₩10.000 for VVIP. VVIP is guaranteed to be on the first two rows while VIP is 3-5”. It’s a no-brainer for you, really; “I’ll take the 10k one, I need to make sure I’ll be able to see you”, you tell her. You pretend to not see her blush, but it’s kind of hard to do so you look away for a second as her fingers pace around on her phone screen restlessly. “Oppa”, you’re really starting to think that she’s become more comfortable with you, “the person said they need 1 or 2 days to process your purchase. In the meantime, can-can I, uh, have your number?”. You tell her your number digit by digit and manage to peek at the name she gives you; “BM TA-oppa”, how cute. After saving your contact information, she calls your number so that you can save hers on your phone. Your dullness leads you to naming her “Ji Seoyeon”, just like how you name everyone else on your phone aside from your parents.

“May I ask what your plan is after this?”, you ask Jiyeon. “I’m gonna walk home, I think; I don’t live far from here, somewhere in that direction”, she points vaguely to her left. You offer to walk with her to her apartment, and she says yes right away—she most likely heard what Suyeon said about you at the gate and thought that you wouldn’t try anything stupid with her, which is absolutely correct. You also offer to help her carry her tote bag and start walking in the direction she pointed at.

As you’re walking side by side with Jiyeon, your brain suggests asking her about ballet; “what is ballet to you, Jiyeon-ah?”. She stays silent for a few seconds before taking a deep breath, “ballet is a lot of things, oppa”. You’re not quite sure what she means, so you ask her to explain further. “First of all, ballet has taught me self-control and discipline; you can’t be good at ballet if you lack those two things—how can you convey grace and emotions, which is the whole point of ballet, to the audience if you can’t control yourself and be disciplined?”, she explains to you. You can tell that she has quite the experience and wisdom under her belt judging by her answer; “may I ask how long you’ve been into ballet? Your answer sounds like that from someone with experience”, you say to her. She scratches her temple, “Since I was 8 or 9, I think?”.

You finally arrive at her building after about 5 minutes of walking, so you hand her tote bag back to Jiyeon. She waves at you with a smile before entering her building, so you wave back before walking away. You’re only a dozen steps away from her building when you feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn around and see that it’s Jiyeon; “can I help you?”, you ask her. “Um, yes, you can; can you help me find empty classrooms to practice in?”. You do have that sort of reach as a teaching assistant, so you tell her that you indeed can, “when are you looking to practice?”. She pulls out her phone again and looks at her schedules, “Friday evening this week, Wednesday and Friday evening the following week, and finally Tuesday and Wednesday the week after that—each session will be like 2 hours long, by the way. I will miss another class of yours in that 3rd week, so I apologize in advance”. You pull out your phone and write down her practice schedules on the notes app, “I can secure a classroom for you this Friday but I’ll need to talk to some people for the other schedules”, you say to her. “Thank you, oppa. See you on Friday!”, she waves at you again before running back to her building.

Friday comes sooner than you anticipated, which means that you’ll be seeing Jiyeon after this tutoring session. You wrap up your class after the 55 minutes are up and send the freshmen on their way while urging them to be quick, stating that you have an important meeting after this—Jiyeon is important to you, so you’re not exactly lying to them. Once the class is clear of people, you send a text to Jiyeon, “I’m in Classroom 2-4 on the F building, it’s clear here”. She replies right away and says that she’s on her way to you, so you start moving the chairs to the side and make some room for Jiyeon.

Her timing couldn’t be more perfect, as you hear a knock on the door as soon as you’re done clearing the room. You tell her to come in and see that she’s in a different practice outfit from a few days ago. “Hiiii”, she says as she closes the door behind her. “Hello, Jiyeon-ah. How are you today?”, you greet the ballerina. “A couple of questions before we start”, she says, “number one; can I actually call you ‘oppa’? Number two; how did you manage to find an empty classroom for me seemingly so easily?”. You sit down on the teacher’s chair, “number one: yes, you can. Number two: did you forget that I’m a TA? I can do these sort of things, you know—Professor Kim gave me this freedom when I became her TA”. Jiyeon nods to your answers, “very cool”. You take your backpack and head to the door. “Oppa, where are you going?”, she asks. You’re caught off guard by her question, “Oh, I don’t know; I just thought I should leave and give you some privacy”. She rushes to you and grabs your wrist, “do you not want to watch me practice? I can give you an exclusive preview for the competition”. That sounds like a fun time as much as it is a spoiler, so you concur and take a seat at the teacher’s desk.

“Start the music on my signal, please”, she hands you her phone and takes the center spot. She mouths the countdown, and you press play right after she finishes it. The same music from a few days ago starts playing, and Jiyeon starts her routine right away. You are immediately fascinated by her movements, and you can’t help but be silent and wholeheartedly pay attention. You find every movement she’s making to be charming and moving but can’t string the words together to describe it; “this must be what a pro looks like”, you think to yourself.

You’re completely entranced by the sight in front of you that you don’t realize that the performance is complete. Only when she sighs do you come back to your senses and feel the tears that are falling out of your eyes and onto your cheeks. “That was not as good as I wanted, I’m sorry”, she says. She hears your subtle sniffle and looks at you perplexedly, “are you okay, oppa? Why are you crying?”. You sniffle before answering her, “wha-what do you mean that wasn’t good? Like-like… what?”. You wipe your eyes with your hands before continuing your speech, “that was… sooo beautiful and charming and captivating and flawless and-and-and—oh, God, I’ve never seen anything like that before in my life”. Jiyeon walks up to you and lifts your chin with a smile on her face, “you’re so sweet, oppa; Suyeon-sunbaenim was right”. She then wipes your tears softly with her thumbs, “thank you for the kind words, oppa. They mean a lot to me, you know”.

You take a few deep breaths to compose yourself before sighing, “I swear I’ll cry like a damn baby if I see you perform this at the competition”. She walks back to her spot and assumes a perfect standing posture, “I’m sorry, I should’ve started with something lighter—I’ll do it now, actually. Here, play the 24th song”. You’re surprised to hear the number, “you have 24 routines, dear?”. She blushes and covers her face when she hears the pet name, “ki-kind of—aaaaaah don’t call me that, oppaaaaa”. You lightly slap your mouth, “I’m so sorry; force of habit from my parents”. Jiyeon exhales and focuses again, “press play now, the song doesn’t start until after a few seconds”.

She stands by and waits for the song to start, which takes about 5 seconds after you pressed play. You’re totally bewitched again and brought back to a trance like earlier, as you sit with your mouth open like a dumbass. “Whoa”, you mutter under your breath, “this girl is crazy good”. You wish you were able to come up with a sentence—or a paragraph—that can describe the way she’s moving right now. It just so happens that your brain is too busy trying to comprehend what you are looking at. At some point, your brain decides to give up and tells your eyes to shed more tears. Unlike earlier, however, you can feel your tears rush down your face; “so this is ballet, huh?”, you say to yourself.

Her routine ends with her looking straight at you, so you cover your eyes to hide the flowing tears. Judging by her pants, she seems to be tired—if you’re doing something that passionately the way she is now, you’re guaranteed to be tired after. You turn away from her and wipe your eyes before saying anything. “I’m so sorry, you must think I’m some sort of a loser for crying so much”, you admit your defeat despite feeling embarrassed. “No, I don’t”, she says, “you have a good heart and that’s always a great sight to see”. She walks to her stuff and grabs a bottle of water, “would you like some water?”. You decline her offer by shaking your head, “with the way I’m crying right now, I’ll just drink my tears”.

She laughs before taking a gulp herself, “you know, I’ve never had someone cry when they watch me practice before, and I’ve practiced in front of people many times”. You look down in shame, “I’m sorry, I don’t know what has gotten into me”. “Thank you, oppa”, she utters. You turn to face her, “huh? For what?”. She exhales deeply before replying, “for showing genuine interest in my craft”. To your surprise, she decides to give you a peck in the cheek, thus forcing you to blush. “I’m just being myself, Jiyeon-ah”, you say. “That’s not my name, is it?”, she giggles cutely, “where did the pet name go? Did a cat steal it, oppa?”. You feel your cheeks get hotter, “are you sure I can call you that? I mean, the first one was an accident”. She shrugs, “I don’t see why not. Accidents aren’t always bad, oppa; they can lead you to great things too, you know”.

You stayed with her until the end of her practice, which took about 2 hours in total. With every routine she did, you laid a brick to build up some resemblance of mental toughness to not bawl your eyes out the whole time—you’re slightly worried that you’ll eventually be desensitized by the gracefulness that she’s showing you through ballet, but that’s a problem for another time. “Dear”, you call out to Jiyeon, who is now lying on her stomach while fiddling with her phone, to get her attention, “can I treat you to dinner again after this?”. She rolls onto her back to look at you, “Sure, what are we getting?”. You open your notes app scroll through the list of good restaurants nearby, “tteokbokkiand popcorn chicken? Malatang? Noodle soup like last time, maybe?”. “The first option sounds good. Can we get that?”, Jiyeon says. “We sure can, we’ll take my car and drive there”, you stand up from your seat and help her get on her feet. “Wait outside, dear; I wanna change clothes first”, she says. You rush to exit the room to make sure Jiyeon doesn’t see the blush and shock on your face.

You wait outside as she asked, and it didn’t take long until you feel a tap on your shoulder. “Let’s go, oppa”, she says. “Man, I would love to hear the pet name again”, you silently wish, “yeah, let’s go. My car is in the parking lot”. “I didn’t know you had a car”, she comments as the two of you start walking. “And I didn’t know you were a ballet prodigy—surprise, surprise”, you joke. She laughs enthusiastically at your small joke and suggests a brilliant idea; one you’ve been waiting for her to say, “we should get to know each other better soon, oppa. I like surprises and all that but not when I’m looking for a boyfriend”. You pretend to not hear what she just said and keep walking until you reach your car.

You unlock the doors and get in with Jiyeon. “Why is your car so clean, oppa?”, she looks around the interior and even opens the glovebox—you’re surprised to see her do that but thankfully you barely keep stuff in it so she doesn’t find anything that might raise suspicion. You know you got caught, so you admit to her that you had your car all cleaned up yesterday to prepare for the dinner “date” tonight. “Ah, good job thinking ahead”, she praises you. You head to the exit and call out to your phone to find the quickest route to get to your destination; “8 minutes to destination”, it says. As much as you want to act like you were that famous racer Scott Chegg and beat the estimated time, you have an important passenger next to you right now, so you suppress your intrusive thoughts and drive like a sane person.

“Alright, let’s park here and walk. The restaurant is in that alleyway to your left—stay in the car for a sec, please”, you say to her after parking your car and killing its engine. Jiyeon does as you say, and it gives you enough time to rush to the other side of the car and open the door for her; “my lady”, you say, offering her your hand to help her get out of the car. “Aww, so cute”, she takes your hand and gets out of the car. Jiyeon decides that it’s now okay to have more physical contacts with you, as she leans her head against your shoulder while wrapping an arm around yours. As much as you enjoy it, you don’t want to let your horses run out of the barn just yet; there’ll be plenty of opportunities to do so in the future (hopefully). You point to the restaurant that has a bright yellow and blue sign and lead her to it.

“Good evening, welcome to Terrific Tteokbokki. What can I get you today?”, the staff greets you. You’re familiar with this place, so it’s your turn today to order for the two of you, “hi, good evening. Can we get one large bowl of Terrific Combo and two drinks?”. “Absolutely”, the staff’s finger scurries around the computer screen in front of him, “that would be ₩9000 with the drinks”. You see Jiyeon pull out her wallet as you do yours, so you hold her hand back and insist on paying for tonight’s dinner. The staff then hands you two large empty cups for the bottomless drink that comes with the combo. You hand Jiyeon a cup and walk over to the drink machine with her. You fill your cup with iced lemon tea while she fills hers with zero-sugar soda. “You like soda, Jiyeon-ah?”, you ask her. “Only if it’s zero-sugar, otherwise it’s too much sugar—paying attention to what you eat and drink is important, oppa. I suggest doing so if you haven’t already”, she says. You then tell her that you only pay attention to how much you eat and how much you exercise in a day but not to the actual nutritional contents of your food.

You both find a table to sit at and wait for your food to be delivered. Jiyeon follows up on the conversation from a few minutes ago; “can I ask what your exercise is like?”, she asks. “I play basketball for at least an hour on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday and lift weights on Monday and Thursday. On the weekend I usually get on the treadmill to get my steps in”, you explain to her. “You play basketball, oppa?”, she looks at you in disbelief. You’re not quite sure why or how she finds that to be surprising considering your height—anyone who sees your height usually assume that you play either basketball or volleyball, “yeah, I was a role player playing off the bench as a freshman when Yoon Seoyeon’s boyfriend was the captain and I won the national championship with him. I left the team in my sophomore year after he graduated—he got summa cum laude, by the way. My man instantly got a job after graduating at a tech startup after that. He was always the big brain both on the court and in the classroom”, you tell her. “But why did you leave the team? You could’ve taken over as the captain”, she presses on. You sigh at the cheerless memory, “the captain left some gigantic shoes to fill, and no one could fit in them, including myself—no one could replicate what he was as a leader and a player. Team morale started sinking to the bottom of the Mariana Trench as we started crashing out of tournaments as favorites, so I decided to dip and became a TA instead”. You see a bright lightbulb float over her head as she suggests an idea, “can we have a little basketball date one day, oppa? I would love to learn basketball from you”. “We sure can, dear. Just tell me when”, you smile at her.

“Thank you for the meal!”, Jiyeon says with an excited face after a waiter drops off the food on your table. “That is so good, oppa. Do you come here often?”, she says. You swallow your mouthful before replying, “yeah, the captain used to take us here on the weekends. He was such a good guy, no wonder Seoyeon loves him so much”. She tilts her head in curiosity, “you speak so highly of this captain, oppa. Can I ask what sort of relationship you have with him?”. Recounting the cheerful memory helps draw a smile on your face, “he was the true leader for us; his presence alone could lift the spirit of every player around him. Not to mention that he was such a great scorer and facilitator for the team. We all relied on him every time he was on the floor”.

In the corner of your eyes, you see a tall guy start walking up to you and Jiyeon from the cashier area. “Yo, yo”, the guy says, so you look over and see that it’s the captain that you were talking about. “Hyung!”, you drop your jaw in shock, “what are you doing here?”. He gives you a fist bump, “I’m getting some food for me and Seoyeon. What are you doing here?”. You wipe your mouth before answering him, “I’m treating my friend here for dinner. It’s so nice to meet you, hyung. How are you?”. You see that gentle smile that you always liked on his face, “I’m doing very well, man. Would you mind introducing me to this friend of yours?”. You turn to Jiyeon, “hyung, this is my friend Ji Seoyeon—yes, the same first name as your girlfriend—Jiyeon-ah, this is my captain”. Jiyeon stands up and greets him, “hello, sunbaenim. Nice to meet you”. “Oh, there’s always room for more sweet girls named Seoyeon in this world. Please, have a seat”, he says, “tell me something, Jiyeon-ah: is he treating you well? I’ll kick his ass to the ground for you if he ever tries anything dumb with you”. Jiyeon laughs shyly, “he’s actually very kind and sweet, sunbaenim. He even helped me find an empty classroom so that I can practice ballet”. Captain-hyung nods in approval, “Ballet, huh? That’s great to hear; I could tell that he was a good person when he first joined us for practice. I sometimes wish we could utilize him more during that run”. His words make you shy, “oh, c’mon, hyung; you know I was always happy with my role, right?”. “Oh, I know”, he pats you on the back, “we couldn’t have done it without you”.

You hear the staff call out his name, which means that his order is ready to be picked up and it’s time for him to leave. “I tried paying for your food, but I was told that you already paid so your next visit here is on me, you can buy whatever you want and I’ll pay”, he waves goodbye before walking out the door, “I’ll see you soon, okay?”. You don’t realize that you still have a smile on your face until Jiyeon tells you about it, “you like him that much, huh?”. You turn your focus back to Jiyeon and the food in front of you, “I love him”. Jiyeon smiles hearing you say that, “but do you love me?”. Your eyes nearly jump out of their sockets due to the surprise, “o-oh, um, I-I do, honestly—I hope that’s not too presumptuous of me”. Jiyeon looks down at the table to hide her pink hue, “I love you too, dear”.

“Oppa”, she says, standing outside the restaurant, “can you take me home, please?”. “Absolutely, dear”, you get in the car with Jiyeon and start it so you can take her home. “Can I play some music, oppa? There’s this group that I’ve been obsessed with”, she says. You give her your approval, so she connects her phone with your car’s speakers over Bluetooth. “This song is called Girls Never Die, oppa”, she says as the song starts playing. You listen and pay attention to the song that’s playing over the speakers as you keep driving. You find the lyrics to be moving and meaningful while the beat is uplifting; “this is a great song”, you think. “What do you think, oppa?”, she asks. “I think it’s a great song”, you offer her your take, “I really like how they say ‘even if I fall, I stand back up’ and ‘I’m going until the end and not giving up. I think such messages are very uplifting and relatable, especially coming from a girl group. Combine that message with the beat that it’s delivered with, and it’s just an amazing song. The title itself is great, by the way. What group is this?”. She smiles in approval of your opinion, “they’re called tripleS and they have 24 members, oppa. I’ve been listening to their songs a lot recently for the messages that each one delivers”. You squint your eyes, “isn’t 24 too many?”. Jiyeon chuckles, “apparently not, no”.

“We’re here, dear”, you announce to Jiyeon, who happened to fall asleep during the ride. She slowly wakes up from her peaceful nap, “we are? That’s unfortunate”. You look at her with a confused face, “what do you mean?”. She stretches her arms and yawns, “I would love to spend more time with you”. Your horses start getting excited, but you hold them for now, “we can do that in the future. You should rest, you must be tired from practicing”. She twiddles her finger, showing you some aegyo, “can you open my door like before?”. You get out of the car with a smile on your face and open the passenger door for her, “may I, sweetie?”. “Aaaah, oppaaa”, she takes your hand while her cheeks are on fire—with how often she’s blushing tonight, you might as well start calling her tomato cheeks. You walk her to the door of her building and say your farewell. Instead of walking into her building, she decides to walk closer to you. “Can I help you, dear?”, you ask, unsure of her intentions. “Lean forward, please”, she says. You lean forward as requested and your new height allows her to give you a peck on the lips while being on her tippy toes. “I love you”, she confesses. You get to her eye level and reciprocate her confession while looking straight into her big eyes, “I love you too, baby”. “That’s new”, she giggles before sighing, “I was going to ask you to come up with me but I’m super tired. I’m sorry, oppa”. You pet her head softly, “we’ll get more chances in the future, trust me. I’ll see you for your next practice, okay?”

Today is Tuesday in the third week of her schedule. It's been two weeks since Jiyeon kissed you (well, pecked you on the lips) in front of her building. You helped her secure one of the big classrooms on the 3rd floor last week so that she could have more space to practice. She even asked you to record her practices because she wanted to monitor herself after. Just like week one, you brought her to dinner and took her home after each session, all that while getting to know each other better with every conversation and every bit of skinship.

Today’s practice session has just ended, too. “Oppa, I’m going straight home. You don’t have to buy me dinner”, she says while sitting on the floor and leaning against a wall—“she’s not as high-spirited as usual”, you say in your head. “Can I take you home?”, you offer her as you grab your keys. Jiyeon rejects your offer by shaking her head, “I’ll take the bus and walk after that. Thank you for the offer, though”. You come up to Jiyeon and kneel in front of her to get to her eye level, “are you okay?”. You see on her face that she has a lot of things in mind; “honestly, I’m not. Today was rough”, her deep sigh sends a pang of sadness to your heart, “I don’t feel like talking about it right now, sorry”. She signs to you that she wants to be helped onto her feet, so you stand up and help her up. “We can walk together to the gate, though”, she says.

Jiyeon has been silent the whole way to the gate, and it has become very obvious to you that she’s not feeling well at all—depressing sight, really. It’s a shame that you don’t know who she usually hangs out with because otherwise you’d be able to ask what she likes and get it for her as a small gift next time you see her. “Thank you, oppa. I’ll walk to the bus station, get on a bus, and then continue walking to my building”, she says when you two arrive at the gate. You nod, “I hope you feel better soon. Tell me if I can help you in any way, okay?”. You two exchange goodbyes and go in different directions after.

You just arrive at your apartment and walk straight to the bathroom after dropping your stuff at the door. You stand in the shower wondering what you can do to help Jiyeon feel better. After exploring potential options, you eventually come up with an idea to buy her some chocolate and chips when you see her tomorrow for her last practice before the competition. You hear a chime from your phone as you’re getting out of the shower. When you go check it, it’s a bunch of text messages from Jiyeon.

[Ji Seoyeon❤️| 21:24]

Oppa

I just finished showering, in bed rn

I’m so sorry for being a bitch to you earlier

I’ll see you tomorrow for my last practice

Thank you for being so kind to me all the time <3

You rub your eyes in disbelief—there’s no way she just called herself a bitch. You then form your replies and send it to her.

[You | 21:25]

Hi sweetie

No, you weren’t being a bitch

Don’t call yourself that ever again

It’s okay to not feel well sometimes

I can tell that you’re tired and possibly frustrated

Lmk if I can help

I’ll see you tomorrow, dear <3

Jiyeon sees the text that you sent her; “oh, he can tell I’m not feeling well; was it too obvious?”, she says to herself. “Oppa”, she sighs, “what would I do without you?”. Jiyeon tries to come up with another reply, wanting to express her gratitude and love for you, but then decides against it and chooses to say it to you directly tomorrow. She lies in her bed and feels tears flowing out; “if only you know how grateful I am for you, oppa”, she wipes the tears on her cheeks with her hand, “I will make you mine, oppa; no one else deserves you more than me”.

Every day you wake up and feel a rush of excitement in your heart at the prospect of seeing Jiyeon. You are, however, a bit sad and concerned as this Wednesday is the last day of practice and you’re not sure if she’ll be down to seeing you again after the competition. You have secured the same classroom as yesterday for her to practice in tonight, so at least you have that going for you. You put your worries to the side and promise yourself that you’ll accept whatever outcome you might get today.

You get in the car after showering and putting on an old jersey and shorts, ready to go to the supermarket to get some groceries since you plan on inviting Jiyeon over for dinner, aside from the fact that you’re running out of some items as well. You sincerely hope she doesn’t see this gesture as an attempt to get in her pants, because it really isn’t; you just want to show off your cooking (read: “pasta boiling and cheese grating”) skills to Jiyeon.

Once you get there, you pull out your phone and start getting one item after the other from different aisles of the supermarket. It doesn't take too long to get everything since you’ve categorized the items into the aisles that they’re in. You stop near the meat and fish section and look at your list again to make sure you’re not forgetting anything: dried macaroni and fettucine noodles, unsweetened milk, zero-sugar soda, smoked paprika powder, instant noodles, bok choys, carrots, boneless chicken thighs, mozzare—someone’s tapping your shoulder from behind; “can I help you?”, you say as you turn around to see who it is.

You see that it’s Jiyeon who was trying to get your attention. “Hiiiiiii”, she says excitedly, visibly feeling much better than when you last saw her. You tuck a stray strand of hair on her face behind her ear, “hi, sweetie. What are you doing here?”. She tickles your waist with both hands, “you stole my line, oppaaaa”. “Ahahaha okay, okay, you win—how did you know I’m tickly there?”, you hold Jiyeon by the wrists to stop her from tickling you. “I didn’t, I was just guessing. Glad to know you’re tickly there, though”, she tries freeing her wrists from your hands, so you let her go with no resistance. “No, but seriously, what are you doing here?”, you ask again. She points to her basket that she left near the soap rack, “I am getting some soap, shampoo, and skincare stuff”.

Jiyeon moves in front of you and looks at your trolley; “quite the stuff you have here, oppa”, she comments as she picks up a bag of macaroni from it, “inviting someone over for a meal?”. You’ve been caught for the second time in 3 weeks, all thanks to how sharp of a perception Jiyeon has; “I, um, was actually planning on inviting you over for dinner one day”, you say, scratching the back of your head and feeling embarrassed. “Awww, so sweet”, she puts the bag of macaroni down and continues, “what are we having tonight?”. “I-I’ve been obsessed with mac and cheese, and I wanted to make some for you, as you can tell by the milk and macaroni and mozzarella—oh, I also have some zero-sugar soda for you”, you show her said items you have in your trolley. She nods in approval when she sees the items you’re showing her, “great timing, seriously. I’ve been craving mac and cheese myself. With the way we think alike, we must be meant for each other, oppa”. You turn your head to the right to hide your blush, and you see the assortment of meat in front of you; “oh, hey, I was going to get this”, you pick up a pack of thinly sliced beef before putting it into your trolley, “500 grams a pack, huh? Sounds good”.

You head to the cashier with Jiyeon and pay for your stuff and hers. “I see that you didn’t buy alcohol. Do you not drink, oppa?”, she says. You furrow your eyebrows and shake your head, “I hate the idea of being drunk and possibly not having control of my actions—like what if I did something criminal while being drunk? That would be disastrous for everyone. I know people say ‘well, you can drink responsibly’ but not drinking to begin with is my way of being responsible”, you explain to her. She nods in agreement, “that’s a good approach to it, I think. Come on, let’s get out of here”. You chuckle as the splitting doors of the supermarket close behind you, “and go where, my cute ballerina?”. The realization stops Jiyeon in her tracks—where can you two go together after an impromptu meeting? It’s not lunch time yet, either. Thankfully for Jiyeon, she thinks fast and can come up with plans in an instant; “can I come over, oppa? I would love it if I could chill there until class starts”. “So, I guess we’ll go to your place first to get some stuff? That way you can go to your class from my apartment; it’s closer to campus than yours anyway”, you complete her idea with your own.

You put your stuff in the trunk and start driving to Jiyeon’s apartment. She told you to not come up with her so you wait in your car on the side of the street until she comes out. You scroll through social media for what feels like a few minutes, and that’s when she opens the passenger door and jumps back in. You notice that she only has a small laptop bag, so you make a comment referring to it, “not too busy of a day, I see”. “Mm-hmm”, she says, “two classes, 3 credits each. There’s a reason I’ve been practicing on Wednesdays, you see. Start driving, oppa; I want to chill in your apartment right meow”.

“Welcome to my apartment. Please make yourself at home”, you say as you open the door for her. She walks straight in after taking off her shoes but not her socks; “oi, oi, not so fast”, you call out to her, “socks off, please—you can wear these sandals”. She timidly jogs back to where you are and grabs the sandals from your hands, “sorry, I got too excited”. “Excited for what? There are barely things here”, you ask her. She pouts cutely and points at the sofa in front of the TV, “that thing looks soooooo soft, oppa. Can I lie down on it, pleaaaaase?”. You pet her head softly to encourage her, “go on, dear. I’ll get you a blanket”. “Yay!”, she enthusiastically runs to the sofa and lies down on it, “my God, this is sooo comfortable”. You return to her with a spare blanket and cover her with it, “it gets pretty cold in this apartment, so I’ll cover you with this so that you don’t freeze—I imagine a frozen ballerina wouldn’t be able to perform well on stage”. She accepts your gesture with a smile, and only now do you realize how sweet Jiyeon’s smile is; “I will do everything I can to protect that smile, sweetie”, you promise to yourself.

You take a seat on the armchair next to the sofa and pull out your phone, “what time is your class? Would you like to eat something now?”. She sighs as she turns to lie on her side, “1 pm, oppa. I would love to eat something but I’m also sleepy so please let me sleep here for a few hours and wake me up at 12:15”. She closes her eyes immediately after saying that, so you make your way to your bedroom and chill there until 12:15. You decide to get some extra sleep after setting an alarm at 12:10 and 12:15 to make sure Jiyeon won’t be late to her class.

In your sleep, you feel like a weight has been put on top of your body thus making it hard for you to breathe. As an attempt to keep your goofy ass alive, your brain shakes you awake. “Huh?”, you mumble softly with only half of your consciousness in your body. “Oh, it’s Jiyeon”, your brain says as it closes your eyes to go back to sleep—“WAIT, IT’S JIYEON!”, the discovery sends shock to your body. You don’t want to disturb her peace, though, so you calm your breathing and stay still. You dare wrap your arms around her body, and she lets out a soft hum in response; “I hope she won’t kick me in the balls when she wakes up”, you quietly pray to whatever heavenly being is looking down on the both of you.

You slowly unwrap your arm and grab your phone to look at the time; 12:02, it says. As soon as you return your arm to its previous position, Jiyeon wakes up from her slumber and looks at you with heavy eyes. “Hi, darling”, you greet the girl on top of you. “Why did you leave me, oppa?”, she rests her head on your chest again. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I just wanted to lie on the bed until 12:15”, you pet her head to apologize. She looks at you and pinches your cheek playfully, “well, you should’ve carried me to bed with you. It was cold on the sofa, you know?”. A pang of guilt strikes you—your mom would kill you 3 times over for leaving a girl in the cold like that; “I’m so sorry, dear, but I wouldn’t do such thing without your consent”. “It’s okay, I trust you even in my sleep”, she says before sighing, “what time is this?”. You look at your phone one more time, “um, 12:03—no, 12:04”.

She lifts her torso off your body and pulls you into a sitting position with her still on your lap, “please keep me warm, oppa”. You take her hand and notice that she is indeed cold, so you hug her tighter to keep her warm. “Oppa”, she pokes you in the cheek, “you’re not angry that I suddenly jumped on your body like that, are you? Please don’t be angry, I’m sorry”. “No, I’m not angry at all”, you clarify, “I should be the one apologizing for leaving you in the cold”. She pulls away from the hug and gives you a fleeting kiss, “promise me that you won’t leave me again, ever”. You take her pinky in yours, “I promise, sweetie”.

“Oppa, do you not have classes today?”, she says as she puts on her shoes. “I don’t but I’m meeting some of Professor’s Kim students at 5 pm. One of them texted me yesterday asking me to help them with a project”, you walk to the door where she is, “do you want to walk, or do you want me to drive you there?”. “5 pm is still a few hours away so you should just stay here, I’ll walk”, she waves at you, “I’ll see you for tonight’s practice?”. You nod and she walks out of the door right away. You chase her and grab her wrist, “you forgot something”. She turns to you in confusion, “what?”. “This”, you lean forward and kiss her, “you forgot my kiss”. “Oh my God, I hate you so much”, she blushes and starts running away, “I’ll see you later!”.

The little meeting with Professor’s Kim students is done, which leaves you one last thing to do tonight: watch Jiyeon’s last practice. “Same place as yesterday, dear”, you send a text to her, and she sends you a thumbs-up emoji as a reply. You continue scrolling through social media until you hear the door swing open. Jiyeon is wearing a black tank top and grey training pants, and you can’t help but drop your jaw; “respectfully, you look so attractive right now”, you comment. She smirks, “that was the plan, glad it works”. Your eyes widen in shock, “pardon?”. “You didn’t hear anything”, she says, “let’s practice, shall we?”. She hands you her phone and tells you to play whatever song because “being predictable is boring” (her words, not yours) so you do as she asks and pick a random song.

It takes her one second to recognize the song and start her routine. It starts with a clap of hands, which makes you jump in your seat a little due to the suddenness. Her moves, combined with how she’s dressed, show you all the details of her curves, but you’re trying to not have a boner right now. As you keep watching, however, you start getting more emotional than horny—you managed to not cry during the previous sessions but it’s very hard not to today for some reason. You lock in and pay attention with every cell of your brain, until you see her make a specific move with her hand and tears instantly drop onto your cheeks like the first time you watched her—unlike last time, however, you’re not shy to cry in front of her. You decide to savor the emotions and cry your heart out until you have no tears left. “My God, I’m such a loser”, you say to yourself.

You’re too busy crying that you don’t notice that the song has ended. “Crying again, oppa?”, she approaches you to check on you. “Ye-yeah, sorry”, you wipe your tears so that you can see her clearly. She pulls you to your feet and hugs you, “I was starting to think that you didn’t like me enough to cry”, she says. You take a deep breath to compose yourself, “you’re out of your mind; there’s no way I can stop liking you”. You feel her pat your back to help you calm yourself, “I like you too, oppa”.

The tears finally stop flowing after a few seconds, so you ask her to let go of the hug. You sit your ass back down while she walks to her stuff. “Here, oppa: your VVIP ticket”, she hands you a ticket with your name and seat number on it, “don’t lose this, please. I’ll never talk to you again if you do”. You sniffle before talking back, “thank you, sweetie. I’ll make sure I arrive early”. She walks away from you and tells you to play another song, so you close your eyes and pick randomly again. “Aaaaah, that’s the same song, oppa. Play a different one without closing your eyes this time”, she says with a pout. “Oh, sorry”, you scroll quickly to the bottom of the playlist and choose whatever. “There we go; now watch me”, she says as she starts another routine.

Jiyeon immediately collapses on the floor after that last routine. Sensing that something is wrong, you run to her and see that her eyes are closed but her mouth is open. “Baby, baby? Are you okay? Say something, love—holy shit, what is happening right now?”, pet names fly out of your lips as you panic. You carry her in your arms and run out of the classroom to find help. As you do, you hear her mumble something weakly; “oppa, oppa”. You start running faster after hearing a sign of life from Jiyeon; “hold on, baby; I’m getting some help for you”. You then hear a giggle from her, “oppa, I’m okay. I was just messing with you”. You drop to your knees right away, “oh my fucking—that wasn’t funny, you know? I thought you passed out from exhaustion or something”. She frees herself from your arms and pecks you on the cheek, “I mean I was exhausted, but I’m fine. I’m glad that you were quick to take action, who knows when I might need that”. You get on your feet and pull her up after, “you’re lucky I exercise often, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to carry you and run that fast at the same time like that”. She giggles, “yeah I had a sneak peek at how fit you are thanks to that jersey you wore at the supermarket—very attractive, I must say”.

“Fuck, that was scary—so what now?”, you ask her with heavy pants. “Let’s get our stuff and get out of here. I want to go home and get as much rest as I can”, she says. “Sure, I’ll wait for you in the car”, you walk in the other direction to get to the parking lot.

You get a bottle of water from the trunk and finish it right away to cope with the exhaustion and panic caused by Jiyeon’s little act. “That’s the fastest I’ve seen someone drink out of a bottle”, Jiyeon remarks as she approaches you, “I’m sorry, oppa. I didn’t mean to make you panic like that”. You wave her off, “it’s okay, sweetie. I’m glad that you’re okay because I would’ve lost my shit otherwise. Let’s get you home now, alright?”. You get in the car followed by Jiyeon and start driving to take her home.

“Oppa, we probably won’t see each other until after the competition is finished”, she says when you two are standing outside her building. You pet her head, “it’s okay, sweetie. You know where I sit so look at me if you can, okay?”. She gets on her tippy toes, and the height difference makes you laugh. “Aaaaaah, kiss me alreadyyyyyy”, she complains cutely. You grab her chin and pull her closer to you before kissing her passionately. “I love you, baby. See you on Saturday, okay?”. She seems to be satisfied with the kiss, as seen by how she’s blushing, “I love you too, oppa. See you on Saturday”.

Saturday has finally come and there’s only one thing in your mind right now: watch Jiyeon perform at the competition. You grab your phone as soon as you wake up and text her right away.

[You | 08:03]

Good luck, baby

I’m rooting for you

If it wasn’t obvious already

She replies to your messages as soon as you send them.

[Ji Seoyeon❤️| 08:03]

I’m nervous, oppa

Pray for your baby girl

Love you too

You smack your forehead at the realization that you forgot to say “I love you” but you know—or hope, rather—that she knows that already. You jump off the bed and get ready to get a shower, and that’s when you hear another notification.

[Ji Seoyeon❤️| 08:03]

You owe me dinner btw

[You | 08:03]

I know

I hope you like mac and cheese

You have about 10 hours to kill before you need to leave to watch Jiyeon, so you decide to clean your apartment first. You make sure to that everything is spotless because you plan on inviting Jiyeon over for dinner tonight, and should everything go smoothly, formally confess your love to her, in case it hasn’t been made clear multiple times.

After cleaning everything, you decide to hop on your laptop and catch up with the outside world. Email from Professor Kim about your payment as TA; answered, email from a sophomore apologizing for missing your class; answered, email from Professor Min thanking you for helping her students; answered. You scroll through your inbox and see that none is left unanswered, so you decide to play some video games—you want to rank up on TFT but haven’t got the time to play that much recently.

You eventually got sick of playing after 3 games, so you decide to get some nap since you have plenty of time left in the day. In your sleep, you’re shown a dream where Jiyeon is running to you with a trophy in hand before jumping into your arms for a hug. “Oppa, we did it! We won!”, she says, and you can’t help but bawl your eyes out—such pleasant dream, isn’t it? You hope that it’s a good sign for what’s coming today.

You arrive at the venue at 18:06 and head straight in. A staff greets you at the entrance of the hall and asks you to show him your ticket. You do as he asks and he then escorts you to your seat—“must be VVIP treatment”, you think as you’re led to your seat. You take a seat that he points at and pull out your phone; less than an hour left until the show starts, your phone tells you. Your phone also tells you that you have some incoming texts from Jiyeon.

[Ji Seoyeon❤️| 18:10]

I see a pretty boy in a suit sitting in the front row

He’s soooo cuteeeee

Very tall too, my God

No one else has arrived yet so you know that she’s referring to you, but you can’t see her anywhere so you give up trying to spot her instantly. You smile at your phone while reading her texts and she follows up with some more.

[Ji Seoyeon❤️| 18:10]

Look at him, he’s smiling!!!!

Omg I love him so damn much <3 <3 <3

His bae is a lucky girl for sure

You cover your mouth with a hand to muffle an excited squeal. You finally manage to form some replies of your own after calming yourself down.

[You | 18:11]

I can’t with you

You’re driving me insane

[Ji Seoyeon❤️| 18:11]

Oh, it’s you!!!!

Thank you for coming!!!! <3

You shake your head and shove your phone back in your pocket because one more exchange will surely send your heart to overdrive. You need to lock in soon so that you can wholeheartedly and wholebrainedly—that’s not a word, is it—pay attention to her performance later.

15 minutes before the performances start and the venue is now packed with people. You hear from the MC that Jiyeon will be the last one performing; “favorites go last all the time”, you say to yourself. Before you forget, you pull out a handkerchief from your suit jacket and set it on your lap because it’s guaranteed that you’re going to weep while watching her.

One by one contestant performs and now it’s Jiyeon’s turn to take the stage and make everyone weep (yes, you are that confident of her skills). Your jaw drops the instant she walks out; she’s wearing a white tutu and matching pointe shoes—a literal embodiment of a swan. She makes eye contact with you for a second before turning her gaze to the rest of the crowd, and that’s when the cheering erupts; “oh, she’s famous, huh?”, you hear your brain say. She then moves to the side and waits until the song starts; “I’m so fucking cooked”, you think to yourself.

The truth cannot be any further right now, as you feel tears gather in your eyes as soon as she starts her routine. She’s barely making expressions, but you really feel the emotions that she’s conveying through every small movement. As you keep paying attention, you’re promptly reminded of how hard she’s worked for these sorts of moments, not only in the past few weeks, but also in her entire life. Combine that with the way she’s moving on stage, you can’t help but open the dam and let the tears flow. She’s not making eye contact with you because she wants to stay concentrated, and that’s helpful for you because you’re not presentable at all right now.

You wish you weren’t such a crybaby because you otherwise would be able to enjoy her performance, but you’re also glad that you’re able to feel these emotions and savor every second of it. You wipe your eyes with your handkerchief before looking back at her and murmuring to yourself, “I’m so proud of you, my little swan. Thank you for being in my life and thank you for showing me such gracefulness that very few can see with their own eyes”. You ball up your fists to cheer for her, but your brain manages to bridle your body in time before you can start shouting, thus saving you from embarrassment; “this ain’t basketball, you fucking idiot”, it yells at you.

Her performance ends with her getting on her knees while bending back, and the crowd instantly erupts behind you. You feel a surge of emotions in your heart, and you decide to let all the tears go into the handkerchief; “what is this feeling and who am I to be so lucky?”, you say. You feel the elderly man next to you put a hand on your shoulder and pat you on the back, “I wondered the same thing when I was your age, son, and I still don’t have an answer to this day”. You sniffle before saying anything back, “I can’t describe what I’m feeling right now, sir”. He pulls you to him and makes you rest your head on his shoulder, “There’s no need for that, son. Just enjoy it as much as you can, for we are a lucky bunch”. You’ve never heard such wisdom from someone before, so you ask him who he is. “I’m no one important, boy—definitely not as important as that girl on stage to you”, he says. “I love her, sir”, you reveal to him. He rubs you on the back with his palm several times as he laughs, “I know, son. I know”.

You look up and see that Jiyeon is looking back at you, so you do your best to give her the sincerest smile you’ve ever shown to anyone; “I’m so proud of you”, you mouth to her. She returns your smile twice as splendidly before heading backstage. The MC comes back out and announces that we’ll be taking a 10-minute break before announcing the winners, so you take this opportunity to leave your seat and head to the bathroom to freshen up after weeping your heart out.

You were a bit late to return and see that all the contestants are now standing next to each other on stage, so you rush to your seat and tune back in. “We will now be announcing the 3rd place, 2nd place, and the 1st place winners”, the MC says. You close your eyes and pray to whatever sacred being that might be listening to you right now. “Coming in the third place”, she pauses, “Miss Noh Yunah!”. You sigh in relief, “oh God, okay, top 2, baby. Let’s go”. The MC suggests an idea to announce the 2nd and 1st place; “would the attendants prefer to hear the 1st place winner before the 2nd?”, she says, and the crowd seems to agree with that idea.

“Right, so here’s what we’re going to do, Miss Ji Seoyeon and Miss Choi Jihyun: I’m going to say the name of the first-place winner and whoever doesn’t hear her name is the second-place winner”, she explains, and the two girls nod in acknowledgment. “The winner of the competition is”, she fucking pauses again, “Miss”—for the love of God, do it already—“Ji Seoyeon!”. You open your eyes and see that Jiyeon has dropped onto her knees while crying, and you have no choice but to cry again with her. “Congratulations, son”, the elderly man says as he shakes your hand, “treat the miss to dinner after this, okay?”. Your brain can’t come up with words to say, so you just nod while shaking his hand emotionally.

The contestants went backstage a few minutes ago, and some people in the crowd are now talking among themselves while some others opt to leave. You feel your phone vibrate in your pocket, so you pull it out and see that Jiyeon has sent you some texts.

[Ji Seoyeon❤️| 20:24]

Oppa

I’m glad I could win it for you

Can I come over after this?

Pretty please?

[Ji Seoyeon❤️| 20:24]

Congratulations, love

I’m glad I got to watch you perform

You slayed btw

I’ll wait for you in the car, bby

You turn to the man next to you and bid your farewell, “thank you so much for tonight, sir. I will be taking my leave now”. “Thank you to you as well, son. May I offer you some advice?”, he says, and you nod in response, “try not to obscure your feelings; embrace them, savor them, share them with those you love. Believe me when I say that you won’t regret it—emotions are the colors of life, you see”. In your heart, you envy and yearn for such wisdom, but you realize that it takes a lifetime to be that wise. “Thank you, sir. I will keep that in mind. Have a good night”.

You stand up from your seat and start making your way to the parking lot after talking to the man. When you get to the parking lot, you see that Jiyeon is already waiting for you. She drops her stuff on the ground and hugs you; “oppa, I love you. I love you so fucking much, oppa”, she confesses in case it wasn’t clear already. You take the man’s advice to heart and embrace the emotions you’re feeling right now, “I love you so much as well, baby. I’m so proud of you”. She presser her head against your chest and conveys her request, “take me to your place, oppa. I want to spend the night in your embrace. Let’s leave now, oppa—please, I’m begging you”. You peck her forehead and pull away from the hug, “alright, sweetie. Let’s go now”.

You enter your apartment with Jiyeon and swap your shoes for the indoor sandals. She pulls your hand, forcing you to turn to her direction before kissing you. Jiyeon goes further and fight your tongue with hers. You find her passion to be overwhelming, so you break the kiss to take a breather. “Oppa, why did you pull away? You didn’t like it?”, she asks. “I did like it, but I first need to know how far we’re going tonight”, you tell her. You can’t tell what the smile on her face means when she says that you two are going all the way.

“Can I take you to the bedroom?”, you ask her, and she nods to your question. You carry her bridal style like that time she “passed out” after practice. You set her down on the bed and that’s when she makes another confession; “this is my first time, oppa”, she tells you. “Are you sure that you want to give your first to me?”, you ask her. “Only if you promise to never leave me again”, she says. You tell her your promise and start kissing her lustfully, as it’s now your tongue that’s fighting hers. She takes your hand and guides it to her crotch; thus, you feel her wetness through her jogger pants. You pull away from the kiss once more and ask her, “on a scale of 1 to 10, how ready do you think you are?”. “24”, she says, “now please take care of me”. You’re not sure why she picks such particular number, but you roll with it anyway.

You grab the waistband of her pants and pull down after getting her consent, and you’re met with her bare pussy. “No panties, hm? No wonder I could feel how wet you were through your pants”, you ask her. She shrugs, “I figured it would be faster this way, and it is. Continue, please”. You then move your hands to the hem of her white sleeveless T-shirt and roll it over her head, exposing her covered tits to the bedroom air. “It would be even faster if you weren’t wearing bras as well”, you tease her. She pouts cutely, “and what if someone saw? Do you really want your girl to run around while being exposed like that?”.

You pull her into a hug and unclasp her bras before letting go, and you’re shown her perfectly perky bare tits. “They’re yours, oppa”, she says as she guides your hands to her tits. You start fondling her tits in your hands and it causes her to start moaning softly. Seeing that she’s enjoying it, you latch your mouth onto one of them and start sucking without letting up the stimulation on the other one. “Oppa, you like them—AHHHH, OPPA”, she screams when you not-so-lightly tug her nipple. “Can’t let the other one go forgotten”, you say as you move your mouth to the other breast. She holds the back of your head with both hands and press your head against her tits; “that’s-that’s—ahh, ngh”, her words are cut short by a moan.

She finally pushes your head away from her tits after letting you play with them for a few minutes. “You-you’re not fair, oppa”, she says, panting, “why aren’t you naked like me?”. You look down on yourself and see that you still have all your clothes on. “Apologies, my love. I got carried away”, you get off the bed and take your sweet time to take one item off at a time, unveiling your muscular body little by little for the girl in your bed. You’re finally done taking everything off but the boxers, “would you like to do the honors, princess?”, you ask Jiyeon. “Uh, umm, I-I think you should take them off yourself”, the antsy girl says before biting her lips. You do as she says and take off your boxers in one smooth motion, and Jiyeon immediately turns her gaze to look at the big, erect parcel between your legs. She looks away to get your cock out of her sight and asks you to make another promise, “pro-promise me you won’t hurt me, oppa”. You rub the back of her hand to soothe her, “I promise, love. We will do this on your pace, okay? Make yourself comfortable, please”.

She lies flat on her back and opens her arms, “come here, oppa”. You enter her warm embrace and pepper her face with pecks. “Aaaaah, oppa, stoooop”, she tries to halt your barrage of pecks. You hover your face above hers and offer her some sweet words, “I love you, baby. My baby. My white swan”. She blushes as she puts her hands on your cheeks, “I love you too, oppa. I love you with my life”. “Baby, I want to tell you something”, you make a confession of your own, “I have never done this before—I didn’t speak accordingly because I wanted to help you not be nervous. I apologize for pretending and I also apologize should my naïveté shows”. “Awww”, she coos, “we’re each other’s first, aren’t we? That makes this even more special, oppa”.

Since the confessions are now out of the way, you dive into another kiss—a kiss so heavenly and heartfelt to tell Jiyeon how much you love her. She smiles warmly after pulling away and breaking the kiss, “I love you, oppa, and I know you love me too. Now please take care of me”. You move a strand of hair from her face, “I’m so sorry but I don’t have a condom, love; I’m a virgin just like you”. She runs her thumb back and forth on your cheek, “We won’t need that;you’re my only one, oppa—my first and my last. Just promise me that you’ll be gentle; make me yours and I’ll stay by your side until the end of time”. You feel a stray tear on your cheek and wipe it right away, “I’m sorry, cutie. Your words are just so sweet—you are so sweet”. She smiles gently hearing your words, “we’re about to find out what having sex with the person you truly love is like, oppa. I’m excited but also nervous to give you my first”.

You peck her forehead before straightening your back to get ready for the action. “Do you consent, precious?”, you ask as you line up your cock with her untouched entrance. “I do” is response, nice and concise. You start moving forward into her pussy, and as soon as your cock is 1/3 of the way in, Jiyeon screams from the top of her lungs. “Oppa, oppa—ngh, fu—hold me, please—hug me, oppa”, she says to you with troubled breathing. You lay on top of Jiyeon and hug her tightly, “I’m here, baby; I’m here for you. I’ll stop moving so let’s relax a bit, okay?”.

After taking a few seconds to catch her breath, she signals to you to start moving again. You move your pelvis forward until you feel the entirety of your cock lodged in her pussy, as you take her virginity and give her yours in return. “Ngh, ngh—op-oppa, you’re so big—oh my God, you’re tearing me in half”, she says. You peck her temple as you start pumping her, “you’re so tight, baby; you’re literally squeezing me”. She yelps when your cock hits her deepest end, “I th-ink that’s my cervix, oppa—ahh, fuck—how are you so fucking deep, oppa?”. You’d be lying if you said her words didn’t inflate your ego, but you just want to keep fucking her right now and this position doesn’t really allow that. Jiyeon panics when you try to pull away from the hug; “no, no, no—oh, mmh—keep me in your arms, oppa. I’m begging you—fuck—plea-please”, she says.

You latch your mouth onto her neck and start sucking and nibbling as you maintain the pace and depth of your thrusts, earning moans from Jiyeon that sound like a melody from the heavens. “Op-pa—aah, hng—some-something is coming. I-I can feel it”, she says after taking a lot (like, a lot) of pumps from you. You unlatch your mouth for a second so that you can answer her; “yes, baby. I feel it too, I think”.

“AH, OPPA, I’M-I’M GOING TO EXPLODE!”, she shrieks with all her might as her pussy puts you in such a chokehold (or cockhold, rather) that it’s almost painful to you. You remove your mouth from her neck and see that Jiyeon’s entire body is shaking and trembling as she keeps screaming her lungs out. She finally stops screaming after her high has subsided; “hah, hah—wha-what was that? I-I felt like I was on cloud nine and then I’m back in your arms”, she says, her breaths mixed with pants. You chuckle at her description of what just happened, “is it better to be on cloud nine or in my arms?”. She pulls you down for a kiss before giving you an answer, “I like being in my boyfriend’s arm much, much better”. “Boyfriend, hm?”, you smile at her, “I love the way you say that; it makes me feel loved, you know”. “That is because I truly love you, oppa, and nothing can sway me from loving you”, she says.

“Jiyeon, my baby”, you say to her, “I’m sorry, but can we continue? I think I’m pretty close as well”. “We can, oppa, but first”, she holds your head and looks at you in the eyes, “I want you to start calling me Seoyeon from now on; it’s not like you’ll mistake me for Yoon Seoyeon-sunbaenim, is it?”. “No, there’s no way I’ll ever mistake you for Yoon Seoyeon. My heart is yours, not Yoon Seoyeon’s”, you say before resuming your rhythmic thrusting. Jiyeon—or Seoyeon, rather—starts moaning again and it serves as fuel for you to keep going and chase your own orgasm.

“Seoyeon, my swan—fuck, so tight—do you want me to pull out when I cum?”, you ask her. “If you pull out, I will cut your penis off and feed it to a cat”, Seoyeon threatens you. “Oh, fuck, please don’t. We wouldn’t be able to do this again if you did”, you say, intimidated by her words. “Good, now don’t—OH MY GOD, THAT IS SO FUCKING HOT”, her words are cut off by your cock’s abrupt explosion and the sudden flood of semen in her pussy. “My God, I just came in her pussy”, you think to yourself as you pant from the high that your orgasm is giving you. “Oppa-oppa, was that—whoa, fuck—was that your orgasm?”, Seoyeon wonders. In your exhausted and high state, you just nod to her question; “you gave me your first ever orgasm, oppa? You’ve never watched porn and had an orgasm before, have you? Please say no”, Seoyeon says. You shake your head, “I have—hah, fuck—I have never watched porn ever in my life. What the fuck kind of question is that? Sure-surely you don’t think that low of me—oh my goodness, I’m tired”. “Sorry, please don’t be mad”, she rubs your cheek, “it was a genuine question, oppa. I’m-I’m glad that you’ve never watched porn—”. You cut her off by placing a finger on her lips, “please, let’s not talk about that right now”.

You pull away from her embrace and straighten your back to look at your work; “wait, there’s supposed to be blood, isn’t there?”, you ask yourself as you look at your cock and her leaking pussy. “Oppa, I know what you’re thinking”, Seoyeon says with a tiny voice, “you must be wondering about the lack of blood considering that it’s my first time”. You turn your gaze to her without saying anything, which makes Seoyeon nervous; “I-I can explain, oppa, but I need you to trust me because I am not lying at all”, she says. You take a moment to calm your pants before talking back, “of course, darling. Fire away”. “Where do I start—ah, fuck it, I’ll just tell you the end bit”, she says, “I lost my hymen in an accident, oppa. Please, please believe me when I say that you’re my first, because you really are”.

You stay quiet and take a second to process the news that she just delivered, and that’s when she starts shedding tears. “You-you don’t believe me, do you? You’re disappointed because it’s your first, aren’t you? It-It’s okay if you don’t believe me and want to leave me, oppa; heaven knows I’m being honest”, she says as tears are freely flowing out of her eyes. The instant surge of guilt in your heart leads you to jump and take her into your arms again. “I believe you, my love—I really do. I just wanted some time to process your words; I’m sorry for not saying anything right away”, you say right to her ear. Her crying makes it hard for her to speak but she pushes through anyway, “please, please don’t leave me, oppa. I-I don’t know what I would do with-out you. Please, oppa, I’m begging you to stay with me”. You hug her tighter and give her your promise, “I will not leave you, baby; not now, not tomorrow, not next week, never. I need you as much as you need me, precious. Trust me, please. Let’s calm down, okay? I’m here for you, honey”.

It took a while for Seoyeon to finally calm down and stop crying. It was really painful for you to see Seoyeon cry from such a close distance, but it didn’t stop you from giving her the assurance and comfort that she needed. “Baby”, you call out to Seoyeon after noticing that her sobs have died down, “feeling better?”. She hums in response, “feeling hungry, too—wait, you promised me you’d make mac and cheese for me. Can we have mac and cheese now, oppa? Pleaaaaaase?”. “There she is, back to who she really is”, you say in your head. “We can, baby. Let’s get dressed first and then I’ll make some for us, okay?”, you pull her off the bed and onto her feet before heading to the wardrobe to get some clothes. You hand Seoyeon an old set of jersey and shorts as you’re reminded of her underwear situation, “I know you didn’t wear panties earlier but surely you brought them with you, right?”. Seoyeon chuckles in response, “of course I did, oppa; it’s in my bag. I’m not that naughty, you know?”. “Right”, you scratch the back of your head in awkwardness, “I’ll, uh, start cooking now”.

You head to the fridge and take all the ingredients necessary: milk, cheese, sausage, and broc—wait, not broccoli; mac and cheese isn’t supposed to be healthy. You take the scale out of the cupboard and weigh 100 grams of macaroni (taken from the cupboard as well), 50 grams of grated cheddar, and 50 grams of cubed mozzarella. You hear Seoyeon’s sandals approaching, so you call out to her, “baby, there’s zero-sugar soda in the fridge for you”. “I’ll save that for later, oppa. I’ll just get some water right now”, she says as she walks to the dispenser and refills her bottle. “Can I help with anything?”, she asks after taking a gulp of water. You point to the milk and ask her to pour out exactly 250 ml into a measuring cup. As Seoyeon does that, you pour some water into a pot and wait for it to boil.

“Love, go have a seat. I’ll take care of this”, you tell Seoyeon who’s still hovering near the stove area. “Promise me you won’t burn this place down”, she jumps and pecks you on the cheek before sitting at the table. “You’re making me make a lot of promises today, love”, you tease her. “Aaaaaah, but they’re for our own good, oppaaaaa”, she whines and crosses her arms, “I hate you so much, hmph”. Seeing that you’re not responding to her stunt, Seoyeon walks up to you from behind and tickles you. “Baby, I’m cooking—ahahaha, okay, okay; you win, I’m sorry. Now please get back to your seat”. Seoyeon does as you ask and sits down at the table again.

The water is now boiling, so you throw the macaroni into it and start a timer on your phone for 8 minutes. Since you have some time to kill, you decide to kiss Seoyeon and do more skinship with her and talk about some stuff until the timer runs out. Before you know it (because you’re so absorbed in the moment), you hear your phone ring, and you rush to turn the timer off and drain the macaroni.

You throw a tablespoon of butter into the pot and let it melt before adding in a tablespoon of flour. You then quickly but gradually add milk into the mix before it sticks to the pot. You turn your gaze to the counter and notice that the cheese is missing. “Seoyeon, darling, do you know where the cheese is?”, you ask your swan. “Oh, I brought it with me to the table, sorry. Here, oppa”, she hands you the two cups of cheese and you throw them into the pot and stir rapidly until it’s nice and smooth. “Here go the mac and sausage”, you announce to yourself, earning a chuckle from Seoyeon. Once everything is mixed together, you turn off the stove and mix in a tablespoon of salt, pepper, smoked paprika, and chili powder. You then take two bowls and split the mac and cheese into two as equally as you can and bring it to the table.

“This looks good, oppa”, Seoyeon says as she takes a spoonful of mac and cheese and shoves it into her mouth, “oooh, very nice. Not as salty as when I made it myself that one time”. You follow her and put a spoonful into your mouth. The taste makes you let out a satisfied moan, and it triggers a comment from Seoyeon, “we’re eating, oppa, not having sex—do you want to have sex again, by any chance?”. As tempting as it sounds, you choose to ignore her comment for now, “this is nice, no? I love it”. You miss a glare that Seoyeon sends you because you’re too busy eating, but that’s a problem for later.

“Thank you for the meal, oppa. Can I borrow a toothbrush now?”, Seoyeon says. You tell her that you keep spare toothbrushes in the bathroom cabinet and that she can get one from there. She heads to the bathroom to brush her teeth while you wash the dishes.

As soon as you’re done, you hear Seoyeon call out to you from the bathroom, so you knock on the door, and she opens it for you. “What is it, baby?”, you ask her. She says nothing and shoves you backwards until you’re seated on the toilet. “Really, oppa? I offered you to do round 2 and you just ignored me? Is that how we will do things from now on, oppa?”, Seoyeon interrogates you and you can’t help but feel like a criminal. A short “I’m sorry” is all you can come up with, and Seoyeon is visibly not satisfied with your apology. “Take off your shorts and boxers, now”, she says. You never thought a girl so cute could be so intimidating, but here you are. You do as she commands and take them off, revealing your cock to her for the second time tonight.

“Please don’t ignore me like that again, oppa; it makes me sad, you know”, she says as she gets on her knees and holds your cock in one hand. “Can you get hard again, please? I want to make you orgasm again”, she strokes your cock with both hands to compensate with the girth. “Baby, what are you planning to do?”, you say with a sigh at the end. “This”, she says as she takes you in her mouth, her jaws are as wide open as they can be. You thought that this sight couldn’t get better until Seoyeon looks at you in the eyes as your cock is in her mouth. “Seoyeon-ah, you’re so good”, you forgot to say the pet name so she bites your cock slightly to express her dissatisfaction. “Oh, fuck, fuck. I’m so sorry, love. Please don’t kill me”, you say.

She gives you a wink and starts bobbing her head up and down your shaft, making you throw your head back and moan in bliss. She gets impatient as she goes down too deep and chokes on your cock. The little accident doesn’t seem to deter her, though, as she keeps going up and down a little bit more carefully this time. “You’re doing so good, dear—my fucking God, that’s so nice”, you praise her efforts, and she gives you a thumbs-up in return.

“Can I ask you to go faster, baby?”, you ask Seoyeon, whose mouth is full of your cock. She gives you a subtle nod and starts moving faster and gagging occasionally. You hold the back of her head when she tries to pull away and start fucking her mouth—not too hard, though. You don’t want to take things too far just yet. “God, baby; your mouth feels so good—oh, I’m getting so close again”, you tell her. You feel her repeatedly tap your thighs, so you pull out of her mouth in response. “Are you okay, sweetie?”, you ask the panting girl as you pet her head. “That was too much, oppa. Let me do it at my own pace, please”, Seoyeon says as she wipes her mouth.

You agree to let her do as she pleases and sit back. Seoyeon pecks the tip for your cock—which sensation makes you gasp in surprise—and goes down on your cock again. You lean back against the backrest of the toilet and close your eyes to fully savor the sensation that her mouth is giving you. You can tell that she’s focused and determined to make you cum for the second time tonight, and you don’t miss your chance to praise her efforts. “Love, you’re so good; such a good girl, aren’t you?”, you stroke her head before letting out a groan.

“Oh, God—baby, I think I’m gonna blow again”, you warn her. At your warning, she removes you from her mouth and strokes your cock. “Give it to me again, oppa”, she says to you. You moan loudly as the second load of the night jets out of the tip of your cock. Seoyeon collects as much of it as she can with her hands; “how do you still have so much, oppa? How much do you have in there?”, she says, fascination and curiosity woven in her voice. “I think that’s all I have today”, you tell her, “thank you so much, baby. I really enjoyed that”. She dips a finger in the pool of cum in her hands and puts it in her mouth, “it tastes weird. I’m not putting this in my mouth, sorry”. You weakly point to the sink, “you don’t need to; go wash your hands, honey”.

You carry Seoyeon back to bed after the little bonus session in the bathroom. She’s now lying limb on top of you like that afternoon when she jumped on you. “Oppa”, she begins, “I love you. Don’t leave me ever, please”. You weave your pinky with hers and say your pledge, “I will never leave you, my beautiful swan. I love you”. “Oh, yeah, about that”, Seoyeon lifts her head off your chest, “why swan, oppa?”. You hold her chin in your hand, “the way you were moving so gracefully and elegantly, combined with how you were dressed, made me think of a white swan that’s pacing peacefully around a calm lake”. Seoyeon rests her head on your chest again, “I like that idea, oppa. Thank you”. You shake your head in disagreement, “no, love; thank you. Thank you for letting me enter your life and love you like this—I’m so grateful for us, baby”. You feel a tear drop from her cheeks and onto your T-shirt, “I’m so grateful for us as well, oppa. My world is bleak without you next to me”.

#girl group smut #kpop smut #triples smut #smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #male reader smut #male reader

281 notes · View notes